Pironi

by David Sedgwick

  At 2pm on a warm Buenos Aires summer’s day, Didier slotted the 008 into 23rd position on the starting grid. Just one car had qualified slower – the privately entered McLaren of Brett Lunger. Ahead a galaxy of 1970s legends: Lauda, Andretti, Hunt, Scheckter, Reutemann. ‘Don’t go too fast. Don’t get in the way of the others. Don’t leave the car…’ Prior to the off, Ken Tyrrell had imparted some fatherly instructions to his new driver. Didier started his first Grand Prix with a ‘head full of advice’.

  The race itself was long and arduous. ‘The most difficult race of my life,’ according to Didier, who brought his car home in 14th position. Patrick meanwhile finished a splendid third, a whisker behind Lauda’s Brabham-Alfa. It had been the proverbial baptism of fire.

  Two weeks later the young Tyrrell pilot scored his first ever point in F1 following a gutsy drive to sixth place at the Brazilian Grand Prix. During the weekend, comments allegedly made by Jackie Stewart met with his approval. When asked which drivers would make an ideal Formula 1 team, the Scot allegedly nominated Lauda and Pironi. High praise indeed.

  With this eye-catching performance, Didier hoped to dispel certain myths that had grown up around him: ‘What made me most happy is to disprove the reputation I tire and cannot stand the heat.’ The perception that he struggled to control his weight and that he might not always therefore be in peak physical condition had dogged him throughout his Formula Renault days. True enough, come the end of a race, face reddened and hair drenched in sweat, it did seem as if he required almost abnormal amounts of effort to sustain a level of performance appropriate for the challenges of high-level motorsport.

  ‘That was just him, a quirk,’ remembers one friend. ‘It didn’t mean he was necessarily busting a gut or anything – it was a characteristic.’ Nonetheless, the perception persisted that Didier had to work that much harder than his competitors.13

  In a portrait written in 1980 of the driver, journalist Nigel Roebuck referenced Didier’s habitual post-race condition. For a writer used to seeing the face of the young Frenchman ‘pumping with sweat’ come race end, the contrast with the driver encountered in the hotel lobby or media centre an hour or so later was striking. Washed and showered, Roebuck was amused to discover not the raging bull of half an hour earlier – he of the snorting nostrils and bulbous veins – but a somewhat laconic individual, composed, implacable, inscrutable, one ‘watching the razzmatazz around him’ with the same ‘mocking smile’ that had infuriated Imelda on so many occasions.14

  It was no secret that Didier had a fondness for good food and that he enjoyed a glass of red. While there was almost certainly a genetic disposition towards weight gain, plenty of time spent in the gymnasium, on the ski slopes and on the tennis courts ensured he retained an athletic build. ‘Beefy’ was the adjective used by Rives when interviewing the 26-year-old. Others would habitually describe his physique as ‘muscular’.

  ‘Many people expected that I would stop and faint, or that I would go off road,’ Didier further confided in Rives. By getting to the finish in the punishing heat of Sao Paulo, he had crossed a psychological bridge. ‘This reputation comes from the fact that I still sweat when I get out of a car, and observers conclude that I am tired. This judgement is completely stupid, and I was pleased to disprove it.’

  The South African Grand Prix, held at Johannesburg’s Kyalami circuit, completed the third leg of a gruelling flyaway start to the season. Along with Jarier, Arnoux, Tambay, Jabouille, Depailler and Laffite, in between practice breaks, Didier posed for photographs on the pit wall. Seven Frenchmen were now competing in Formula 1. Elf’s investment was paying dividends. After qualifying, just a few tenths separated the Tyrrell-Elf drivers: Didier’s time of 1’16.38 compared favourably with the 1’15.97 of Patrick. Another sixth-place finish in the race signalled a further step forward. Progress indeed. Three races into his career had yielded two points’ finishes, yet it was hard not to feel underwhelmed. On his way to that second F1 point, the young Elf driver had suffered the ignominy of being lapped by his team leader who, low on fuel, had driven a heroic race, denied victory by Peterson’s Lotus only on the final nail-biting lap of the race.

  ‘I was not satisfied at all because I was aware of having missed a very good result. I could have emulated Patrick if my car had been set up as well.’ Such complaints are of course not unheard of in F1. The truth, as ever, probably lies somewhere in between. As the team’s lead driver, one embarking on his sixth consecutive season with the team, Depailler would almost certainly have enjoyed some benefits that came with that status. On the other hand, he was an extremely fast and durable opponent.

  A steady run to fifth place at Monaco was overshadowed by a maiden Grand Prix victory for his team-mate. After many near misses, Depailler finally broke his duck at F1’s glamour race. Along with the victor’s laurels, Patrick took a surprise lead in the world championship – his total thus far was 23 points, five better than Andretti and Reutemann tied together on 18. While nobody in the F1 paddock would have denied Patrick his moment of glory, Didier must have experienced mixed emotions. Tyrrell led the championship. However, in the 008 did the team really have a championship contender on their hands? Didier was dubious. He was right to be.

  Frustration increased at the US Grand Prix at Long Beach. With 45 minutes of practice remaining, a shock awaited the driver when he pulled into the pits for what he thought would be minor adjustments to his transmission: nothing happened. As far as the team were concerned, his practice was over.

  ‘When I asked Ken why, he replied that there was no time. I was dying to repair it myself, but again, that’s part of the things not to do. In short, I did not re-join the circuit, and my time, as I feared, did not do me justice.’ Result: 22nd and last on the starting grid.

  At Belgium’s Zolder circuit, Patrick qualified almost three seconds off Andretti’s pole time. Tyrrell were slipping backwards. Indeed, after his sensational start, the championship leader would reach the podium on just one other occasion (Austria) during the entire season. This was the era of ground effect – Colin Chapman’s devilishly clever aerodynamic system that glued the car to the tarmac, thus facilitating incredible road-holding which in turn enabled hair-raising speeds, especially in corners. Didier’s sixth place come race end was the fourth time he had reached the points in his first six Grands Prix – not too shabby by any standards, but nowhere near good enough for this driven young man.

  Life on the Grand Prix circuit was turning out to be very different from the protective hub of the Magny-Cours ‘village’. Understandably, a little time would be required to fully acclimatise to this hectic environment. Indeed, many of Didier’s comments during his first full year in F1 can be interpreted as a reaction to entering an alien environment. 1978 was, if anything, a year of culture shock.

  As the season wore on, results dried up for both Patrick and Didier. The 008 had flattered to deceive. The biggest plus for Didier came on those few occasions he managed to out-qualify his team leader.

  Two points earned at a sticky Hockenheim in late July proved to be Didier’s last of the season. Dicing with Emerson Fittipaldi did, however, afford the opportunity to learn yet another lesson, this time from a past master. Using his straight-line speed advantage to good effect, the rookie had fended off the Brazilian for several laps. At the Sachs hairpin, however, the double world champion caught the Frenchman napping. Emerson took the place. ‘He had never attacked me there before,’ reflected Didier, ‘so much so that I no longer watched for him in my mirrors at the corner and suddenly I saw him there besides me, on my left. It was a good lesson.’ It was a lesson Didier would use himself four years on to execute arguably F1’s most controversial overtake ever.

  There would be many more lessons in this long, difficult season. True, Ken Tyrrell watched over his protégé with the same avuncularity he did with all his young protégés, but the big, friendly bear could hardly protect his cub from some of the harsher realities of Formula 1 racing.

>   Although junior drivers are no strangers to accidents, those in F1 tend to be that much bigger than in lower formulae, a reality very much born out at the start of the Dutch Grand Prix. Just moments into the race, the field threaded its way around the tight Tarzan hairpin. Bunched together, the midfield drivers jockeyed for position. Exiting the chicane, Didier was dicing with his old F2 adversary, Riccardo Patrese. The two cars touched. Cutting across the racetrack seemingly locked together, Arrows and Tyrrell smashed into the guardrail, sending up a cloud of smoke and debris, before ricocheting back on to track, right into the path of oncoming drivers who, in order to avoid a potential pile-up, were obliged to take evasive action. Thankfully, both Pironi and Patrese wriggled out of their cockpits. It had been a narrow escape.

  In the next race at Monza, Ronnie Peterson was involved in a not dissimilar type of shunt as cars jostled for position. Didier was one of the first drivers on the scene. Though the Swedish ace had serious injuries, his condition was not thought to be life-threatening at that stage. Peterson died during the night. The rookie was learning first-hand that for all its glitz and glamour, F1 had a dark, sometimes brutal side. Did he have the stomach for it?

  He might have had his detractors as well as his admirers, but the one thing both factions had to agree on was that as far as bravery and guts were concerned, Didier Pironi had few equals.

  Prophecy, divination, call it what you will, at times Didier’s life seemed laced with glimpses of things to come. In early September he accepted an invitation for another crack at Formula Atlantic, this time at Trois-Rivières itself. A troublesome qualifying session resulted in the F1 man lining up in 13th spot on the 28-car grid. Saturday brought heavy rain, saturating Quebec and its environs. The race thus started in discouraging conditions. Water seeping into his electrics, the Chevron of Riccardo Patrese gave up the ghost on the parade lap! In the race, Didier was breathing down the neck of the leading duo of Price Cobb and Bill Brack when the black flag appeared on the 21st lap. The race was being stopped. In an eerie foreshadowing of events four years hence, Californian Mike Rocke suffered horrific injuries to his lower legs after losing control of his car on the ultra-fast Boulevard du Carmel. The hapless American could not prevent the vehicle smashing heavily into the guardrail. The March 77B was destroyed on impact. As rescue services gathered, amputation of the right foot had been required. Rocke’s career ended there and then in the wreckage of his car on that dismal afternoon. Déjà vu …

  Twelve

  Hero of France

  Arguably the most famous motor race in the world, the Le Mans 24-hour race is also one of its toughest. Held each June, the race attracts large fields of competitors and vast crowds. It is the ultimate motor racing marathon, 350-plus laps of the 8.5-mile circuit incorporating the awesome 3.7-mile long Mulsanne straight. Racing through the night into the small hours, pilots swoop into team garages where soporific co-drivers rouse themselves from snatched sleep to take their turn behind the wheel. The winners of this gruelling slog are feted, lionised, immortalised. Les 24 Heures du Mans is an event like no other.

  As the 1978 running approached, the pressure, which had been mounting on Renault management for several years, threatened to explode. 1978 was going to be their year, a last glorious attack on the world-famous race held on home soil, the board’s idea of the perfect finale before a serious attempt to conquer Formula 1. Vast amounts of francs had already been invested in the project, an estimated £20 million, calculated in 2017 exchange rates.

  After the fiasco of 1977, failure was not an option. Heads were on the block.

  The yellow, matt black and white Alpines had looked impregnable at one stage during that race, running 1-2-3 at the head of the field in all their Gallic pomp. Disaster had then struck. Each of the three cars had, in turn, succumbed to piston failure. Seventeen hours into the race, the Jabouille/Bell combination had been cruising down the Mulsanne straight when Jean-Pierre had noticed a puff of white smoke in his mirrors. Race over. Renault faces turned bright red. Broadcast live around the world, it was nothing short of national humiliation, more so when deadly rivals Porsche took victory. The ruthlessly efficient Germans from Stuttgart had a nasty habit of triumphing on French soil. It was time to fight back, to repel the old enemy.

  This year’s running would thus become a mission to restore lost pride, to heal wounds that, 12 months on, were still raw. Renault Sport Division manager Gerard Larousse was told in no uncertain terms that a repeat of 1977 would not be tolerated. Renault had to win at all costs. La Republic expected.

  The Regie could at least draw upon a pool of exceptionally gifted drivers: Jabouille, Arnoux, Tambay, Depailler, Jassaud, Pironi, Jarier, Bell … the list went on. Larousse was spoilt for choice. As any soccer manager will testify, winning teams tend to pick themselves, so it was just a case of matching up drivers and allocating them to one of the team’s three factory Alpines. After some thought, Larousse had his team: Jabouille and Tambay would team up in the first-string car, Renault 1; Depailler and Pironi would partner in Renault 2; Bell and Jarier would share Renault 3; and a fourth car would accommodate Jassaud, Ragnotti and Frequelin.

  Such was the desire to erase 1977 from the collective memory, testing for the 1978 race had begun almost immediately after that calamitous June day. In Ohio’s Transport Research Centre, Renault had been alerted to a 7.5-mile track where their A442 could be tested to breaking point. Crucially, the American facility boasted a couple of two-mile-long straights, an ideal environment to replicate the fearsome Hunaudières section of Le Mans, where speeds of 225mph are routinely attained, for almost a full minute – the cause, according to Renault boffins, of the infamous piston failures of ’77. The V6 turbo had simply not been able to take the strain. Once bitten. The testing team hit the Columbus circuit with something approaching zeal.

  It was in Ohio that Didier was reacquainted with Jean-Pierre Jassaud, the man he would ultimately partner in the race and whom he had first met when the older man had been observing a Formula Renault race at Nogaro. That initial meeting had left a lasting impression on the veteran racer:

  ‘Didier had the quickest lap but I felt he should have set his car up better,’ recalls Jean-Pierre. ‘I noticed he was cornering with only three wheels on the ground … So, I went to meet him to suggest he would do better with four wheels on the ground. He replied it was the way he liked to drive and that there was no reason to change!’

  Testing continued apace until halted by snowfall. Renault returned home enlightened, but still with plenty of work to do.

  To ensure the fleet were not afflicted with the same problem as per ’77, each of the four Alpines would be configured slightly differently. The Regie were not taking any chances. Unveiled two weeks prior to scrutinising, the Renault number 1 of Jabouille and Depailler for example, displayed a raft of modifications. An increase in boost increased its top speed to 360kmh (224mph) – 10kmh more than its compatriots. Jabouille and Tambay rejected the introduction of a plexiglass cockpit ‘bubble’ to aid aero efficiency, complaining of claustrophobia and a decrease in the field of vision. Having tested the innovation during night runs at d’Istres military airfield north of Marseille in April, Jassaud was more enthusiastic. Firstly, the hood shielded drivers from the draught. In the same way, it also provided protection from debris such as stones: Didier had found his helmet dented with the imprints of hundreds of tiny stones, kicked up off the military tarmac at the end of the d’Istres session. Not only this, but it resulted in an 8kmh increase in straight-line speed. A hot, cramped cockpit seemed a small price to pay. Whether that would still be the case 24 hours on, nobody could yet tell.

  After an accident in which he suffered burns to his legs ruled Tambay out, and Frequelin injured himself in a road accident, Larousse needed to shuffle his pack. Then it came to him: Pironi and Jassaud! Youth and age. The Renault manager decided to take a calculated risk. If maturity could temper the excesses of youth, then maybe, just maybe, this might be a winnin
g combination. Fifteen years senior to his new co-driver, Jassaud declared himself ‘delighted’ by developments. That the new partnership came together just in time for first practice did not faze the man from Caen one iota. He had for company a lion, a very hungry one.

  Besides, the former French Formula 3 champion had a plan, which he revealed to Martine Camus.15 The key lay in psychology. The older driver knew that the younger man would wish to prove himself the faster of the pairing; it was only natural. Such inter-team competition was bound to push their car along. It might also jeopardise their race. Jean-Pierre took his team-mate aside:

  ‘If we want to win the trick is to define a range of times and stick to it, regardless of what the others are doing,’ counselled J-P, who understood what it took to win this event more than most. If he could channel the young lion’s aggression, then they might just reach a level of consistency to launch and sustain a serious challenge. Jassaud suggested lap times in the 3’40 and 3’45 range, with the younger man aiming to lap at the lower end of the range, while the older driver would content himself him to lap in the higher end. Didier agreed.

  In Pironi and Jassaud, Renault had a wild card, a balance of blinding speed and tactical acumen. Should Depailler and Jabouille falter, in the shape of Jarier/Bell and Jassaud/Pironi there was plenty of back-up. When the dust settled on this game of musical chairs, José Dolhem replaced Jassaud in the fourth Alpine, just the type of adventure the older brother-cousin delighted in.