Page 2
For the rest of that year, fortnightly Sunday afternoon's were spent watching the television; cheering my hero instead of playing football in the local park. Many an argument subsequently arose with my friends concerning my priorities but I was unmoved - from now on, grand prix racing was my life.
The following June, as an early birthday present, my father announced we would be going to Silverstone. Overcome with calmness and maturity, I proceeded to jump up and down uncontrollably, knowing that I would finally get to see the Formula One circus in person and more importantly, I would be observing Ayrton Senna drive before my very eyes.
The weekend itself was nothing short of amazing. Standing at Stowe on Saturday morning, I repeatedly asked my father when the cars would be arriving. "Soon," was the reply each time. Growing frustrated with the lack of 'on track' activity, I heard something in the distance. My heart now increasing it's rhythm, I stopped mid-sentence, put my hand to my ear and listened intently. Gradually the familiar sound got closer...closer...closer. I opened my eyes and stood up alongside my fellow enthusiasts. Suddenly, exciting Copse, a black car homed into view. Within seconds I heard someone announce "That's Ayrton Senna isn't it?" I looked up, dazed...hoping, unsure if what I heard was true...
It was then I recognised the colour scheme and the yellow helmet. This was it - the first grand prix car I have ever seen in front of me, and Ayrton Senna is driving it. I was on cloud nine. All around me were cheers, the entire crowd welcoming the first driver onto the circuit, bar one. I couldn't make a sound - the excitement was too much. I just stood there, watching, smiling. No sooner had the Brazilian arrived, than he had gone. Screaming past me like a freight train, the noise was defening, the smell of exhaust fumes amazing. As the JPS Lotus headed up to Abbey and out of view, I turned and looked at my father with a look of bewilderment written across my face. "You enjoying it son?" I couldn't speak, I merely nodded. Words were incomprehensible, an untenable source of communication towards the emotions I was experiencing. A minute later, the Brazilian flashed passed again. Still registering no sound, I stared endlessly, demonstrably impressed with his speed and car control at the colossal break neck speeds he was attaining. Within a few moments, the track was littered with cars, people all around me cheering the drivers on. The sheer drama now unfolding before my very eyes, I could feel my heart desperate to explode. My world was complete.
| Here's the follow-up discussion on this article: | View all related messages |
For a complete listing of article comments, questions, and other discussions related to Max J. Davies's Auto Racing topic, please visit the Discussions page.