Bianchi family issues appeal after theft of Jules’ final kart
Philippe Bianchi has made a public plea to the karting world after a break‑in saw nine karts stolen, including what he says was the last kart driven by his son, the late Jules Bianchi.
In a message to what he called his “karting family,” Bianchi detailed a burglary that stripped the family of multiple JB17 Forever chassis, his grandsons’ mini karts, and a KZ 125 ART GP machine that carries enormous sentimental weight: Jules’ final kart.
“Last night we were burgled,” he wrote, describing the thieves as “unscrupulous” and appealing for help from anyone who might spot the equipment “in circulation.” The loss, he stressed, is measured less in money than in memories.
It’s a gut punch for a family that has already shouldered more than most. Jules Bianchi remains a defining what‑might‑have‑been talent of his generation, and the most recent F1 driver tragedy. The Frenchman suffered fatal injuries at the 2014 Japanese Grand Prix after colliding with a recovery vehicle in treacherous conditions; he was placed in an induced coma and died nine months later. Formula 1 retired his number, 17, in his honour — a gesture that still stirs emotion every time someone mentions JB17.
The stolen items include multiple JB17 Forever chassis — instantly recognisable to anyone who follows European karting — along with the KZ 125 ART GP kart that, for the Bianchi family, is an heirloom as much as hardware. Also taken were the mini karts used by Philippe’s grandsons, a detail that adds another twist of the knife.
This isn’t just a local matter. Karting is small enough, and its networks tight enough, that distinctive gear tends to surface. If a JB17 chassis appears on a classifieds page, at a regional paddock, or tucked under a hastily applied wrap, people notice. That’s the point of Philippe’s appeal: eyes and ears. If it looks like a JB17, if it sounds like a story that doesn’t quite add up, reach out.
Bianchi’s legacy has long outgrown statistics. He was a Ferrari Driver Academy prospect racing for Marussia at the time of his accident, and he’s still woven into the sport’s present tense. Ferrari’s Charles Leclerc — Jules’ godson — carries that thread with him every time he pulls on a helmet. The FIA’s relentless push on safety since 2014 has also been shaped by the lessons of Suzuka, with modern cockpit protection becoming part of Formula 1’s visual language and, more importantly, its survival kit.
But some things you can’t legislate. A final kart is irreplaceable. It’s the smell of two‑stroke and the last setup notes scribbled on the steering wheel; it’s a family’s shortcut to a thousand days at the track. You can insure equipment, you can buy new parts. You can’t buy back a memory.
Philippe’s request is simple: if you see JB17 karts or the KZ 125 ART GP model that might fit the description, say something. The karting paddock is good at that — it looks after its own. And few names still command the kind of quiet respect that Jules’ does when it drifts across a tent at the end of a long Saturday.
Anyone with information is asked to contact the Bianchi family. For now, the community will do what it does best: talk, share, and keep watch. Because some returns are about more than getting gear back. They’re about giving a piece of history — and a piece of someone — back to where it belongs.
