Aussie Grit

by Mark Webber

  Annie and I asked Red Bull Racing Sporting Director Christian Horner about him and he said, ‘Just humour him and you’ll be fine. He’s only involved with the young driver program and you’re not a part of that.’ Mateschitz–Marko–Horner: how could I have anticipated the influence that this unlikely Anglo-Austrian triumvirate would be exerting over my life for the next seven years?

  There was another plus to joining Red Bull Racing: ‘DC’ was going to be my teammate. David Coulthard had added his own chapter to Scotland’s fine record in F1, claiming 13 Grand Prix victories while with Williams in 1994–95 (he picked the right time to be there!) and McLaren, to whom he gave yeoman service from 1996 to the end of 2004. He had been a founding member of the Red Bull team back in 2005 and he deserves enormous credit for his contribution in those early years, particularly in helping persuade them to bring Adrian Newey on board. I knew David and that we could enjoy a really good relationship racing alongside each other.

  And so it turned out: the biggest thing I learned from David was how strong and purposeful you have to be in your directions to the team. It’s not about building cosy friendships, it’s about saying what needs to be said to get the job done. It was good for me to see how direct he was on the professional front, because that side of my driving life had taken such a battering at Williams. DC is also a product of the Jackie Stewart school of charm and grooming! His whole life from a very young age has evolved around motor sport; he doesn’t take much interest in other sports. He was surprised, I remember, when I got involved in my Tasmanian adventure race while still active in F1. At the back end of his racing career he launched himself into media work and became a seasoned pro at it. He’s just a bloody good bloke to be around. He’s a straight shooter and we have a lot of respect for each other.

  It was also very refreshing for me to come out of Williams when I did. The initial feeling in my new surroundings was one of relief. Being part of the Red Bull family, I was going to have the opportunity to do lots of fun stuff away from the track, although of course Christian had insisted that the Red Bull Racing focus was firmly on the circuits, where the important work was taking place. Christian had the knack of giving you a bit of a Chinese burn, knowing what you needed to work on without getting carried away with it. He knew the little trigger-points you needed to touch to improve as a driver, but he knew I was pretty self-analytical as well. It was such a different flavour, and it brought renewed drive and motivation.

  But when all is said and done, there was one overriding consideration in my decision to go to Red Bull: I didn’t really have any other option. F1 treads a fine line between success and failure, and I was teetering on that tightrope as my sixth season as a Grand Prix driver approached. Within a short space of time I got on good terms with the boys at the team, both the factory-based staff and those travelling to the tests and races, many of whom had been there in my Jaguar days. I was living 25 minutes away from the factory and spent a lot of time there. I used to encourage the guys to get into their fitness, organising some mountain-biking as we had done at Jaguar and competing in a few events together. There were occasional excursions to soccer matches, or to Cardiff to watch my fellow Australian Jason Crump in the major speedway events. It wasn’t just ‘my’ boys, either – quite often some of the guys who worked on the other car would join us. If you haven’t lived in the UK, it’s hard to imagine how long the winter nights can be. They’re even longer if you are working late or on the night-shift, so I used to stop in, if I was on the way back from a function, say, and have a chat, or arrange for some pizzas to be delivered.

  The smile was back on the dial. But there were a few frowns around the Red Bull camp as pre-season testing unfolded, with Christian confessing in the first week of March that we were about four weeks behind in our preparations. This was largely due to a defect in our wind-tunnel work that Adrian had picked up on and begun to correct, but that four-week time lag complicated our lives because the first race was only two weeks away.

  The team’s stated aim was to be the leaders of the midfield pack behind the usual big guns, which in 2007 were Ferrari, McLaren and BMW. We would be in the race-within-a-race, the second tier, if you like, which would pit us against Renault, Toyota and Williams. But four races into the season Christian’s tone changed: he was fired up about the reliability issues affecting the RB3’s early performances that had the media talking about our quality control systems.

  My home race weekend in Australia – always something of a test of endurance, both for me and my car – began well enough but a good start was compromised by a poor pit stop when the fuel flap wouldn’t open, then wouldn’t close. In our high-tech F1 world the boys had to resort to a screwdriver to pry the bloody thing open! It may sound like a trivial problem, but so sensitive are these F1 beasts that the flap staying open meant a 7 per cent loss in down-force at the rear of my car, which pretty much killed my rear wing, and I finished 13th. But at least I made it to the end, which is more than could be said for DC, who chose to demonstrate the inherent strength of a Formula 1 car by taking off across Alex Wurz’s Williams in spectacular style at Turn 3 on the opening lap, happily with no harm to either driver.

  I reached the heady heights of P10 in Malaysia, then the fuel-flap fiasco hit me again in Bahrain in the third round, where I posted my first Red Bull DNF with gearbox problems to boot. In the circumstances David’s fifth-place finish in Spain was a bit of a breakthrough, but it came despite the car rather than because of it as he lost third gear at a crucial stage and had to nurse it to the line. A second DNF in Monaco was another disappointment for me following an engine sensor glitch, an early spin in Canada cost me several places, but then came a breakthrough of my own in the United States. At Indianapolis I enjoyed a race-long duel with Jarno Trulli’s Toyota and emerged with seventh place, my first points for my new team at last.

  Although I didn’t realise its significance at the time, that race was also a landmark for another reason. In Canada Robert Kubica had survived a stunningly fast shunt in his BMW Sauber, which was great testimony to the work we had been doing through the GPDA and the FIA to improve safety, but medical advice saw him sidelined for the next race as a precautionary measure. Into his seat came a young German who had come through the Red Bull ranks and had competed in Formula BMW. His name was Sebastian Vettel. Born in Heppenheim in south-western Germany, he began go-karting at the age of seven, and with Red Bull funding he had impressed in the junior categories. He made his F1 debut at the ripe old age of 19 years and 349 days and scored a World Championship point by finishing one place behind me in eighth at Indianapolis. In doing so, he became the youngest driver ever to score World Championship points until another Red Bull junior driver, Daniil Kvyat, superseded him in 2014 – one of many record-breaking firsts that Red Bull have made a conscious habit of collecting. In the 2015 Malaysian Grand Prix, 17-year old Max Verstappen lowered the record again when he finished seventh for Toro Rosso!

  Indianapolis wasn’t the first time Seb and I had crossed paths. I first met him when he did his initial F1 test for Williams at Jerez in 2006. He struck me then as being very young and not yet physically strong enough to hang on to these cars. They were what I call real cars at that time, with massive power on tap, and very tricky to hold in that performance envelope of within a tenth or two on every lap. During that test session, when I asked Sebastian his first impressions, his answer was: ‘This is not for me – it’s just way too quick!’ Jerez is a tricky little circuit with some quick corners, and he was a little bit of a rabbit in the headlights. But a 20-second time differential per lap is a big shift, mentally, for anyone and that’s what he was finding out that day.

  *

  Not long after the start of my first season with RBR, I had to manage a bit of a family upset. When Ann and I moved to our present home at the end of 2004, we bought one another housewarming presents – two 12-week old puppies! Ann’s was a Weimaraner she named Shadow and mine a Rhodesian ridgeback which I
called Milo after the iconic Aussie chocolate and malt drink! I had been around dogs all my life, but they had been essentially working dogs and I never formed a close attachment to them. Milo and Shadow, in stark contrast, quickly became cosseted and fully signed-up members of the Webber household.

  We had come home from the early season ‘fly-away’ races and noticed that Milo was limping quite badly. Initially we thought it was just a harmless strain, but after numerous tests and X-rays he was diagnosed with cancer in one of his front legs. He was only two and a half years old. Annie and I were at Magny-Cours for the French Grand Prix when the vet phoned to tell us the news. That night we were both a mess and barely slept. When the vet suggested that Milo’s life could be saved if we had the affected leg amputated, we didn’t hesitate. The week between the French and British Grands Prix became a blur, travelling between home, the vet and the animal hospital where Milo was to have the operation. It went well and he recovered to become the fastest three-legged dog in Buckinghamshire. However, we were warned by the vet there was a slim chance the cancer could return as a secondary tumour in the lungs and that the telltale sign would be a cough, so that was always on our radar.

  Meanwhile, Silverstone brought some good news with the announcement that DC and I would team up again for Red Bull in 2008, but we weren’t able to build on our Indianapolis points for another three races, so it took us until the 10th round of the season to achieve a really significant result.

  It came at a place that was becoming quite important in my F1 résumé, the Nürburgring, where I had finished sixth and seventh in my two Jaguar seasons. It was the scene of the 2007 European Grand Prix, where I claimed the second podium of my career and my first for Red Bull Racing. I was helped by the fact that the two BMWs hit each other on the opening lap in the rain. As always seemed to be the case up there in the Eifel Mountains it was wet or drizzly a lot of the weekend and it was all about being on the right tyres at the right time. I put in a long second stint on the dry-weather version and slotted in behind Fernando Alonso’s McLaren and Felipe Massa’s Ferrari, which had a massive battle for the win. I wasn’t all that unhappy to see Kimi’s Ferrari retire, either, as that gave me a reasonably clear run home. In terms of pure results, that was the highlight of my debut year with Red Bull, but I should say in passing that the very next race, in Hungary, was one of my best. It was a two-stopper, an epic fight with Heikki Kovalainen’s Renault lap after lap, on the limit all day – to finish ninth. A long day at the office for no reward.

  Spa-Francorchamps in Belgium is another of the greatest tracks in F1 history. Even though it’s now only half of its original 14.8-kilometre length, it still rises, swoops and swerves through the beautiful forested landscape of the Ardennes, close to where the Battle of the Bulge took place in the Second World War. Spa has always been a favourite of mine, and in 2007 I reached the milestone of my 100th Grand Prix there.

  However, the world was less focused on me than on McLaren: the news had just broken of their staggering $100 million fine over the spying case involving Ferrari ‘secrets’. Not only that, but my Scottish teammate was very low after the death, in a helicopter accident, of his compatriot, friend and rallying superstar Colin McRae on the Saturday of the Spa weekend.

  Where we traditionally stayed for Spa was a small family-run hotel called Le Roannay in Francorchamps. It’s a quirky place but everyone in F1 would stay there, especially in the days when there wasn’t much in the way of decent accommodation available so close to the track. It’s convenient, it has its own helipad and right up until my final year in F1 we stayed there and flew in and out by chopper to Liege. That evening, David and Karen Richards (David ran Prodrive, the team with whom Colin enjoyed much of his WRC success) had flown in for the weekend only to be greeted by the terrible news. I heard it over the phone from a distraught Bernie Shrosbree, who had worked closely with Colin when he drove for Ford and was one of the first on the scene when he suffered his huge rallying crash in Corsica. So was my physio Roger Cleary, whom Bernie had recommended to me and who joined Team Webber in mid-2006. David and Karen were so distraught that they left first thing in the morning; unbelievably they had a nasty scare themselves when they had to crash-land their own helicopter in a field in Essex on the way home.

  It was hardly any consolation, but back on track I put a good move on Heikki Kovalainen on the uphill run to Les Combes on the third lap and DC did a good job as my tail-gunner against Robert Kubica, so seventh place was mine. It was pleasing to beat the other Renault team but the feeling persisted that we simply weren’t quick enough, which had been underlined by mediocre showings in Turkey and Italy. The Spa result was the last real on-track highlight of my first season as a Red Bull Racing driver.

  If you want a low-light, look no further than the very next race, at Fuji in Japan. It was a very tough weekend for a number of reasons. One of those was a dose of food poisoning. I’m a great fan of seafood, which we had enjoyed for dinner the previous evening, but by three the next morning I was in big trouble. I was dehydrated and weakened by the time we went to the grid. I couldn’t keep anything down and I rang Roger to ask him to come and offer any assistance he could. We took the decision not to tell anyone except Christian, which we did at the track. I was so drained, and it was only shortly before I got in the car that I tried some soup to see if I could keep that down. I couldn’t – and the fans nearby must have been shocked by what they saw as I emptied my guts on the grass. I know the Renault mechanics were! The stop–start jolts behind the safety car in the race didn’t help either, and I can tell you on good authority that being sick in a racing helmet is not an experience to be repeated.

  The other reason why that Fuji weekend was not a brilliant success was Sebastian Vettel. By this time the new German Wunderkind had switched from BMW Sauber to drive for the rest of the season with our sister team, Toro Rosso. But what he did to me in Japan wasn’t very brotherly.

  The track itself was treacherous because of heavy rain. There were rivers across the circuit everywhere. The race started behind the safety car and remained that way for the first 19 of the scheduled 67 laps. Once we were allowed to race, I led laps 32–36; shortly after that the safety car was out again because Fernando aquaplaned off on lap 42, hitting a barrier at Turn 6; that left me in second place behind race leader Lewis Hamilton’s McLaren with Vettel next in line behind me. We were looking at a podium or even a win, which of course would have been Red Bull’s first and a genuine milestone for the team.

  I thought if I put pressure on Lewis he might start thinking about the big picture, championship-wise. He was being a bit of a smart-arse behind the safety car, which still had its lights on. The field was yo-yoing back and forward behind him as he worked his car’s tyres and brakes. Apparently he was on the horn to his pit wall, asking them to tell Red Bull Racing to instruct me to back off. At one point he veered over to the side, and I drew alongside him to see what he was up to. Vettel had already been a bit wild behind me during the first safety car period, but that hadn’t prepared me for what happened next. BANG! It seems he had been watching Lewis’s car – and forgotten about mine, so fairly predictably he ran right up the back of me and we were both out on the spot.

  After the race I had to go to the medical centre because I was so dehydrated, and deflated because a great opportunity had gone begging. The boys back in the garage took a long time to get over that. I did nothing wrong, and yet I got no reward. I heard later that Sebastian was in tears. I think he was quite frightened to see me the first time after it happened! He got his apology out pretty quickly, and I didn’t hesitate when I was asked for my view of proceedings.

  ‘It’s kids, isn’t it?’ I replied. ‘They haven’t got enough experience. They do a good job and then they f#*k it all up. A little bit of day-dreaming cost both teams a lot of points.’

  It wasn’t the last time Sebastian would fall foul of safety cars … and for our team it was nothing short of a disaster.

 
I was fifth on the grid for the final race in Brazil but I was out after just 14 laps with another transmission failure. The five points we needed to beat Williams didn’t materialise, which was a disappointing way to end that little battle, one I would have enjoyed winning. But at least we found some late-season pace for the people at the factory to latch on to for the winter ahead.

  I now had 103 races under my belt and another podium to my record, finishing 12th overall, two places higher than the previous year. But neither I nor Red Bull Racing had set the world on fire. We were still a long way from where we wanted to be.

  10

  A Challenge of a Different Kind: 2008

  AT THE START OF 2008, THERE WAS MORE THAN JUST F1 ON my mind when what Ann and I were fearing came true. While I was away testing at Jerez in southern Spain, Ann detected our dog Milo had developed a chesty cough and sure enough, a visit to the vet and an X-ray revealed cancer in one of his lungs. I’d never really understood what it was like to form that special bond with an animal. In fact when I was younger I could never understand why my sister Leanne got so upset when she lost one of her pets. I barely paid any attention, never mind giving her any sympathy. Now it was happening to one of my own dogs. Milo and Shadow were a massive part of our home life; they were my mates and my training companions. I would seek them out as soon as I arrived home from a race and take them for a long walk, just the three of us, as I unwound from the stresses and demands of a Grand Prix weekend.