Once More. Crazy.

The first world record was already supposed to be impossible. The second one hasn't even started — and it's already legendary.

There is a certain kind of man who looks at the horizon and sees not a boundary, but an invitation.

Roger Klüh is that man.

He proved it on August 1, 2015 — one day after his 50th birthday — when he fired up a 2,700-horsepower powerboat in Key West, Florida, pointed the bow toward Havana, and crossed 210 kilometers of open Atlantic in 90 minutes flat. He broke a world record that had stood since 1958. He received a personal commendation from Raúl Castro. He sailed into the Marina Hemingway Yachtclub to a crowd of cheering Cubans — and the engine exploded the moment he docked.

That's the Apache Star story. Victory and chaos, inseparable. Raw and real.

Now he wants to do it again.

A Man Raised on Water

Roger Klüh grew up on the water. His passion for speed and open sea came from his father — and never left. Speedboats of the American brand Apache Powerboat captured him early: machines that fly across the surface at 200 kilometers per hour, that demand everything from the body and give nothing back for free.

In 2011, he bought a used Apache Star — a boat that had already been world champion twice. He rebuilt it over two years. The goal: the crossing from Key West to Cuba in record time, dedicated to international understanding and as a statement against the embargo. He spent a year and a half with lawyers trying to get US government approval. Then he waited. Then, finally, the clearance came from President Obama.

The old record from 1958 was six hours and 23 minutes. Klüh planned to destroy it.

90 Minutes That Changed Everything

What happened on that August morning was equal parts triumph and ordeal.

The engine faltered. The steering gave out. The boat took on water. The crew plugged the leaks with their T-shirts.

In the final ten minutes, the boat was running at 90 instead of 200 kilometers per hour. The crew's backs were bruised from hammering through high waves at hellish speed. Nobody stopped. Nobody turned around.

When the Apache Star crossed the finish line at the Hemingway Yachtclub, the record was broken — the boat's engine promptly blew. Hundreds of Cubans were waiting at the dock. The crossing that had been denied for over half a century had just happened. Shortly after, Raúl Castro personally awarded Klüh one of Cuba's highest decorations.

A film could not have written it better.

"I knew that when I race, I'm the fastest anyway." — Roger Klüh

The Second Madness

Now, in a cigar lounge on Düsseldorf's Königsallee, a new chapter begins.

Former Lufthansa manager Udo Stern sits across the table. Next to him, Jörn Hellwig — a pilot who once built an entire regional airline. Both are engineers at heart. Both are allergic to the word "impossible." When Stern asked Klüh whether he'd like to be crazy one more time, the answer was immediate.

The plan: the Atlantic. The Blue Riband.

The Blue Riband is to maritime record-breaking what the Oscar is to cinema — the supreme honor for the fastest crossing of the North Atlantic. It has not been won since 1992, when the Destriero — a 70-meter, 54,000-horsepower yacht powered by three aircraft turbines and carrying 750,000 liters of kerosene — crossed from Europe to New York in 58 hours and 34 minutes.

The Destriero was built for Karim Aga Khan IV at an estimated cost of 100 million dollars. It set the record. It just never received the Blue Riband — because Aga Khan registered the ship as a private yacht instead of a passenger vessel, the only category that counts.

The record is his. The trophy is not.

Roger Klüh wants to change that.

The Only Ship in the World

Klüh, Stern, and Hellwig agree: this record attempt can only be done with one vessel. The Destriero. There is simply nothing else on earth fast enough, powerful enough, and with sufficient fuel capacity to cross the Atlantic non-stop at that speed.

The Destriero has been at anchor since 1992. It currently sits in Bremen — unused, unmoved, waiting.

Getting Aga Khan to release the ship has proven to be the real challenge. Months of attempts, all deflected. A few million would be needed just to modernize the vessel — manageable, says the team, with the right sponsors. The European Union has reportedly signaled interest in taking on patronage. Like the Cuba crossing, this voyage would be dedicated to international understanding.

The twelve-person crew around Captain Klüh is already assembled. The course is charted. The mission is defined.

Only the ship remains.

No Plan B. Never.

Sir Richard Branson — one of the world's most famous adventurers — once tried the same Atlantic record and had to abandon the attempt. That gives some indication of what league this plays in.

Roger Klüh leans forward in his chair, arms on his thighs — the same posture as a hockey player waiting for ice time. He smiles.

"I'm not the type for Plan B."

That sentence is not bravado. It is a biography compressed into eight words.

The man who rebuilt a world champion powerboat from scratch. Who spent eighteen months fighting US government bureaucracy for a crossing permit. Who plugged a leaking hull with T-shirts at 200 kilometers per hour and kept going. Who broke a record at 50 that had stood for 57 years.

He will wait. He will push. He will find a way.

And when the Destriero finally moves again — with Roger Klüh at the helm, somewhere on the North Atlantic between Europe and New York — it will not just be a record attempt.

It will be history.

Rugged Luxury. Raw Emotion. Rebellious Spirit.

This is the world that APACHE STAR was built to carry. Follow the journey. Read the book.

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Press coverage: Welt am Sonntag, NRW — "Noch einmal verrückt sein" (Original German-language feature by Frank Lorentz)