Cooper Straight

One of the highlights of the Imola 2004 weekend came on Sunday morning, when Gerhard Berger climbed aboard Ayrton Senna's Lotus 98T. Owned by a wealthy Italian collector, the pristine car was parked in one of the cramped old garages at the end of the paddock, and until the doors opened, no one had paid it any attention.

Once people realised what was going on, a crowd of photographers and other interested parties began to gather around, and chaos ensued. Clad in plain white overalls, Gerhard was clearly enjoying the moment, and looking forward to giving the car a run, albeit at rather reduced speed. A large Senna flag attached to the roll bar was a reminder of what it was all about.

There was, I thought, something missing, so I caught Gerhard's attention. I leaned into the cockpit and gave him a little red and white badge. 'Can you find room for this?' I said. He looked at it, smiled broadly, gave me a thumbs-up, and began to attach it to his overalls. The badge showed a helmet bedecked in Austrian colours, and below it was the name Roland Ratzenberger.

After he died, 10 years ago this week, Roland's parents sent me a similar item. I wore it at Imola on the first anniversary of his accident, and the week before this year's race I began hunting around for it, so I could again pay my little tribute. For some reason the original failed to surface. Then photographer Keith Sutton rung me up out of the blue. He'd just had 100 brand new Ratzenberger helmet badges made for distribution to friends at Imola. Would I like to have one?

Roland's name will forever be linked with that of Senna, and that will ensure that he won't be forgotten. It pleases me that people who never knew him still remember him, even if it is largely because of the connection with the Brazilian superstar, and because both men lost their lives at time when grand prix racing's profile was higher than at any time in the past.

Had he enjoyed a longer spell at the top people might have discovered that Roland was a remarkable guy, with many layers to his character. Of the many hundreds of racing drivers I've met over the years, few have made such an impact on my life. Thankfully I wasn't at Imola that year, but his loss was painful indeed.

I first met him in 1986, when he was starting to make a name for himself in Formula Ford in the UK. He was basically running his own show, working on his car, having got his start in racing by preparing machines for others. He was that keen to make it.

I got to know him a bit better as he worked his way through F3, British F3000, touring cars and into sportscars. Unlike so many of today's bright young things, he didn't have a manager, and everything he did was as a result of his own hard work. He was always keen to forge relationships with journalists, as he was well aware of the value of the media. But it was his charm and sense of humour that caught your eye, rather than any boasting about his achievements.

In the summer of 1991 I went to a Group C race at Fuji. On the Sunday evening some of the drivers took me on my first ever tour of Tokyo nightspots, which proved to be a real eye opener. Gradually Johnny Herbert, Volker Weidler and the rest faded away, and just Roland and myself remained. When we left the last bar it was already daylight, and they were putting the chairs on the tables. It had been a fine night. Somewhere on the walk back to the hotel we came to the conclusion that it would be a great idea if I came to live in Japan to cover the local racing scene. Fortunately I had not forgotten by the morning...

The following March I duly turned up at a Suzuka F3000 race at the start of what turned out to be a two-year stint in the Far East. A team had booked me a hotel room, and when I discovered that it cost £120 a night - about £120 more than my budget - Roland took pity on me, and let me share with him. That weekend he happened to be driving a fairly knackered old chassis, and when he failed even to make the grid, he was as depressed as I'd ever seen him. Fortunately the team later gave him a new car, and he was soon at the front.

He had another reason to be a little melancholy that weekend. In the winter in Monaco he had married the former partner of another driver after a whirlwind courtship, and suddenly he was not only a husband, but also a stepfather, as the lady in question had a son. However, it was all over within months, and by the start of the 1992 season, he was single again. He knew he'd made a mistake, but the biggest one was his vow to throw away the little black book of phone numbers that he'd spent years collecting. He had to start from scratch...

It didn't take long for him to get up to speed, for Roland always had an eye for the ladies, and had an amazing success rate. One of his quirkier goals was to - how shall we say it - enjoy female company in the motorhome during 24 hour races. Last time we discussed it he'd managed the feat twice at Le Mans, and once at the Nurburgring!

Roland's ability behind the wheel has often been overlooked. He's remembered as a paying driver as far as F1 is concerned, but he'd achieved an awful lot before he got there. In 1992 in Japan he hopped from a Lola F3000 to a Toyota sportscar to a BMW M3, and was quick in all of them. He raced just about every weekend, and subjected himself to an impossibly silly schedule, especially with all the testing that was involved.

His favourite was perhaps the SARD Toyota, and he would love to wind the boost up and got for it in qualifying, however meaningless that might be for a 1000kms event. In 1991 he prided himself on the fact that he'd led every round of the JSPC at some stage. For the final race TWR brought along a pair of its mighty World Championship winning Jaguar XJR14s, and qualified them at the front. Aware that he might lose his personal record, Roland jumped the start and made sure he got himself into the lead, if only briefly. He was that kind of guy...

He had a longstanding relationship with SARD, and was deeply involved in the team organisation. Sometimes he'd overstep the mark and get a little frustrated if a pit stop went badly, or a co-driver let him down, and would try to take on he role of team manager. At one point he shared the car with Eddie Irvine, and the pair spurred each other on to greater heights. When Roland grew angry with the performance of their third driver at Le Mans, Eddie jumped to his defence, and there was more than a little tension. Typically Eddie had already had his say by criticising Roland's dress sense, and suggesting that he shower more often. Not conducive to team harmony...

Roland could have been in F1 four or five years earlier, had he got the right breaks. When he finally made it he was actually already 33, rather than the 31 he claimed at the time. Like Gilles Villeneuve, he had lost a couple of years from his official age, so that people didn't think he was over the hill. Any such ageism would have been unfair, for he made it entirely through his own efforts, after years of ducking and diving to find F1 sponsorship finally paid off. No one deserved it more than he.

Strangely, Roland's accident was never subjected to the same sort of rigorous public scrutiny as was Senna's. It was generally accepted that the Simtek's front wing failed, possibly as a result of going off the road on his previous lap. It's all too easy to say in retrospect that he should have come into the pits for a check over, rather than started another hot lap. But how often do we see cars bang wheels or scoot over gravel traps during races, and then carry on unabated? I can only assume he felt he had to make all the laps count.

Andrea Montermini replaced Roland at the Spanish GP, and of course had an accident of his own, from which he was lucky to escape. At Imola this year we were discussing 1994 when Andrea happened to mention that, even before the accident, the plan was for him to step into the car for the fifth race of the season in Spain.

The Italian had some sponsorship, while Roland's initial backing was only enough to keep him the car only for Imola and Monaco. If that really was the case, he must have been desperate to get into the field in Italy, and show what he could do. Wasting a set of tyres by returning to the pits was not an option. He had to press on, make it count.

Perhaps Roland's F1 career would have finished after Monaco, and he would then have struggled ever to get back in. Perhaps his ongoing efforts to source funds would have helped him into a better seat for 1995. We'll never know.

Even if things hadn't worked, he would have found employment elsewhere. I'm sure by now he would have got himself into a winning car at Le Mans, a race he adored. He was at least in part spurred to become a racing driver after watching the Steve McQueen movie as a kid, and he was delighted that he managed to make his debut at the race, in a Porsche 962, before the track was blighted by chicanes. Sometime on that 1989 race weekend I bumped into him into the paddock, and he was beaming, wide-eyed at the thrill of shooting down the Mulsanne at night. That's how I remember him best - as a racer.

Just like Gerhard Berger, who was only too happy to have that Roland helmet badge play a little role in the Senna tribute. I'm glad I was able to help.