Tyring work: tracking the life of rubber at Nurburgring 24

At 9.45pm, almost six hours into the race, the call is made to switch to the soft slick tyres and the pit garage explodes into life. Our tyre, along with its three team-mates, is removed from its warm cocoon and stacked onto a tyre trolley.

Tools, fire extinguishers, signal boards and bottles of compressed air are hustled into the pit lane. The stack of wheels is rushed from the back of the garage towards the open door. The mechanic skids to a halt before he bursts into the pit lane. Two others each grab a pair of wheels by the spokes, one with each hand – one front and one rear.

It’s manic, rushed and exhilarating – but too fast. The team is prepared well before the car arrives. There’s a wave of calm as the crew waits silently, ready to pounce on the 911 when it appears.

With a thrashing of transmission and a high-pitched squealing of brakes, the #33 noses into the pit box and there’s another spike of energy.

The pit crew leap into action and the wheels are lifted clean off the ground as the mechanics run to each side of the car. Even carting two wheels at chest level, the guys move at pace, running around the 911.

There’s a fury of hisses, whizzes and clunks as, one by one, the four corners of the Porsche rise up, a fuel hose is jabbed into its nose and the old wheels and tyres are yanked from the hubs. The freshly clad rims are attached and the sticky warm new rubber is lowered onto the cool beige concrete of the pit box.

The storm of activity dies down yet again; there’s nothing more to do except wait until the fuel tank is full. Everyone is motionless.

Then, after almost three minutes in the pits with one last pulse of energy, the fuel hose is yanked from the car, the signal board is raised, the engine starts and, with a yelp from our tyre, the 911 bursts forward with a well-calculated spin of the wheels.

It may be our tyre’s big moment, but over the following eight laps, the next 70 minutes or so, everyone is hoping that it simply continues to roll and nothing remarkable occurs.

That is if you consider its main role unremarkable: transmitting about 550bhp to the asphalt, keeping some 1220kg of 911 supported as it pulls 1.6g of lateral force for more than 126 miles with well over 600 corners.

Just before 11pm, after a thankfully uneventful session, our tyre’s stint is almost over and the pit-lane panic starts again. The chaos of the stop ends in four spent tyres being rolled unceremoniously into the garage.

Here, our tyre is jumped on by a new team wielding thermometers and pressure gauges: Falken’s tyre engineers. Four are from Japan and one is from Germany. They take the temperature of the surface of the tyre at three different points: the inside, middle and outside. They thoroughly inspect the tyre and, even though it was monitored while the car was on the circuit, take a pressure reading.

Despite being tortured around the Green Hell for more than an hour, our tyre still looks respectable. The sidewall is smudged, the identifying barcode not as clear, but its surface isn’t torn apart, just a little rougher. To the untrained eye, it looks like it might cope with another stint. The engineers know better, and it’s removed from the rim, never to be used again.

Still, our tyre has one more useful task to perform. It’s sliced across its section, including any useful or revealing damage found after its inspection. This sliver of rubber is sent back to Japan to be analysed and help improve future tyres. Its fast-paced life may be brief, but our tyre will have a lasting legacy.