...live long and prosper...
Sunday. Midday silence.
A distant turbo wail getting louder. Six howling cylinders push the perfect automobile. Chequered flag.
Formula one


My first memories of Formula-1 are of sunny Sunday afternoons, waking up from my midday sleep by the distant sounds of the cars, as my father watched the grands prix. I still remember going to sit by his side, still half-asleep, watching as the brightly painted cars sped and turned and vanished from the screen in the blink of an eye.
I still remember strange names of pilots, half-hidden in the mist of time: René Arnoux, Elio de Angelis, Michele Alboreto, Andrea de Cesaris... more famous drivers like Alain Prost, Nelson Piquet, Keke Rosberg, of course the man that returned from the flames to win a championship Niki Lauda and the one: Ayrton Senna. But more for him on his own private section.
I still remember the even stranger names of teams, collectives of talent that no longer are: Ligier, Lotus, Toleman-Heart, Alfa Romeo, Lola, Brabham... and the widely known Williams, Renault, Honda and of course, McLaren.


The late '80s found me actively watching the grands prix. The main reason was a young pilot with a yellow-green helmet, that I had accidentally watched a day after my birthday, on a rainy June Sunday, at the Monaco GP of 1984. They used to call him "Magic"...
The domination of McLaren and the turbo Honda in 1988, followed by their continued success until 1992 with the atmospheric Honda V10 and V12 engines pretty much secured my personal likes and dislikes.
I kept on watching the championship throughout the "electronic" era; however, I was rather disgusted at the fact that the winning teams had computers driving their cars. That era, however, compensated me with an amazing performance at Donnington's European Grand Prix of 1993.
That era for me ended abruptly on the 1st of May of 1994. I was not to watch another Grand Prix for the next four years.

...to be continued

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