Thank Frankel it’s Friday: I’ll never forget my lap with Senna

I’ll share with you now I was pretty nervous. Not about crashing or anything like that, but meeting one of only two contemporaries I’d classed as heroes. The other was Gilles Villeneuve who’s already been gone nine long years. And there was Senna’s reputation to consider too: his was a brooding presence and I knew already he was none too pleased about the way the Honda V12 in the back of his McLaren 4/6 delivered its power (though it would still be good enough to help earn him his third World Championship that season), relative to the V10 he’d used for the previous three years. What would he make of having to give up what little free time he had that day to drive a young idiot like me around a sopping Silverstone?

Not much it seemed. He came out of the motorhome late, even though time was short. He looked me in the eye without warmth, extended a hand and said ‘I’m Ayrton’, possibly the most redundant sentence I will ever hear in my life. Then he looked away and marched outside into a wall of flashbulbs and microphones. And now he was scowling.

We got into the car and headed down the pit lane whereupon I realised I’d forgotten something. Twenty-eight years later I can’t remember what but it must have been quite important because I had to ask the reigning Formula 1 World Champion to stop so I could go back and get it. My tape recorder I imagine. But he didn’t stop, other than for long enough to knock the NSX’s gear selector into ‘R’ (yes, I compounded my shame by turning up in an automatic NSX), and reversed back to where we’d been parked.

While I went to fetch my lost property, Ayrton Senna sat and waited for me. Then we got back into the car and started our lap. And ended it almost immediately when people started waving flags at us. As we had the track to ourselves, Senna stopped and asked what the problem was. ‘You need to go and see the Clerk of the Course’ was the somewhat sheepish reply. This I could barely believe. You were only ever summoned if you’d done something that badly wrong. I wanted to disappear into my shoes.

So off we went where Ayrton was told by said official (which could have been Silverstone Syd but I can’t swear to it) that he didn’t care if Senna was a double world champion, you didn’t reverse up his pit lane when the track was live – not on his watch at least. I thought Senna might explode. Was the track ‘live’ when we were the only ones on it? I guess so. In fact he just said something like ‘ok, I understand’, without offering the merest glimpse of an apology.

Back outside again, more microphones, more cameras, more scowling. What should have been the best day of my working life was turning into a nightmare. And back in the car.

Finally we had the track to ourselves. Which is when something quite remarkable happened. He drove slowly. And started to smile and chat. He told me all about the revisions to the circuit that year, the lack of power from his V12 engine and how he’d been trying not to laugh when we’d been hauled up in front of the clerk.

I couldn’t believe it: the Ayrton Senna who’d given every impression he was in the car for reasons of contractual obligation and no other, was now grinning away, joking and, what I really appreciated, quite clearly trying to help me do my job. Which is why when our time was nearly up he stopped chatting and drove the NSX like I didn’t know a car could be driven.

What do I remember of that lap? Not flailing arms for sure, quite the reverse in fact. It was an extraordinary economy of motion, despite the at times preposterous angles of attack the car would adopt as it slithered across the wet tarmac at immense speeds. Above all, it was incredibly graceful.

And then it was over. Three years later I saw him again in the lobby of a hotel in Munich briefly thought about wandering over and saying ‘remember me?’ But I doubted that he would and, besides, he was with a bunch of very serious business types who didn’t look like they appreciate being disturbed. It was a few days before the 1994 San Marino Grand Prix.

Ayrton Senna has been gone 25 years now and all I have are the memories because both the tape recording and picture file have long since been lost. Oh, and one terrible framed picture of the NSX going down the old pit straight. I think you can tell we’re on board, or maybe that’s just my wishful thinking. But I know and that’s all that matters.

They say you should never meet your heroes, but every rule has its exceptions. I met my one and only hero, and will spend the rest of my days glad that I did.