Nigel Mansell Autobiography

by Nigel Mansell

  Colin Chapman was just the most fantastic person, who basically became my second father, my mentor and the most inspirational man in my life until the day he died. As I write this book, I still find myself getting emotional when I remember him. His premature death is still devastating to me to this day. He was truly unique.

  He was an incredible character and an unbelievable talent. The history books tell us that he was a pivotal figure in the world of motorsport and, trust me, from personal experience, every word of that is true. I would say he was both a maverick and a genius. Perhaps you can’t be one without the other, I’m not sure, but I do know that Colin was an inspirational figure with a brilliant mind. He had the ability to go off at a tangent when he was facing a problem or a particularly difficult challenge. He was surrounded by many hugely talented people and sometimes he would have an idea that might raise a few eyebrows or be considered almost bizarre. However, he would investigate that idea nonetheless and, most times, he would be proved right. I think certainly in motorsport, and also to a degree in life in general, you have to be a maverick to be brave enough to do something that most others don’t believe in, and then to have the vision to follow through on your idea. Maybe a better word than maverick would be cavalier. Certainly a genius, without a shadow of a doubt.

  Long before I finally got my chance of an F1 drive with Lotus, I was so focused on driving for Colin that I tried to think of every possible way to set myself apart from other prospective drivers. Perhaps the most extreme example of this is that I learned to fly. I am lucky enough and very proud to have held my pilot’s licence for many years, during which time I have owned and flown some wonderful planes. The truth is that I deliberately learned to fly to have synergy with Colin Chapman. I knew Colin loved his planes and helicopters, and I was convinced that if I could fly, too, we would have a great interest in common. I would be able to ‘speak the lingo’, if you like. So, even though money was extremely tight, I started flying lessons. This meant holding down three jobs and Rosanne working incredibly hard as well. Without her support at home, I simply couldn’t have afforded it. She was brilliant.

  When you are young, you can do that, you can burn the candle at both ends and still somehow get up the next morning and feel okay. Tired, maybe, but off we’d go again. I was completely dedicated to and energised by my career, and I saw Colin Chapman as the perfect team owner to drive for.

  Paying for flying lessons was exhausting for both of us. The cost was so high compared to our income that I had to have lessons spread out over many months, because we simply couldn’t afford to have one big block of tuition. It took some time but eventually I was delighted to pass the exams and earn my licence, in 1979 (I also have a helicopter pilot’s licence). Sure enough, I enjoyed many fascinating chats with Colin about flying and it was something that we definitely bonded over.

  That said, I do remember vividly one occasion when he nearly scared the living daylights out of me with a plane. One night he flew to the Lotus headquarters in Hethel, Norfolk, but unbeknown to us at the time, he’d had a little engine trouble. By which I mean one of his two engines wasn’t actually working! That’s how good a pilot he was. The team was due to fly out to Paul Ricard the next day, so the plan was for me to co-pilot with Colin and head off early the following morning. Shortly after dawn, we all piled into the plane but, as we were taxiing, I noticed I couldn’t hear one of the engines, so I politely said, ‘Er, Colin, you haven’t started the other engine yet . . . are you trying to save on fuel?’ In fact, despite Colin’s best efforts, the engine wouldn’t start so he wisely got us out of the plane and we all ended up going to Paul Ricard on a commercial flight.

  With Colin there was never anything other than complete and total dedication to developing the best cars and winning races. He was focused on getting one step ahead of his competitors and designing something that was totally incredible, utterly innovative. If you look at just two of his innovations in the time I was racing with him, they will tell you all you need to know about the mind of the man. Firstly, he developed the so-called ‘ground effect’ car, which revolutionised the grip that F1 cars were able to create and in turn sent all the other teams scurrying to their design departments to play catch-up (I will expand on this shortly). Secondly, he also developed the amazing twin-chassis car, which was so revolutionary that it was banned before it had even raced! He was always so ahead of the game.

  Mind you, when you have someone who is such a visionary, you do occasionally get a piece of new technology that scares the bejesus out of you. The most terrifying technical advance we tested was a bendable steering column. The steering column went through the dashboard and then bent 90 degrees and into the actual steering rack, so you had two bends in it, all made from woven wire mesh. The problem was that when we were out there testing it at very high speeds, we found – much to our horror – that, under load and G-force, this steering column would steer the car itself in the corners. Under extreme load the car would do really funny things, then, when you took the load off the steering, it would move unpredictably again. I have never been so scared in my life! I went round a few totally terrifying laps at Snetterton to try it and, when I came back in, probably white as a sheet, Colin smiled, laughed and said, ‘Well, it was a tongue-in-cheek job! At least we tried it!’ Frightened the hell out of me, that did, Colin.

  Colin would draw his ideas old school, as a draughtsman. This is a great point to make in terms of new technology and how the sport has changed since its early days. In the modern era, the teams and designers have so much computer-processing power that they can come up with new ideas and, before anyone even sits in a car at a test, the experts back at team headquarters can tell if it will work or not. From that point of view, modern-day drivers have a much easier ride, because they are not physical guinea pigs, at least not to the same degree we were. Of course, sometimes the calibration between systems such as computational fluid dynamics and the real-world track is not quite perfect and there may still be an issue. However, generally speaking, real-world driving and testing are now more of a validation that an idea or upgrade will work as per the computer prediction. It is the final tick in the box. When we were testing the new ideas, there wasn’t even a box! Sometimes, maybe only one in ten new ideas would work; they’d all be handmade and, if they failed in testing, they’d be taken off the car and scrapped. Literally, back then, the engineers would build a part, stick it on the car and send you off round the track at 200mph to see if it worked. I tell you what, though, it was great fun.

  As a man, in private, Colin was totally inspiring. He would walk into a room with his white hair and big smile and everyone would be captivated by his massive charisma. He was lively and full of mischief. He loved playing pranks. One example of his fun side was when he threw the most fabulous end-of-season party one year in Nottingham. We were enjoying strawberries and cream and I asked Colin if I could play a little trick on one of the sponsors. Colin was all for it, so I duly pressed a whole plate of cream on this guy’s head. There was laughter all round and then the most enormous food fight erupted, with cakes, fruit, cream, food everywhere. I was laughing so much it hurt. Colin was left with a little extra on his hotel bill for having so much fun. Incredibly fond memories.

  He made me laugh so many times. My first grand prix in Austria was, of course, in the days before electronic timing. I was in the pits while they were working on my car when Colin came over to me and said, ‘Mario is flying today!’ He held up his stopwatch in preparation for a fast lap time then he said, ‘Look, I think he’s about to do the fastest lap . . .’ Then I watched as Colin proceeded to walk quite slowly towards the first corner 50 yards away and only then did he stop his watch, at which point he turned to me and said, ‘Told you!’ In reality, he’d gained Mario a few tenths of a second by shortening the lap for him just by walking down there! It made me laugh so much.

  Another time I will never forget was when a particular person was really agitating Colin one
day. Don’t get me wrong, this person certainly wasn’t being objectionable, quite the opposite in fact. This was a fairly important individual who was going on and on. ‘Colin, if I can do anything for you, anything at all, just say the word . . .’ I could see Colin getting a little bit rattled and eventually, when the guy repeated himself yet again, ‘Is there anything I can do at all?’, Colin replied, ‘Yes – piss off!’ It was so funny. To be fair to the guy, he took it in good spirits; he realised he’d been a little intense and he backed off, and we all had a giggle. Plus, Colin just had a way with words – even words like that! – which meant he was able to say things and not necessarily cause offence. Moments like that you just sit back and go, ‘Wow!’

  I have so many happy memories of being with Colin and also his lovely wife Hazel. In fact, I would like to take this opportunity to personally thank them both, as well as the whole family, for their generous and unwavering support. Colin taught me so much. Obviously, just to sit down and listen to that man talk about engines, aerodynamics, chassis design, the intricate mechanics of what we were doing, was just a joy every single day. However, he also became a mentor to me outside of racing. I was still a young man and finding my way in life as well as motorsport, and Colin never missed an opportunity to offer me a piece of advice; he was so generous in guiding me at that time. Mind you, sometimes his guidance was delivered fairly brutally.

  I lived nearly four hours away from Hethel (on a good run), so my time at Lotus involved a lot of driving off the track as well as on the circuit. I hate being late (still to this day) and ever since I was a young man I would always leave what I call a ‘fudge factor’ – by which I mean I would allow plenty of extra time to get to meetings. This one particular morning, not long after I’d started as a test driver, we had a 9am meeting with Colin, so I set off before 5am to make sure I would be there on time. Unfortunately, the weather was not on my side, with a thick fog enveloping the motorways. Worse still, about halfway along my journey there was a fatal car accident which completely blocked my planned route, forcing me to take all sorts of diversions. Despite these various obstacles in my way, I arrived at Hethel just two minutes after nine o’clock.

  I walked into the meeting room and Colin absolutely launched into me. He bluntly berated me for being late. He said it was completely unacceptable and that if I ever did it again he would sack me. I was disappointed to have been late, but I really felt I had done my very best in exceptionally difficult circumstances, so I started to explain. ‘I sincerely apologise, Colin, but can I just explain? The fog was appalling and the motorway was closed for hours due to this big accident. It’s been dreadful out there.’

  ‘Nigel, frankly, I don’t care,’ he said. ‘If we have a meeting at 9am then you have to be here at 9am. No discussions. You should’ve come up the night before.’

  I said, ‘Again, sorry, Colin, I am not complaining but I can’t actually afford to come up . . .’

  He wasn’t interested.

  About two weeks later, there was another meeting scheduled for 9am and I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. I drove to Hethel the night before and I slept in my car. I’ve got to be honest, it wasn’t the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had but at least I knew I was going to be there on time. The next morning, I was still dozing under a blanket in the car when I saw Colin park up nearby (he always came into work very early). He started to walk to the factory doors, but then out of the corner of his eye caught sight of me stretching in my car. He walked over, looking slightly puzzled, tapped on the window and said, ‘Nigel, what on earth are you doing?’

  ‘You said I was never to be late for a meeting with you again. I can’t afford a hotel, so here I am . . . There’s no way I’m going to be late for you again, sir!’

  He shook his head and then walked away, saying as he turned, ‘Nigel, you’re a funny bugger.’ I watched him walk to the factory doors and, as he pulled the handle to go in, I could just see him smiling.

  He could be extremely generous, too. I want to retell a story that sums up how incredibly and spontaneously magnanimous Colin could be. In my first full F1 season, Rosanne had to stay at home for many races because I couldn’t really afford to pay for both of us to fly around the world. We couldn’t stand being away from one another. In Monaco I qualified very well (third in fact), which Colin was delighted with, but I was still unhappy because I missed Rosanne. Colin quickly picked up on this and asked me what the problem was.

  ‘I am delighted about the grid position, of course, Colin, but I miss my wife and she’s still at home working so hard. I want her to be here, sharing the journey with me.’

  That night at dinner, Colin announced in front of the whole team that he was doubling my retainer so that Rosanne could leave work and accompany me to the races. That is the mark of the man.

  Colin only ever treated me with great respect. Back when I had been just a young lad driving round in that little Ford Escort checking up on suppliers, Colin had never questioned my opinions. Fast-forward to being his actual F1 driver and that trust continued. If I said something to Colin about a car’s set-up, balance, handling, whatever element we were testing or racing, he never queried it. He genuinely valued my opinion. He was fantastic; you could talk to him about anything, cars, engines, planes or indeed just life. Perhaps he and I hit it off so well because we were both strange and similar in a number of ways.

  Not long before Christmas week in 1982, the world of motorsport was rocked by the news that Colin had died suddenly of a heart attack. After Colin’s tragic death, my time at Lotus was not entirely enjoyable. There were some very difficult relationships which have been well documented, so I won’t repeat myself here, but suffice to say the moment Colin passed away my world altered almost completely. My relationship with Colin was so special, so rewarding, and I am so grateful for the chance to have known and worked with him. I firmly believe that had Colin not passed away, I could have been world champion a lot sooner. By that I don’t mean for one second to denigrate the incredible job that Sir Frank and Patrick Head did for me at Williams with that amazing championship car; nor, indeed, everything that Ferrari also did for me – that goes without saying. I am just suggesting that perhaps, if destiny had allowed Colin to stay with us longer, we could have won the World Championship together.

  There was nothing I wouldn’t have done for that man. According to some motorsport mythology, Colin Chapman has apparently been spotted in some far-flung town in the depths of Argentina. I’m not usually one for stories like that but, in this case, were it to be true then I hope he is having the most wonderful time, and I have to say the world would be a much more beautiful place if Colin were still here. I still miss him, very much.

  CHAPTER 5

  WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT?

  This was a very exciting time for me, debuting my first full season in the sport I loved. However, conversely, 1981 was a very turbulent year for Formula 1. There was a power struggle for control of the sport and there were also issues and concerns about the safety of the cars – in particular, the astonishing speeds that cars were generating due to the ever-improving so-called ‘ground effect’ technology. Sadly, there were also some horrific deaths and injuries, very distressing reminders of a driver’s mortality.

  In my first full season, I had eight retirements, one failure to qualify, my first ever podium finish, and ultimately finished 14th in the championship with eight points. Back in March 1981, the start of the new season was dominated in some ways by the controversy surrounding Colin’s amazing so-called twin-chassis car, the Lotus 88. At the first grand prix of the season, in America, the twin-chassis car Elio was driving was thrown out of the race, and this led to very protracted arguments, legal battles and debate. The car would, eventually, be banned and Colin was absolutely gutted. The politics of that situation aside, the car itself was an astounding piece of technology – yet another genius idea from the Colin Chapman team! Two chassis and two suspension systems – very complex
, very clever, and a remarkable car.

  After qualifying a pleasing seventh at the first official grand prix of the season, I retired after clipping a wall, which was obviously disappointing. The second race at Rio was more fruitful, with an 11th-place finish for me, which was a solid improvement. That Rio trip was quite memorable, as we were there for six weeks because we couldn’t afford to fly home and then back out to Argentina a few weeks later. However, we had nowhere to stay – I think modern-day drivers would laugh if they knew what it was like back then. We ended up sleeping in the house of a friend of a friend in the back of the hills, which was pretty rough. I was feeling, Where on earth are we, Rosanne? We had no choice because of the money situation, but it was all very scary. We could even hear gunshots from the favelas at night. (Another year we went down there when the police and fire brigade were on strike and that night there were something like 80 murders. Several F1 people were attacked in those areas.)

  Money was still tight and we couldn’t afford to spend a lot on meals, so, for example, we would often budget for one hamburger each per day. We always liked Wendy’s; we pretty much survived on those for some time. Not exactly your modern-day professional sportsman’s diet, I admit, so maybe I won’t mention that next time I bump into an F1 sports nutritionist. When you are an F1 driver battling it out on the track, admitting to being fuelled by Wendy’s is not something you like to own up to!

  However, I will remember Rio in 1981 for an altogether more dramatic event. People say I was a courageous driver, and in my era the drivers had to have nerves of steel to go out lap after lap after they had seen a friend or colleague seriously injured or even killed. There is a very interesting philosophical debate about bravery in motorsport. There is an implied bravery in being able to do our job. People have often said to me, ‘Oh, racing drivers are really courageous.’ I am not sure I would class myself or any other racing drivers as brave. We as racing drivers have programmed our minds to go out there and try to win, even if someone has been injured or killed. I’m not sure that is bravery or courage; it’s just what we do for our jobs. I’m not denying you have to have nerves of steel, you have to be very competitive, you have to push yourself more than many people would be prepared to, you have to get back in the saddle at times when you don’t want to, you have to dig deep, all of those things . . . But courageous?