Nigel Mansell Autobiography

by Nigel Mansell

  So I adjusted my style. I understood that by braking softly I would be able to manipulate the centre of pressure on the car. His springs were a little bit different to mine, so consequently the centre of pressure wasn’t changing in the same way as it did on my car. His car was really good in places mine wasn’t and vice versa. I mentioned earlier that the brain is a personal computer, and it took me quite a few laps to compute and programme my own brain to be at one with this car.

  To be accurate, I wouldn’t say I was ever ‘at one’ with Nelson’s car, not in the way I could be with my own, but eventually I was beginning to drive it very fast indeed. I had to smile because he was driving absolutely beautifully that day, and I was thinking, Crap – he has not made one mistake. As you know, Nelson and I weren’t exactly best friends, but I will quite happily say that he was driving brilliantly.

  His superb driving just fuelled the impetus to give him a hard time. Then it happened. He made one tiny mistake. He actually missed one gear in the whole race, second to third on to the back straight, and that was enough for me to slice through, because I was close enough to have the momentum to get past him. With difficulty, but I did. That is how I won the race. He made one mistake. A single minuscule error that enabled me to beat him. That was a really hard race for him to lose and a brilliant race for me to win, in Nelson’s own spare car. Nelson’s second place also made it Williams’ first one-two of the season, topping off a pretty triumphant weekend for the team all round.

  I was now leading the World Championship by four points, and I stayed out in front until the final race. The only real blip was in Mexico in mid-October. It was Murray Walker’s birthday party the night before and, unfortunately, I must have eaten something bad because I went down with Montezuma’s revenge. Before the race, I was in the loo every five minutes and my constitution didn’t improve as I headed for the start line.

  Oh, my goodness me, driving the car that day was pitiful, terrible. When you are sitting in a car basically having accidents in your racing suit down every straight, it’s not where you wanna be. To make matters worse, first gear wouldn’t engage at the start and I was frightened that someone might shunt into the back of me, like I had seen with several bad accidents before. That’s not a good feeling when you are already in the state I was! I laugh about it now, but it is the one race out of my entire grand prix career that was the most horrendous time of my life. Not great. It wasn’t funny to me but a lot of other people found it hilarious. The mechanics even painted a line from the pit lane to the toilet. Sods! Still, I managed to finish fifth.

  Arriving in Adelaide for that season finale, I was six points in front of Prost, so my task was pretty simple: finish third or higher and the title was mine. I was relaxed and focused. I played golf with Greg Norman beforehand, and Rosanne was at the race with me. Initially, the race went reasonably well, especially after Prost pitted with a puncture. Keke also had tyre trouble and sadly retired from what would be his last ever grand prix, a big loss to the paddock. Murray Walker, commentating at the time, said, ‘Nigel Mansell is using every ounce of his considerable intelligence, acumen and experience’, going on to say that if I went on to win, ‘how richly it will have been deserved’.

  Then, as I was consolidating my third position, with a very comfortable gap between myself and Stefan Johansson in fourth, and the world title in sight a few laps away, my left rear tyre exploded savagely at 196mph, leaving me to wrestle the car to safety as it twitched violently and shuddered along the straight to a gradual, dejected halt. All hopes of a title win disintegrated with the shredded rubber scattered across the tarmac. The footage of my tyre exploding so dramatically in a shower of sparks is one of the most famous snapshots of Formula 1 in any era. Murray Walker even called it ‘the most memorable shot of all time’. The world title was gone.

  That blow-out – what it meant for my title hopes – was obviously personally devastating. I think the most heartbreaking thing for me was that I could’ve been driving a lot faster. My overall lap times were relatively modest, but I’d made up my mind that third place was fine, it was enough to win the world title, so I resolved to stroke the car home on to the podium and ultimately the title. I felt as if I had everything under control. Prost was not far in front of me and Nelson was leading, but I wasn’t trying to overhaul either of them; I was just following Alain at a sensible distance. If I’d been pushing hard and driving beyond the limits of the car, then maybe I could’ve accepted the blow-out more easily, but as it was, I felt very harshly treated by Lady Luck.

  I did radio in to the pits to ask about coming in for tyres, but I was told that it was not necessary. I do not blame the team. Let me be very clear – the team were only acting on the information they had been given by Goodyear, which was that there were no issues with undue wear, so I absolutely do not hold anything against my garage, not at all. Also, you need to bear in mind that as far as Goodyear were concerned, the tyres were okay. Piquet had pitted several laps before and degradation wasn’t an issue at that point. So no one was acting carelessly. It was just one of those things that can sometimes happen in motorsport. Tyre degradation is a combination of wear, load and heat cycle. As the tyre wears, it starts to allow more slip, which in turn loses traction and therefore temperatures increase due to friction; all the time the tyre is shedding more rubber, which is evident on TV as ‘marbles’, small chunks of rubber discarded at the side of the racing line. Sometimes, however, the degradation has far more catastrophic effects, such as my massive blow-out.

  It was Goodyear and the team’s call and I was comfortable with their decision. Besides, in those days, making a pit stop was very complicated and all sorts of things could go wrong – a nut could get cross-threaded, a wheel could fall off, it could be tricky – so in many ways I was relieved they didn’t call me in. I was just thinking, Stroke the car home, third is all you need, only 19 laps to go. Because of the lap times we were doing, I hadn’t lost much grip and wasn’t putting huge amounts of stress on the rubber; it was just that none of us expected the tyre would delaminate and explode in the way it did.

  Even within the confines of a blow-out, I was unlucky. A tyre exploding is in itself no big deal; you can often get back to the pits, change tyres and go back out. The problem was the force of the explosion was so violent that it broke the rear suspension and also tore the rear brakeline off. So the car was on three wheels with very little braking. At over 190mph, that was one hell of a moment, let me tell you.

  The first I knew of the problem was when the car instantaneously tried to turn sideways into the wall. I had to opposite lock it, the physical movement of the car was so incredibly violent. Bear in mind the tyres were a lot bigger in those days. I remember pressing the overtake boost to get past the Ligier of Philippe Alliot so that I could follow Alain into the corner, and shortly after that the tyre just let fly. It felt like a bomb had gone off.

  At that speed, I could’ve had a terrible accident and been seriously injured, which I instinctively knew, so I used every bone in my body to wrestle the car to safety. Self-preservation kicks in; you just know that if you crash the car at that speed, with a wall so close by, it is going to be a biggie. So I fought to control the car in any way I could. Sadly for me, I did manage to control it and I came to a halt in a safe run-off area. Why sadly? Because the reality was that, if I had crashed, they may well have put the red flag out, and, as the race was already over two-thirds completed, they would’ve taken the result from the positions the lap before and I would’ve been crowned world champion! That never crossed my mind. I was trying to avoid slamming into a wall at over 190mph, not mentally flicking through the pages of the rule book. To date, I’d driven the best part of 15,000 miles in F1 races and here I was, only 44 miles short of winning the world title. James Hunt, commentating on a pit-lane camera shot of me, said, ‘Poor Mansell, that is terrible . . . at the last moment,’ while Murray said, ‘There’s the unfortunate Nigel Mansell, bathed in sweat, his face a mask
of tragedy.’

  That incident was very hard to come to terms with. It felt so unfair. As I mentioned, Williams won the Constructors’ Championship that year, which was an amazing achievement especially when you consider that Frank’s terrible car crash could have derailed the team before the season had even begun. However, Williams was a special team and everyone, from Frank and Patrick Head down, did an incredible job for the entire season. Sadly, in my opinion, Alain didn’t win the drivers’ title, we lost it. Prost even graciously said himself that he felt sorry for me, having himself twice lost the title at the very last race of the season, so he understood how I would be feeling. ‘Nigel was the one who deserved it the most,’ he said. I’d lost the title by just two points.

  I wasn’t world champion. We had lost it. I use the royal ‘we’ deliberately because it was an accumulative combination of factors throughout the season, mixed in with some very bad luck. Looking back on it now, with much water having passed under the bridge, I actually feel sorry for Goodyear because it wasn’t just that one race in Adelaide that cost us the title. They didn’t deserve some of the negative publicity they received after that incident. There were probably up to 20 reasons throughout the whole year: mechanical failures that could not have been foreseen; strategy errors; driver errors on my part; and, of course, just sheer bad luck when that tyre exploded and caused the specific damage it did.

  There is no question that what put us out of that particular race was the tyre exploding and, had it not exploded, then I would have been world champion. That is true – but there were other factors. The problem for Goodyear was that it was such a visual event, so dramatic and so high profile that naturally the focus was on them and their tyres. If we had got everything right – and I include myself in that – I believe we could’ve won that title. Losing the World Championship in 1986 still hurts to this day, I am not going to lie. Even now, nearly 30 years later.

  CHAPTER 10

  RED 5 PUSHES ON

  After Adelaide, I did contemplate retiring, but I love winning and to call it a day with that graphic tyre blow-out as my last Formula 1 moment would not have sat well with me. On the day, Captain Mark Phillips was there in Adelaide and I’d like to personally thank him for consoling me in the way that he did. Once back home, I was further comforted to a degree by the fan letters and encouragement I received. Looking back a few years later, I felt that the outpouring of support after the tyre blow-out meant that it was the moment perhaps that I became the ‘people’s champion’. Although I didn’t win the title in 1986, the majority of F1 fans said that morally I was the world champion. I definitely felt a shift in support for me after Adelaide.

  There were some nice accolades too, such as the BBC Sports Personality of the Year (I later won that prestigious award a second time in my championship year, 1992). However, the loss in Australia bit deep. Back home, as I reflected on the year, the championship slipping out of my grasp, my dejection was compounded by the terrible loss of our lovely friend Elio just a few months earlier.

  On a personal level, 1987 was a very testing year. Rosanne was pregnant with our third child, Greg, but the pregnancy didn’t go well. She was hospitalised for over a week with a threatened miscarriage during the second half of the pregnancy. It was a really frightening time.

  When I look back now, I am not quite sure how we got through that time because I was racing all around the world, and for the last number of months Rosanne was totally immobilised. However, we did get through it, by staying strong and soldiering on. In the day and age we were brought up in, you were expected to face whatever you were presented with; you ‘got on with it’.

  Back in the world of F1, in 1987 I was very competitive and won six races, with eight pole positions, 14 front rows and 61 points, but I still did not win the title. I suffered several mechanical failures, including a broken exhaust, a failed weld on the turbo, a wheel nut coming off and some engine problems. These issues cost me four wins, including what would have been my first ever triumph at Monaco. As an aside, that race was never particularly kind to me. In the early days, without any question, Monaco was the most physical circuit. Mainly because of the anxiety level – there were no run-offs, nothing, you either got round the corner or you had an accident! And if you wanted to be quick, then you’d have to really hang it all out there. It is true that sometimes we’d come into the pits and the logo on the tyre walls had been rubbed off because we were driving so tight to the barriers. Monaco was a great place to race, but very unkind to me. I should’ve won there at least three times. I came second but never won. I had several pole positions, too, but Lady Luck was elsewhere – but then I don’t mind because I had Lady Luck on my side so many other times.

  In 1987, I also had what you might want to term ‘a heated exchange’ with the late great Ayrton Senna, at Spa that year. It was one of those moments when, in my opinion, Ayrton didn’t really have the respect that is necessary at that speed. I was racing hard and he blocked me when we went on the same corner at very high speed and we could easily have had a bad accident. That really concerned me. I was pretty furious.

  After the race I went to the pits to have a ‘polite’ word with him, shall I say. For the first time in my career, I saw the red mist. I will never forget the late Sheridan Thynne – the commercial director of Williams, God rest his soul – he initially stood in my way to stop me going to Ayrton’s garage, but he later told other people that as soon as he saw my eyes and the thunderous expression on my face, he jumped straight out of the way. (Sheridan was another truly fantastic, loyal supporter and great friend, a real gentleman.) He and a few others followed me to the Lotus garage.

  Once I got there, I had what you could softly describe as ‘an altercation’ with Ayrton. With one arm, I had him pinned up against the wall by the neck, his feet off the ground. Then four people each grabbed an arm or leg and dragged me away. As they did, Ayrton had a couple of swings at me too. I watched him hit me but I didn’t feel a thing at the time.

  It was pretty heated and we exchanged a few words of mutual encouragement. However, I felt I got my point across. The fascinating thing was that although it was a massive dust-up, the FIA did not fine me for the fracas at all, despite the fact they were handing out lots of penalties at the time for various incidents.

  After Spa, I have to say I noticed that Ayrton started to show me a really healthy respect, because he knew for certain that I didn’t like to be messed with. In fact, from a racing point of view we became very close and both enjoyed being formidable competitors. All through this period, there were four main protagonists in my opinion: Senna, Prost, Piquet and me. A formidable foursome. It was a special time.

  Fast-forward to three months later and I was 19 seconds in the lead in Hungary when all of a sudden a wheel nut unzipped itself and fell off. I lost the race. The words devastating, shock and disbelief spring to mind. I thought to myself, What have I got to do to get to the finish line sometimes? In any sport, if you are doing a sterling job and then it is just snatched away from you, it is hard. There is nothing you can do. What I will say is that the great thing about the Williams team was that, when something like that happened, nine times out of ten they were so disappointed for you and for themselves that no one had to say anything to anyone. It was a combined, collective disappointment. There was a real team spirit in that garage. By the way, after the wheel nut came off and I lost the race, I got back to the hotel and my beautiful daughter, Chloe, told me not to worry as she’d got me some dried flowers. That put a smile back on my face.

  Although 1987 was littered with problems and frustrations, looking back now my memories of that season always centre on one of the proudest moments of my career – my famous win at Silverstone in mid-July. This victory came after being 29 seconds behind Piquet with 28 laps to go, and was topped off by the overtaking manoeuvre that most people still ask me about to this day, when I double-bluffed Nelson down Hangar Straight. Red 5 beat White 6.

  Nelson had p
reviously endured a poor week at Paul Ricard and was perhaps also keen to avenge my win at Brands Hatch the previous year. However, Frank sportingly stuck firmly to his no-team-orders rule and just asked that we didn’t crash into each other in any on-track battle. Piquet narrowly took pole in front of a huge partisan British crowd, who I was determined to win the race for.

  Nelson was leading and I was comfortable behind him when a wheel-balancing weight came off, creating chronic vibration in my car. Eventually, I had to pit on lap 36 and, when I re-emerged, I was nearly half a minute behind with 28 laps left. It was a mountain to climb but I set about my business.

  I pretty much had to do one qualifying lap after another to catch him; it would have to be a record-breaking drive, hauling one second a lap off a world champion in a very similar car. I knew I had to maintain a record-setting pace and not make a single mistake. After just a few laps out of the pits, I started to plan my overtaking manoeuvre. Probably 20 laps out, I’d say, I was doing the maths, as early as that. The clawback was relentless, even with my fuel gauge and my pit-board team warning me about low fuel; every lap, bang, bang, bang, I was chipping away at him. I was actually hoping to get some bigger chunks off him earlier but I couldn’t because – although he is a very indifferent person – he was doing such a great job of maintaining his own fast pace. His engineers were telling him that if he could maintain his pace then I would struggle to catch him. The problem for him was that I wasn’t doing race laps, I was doing qualifying laps. In the next sequence of laps, I broke the lap record 11 times and I am very proud of that fact. Although it was an awesome deficit, once I settled into the groove and started to make inroads, I was on a mission. I could see that if I maintained the qualifying pace and drove flawlessly without any errors, then maybe within two laps before the end of the race I could be in snapping distance. I also knew I would only have one chance, because if you screwed it up that late in the race you wouldn’t get another shot.