Motorsport Archives - CARS // MOTORBIKES

Lotus 25

The Lotus 25 was all about innovation. It was designed by Colin Chapman – charismatic top man at Lotus. In a quest to lower the nose of the car – in the interests of aerodynamics – Chapman envisioned a one-piece chassis. The previous car – the Lotus 24 – had been built around space-frame steel tubing. That was the standard, in ’61. The ’25’, though, allowed its aluminium shell to act as the frame. Not only was the ‘monocoque’ lower and narrower – it was stronger and lighter, too. Frame flex was substantially reduced. That also let the suspension function to better effect.

Chapman boxed clever! The ’62 season started with the old Lotus 24 on the grid – complete with its space-frame chassis. Early, non-championship races were a perfect opportunity to pull the wool over rival teams’ eyes. Come the Dutch GP, though – and the Lotus 25 was revealed! With master craftsman Jim Clark at the wheel, the new Lotus quickly established itself as the class of the field. It would have won the World Championship at the first time of asking – were it not for last-round reliability issues. The following season, though, saw no such slip-up. A record-breaking seven-win haul saw Lotus take its first world crown. They would repeat the feat, in ’65 – with the wider-wheeled ’33’. That was a great year for the Norfolk-based team … Lotus also won the Indy 500!

The synergy, then, between the 25 and Clark was an automotive marriage from heaven. They lit up the GP 1.5-litre era. Colin Chapman – the arch-innovator – had done it again. Chassis and frame technology had morphed into the modern era. F1 cornering would never be the same again!

Aston-Martin DBR9

Hitting the grid in ’05, Aston Martin’s DBR9 was the racing version of their DB9 roadster. Saying that, 20 DBR9s were sold privately. So, technically, it was a race/road hybrid. Though, whether you should do the shopping in a car that won the GT1 Sebring 12 Hours race, is a moot point. To be fair, it would get done very quickly – leaving you with more time to do good deeds for the rest of the day!

It is not hard to see why the DBR9 won at Sebring – a racetrack in Florida, USA. The fact that its engine churned out 600bhp had a lot to do with it. The power was fed through a 6-speed sequential gearbox – conveniently located on the rear axle. Cutting edge carbon brakes were duly installed – and not as an afterthought!

Light weight was key to the DBR9’s success. Just 2,425lbs needed to keep contact with the tarmac. Contrast that with the DB9 road-going equivalent – which weighed in at a comparatively lardy 3,770lb. Much of the reduction was down to the competition car’s body panels – fashioned from carbon-fibre composite. Aston Martin Racing designed the panels – with top-flight aerodynamics in mind. An aluminium chassis also shed weight. Aptly, the DBR9’s Sebring win was on its first outing. For spectators of a certain age, it conjured up memories of Le Mans, ’59. That was the scene of another famous victory for the great British brand. So, Aston Martin race fans had been patient a long time. But they say great things come to those who wait. Those words were never so true as in the streamlined form of the DBR9!

ATS Tipo 100

Few F1 cars can top the ATS Tipo 100 for eyebrow-raising intrigue. In ’61, Ferrari’s race division was riding high. As F1’s new 1.5-litre era dawned, prospects for the Italian marque looked rosy. The fire-engine red, shark-nosed Ferraris ruled the F1 roost. Enzo Ferrari – founder of the firm – was, doubtless, very happy. Not so, some of his employees. At the end of the ’61 season, Enzo fell out with his top engineers. The outcome was that they picked up their spanners and left.

Ring-leader of the Ferrari rebels was Carlo Chiti. Rotund of build – and temperamental by nature – he was widely considered a design genius. He was also thought of as a thoroughly nice chap. Chiti led his troop of dissident technicians to Sasso Marconi – near Bologna. In no time, he had set up his own factory/foundry. He had financial clout – courtesy of a trio of industrialists. Chiti was a man on a motor racing mission. Following the mass walk-out from Modena, Ferrari found they had a rival. Namely, ATS – or, Automobili Turismo Sport. There was now a new team on the Bologna block. And Carlo Chiti was the man in charge.

The V8-powered ATS Tipo 100 debuted at the ’63 Belgian GP. It created quite a stir at Spa Francorchamps. In a piece of PR many a more modern team would be proud of, the ATS transporter was parked away from the paddock. F1 aficionados could talk of nothing else. When the Tipo 100s were revealed, the buzz was electric. Come the green light, however, the build-up was not backed up on the track. From the mechanics’ perspective, the cars were far from ideal. To wit, their chassis had to be sawn, then re-welded – just to change the engines. Not really what an ex-Ferrari race engineer was used to! Certainly, two high-calibre drivers had been recruited to the ATS cause. Phil Hill was a former world champion. And Giancarlo Bhagetti had won the ’61 French GP. As it turned out, though, even their combined talents could not stop the Tipo 100 under-achieving. Through ’63 – and the following two seasons – results ranged from disappointing to dire. Over time, the ATS project petered out. Its gallant challenge to the force of Ferrari failed. Nonetheless, Chiti – and his renegade team – displayed courage and integrity. In the end, though, the small-scale ATS team – and the Tipo 100 – simply ran out of steam!

Honda RA302

Honda’s RA302 car was a while in the making. The Japanese giant arrived in F1 in ’64. It brought with it a transversely-mounted V12 motor. A complex masterpiece of engineering, it was the talk of the GP world. It took Honda nearly two seasons to make it to the top step of the podium. The first win came in Mexico – in the final race of the 1.5-litre era. If Honda thought they had cracked it, they were ahead of themselves. In ’66 and ’67, results were lacklustre. At the time, all F1 engines were heavy. Honda’s exotic V12, though, tipped the scales at 100lb more than its rivals. Not ideal!

Thankfully for Honda, John Surtees was on the driving roster. By the start of the ’68 season, he had helped develop the RA301 car. It was tidier of design than its predecessor. It was also more powerful. Surtees was assured that a lightweight V12 was on its way. At that point, head honcho Soichiro Honda threw a spanner in the works. Well, it was his works, to be fair! Honda-san’s priority was selling N600 saloon cars. Their engines were still air-cooled. Honda’s increasingly successful motorcycles were also on Soichiro’s mind. They, too, were air-cooled. For Mr Honda, bread and butter business trumped motorsport. He instructed the race department to come up with an air-cooled motor – to match the roadsters’ powerplants. The lightweight V12 Surtees had been promised was mothballed.

In due course, Soichiro got his air-cooled F1 car. Parked in Silverstone’s paddock, the Honda RA302 looked a dream. Light and compact, its 120° V8 sat snugly at the back of a monocoque chassis. When the time came to fire it up, Innes Ireland was at the wheel. The erstwhile Lotus legend was now a journalist. Ireland was about to take the RA302 out for its first test-drive. When he returned to the paddock, it was not with good news. Handling-wise, he said, the new car was all over the shop. Surtees’ mood that day was already testy – and Ireland’s report did not improve it. Surtees had not even known the car was coming, until the last minute. Never mind that it was already entered in the upcoming French GP. Surtees declined to have anything further to do with the RA302 – which was clearly way underdeveloped. Honda France duly stepped into the GP breach. Jo Schlesser – looking to move from F2 to F1 – would do the driving at Rouens. Come race day, the French weather was dreadful. Schlesser – and the RA302 – started towards the back of the grid. Surtees, meanwhile – driving the RA301 – was vying for the lead. On only the second lap, Schlesser’s new air-cooled engine let go. The RA302 careened into a bank and caught fire. Tragically, the French ace died in the blaze. Later that year – in the Italian GP, at Monza – Surtees did finally drive the recalcitrant RA302. But, to no avail. At the end of the ’68 season – perhaps chastened by the RA302 experience – Honda withdrew from racing. It did not return until the Eighties!

Tyrell P34

To have described the Tyrell P34 as radical would have been understatement. After all, six-wheeled cars are not exactly two a penny – on road or track! Over time, other F1 constructors would also try six-wheelers on for size, however – so Tyrell cannot have been that far out on a limb. Derek Gardner designed the car. His primary aim was to reduce frontal area. Four 10″ front wheels helped do just that. The wheels and tyres on Formula 1 cars do tend to be rather large, do not forget! The result was more than merely improved aerodynamics – deeply desirable though that was. Grip, too, was substantially upped – especially on turn-in to corners. Having four front wheels took the P34’s traction to a new level. Aesthetically, it may have been open to doubt. Functionally, though, there was no doubt at all.

The ‘P’ in P34 stood for Project. To begin with, it was to be no more than a prototype. Boss Ken Tyrell was dubious that the car would make it from test-bed to race-track. But when the ‘project car’ was put through its paces, it was found to be formidably quick. Quick enough, in fact, to give the then current car – the Tyrell 007 – a run for its money. Ken Tyrell’s reservations rapidly vanished. A no holds barred racer was duly green-lighted.

The P34 took to the grid in ’76. By season’s end, the car had fully justified the faith placed in it. In the constructors’ championship, Tyrell was bested by only Ferrari and McLaren. In the drivers’ title chase, Jody Scheckter and Patrick Depailler placed third and fourth respectively. Scheckter took pole, then won in Sweden – with Depailler not far behind. There would be several more second-place finishes. Two fastest laps had been bagged – Scheckter’s in Germany, Depailler’s in Canada. So, things looked good for ’77. Ronnie Peterson replaced Scheckter. Sadly, though, P34 momentum was not maintained. Tyrell lagged behind in development terms. Tyre supplier Goodyear had issues of its own. It was facing stiff competition from Michelin. The P34’s one-off tyre requirements were becoming a drain on Goodyear resources. It soon became clear that the end was nigh for the P34. Both March and Williams subsequently toyed with six-wheelers. They were both stymied by transmission issues. In due course, six-wheeled systems would be banned. During its brief time in the sun, however, the Tyrell P34 was on the front foot in pushing F1’s technical envelope!

Honda RC166

6-cylinder bikes – like the Honda RC166 – are a rarity on the road. Even more so at the racetrack. Motorcycles are suckers for straight lines. To the motorbike mindset, corners are burdensome things – involving the manipulation of mass. And, the more mass there is, the less keen on cornering the bike becomes. More cylinders mean more mass – which means more meandering through the twisty bits. Well, according to the standard laws of physics, that is. The Honda RC166, however, obviously did not do things by the book. Having half a dozen cylinders strapped across its frame did not seem to bother it one jot. Numerous race wins – and world championships – were testament to that.

The writing was on the wall back in ’59. That was the year in which the Japanese first took part in the Isle of Man TT road races. As it turned out, that season brought Honda only modest success. Subsequent visits to the island, though, saw them decimate all-comers. The Sixties were a heyday for Honda. In ’66, Mike Hailwood won 10 out of 12 GPs – on the 250 RC166. On top of that, he took the 350 title – on a bored-out 297cc bike. The following year – in ’67 – he blitzed the latter class again.

As befitted a bike with a ‘six-pack’, the RC166 was enviably slim. Its fuel-tank was vintage-style slender. It was clearly designed with ‘flickability’ in mind. A dry weight of just 264lb was perfectly aligned with that. As well as its petite proportions, the RC166 brought raw power to the table. 24 small valves – 4 per cylinder, by my maths – spun up 18,000rpm. 60bhp was the much-cherished result. Certainly – combined with its skinny physique – it was more than enough to get the job done. Throw a rider like Mike Hailwood into the mix, and it was a cinch. To racing’s cognoscenti – especially those of a musical bent – the bike’s exhaust note was a six-cylinder symphony. For many fans, old school shots of ‘Mike the Bike’ Hailwood on an RC166 are as good as it gets. Hurrah for Honda and its high-speed six-pot … bike racing had moved up a gear!

BRM H16

The BRM H16 was far from F1’s most successful machine. But, it was one of the most unusual. And while points are not awarded to the most interesting cars, without them motorsport would be the poorer. For example, how about producing a V16 – conforming to F1’s new 3.0-litre size limit – by linking two 1.5-litre V8s? That is precisely what Tony Rudd – BRM’s engine designer – opted to do. Not the first idea that might pop into an F1 fan’s head, perhaps – but, it was a logical step. After all, BRM – British Racing Motors – already had said V8s at its disposal. All Rudd had to do was shorten them a tad, place one on top of the other – and marry them up. Unfortunately, Rudd was not in a position to rid the engine of its excess weight.

Rudd was inspired to build the V16 by Napier Dagger’s H24 aero engine. Rudd reckoned it was good for 600bhp, fully developed. Later, he would say he wished he had gone down the 12-cylinder route instead. But at the time, 16 cylinders seemed like the way to go. Gremlins got in from the get-go. Vibrations would be ironed out in one part of the engine … only to re-appear in another! The upshot was that the H16 car did not make it onto the grid until the end of the ’66 season. Reliability was duly improved For ’67. Unfortunately for BRM, it came at the expense of power.

The H16’s P83 chassis did not help. Like the engine it supported, it was heavy. A lighter 115 chassis replaced it – but that, too, was substantially heavier than its rivals. Jackie Stewart was a BRM driver, at the time. He did not exactly gush with praise for the H16. Its performance limits were too easy to find, he said. That made it hard for a driver to shine – even one of his calibre. At least the more challenging tracks – like Spa Francorchamps and the Nürburgring – levelled the F1 playing-field somewhat. The H16 motor did win a GP, though. However, it needed Lotus’ help to do it. In ’66 – while awaiting delivery of the Ford DFV motor – Colin Chapman hired the H16 engine to power the Lotus Type 43. Ironic, really, given Chapman’s obsession with weight-saving. Heavy as the H16 was, Jim Clark eased the Type 43 to victory – at Watkins Glen, USA. And in ’67 – for all his dislike of the H16 car – Jackie Stewart placed it second at Spa. And that was pretty much it, in terms of results. A real racing oddity, the BRM H16 made for great spectating. That said – as Stewart had pointed out – it was not always as much fun to drive!

Lotus 79

The Lotus 79 was yet another product of Colin Chapman’s fertile mind. This time, the legendary Lotus boss trained his sights on ‘ground-effect’ – the process of aerodynamically ‘pressing’ the car to the race-track. In theory, it is said, an F1 car could be driven upside-down – so strong is the ‘downforce’ it generates. It was that kind of handling, then, that Chapman sought to incorporate into the new Lotus.

Lotus had started their ground-effect quest with the 78 – or, ‘wing car’. Each side-pod housed an inverted aerofoil. ‘Skirts’ below the side-pods ducted air through a venturi. That created a vacuum – by slowing down, and then speeding up air through a bottle-neck. The skirt sealed in the air – which the aerofoil then used to ‘suction-clamp’ the car to the tarmac. The upshot was that the Lotus 78 had been the fastest car on F1’s grid. The 78’s speed advantage, however, had been offset by reliability issues. The 79 would sort them – or so Lotus hoped. The best parts of the 78 car were retained. Lotus then added a couple of updates. By placing the fuel tank behind the driver, the chassis could be narrowed. That helped the venturi do its thing – which was increasing the downforce. The side-pod skirts, too, had been upgraded. They now moved up and down, as required – providing a surer seal.

The net result of these changes was precisely as Lotus had planned. The 79 car was streets ahead, in the ’78 season. Mario Andretti drove the car to five F1 wins – enough to take the World Championship. Team-mate Ronnie Peterson also won – and was runner-up in the final standings. And Lotus-Ford took the Constructors’ Championship, at a canter. Chapman – and the Norfolk-based team – were ecstatic. But – as is so often the case in F1 – it was not to last. From the start of the ’79 season, it was clear Lotus’ competition had come prepared. Almost to a team, they were armed with their own takes on the ground-effect phenomenon. Indeed, some of the engineers had twigged that yet more downforce could be served up – so long as parts of the car were strengthened to cope. Lotus was duly outstripped by its beefed-up rivals. But, that would never obscure the fact that – during its brief season in the F1 sun – the Lotus 79 had put the opposition well and truly in the shade!

Bugatti T251

The Bugatti T251 was designed by Gioacchino Colombo. He had formerly worked for Ferrari. Fifties F1 cars were front-engined. Or, they were until Columbo came along. His T251 broke with that tradition. Its straight-eight engine was placed behind the driver. The 5-speed Porsche gearbox – and final drive – were unitary with the motor. That allowed for weight distribution ahead of its time. It all sat in a tubular space-frame chassis. Which was, in turn, hitched up to deDion axles. The fuel tanks flanked the driver. Another harbinger of F1 things to come.

The catalyst for the T251 was Jacques Bolore. He had recently married into the Bugatti family. It was not long before Bolore was influencing the way Bugatti was run. Since founder Ettore Bugatti’s death – in ’47 – the firm had put racing on hold. Bolore, though, had visions of Bugatti back in F1. Enter the T251! It was unveiled in late ’55 – at an airfield, close to Bugatti’s Molsheim base. It was there, too, that the car was first put through its paces – though not until March of the following year. Tester was Maurice Trintignant. The T251 was duly entered for the French GP, at Reims. Not, however, without qualms. T251 testing had revealed flaws. Designer Columbo – and driver Trintignant – maintained that more development was needed. But, Bolore’s mind was made up. He wanted to go racing. And – in terms of executive clout – Bolore was now in Bugatti’s box seat.

Two 251s were taken to Reims. As the race got underway, the cars’ avant-garde layout seemed on the money. Traction was noticeably improved – especially out of slower corners. High-speed handling, on the other hand, was hairy. The 251 had qualified 18th out of 20 starters. Ironically, it was to retire after only 18 laps. The pretext Bugatti gave was that the throttle was sticking. But, it was clear – to anyone with eyes to see – that the T251 was way off the pace. And – with Bugatti’s coffers depleted – there was no more money for development, anyway. All a bit of an anti-climax, then – as far as Bugatti’s return to top-flight racing was concerned. Sadly, Jacques Bolore’s beloved T251 project turned into something of a damp squib!

Lotus 56B

The 56B was another example of Lotus pushing motor racing’s technical envelope. Saying that, boss Colin Chapman knew no other way. Powered by a turbine engine, it was a new first for F1. Said motor was supplied by Pratt and Whitney. The car had its genesis in Indianapolis, America. Lotus had entered the STP-Paxton turbo car in the ’67 Indy 500. It performed well. Driver Parnelli Jones would have won the iconic race – had he not broken down, just yards from the flag. Nothing daunted, Chapman returned to Indy in ’68. With backing from STP’s Andy Granatelli, Chapman hired Maurice Phillipe to design the Lotus 56. Sadly, Chapman was to experience an unpleasant case of déja vu. Pilot Joe Leonard again broke down, with victory as good as in the bag.

Shortly after Lotus’ streak of bad luck, American motorsport banned turbine-powered cars. Chapman decided it was time for F1. Sticking with the turbine power the 56 had pioneered, the 56B was readied for the ’71 season. Lotus had intended to unveil the new car the previous year. Tragically, the death of driver Jochen Rindt – at Monza – upset the 56B’s development schedule. In due course, however, it rolled onto the grid at Brands Hatch – for the Race of Champions. Emerson Fittipaldi was at the wheel. It did not go well. The 56B bottomed out so much, the suspension snapped. Subsequently, it crashed out at Oulton Park. Next stop Silverstone – and the International Trophy. The 56B started on the front row. In the first heat, the suspension again gave up the ghost. Second time out, though, Fittipaldi finished third. Things were finally looking up, it seemed!

Thankfully, these early outings were non-World Championship events. F1 friendlies, so to speak. The 56B’s first race that mattered was the ’71 Dutch GP. Driver Dave Walker started from the back of the grid – on a wet track. By the fifth lap he was up to tenth – notwithstanding turbine throttle lag. Sadly, it was not to last. Walker slid off the track – at the Tarzan hairpin. Next, to Monza – a year on from Rindt’s fatal accident. The 56B placed eighth. At Hockenheim – albeit in another non-championship race – Fittipaldi finished second. And that was pretty much it for the Lotus 56B. In truth, its points tally was unremarkable. What fascinates aficionados, though, is that it was the first of F1’s fabled ‘turbo cars’!