Even before last weekend’s breaking news story, 2006 was shaping up to be one of the most exciting Formula 1 seasons in a long loooong time. Coming off the United States Grand Prix, I was preparing a mid-term review that bordered on novella, including the Valentino Rossi rumors, Toyota canning its technical director, Mike Gascoyne, and Fernando Alonso’s stunning deal with McLaren for 2007. And you know what? All of that happened before the season started.

Since then, we’ve seen an endless string of subplots (a resurgent Ferrari), absurdities (the Yuji Ide experiment) and drama (Schuey’s knucklehead move at Monaco). It’s been non-stop. And we haven’t even talked about Jacques Villeneuve’s MySpace page. My point is, things haven’t been boring.

And then we got the topper last weekend at the Chicagoland Whatever, when Juan Pablo Montoya announced he was leaving McLaren-Mercedes to join Chip Ganassi Racing in NASCAR. Montoya and NASCAR—the words don’t even sound right together. It’s like Edward Norton joining the cast of “Scrubs.” Just a few short years ago, Montoya was one of the top three drivers in F1, possibly top two. Not bad when you consider one of the other three was a seven-time champion. Plus, he was the only driver on the grid with the guts to challenge Michael, on and off the track. It wasn’t a matter of if but when he was going to win the championship. But a bad car and more than few terrible decisions later, Montoya has agreed to give up turning right. And I have to scrap a week’s worth of work to write a new column.

To fully understand Juan Pablo Montoya’s decision to leave F1, you have to look closely at how he got there in the first place. After dominating F3000 in Europe, he stormed onto the CART scene in 1999, replacing a charismatic Alex Zanardi, who had cashed in his two consecutive titles for a seat at Williams F1. And from the moment Montoya took over, he looked like a clear upgrade.

And since he was contracted to Frank Williams and only at Target-Ganassi on loan, he stood out in several different ways. Sure, he was fast, but we were also constantly aware he had been preordained a future Formula 1 star by one of the elite teams. He won the CART title in his rookie season and then followed that up with a win at the Indy 500 the following year. And in 2001, after two years in a bright American spotlight, he moved on.

Remember what Formula 1 was like at the time: Three of the four previous champions flaked out all at once. Villeneuve abandoned Williams to join upstart B.A.R. Damon Hill was struggling at Jordan. Mika Hakkinen was daydreaming about early retirement. In other words, it was all Ferrari, all the time. Formula 1 was desperate to welcome anyone who could challenge Michael for the championship. And when Montoya turned out to be every bit as arrogant and whiny as Michael, well, he had everyone at hello. He scored four poles that first season, one win and roughly six covers of F1 Racing magazine.

It was also the way he drove that made him stand out. He was a throwback, a Columbian Gilles Villeneuve. He slid the car, bottomed out on curbs, dropped tires into the grass. And still ended up on pole. It was counterintuitive. Unlike Michael, he didn’t win on pitstop strategy. He took risks, passed on the outside and made it look cake. Plus, no one was faster in a single lap. In 2003, Montoya was right there with Michael, who was still in his prime in a winning Ferrari. That’s how dynamic he was on the track. He stood out. He was unique and different and (as difficult as it is to say it) great in his own way.

Then came a series of disasters:

1. The McLaren Contract.
Prior to the 2004 season, Montoya signed a contract with McLaren for the 2005 season, effectively giving his notice to Williams a year in advance. Alonso did the same thing prior to this season, also signing with McLaren for 2007, but somehow it felt more diabolical when Montoya did it. Maybe it was because the big baby could never muster up more than a scowl, even while standing on the podium.

2. The Walrus Tusk.
The least-visually aerodynamic nosecone to see the grid since the March 721G. How could a modern Formula 1 team with its budgets and wind tunnels screw up so badly? Screwy-looking concepts have dotted F1 history. Some, like the six-wheel Tyrell, were too quick and had to be outlawed. The Williams FW26 wasn’t one of those cars. It was awful to look at and awful to drive. Both drivers struggled. An aerodynamicist was fired. And by mid-season, the team went back to convention. But by then it was too late. The year was over, and Montoya moved on to McLaren.

3. The “Tennis” Injury.
Two races into his first season with McLaren, Montoya broke his arm in a “tennis” accident. It was no secret that he fell off his motorcycle, but worse than that, he was replaced by two leftovers from the ’90s, Pedro de la Rosa and Alexander Wurz, who actually outperformed him. Wurz even landed on the podium at Imola. Meanwhile, his teammate, Kimi, was carving out his own legacy, capping off a second place season with an inspiring drive at Suzuka that saw him come from last on the grid to pass Giancarlo Fisichella on the final lap to win.

See, the window is small in F1, and it’s fleeting. And the trip from future superstar to journeyman status can pass like a snap of the neck. We’ve seen it happen to Jean Alesi and Fisichella. And now, we’ve seen it happen to Jenson—whoops, I mean Montoya. And with Kimi still only 26, Alonso at 24 and young studs like Lewis Hamilton and Robert Kubica on the horizon, it’s clear that the F1’s future no longer has room for Montoya, who is over the hill at 30. Having said that, I don’t think he’s joining the good ol’ boys because of any tremendous decline in skill.

This is what I think: Motor racing isn’t just about winning and championships. It’s also about personality and expression. Gilles Villeneuve never won a title. Neither did Stirling Moss. Yet they’re two of the most beloved drivers in history. Montoya won’t hit that status, but he has a knack for the spotlight. He found it in CART and he found it early in his career in F1. But recently, it was fading fast. He lost his qualifying crown, courtesy of guys like Mark Webber and Alonso, and could sense he was getting written off the show.

That’s why moving to NASCAR was his best option to reclaiming the spotlight, outside of leaking a sex tape. In the past, the only NASCAR I watched were the road course races, and even then it was to watch the “road ringers” trying to late apex only to get ramrodded into the gravel by someone like Elliot Sadler applying my patented Gran Turismo overtaking technique (i.e. taking the inside line at all costs and using the outside car to bounce off of at the exit).

But you better believe I’m watching Montoya’s first race. And I haven’t exactly been a Montoya fan. Sounds like a smart move.

Fumes appears the first and third Tuesday of every month. Richard Chang can be emailed at rich@urbanracer.com.