Read Online The Man in the White Suit: The Stig, Le Mans, the Fast Lane and Me by Ben Collins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ben Collins
Tags: General, Personal Memoirs, Biography & Autobiography, Entertainment & Performing Arts, Performing Arts, Sports & Recreation, Sports, Television, Transportation, motor sports, Automotive
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way, the waterlogged track was quickly obscured by a dense mist of spray. Taku pul ed into the lead and was first to come within sight of the teams as he blatted down the pit straight, towards Eau Rouge …
Boyyo, Taku’s sublime race engineer, was perched on the pit wal . He dropped his lap chart, hastily grasped his radio and whimpered ‘No Taku, don’t …’
The rain was much heavier than it had been during the test. Taku made it past the first painted kerb with his foot welded to the floor, ran into a pool of water, aquaplaned and spun 180 degrees, straight into the tyre wal . It was pure 24-carat bal s, and I absolutely loved him for that.
My performances were enough to gain some interest from a couple of Formula 1 teams and I investigated an opportunity to become the test driver for Arrows. This was the break I’d been longing for since Day One. I didn’t have a manager, so Dad came to the meeting to impart some common business sense to the discussion.
We had a chat with a couple of nice chaps from their commercial team. We guzzled tea and biscuits in the boardroom until it was time to bring out the brass tacks. The test drive was mine for a very reasonable
£1.5 mil ion.
I tried not to choke on my tea and wondered what they charged per gulp. I was appal ed at my sheer ignorance of the industry and the level of finance shaping these decisions. The sponsors who had supported me so far would turn tail and head for the hil s.
But I had a back-up plan. It worked for Michael Schumacher; maybe it would work for me.
Chapter 5
Le Mans 24
T wo mil ion roadside spectators watched the 1903 race from Paris to Bordeaux. Two hundred and seventy-five drivers slammed their cumbersome rides of metal and wood up and down dale for the glory of a face ful of dust, in what was dubbed the ‘race of death’ after numerous fatalities along its 351-mile stretch.
Road racing was shut down, but their mission to measure the advancement of design through competition survived.
The Automobile Club de l’Ouest responded by creating a closed Grand Prix circuit at Le Mans in 1906, and the twenty-four hour course along the main roads to Mulsanne and back via Arnage in 1923.
The route from Arnage was later altered to take in the fearsome Porsche curves, a sequence of fast encounters where the outcome of each bend determined the fate of the one fol owing. A last-ditch heave on the brakes at the Ford chicanes led onto the pit straight for a glancing moment at the pit board before engaging on a lap where 85 per cent of the journey would be spent on ful throttle or braking because your life depended on it.
I travel ed to Le Mans in 1997, to pre-qualify a 600bhp turbocharged Porsche GT2 for the 65th outing of the endurance classic. By lunchtime the car was ready and I was blasting over the kerbs of Dunlop chicane, under the bridge and down to the Esses where you cornered at a seemingly impossible speed, veered left, then shimmied right over a blind rise.
Tertre Rouge was no mere dal iance. The ancient flowing right had to be taken bal s to the wal in fourth gear to v-max the motor on the 4-mile Mulsanne straight. The Porsche 456s of the Eighties stretched their legs to 253mph here before the chicanes were put in. I settled for a humble 194, dispatching the chicanes with a twitter from the abs, hurling in and chasing away again, hanging on to the bouncing tail. I was stil learning the place as I went; at 8.5 miles per lap it took over ten minutes just to run three laps. Then I noticed black smoke bil owing over the treetops.
I kept on it as far as Mulsanne corner, the slowest point on the circuit, with a curved braking point that welcomed the brave and the good to overcook it and wind up at a roundabout ful of locals taking photos and gnawing French sticks. Been there, done that, worn the onions.
The Porsche bucked from the hard lip of the blue and yel ow apex kerb and stopped just in time to keep me on the black. From a virtual
Boyyo, Taku’s sublime race engineer, was perched on the pit wal . He dropped his lap chart, hastily grasped his radio and whimpered ‘No Taku, don’t …’
The rain was much heavier than it had been during the test. Taku made it past the first painted kerb with his foot welded to the floor, ran into a pool of water, aquaplaned and spun 180 degrees, straight into the tyre wal . It was pure 24-carat bal s, and I absolutely loved him for that.
My performances were enough to gain some interest from a couple of Formula 1 teams and I investigated an opportunity to become the test driver for Arrows. This was the break I’d been longing for since Day One. I didn’t have a manager, so Dad came to the meeting to impart some common business sense to the discussion.
We had a chat with a couple of nice chaps from their commercial team. We guzzled tea and biscuits in the boardroom until it was time to bring out the brass tacks. The test drive was mine for a very reasonable
£1.5 mil ion.
I tried not to choke on my tea and wondered what they charged per gulp. I was appal ed at my sheer ignorance of the industry and the level of finance shaping these decisions. The sponsors who had supported me so far would turn tail and head for the hil s.
But I had a back-up plan. It worked for Michael Schumacher; maybe it would work for me.
Chapter 5
Le Mans 24
T wo mil ion roadside spectators watched the 1903 race from Paris to Bordeaux. Two hundred and seventy-five drivers slammed their cumbersome rides of metal and wood up and down dale for the glory of a face ful of dust, in what was dubbed the ‘race of death’ after numerous fatalities along its 351-mile stretch.
Road racing was shut down, but their mission to measure the advancement of design through competition survived.
The Automobile Club de l’Ouest responded by creating a closed Grand Prix circuit at Le Mans in 1906, and the twenty-four hour course along the main roads to Mulsanne and back via Arnage in 1923.
The route from Arnage was later altered to take in the fearsome Porsche curves, a sequence of fast encounters where the outcome of each bend determined the fate of the one fol owing. A last-ditch heave on the brakes at the Ford chicanes led onto the pit straight for a glancing moment at the pit board before engaging on a lap where 85 per cent of the journey would be spent on ful throttle or braking because your life depended on it.
I travel ed to Le Mans in 1997, to pre-qualify a 600bhp turbocharged Porsche GT2 for the 65th outing of the endurance classic. By lunchtime the car was ready and I was blasting over the kerbs of Dunlop chicane, under the bridge and down to the Esses where you cornered at a seemingly impossible speed, veered left, then shimmied right over a blind rise.
Tertre Rouge was no mere dal iance. The ancient flowing right had to be taken bal s to the wal in fourth gear to v-max the motor on the 4-mile Mulsanne straight. The Porsche 456s of the Eighties stretched their legs to 253mph here before the chicanes were put in. I settled for a humble 194, dispatching the chicanes with a twitter from the abs, hurling in and chasing away again, hanging on to the bouncing tail. I was stil learning the place as I went; at 8.5 miles per lap it took over ten minutes just to run three laps. Then I noticed black smoke bil owing over the treetops.
I kept on it as far as Mulsanne corner, the slowest point on the circuit, with a curved braking point that welcomed the brave and the good to overcook it and wind up at a roundabout ful of locals taking photos and gnawing French sticks. Been there, done that, worn the onions.
The Porsche bucked from the hard lip of the blue and yel ow apex kerb and stopped just in time to keep me on the black. From a virtual
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