The Brazil lesson F1 should heed in 2025

You’ll remember, a while back at Interlagos, Fernando Alonso was pictured sitting trackside in a deckchair? Not for the first time in 2015, his McLaren-Honda had broken down and Fernando was sunning himself while waiting for qualifying to finish.

That memory came back while watching the recent Brazilian Grand Prix in anything but sunny conditions. Alonso was one of several drivers to lose control.

Even if he’d been marooned out on track, there’s no way Alonso or anyone else would have been seeking a deckchair, even though the FIA has yet to get round to writing a rule forbidding the use of leisure equipment trackside and foul language while trying to erect it in the p****** rain.

I was actually recalling another incident in similar atrocious conditions when a driver had chosen to stop his car and watch the race rather than continue to take part. Hard to be believe, I know. But that happened during the 1966 Belgian Grand Prix when a rain storm visited the far side of the original 9.3-mile Spa-Francorchamps circuit and the drivers, oblivious to the impending hazard, barrelled into it on the first lap.

One episode in the ensuing chaos would have far-reaching historic proportions when Jackie Stewart landed in a ditch, injured and trapped in the cockpit of his BRM. That was bad enough but the need to get out quickly was multiplied ten times over by fuel from ruptured tanks soaking Stewart’s overalls.

In the absence of marshals – and, as it would turn out, medical assistance other than a couple of nuns in a nearby first aid tent – it took two other drivers who had spun off, and a spanner borrowed from a spectator, to release Stewart from a potentially lethal situation that doesn’t bear thinking about. This terrifying experience would ignite (no pun intended) a safety drive by Stewart that would contribute to the saving of many lives in the future.

After the weather turned and caused havoc at Spa in 1966, Hulme parked up his damaged car, got out of everybody's way, then returned to the cockpit and got back to the pits

Photo by: LAT Photographic

Meanwhile… Denny Hulme had been among several drivers to have moments of varying degrees of alarm. The Kiwi had spun at Burnenville, a long, downhill right-hander defined by stout buildings and taken at something close to 150mph that makes no difference if you lose control. (It’s worth noting, exceeding track limits here was self-policing and seemed to work without feeble official interference.)

It had taken Hulme a minute or two to get going again, his intention being to coax the damaged car the six miles or so back to the pits and save himself a long walk. On the circuit’s return leg, Hulme spotted those still running going hell for leather on their second lap on the far side of the valley.

Not wishing to get in the way – and fearing for his and everybody’s well-being as the rain hit the flat-out approach to Blanchimont – he parked his Brabham-Climax on the verge and clambered up the bank to safety. Fair enough.

These days, the use of different tyres has become confusing to the point of appearing ridiculous

But here’s the bit that tickled me (as described by the laconic New Zealander): “The interesting thing was that, while I was out of the car and up the bank, the Climax four [cylinder] was just idling quietly by the side of the road without any problem. Those Climax engines were amazing like that.

“After they’d all gone by at what seemed like a million miles an hour, I just got back in the car and carried on. But I think that race put me off motor racing in the rain for the rest of my life.”

But not enough to prevent Hulme from coping with tricky conditions at Mosport Park the following year when he finished second in the Canadian Grand Prix and went on to win the world championship. Hulme had led for most of the way in Canada but lost ground when forced to stop and change – not tyres, but steamed-up goggles. Even if Hulme had wanted to, a tyre change would have been measured in minutes rather than seconds and, in reality, there wasn’t much of a tyre choice.

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This was in the days of a tyre war between Firestone and Goodyear, the latter having the upper hand thanks to Hulme and his boss, Jack Brabham, doing the business. In fact, for this race, Brabham had made a late switch on the grid to a so-called ‘rain tyre’.

Steamed goggles cost Hulme victory in the 1967 Canadian GP, allowing team-mate Brabham to win with his 'rain tyres'

Photo by: David Phipps

In truth, you couldn’t tell the difference since slicks had yet to come into play and all tyres had grooves which appeared to have much the same pattern and depth. There had been periods during the Canadian race when the racing line had dried, but this wasn’t a problem for Brabham on his ‘wets’ as he pressed on with no reduction in pace and won with ease.

These days, the use of different tyres has become confusing to the point of appearing ridiculous. Why did Pirelli haul a load of full wets all to Brazil and, with just two brief exceptions, no one ran them in a race that appeared to be crying out for the blue-walled rubber?

Instead of fussing about political correctness and being seen to be doing the right thing, why is the FIA not addressing the potentially lethal problem of drivers ignoring the safest tyre and taking risks on marginally suited inters?

How can it be right that the world is watching the cream of F1 society tiptoeing around in the hope of a red flag – and inevitably getting one because, no prizes for guessing, someone has spun off at best, or crashed heavily at worst? How daft is that?

You may as well ask drivers if they wouldn’t mind parking up for a bit on the grass and stretching their legs. But absolutely, definitely and positively no swearing if there’s not a deckchair at the nearest marshals’ post or the engine is no longer running when they return.

F1 team's reluctance to use full wet tyres is a point that should be addressed - otherwise why take them to races at all?

Photo by: Steven Tee / Motorsport Images