Unlike IndyCar, I follow MotoGP quite closely and I have watched all of the races this year. I was a big fan of Marco Simoncelli. For me, Marco Simoncelli was the clear stand-out rider in a MotoGP series that is not as exciting as it once was.

Simoncelli had his critics. Some thought he was too aggressive. It is perhaps true that sometimes he stepped beyond the line. But he was still young. As this year progressed he was beginning to become a more measured rider — and he was no less exciting for it.

Simoncelli has single-handedly saved a few dull MotoGP races by actually doing extraordinary, exciting things. His talent was clear for all to see, and I personally thought he would become a World Champion in the future.

Sadly the journey came to an end today. What is especially sad is that in the lap or so up to his fatal accident, he was demonstrating exactly what made him such a wonderful spectacle in a brilliant ding-dong battle with Alvaro Bautista.

Thoughts must also go out to Colin Edwards and Valentino Rossi, who collided with Marco Simoncelli. It must be an unimaginably awful experience.

It is always a hair-raising experience watching motorcycles race. It is clearly an especially dangerous form of motorsport. As we see time and again, when control is lost, a bike can go anywhere. Worse still, a rider can go anywhere too. It is always a heart-stopping moment when a rider goes down in the middle of the circuit as opposed to a run-off area.

The skill and bravery of motorcycle racers is one of the things that makes it such a draw. But today, there was another reminder that the quest for more safety can never stop.

Thanks for entertaining us, Marco Simoncelli.

I don’t watch IndyCar for a variety of reasons. Chief among them is the fact that I don’t have Sky. If I did have Sky, I probably would watch, and I certainly keep up-to-date with the news from IndyCar in general.

Nothing qualifies me to say anything about Dan Wheldon, as I have never watched him race. But I was fully aware of what he achieved in IndyCar. With 16 IndyCar race victories — two of which were the Indianapolis 500, arguably the most prestigious race in the world — and an IndyCar championship under his belt, it is clear that Dan Wheldon was a class act.

It is difficult to escape the impression that IndyCar is a particularly dangerous category in motorsport. There are some horrendous incidents in IndyCar with high-speed cars, narrow oval circuits and inexperienced drivers. All of these are currently being pinpointed as contributory factors towards Dan Wheldon’s death.

But it would be naive to imagine that accidents like this won’t happen in any form of motorsport. I don’t know how it would affect me if I were to watch a fatal accident unfold before my eyes live on television. It has never happened before to me. With drivers and riders that I know of and follow, in categories that I enjoy, it is difficult enough just to hear the news from a secondary source.

As fans of motorsport, we sit down to watch a race in anticipation of being entertained. Usually it delivers. But instead, it sometimes presents this.

I have heard it said that one reason we love motorsport is because it can cover the full spectrum of human emotions. If only that wasn’t true.

Scot Dario Franchitti is experienced enough in American open-wheel racing having spent a number of years in Champ Cars and IndyCars. Yesterday he caught the jewel in the crown, and took the most sought-after victory on the other side of the pond.

But is it meaningful? He certainly has his place in the motor racing history books, in between the 2006 and 2008 winners of the Indy 500. But American open-wheel racing has been in disarray since the IRL–Cart split.

And these days it is unthinkable that an IndyCar driver would be offered a seat in Formula 1. A few years ago it was fairly common, but drivers like Jacques Villeneuve, Juan Pablo Montoya, Cristiano da Matta and Antonio Pizzonia, proved to be ultimately underwhelming or sometimes even downright dangerous.

But does Dario Franchitti care? I’m sure he grew up dreaming of being a Formula 1 driver, but he can’t feel too unfortunate to be a top-running IndyCar driver. While it is tempting for us Europeans to think of Formula 1 as the global pinnacle of motor racing, Americans famously do not find F1 appealing.

Despite the attempts in recent years to unite F1 with Indianapolis, the self-styled “motor racing capital of the world”, US fans have snubbed Formula 1. Likewise, IndyCar and Cart are marginal sports here.

Take, for instance, the fact that Dan Wheldon — a Brit — was 2005 IndyCar champion. He must be one of the very few British sporting successes of recent years, yet how many people here have heard of him? Very few.

It might seem strange. After all, IRL and F1 are both kinds of motor racing, and they use similar kinds of cars. But in reality they are two different sports for two different audiences.

F1 Fanatic wrote a post in the run up to this weekend asking readers which they preferred between the Monaco Grand Prix and the Indianapolis 500. It’s got me thinking about American open-wheel racing, and why I don’t watch them.

The obvious reason is that I don’t have Sky, and Channel Five’s highlights packages are so poorly edited as to be rendered unwatchable. On Channel Five, it is not unusual to see several minutes of mundane, processional race footage which then cuts to several dozen laps later, with a change of leader and no explanation as to why there is a change of leader. Extremely frustrating to watch.

I suspect, though, that even if I was able to watch decent coverage of US open-wheel racing, I would still give it a miss. It is easy to revert to snobbery. I remember (I think) David Richards comparing F1 with American motor racing, saying it was like comparing caviar to a cheeseburger.

It is true that Americans like to be entertained by on-track fireworks rather than skill. I often get the impression that the bottom line for Americans is speed. For instance, grid orders are presented as a table of average lap speeds rather than lap times as they are in F1.

This might sound funny, but speed is not everything in motor racing. Not outright speed, at least. Americans scoff at the average speed of a Formula 1 lap, but this has something to do with the fact that Formula 1 circuits actually have corners and F1 drivers have to negotiate both left and right turns, a feat which is a chore to most racers in America.

Indianapolis Motor Speedway is an oval. The Circuit de Monaco looks like this:

While Americans may laugh at the relatively slow average speed of a Formula 1 car, there can be no doubt that F1 cars are technically superior. The ability to accelerate quickly, brake quickly and — most of all — corner quickly is what gives F1 cars the technical edge.

Most American races don’t have corners, so none of this applies to American race cars as much. So the most amazing aspects of F1 cars go straight over the heads of American onlookers, who have grown up in a completely different motor racing culture.

But I have to hold my hands up and say that I feel as though I might be missing something. There may be subtleties and nuances about oval racing that I simply do not understand because I have not sat down and watched enough oval races. But that is because it just looks boring.

Fans of American racing also bemoan the lack of overtaking in Formula 1. This is especially true of the Monaco Grand Prix, where it is near enough impossible to overtake.

While this is true to an extent, overtaking is special precisely because it is difficult to do. In America, meanwhile, overtaking manoeuvres are ten a penny. That just devalues them. There is no skill involved in overtaking. It just happens.

I like this comment over at F1 Fanatic by Robert McKay:

The one time I watched the Indy 500, two drivers slipstreamed each other with ease every single straight. Back and forth they went. Oval driving might require a different skill set to road racing, but passing was almost impossible NOT to acheive…

Sure there’s lots of overtaking, but very little of it actually EARNED like in road racing.

Having said all of that, I think IRL and Cart have two major plus points against F1.

Firstly, the cars get stunningly close to each other in IRL. It has to be said, those drivers have balls. When I see cars going two abreast on a banked oval, I want to shield my eyes. It must involve an incredible amount of trust in your competitors, because if the cars accidentally interlock, they’ll be hitting a concrete wall at high speed.

The second is that IndyCar racing in general seems to be genuinely open. Despite the fact that the circuits all seem to be an identical shape, different drivers and different cars win different races and different championships. None of this seven times champion or back-to-back champion pish.

In terms of spectacle, I think both the Indy 500 and the Monaco Grand Prix are dire. Quite funny that the two most prestigious and famous motor races are also two of the most boring.