The changes that resulted from F1’s evolution into a truly global player

When I look back over the years I’ve been involved in motor racing and in particular Formula 1, it’s amazing to see the extent of the changes. Whether those were for good or bad, or somewhere between those points, depends on your perspective.

I stepped on to the employment ladder by way of a mechanical engineering apprenticeship with a company specialising in steam and nuclear boilers, a good grounding in practical engineering, but not what I wanted as a career. My training was to be a draughtsman, which helped me to hone my skills since I’d always enjoyed freehand drawing and sketching. While being able to use a computer, with programs that remove the need for a set square or an eraser, is now perhaps more of a prerequisite for design jobs, let’s not forget that Adrian Newey’s office still contains a drawing board and a set of French curves.

You now almost certainly need to have been to university and have several degrees to be accepted into a team, and universities such as Oxford Brookes and Loughborough offer specialised courses in automotive engineering which didn’t exist when I was knocking on doors. In those less structured times, there was more of an element of learning on the job.

Following my apprenticeship I worked for Martin Baker, the ejector seat company, which gave me an insight into fabricated aluminium structures. My motor racing career began in 1974 when I joined March Engineering in Bicester. At that time the company made chassis for many different categories including F1, F2, F3, FAtlantic, F5000, and sportscars. Initially, there was just Clive Lark and me in the drawing office, although March also used outside contractors for the more complex designs.

The cars evolved by way of adapting and scaling up or down the components, and it worked very well. While we worked to precise dimensions in the drawing office, fabricators would often improvise when translating those technical drawings into the finished product, for instance, if supplied materials didn’t quite fit. The hand-finished nature of the process meant no two cars of the same type were ever 100% identical down to the final millimetre.

Chassis back then were aluminium, pop- or hard-riveted together, attached to fabricated or cast aluminium bulkheads. Suspension was in heat-treated 4130 steel, and springs were always of the coiled variety. Anti-roll bars were bent tubular steel and fuel tanks were situated on each side of the driver in the sidepods, but at least they were equipped with aircraft-style connectors.

All cars had three pedals: the accelerator attached directly to the engine via a cable, the brake and clutch pedals via a conventional hydraulic circuit. Brakes were steel, either solid discs for the smaller categories or vented for the likes of F2 and F1. Callipers were off-the-shelf AP or Brembo. During my time in F1, brakes would become a science of their own – not just in terms of the materials used but also in the clever and elaborate aerodynamic sophistication of the ducting that feeds air to them.

By the mid-1970s chassis were aluminium, pop- or hard-riveted together and attached to fabricated/cast aluminium bulkheads

Photo by: David Phipps

A material world

When I moved on to McLaren in late 1976, Williams was starting to experiment with aluminium honeycomb panels for extra stiffness of the chassis. These used thin aluminium skins with an aluminium honeycomb core glued to them. To form shapes, the inner skin was cut, allowing the panel to be folded to the required angle and then sealed back again using thin aluminium angles. We didn’t use this technology until we built the M28 (in 1979), but what we ended up with was a bit of a disaster because it was overweight, cumbersome, and far too flexible.

By then, Colin Chapman’s Lotus was profiting by being the first to harness ground-effect aerodynamics in F1. The Lotus 78 and 79 cars essentially had a wing shape underneath each sidepod to create downforce. All the teams, of course, had to jump on this bandwagon – some with success and some not understanding the concept at all.

Sliding skirts became the norm to contain the airflow beneath the car, and the sales of ceramic soared since it was considered the best ‘rubbing medium’ to minimise friction at the point the skirts met the track surface. Circuit owners took a dim view of this, owing to the damage it caused to their precious asphalt.

As downforce levels generated by the underfloor grew, so too did the phenomenon of ‘porpoising’. A young Adrian Newey was beginning his F1 career at Fittipaldi at this time so it’s no surprise that, in the modern ground-effect era, Red Bull should have mitigated the issue so quickly.

For speed and to maintain secrecy as aerodynamics became something of an arms race, teams brought production in house – with their own autoclaves – rather than contracting outside companies

Among the other limiting factors – and one which Lotus ran into – was torsional rigidity since the chassis structure had to be as narrow as possible to maximise the space available for underbody venturi. This was among the many issues which made the M28 so problematic.

PLUS: The university project that Newey’s F1 rivals should not forget

A solution to this came in the next big step forward through material science, when John Barnard brought carbon fibre to everyone’s attention by asking Hercules, an American rocket company, to use it to produce a complete chassis. John was working on the concept when he came to McLaren, where – among many other procedural changes he implemented – he began to insist on the works of the drawing office being translated directly into materials without any ‘interpretation’ by the fabricators. It was another step on the road to ensuring consistency of manufacture and fewer variances between cars.

Adopting carbon fibre meant learning new design and construction methodologies because this wasn’t a straight swap of one material for a stronger, lighter one. Where metal was rolled, beaten, cut, formed and riveted, composites were moulded by layering the woven carbon fibre sheets (with resin) on an internal ‘buck’, then baking the assembly in an autoclave – a high-temperature oven where the component is under pressure.

Strength and rigidity was achieved through the specifics of the layering process. Of course, as soon as we found how light and stiff carbon fibre was, we started using it for many other components and a new department was created within the factory to cope with all the work.

John Barnard oversaw McLaren's first all carbon fibre chassis in F1

Photo by: LAT Photographic

Teams became much more introverted during this time and the number of employees grew by the hundreds. Drawing boards gave way to computers and monitors as draughtsmen retrained to use CAD (Computer Aided Design) stations. Machine shops invested in CNC machines to link in with the design office CAD systems, therefore doing away with paperwork and drawings and continuing the process of ensuring consistency and repeatability in construction. For speed and to maintain secrecy as aerodynamics became something of an arms race, teams brought production in-house – with their own autoclaves – rather than contracting outside companies such as Maurice Gomm and Specialised Mouldings.

Further down the road, rapid-prototyping and 3D printing – again linked to CAD – would replace skilled metal and woodworkers to produce experimental parts for the full-size car and scale models for the wind tunnel. Speeding this process enabled much more research to be completed and the aerodynamics of the cars became more intricately detailed and complex.

To facilitate this, teams entered a phase of massive investment in wind tunnel technology. In the 1970s a lot of aerodynamic design had been intuitive, and much of the practical research was done by gluing wool tufts to the car and then photographing it travelling at speed from another vehicle. Lotus and then Williams began to use the rolling-road tunnel at Imperial College to develop their ground-effect cars and, under Barnard, McLaren worked with the National Physical Laboratory in Teddington.

These all used scale models but, by the 1990s, big-budget teams were building in-house wind tunnels which could house a complete car. Some even had more than one tunnel, offsetting the costs in some circumstances by renting time to other bodies – such as the British Olympic cycling team, which developed streamlined wheels, helmets and clothing as well as optimising the rider’s position on the bike.

Dealing with the consequences

Along with Formula 1’s massive growth in terms of global reach, audience interest and commercial value has come greater scrutiny of the negatives. Driver and public safety has been the biggest change in the sport during my 50 years; sadly I’ve been witness to some bad accidents which have claimed lives or resulted in serious injuries.

In his first stint at McLaren, before I became his race engineer, Alain Prost had two big crashes which put him in hospital. In South Africa in 1980 a suspension link failed on his M29 during practice and he hit a wall, breaking a bone in his wrist. At the final round, in Watkins Glen, another breakage caused a huge accident that left him unfit to race and his M30 in pieces.

Changes in the construction of cars has helped enormously, in that chassis have become safety cells rather than mobile coffins. In 1988, moving the driver’s feet behind the front axle line, plus having a crushable nose box structure, reduced the likelihood of damage to feet and legs in a head-on accident. But safety is a process of continuous evolution and vigilance as new scenarios expose unanticipated risks.

In 1994 I was engineering Karl Wendlinger at Sauber. At the Monaco GP, just a couple of weeks after the awful weekend at Imola that claimed the lives of Roland Ratzenberger and Ayrton Senna, he too had a bad accident, spinning at the exit of the tunnel and hitting an unprotected barrier broadside. It put him in a coma from which, fortunately, he recovered. These incidents understandably led to questions being asked about F1’s viability and, as a result, the FIA introduced lateral head protection for drivers as part of a package of changes to improve safety and control car performance.

Wright was engineer to Wendlinger when he crashed during 1994 Monaco GP practice and was left in a coma for several weeks

Photo by: Motorsport Images

Compare an image of a 1980s F1 car with one from the present day and among the most obvious differences is how exposed the drivers were. Yes, spectators had a better view of their arms and shoulders working the steering wheel, but the drivers had very little protection. While there has been a degree of resistance to cockpit safety measures, particularly the halo, on grounds of visibility and the effect on sight lines, the FIA has pushed the measures through and events have proved their value.

The expanding number of races on the calendar has brought the mental health of team members onto the agenda. 16 races was commonplace for many years, although at times we did just as many tests in between the races. In most cases, teams had a separate race and a test squad, each with their own group of engineers and mechanics who split the responsibility.

Though in-season testing is now a rarity, there are now 24 races per season, some of which involve three busy weekends in a row in different countries. This has put huge stress on the mechanics and support teams, especially those who look after the infrastructure of the pits and motorhomes. It’s also increased the number of trucks the teams need and, with that, drivers and crew and those who juggle logistical complexities.

They are at least well looked-after on-site. When we were testing back in the 1980s, we had one truck which doubled as a transporter and office – and, often, the staff canteen as well.

None of this would have come about without the influx of sponsors who have seen F1 as an opportunity to attract attention on the world stage

Then at a test in Imola, the Williams team turned up with a small motorhome and not only were the mechanics treated to a meal cooked for them, they had tables and chairs set outside the motorhome. Luxury! Our truckies were immediately tasked with going to the local DIY store to buy plastic tables and chairs – but, even though we could sit down, we were still eating takeaway pizzas…

This started a trend. At first, Marlboro supplied McLaren with a motorhome and Bob and Shaun McMurray, who ran it and drove it to whichever circuit the team needed it. Then as the motorhome got bigger and covered both race and test teams, we gained a bevy of catering people, led by Sally Wing, who looked after us all. Now every team has a dedicated space in the paddock where both staff and guests can relax and eat.

None of this would have come about without the influx of sponsors who have seen F1 as an opportunity to attract attention on the world stage. And the whole reason for this popularity is that Bernie Ecclestone, aided by Max Mosley (co-founder of March and lawyer by trade) saw the potential of selling the show to television – and sponsors who could display their signage around each circuit. Bernie might have been ‘just’ a team owner at the time I started in racing but he had his eyes on bigger things. Race promoters thought TV would dilute ticket sales but Bernie and Max drove through that resistance.

F1 can now be seen in practically every country in the world and few promoters have problems selling tickets. The series has gone from strength to strength – to the extent that even America, which likes to think it has the monopoly on world series, is now being seduced because of all the big manufacturers, companies and names involved…

The technology involved in F1 timing has come a long way since a notepad and a stopwatch...

Photo by: Motorsport Images

The secret of timing

We can now sit back at home and look at granular timing data from each sector of the track on F1’s app. Underpinning this is a major infrastructure investment, with miles of cables, timing loops set into the surface of the track, and cars equipped with transponders and GPS sensors.

Timing wasn’t always a data-rich, centralised resource. Back at the beginning of my career, March took me along to the 1976 British GP at Brands Hatch. I was a junior member and, as a spare pair of legs, they had to find me something to do. Timing of the cars was done officially but there were no splits or corresponding speeds. I was tasked with taking the speed trap to the Hawthorn Straight, the fastest part of the circuit.

I had no instructions for how the apparatus worked or where to site it but I struggled with the box around the perimeter until I reached Hawthorn Straight. By then practice had started and the marshal rightly wouldn’t let me sprint across the track to set up the mirror. It turned out that the battery for the device hadn’t been charged anyway.

Wright went from designing nuclear boilers to engineering multiple F1 stars and a Le Mans 24 Hours win for Peugeot

Photo by: Motorsport Images