The greatest Formula 1 races

Quite often I am asked which are the greatest races I have seen, and it's not as straightforward a question as it might seem: are we talking here of the best 'pure races' or, for one reason or another, the most momentous race weekends?

Very high on my list, for example, would be Pedro Rodriguez's mesmeric drive in the Porsche 917 at the BOAC 1000Km at Brands Hatch in 1970. While this could never be considered a great race per se - in the atrocious conditions no one ever threatened Pedro - his astounding superiority that day keeps it in my mind as one of the most memorable I ever spent at a race track.

Then there was the Indianapolis 500 in 1991 - and this, by any measure, was a great race, coming down in the late laps to a fight between Rick Mears and Michael Andretti. With less than 20 to go, Andretti passed Mears on the outside going into Turn 1 - and on the very next lap Rick did exactly the same to Michael. It was drama at the highest level, at fearsome speeds, when CART was at its apogee, Indycar racing in its pomp. Unforgettable.

For the purposes of this story, though, I will concentrate on Formula 1, focusing particularly on what has come to be regarded as a Golden Age: what follows is a collection of race weekends, with emphasis on a few indelible favourites.

Immovable Lotus vs an unstoppable BRM

As a kid I was an obsessive fan, and by the time I began working as a journalist, in 1971, already I'd been going to races for more than 15 years. Although school terms meant that, maddeningly, I missed most British Grands Prix, by 1965 I was free, so let me begin with that year's race at Silverstone.

On paper it was going to be a cakewalk for Clark's Lotus, and after passing Richie Ginther's Honda on the opening lap Jimmy duly pulled away. By the late laps, though, his Climax engine was seriously low on oil, and to keep it alive he slowed, eventually on occasion switching off into corners - I clearly remember him coasting silently through Woodcote - then firing it up again at the exit! Graham Hill, running second, started eating into Jimmy's sizeable lead, but he, too, had his problems, being short of brakes.

All this prompted a priceless quip from the circuit commentator, complete with cut-glass accent: "So now we've got Jim Clark in a car that won't go being pursued by Graham Hill in a car that won't stop!" With 10 laps to go, the Lotus led the BRM by nearly half a minute; at the flag the margin was three seconds.

These days there's a lot of talk about 'managing a race': this was as consummate a demonstration of it as ever there has been. "There should have been no way for Jimmy to finish that day," Colin Chapman told me. "It was just brilliant improvising - no one else could have done it."

Although I've never been overly concerned with statistics, one that says much about Clark, I think, is that only once did he finish second in a grand prix.

The ultimate British GP battle

At Silverstone four years later there was a fantastic battle between Jackie Stewart and Jochen Rindt, and JYS speaks wistfully of it to this day: "How many times are you going to have a race like that? The ingredients were perfect: there was as good as no difference between Jochen and myself, and the same was true of our cars.

"The great thing about racing in that era was that it was hard, but also so clean: for one thing, the drivers were all good friends, and for another, there was no weaving or blocking - we didn't mess around with any of that stuff, but if we had, obviously the others would have got closer, wouldn't they? We went hard at it from the start, and the fight went on and on."

Back in the day all practice sessions counted for the grid, and for the final two-hour period at Silverstone there was a bonus of £100 for the fastest man in each 30-minute segment. Stewart took three of the four, but the last - which decided pole position - went to Jochen, and it delighted him. Ah, what a man would do for a hundred quid in 1969. For that matter, there was only a thousand for the race winner.

Given that Rindt's Lotus was marginally better on top speed and Stewart's Matra a shade superior under braking, there was nothing to choose, as Jackie said. For 62 of the 84 laps they passed and re-passed, but then Jochen headed for the pits: a loose rear wing endplate was chafing a tyre.

After his mechanics had wrenched it off with their bare hands, he went back out, still second, but then ran out of fuel with six laps to go, and ultimately finished a livid fourth. If Stewart won, Rindt duly had his day of days, and I'll always rejoice I was there for it.

From seasick and sleepless to a Monaco sensation

By the late 1960s I'd begun - as funds allowed - to attend the odd race abroad: in '67, for example, I was at Le Mans when Dan Gurney and AJ Foyt won for Ford, and saw the greatest collection of drivers - from Formula 1, Indycar and NASCAR, as well as sportscar racing - ever assembled for a single event. The following year I went for the first time to Monaco, starting a run unbroken until 2014, by which time I'd had enough of a place once loved, and now prefer to spend that weekend at Indianapolis.

The 1970 Monaco Grand Prix, though, was one for the ages, and by luck I had a grandstand seat at the old Gasworks Hairpin, the final corner, where the drama unfolded. As Jack Brabham started his last lap, Rindt was a second and a bit behind.

In truth, Jochen had approached the race with something close to indifference. "That was how he was sometimes," Chapman said. "If he felt there was no chance of winning, quite often he just went through the motions."

At Monaco he was in that frame of mind because Colin's latest wonder car, the 72, had so far proved anything but, and while fundamental modifications were made Lotus had to revert to the venerable 49. Jochen felt it no longer had a prayer.

In the first session, on Thursday, he was sixth fastest, but almost two seconds from Stewart; the following day it poured down, and on Saturday, feeling queasy, he was way off his Thursday time.

Rindt's problem, believe it or not, was seasickness. As usual at Monaco he was sharing a private yacht with close friend Bernie Ecclestone, and while the future czar of Formula 1 slept soundly through a choppy Friday night, Jochen did not. "No chance," he said to his wife Nina before the race. "I'll just drive around." And for most of the afternoon that was what he did.

Trembling, with tears rolling down his face, Rindt looked like a man in a trance: his final lap - another record - had been 2.7 seconds quicker than his qualifying time

By and by, though, his position improved, albeit only by attrition. Jacky Ickx retired, then Jean-Pierre Beltoise, and then runaway leader Stewart lost three laps with a misfire. Now Brabham led, followed by Chris Amon, Denny Hulme, Henri Pescarolo - and Rindt. At this stage, 28 laps in, he was already 16 seconds down, but there were signs that his interest was awakening, for he got by Pescarolo and Hulme, and now only Brabham and Amon were ahead.

It was the old thing, a whiff of possible victory - and Jochen never needed more than that. He began lapping at the leader's pace, and was further encouraged by the retirement of Amon on lap 61. Brabham, though, looked set: with only four laps left, he still led by nine seconds.

Then everything began to unravel for Jack. On lap 77 he encountered Jo Siffert's March, stuttering along with a fuel feed problem, and - forced almost to stop - instantly dropped five seconds to Rindt, who by now was unleashing all of his genius, sideways everywhere, forcing the Lotus beyond its limits.

Thus to the final lap - and still the fates were working against Brabham. At Tabac he came up on three tailenders, and had to back off, leaving him unsettled when he came across Piers Courage at the final hairpin.

What Jack should - and, ordinarily, would - have done was duck in behind Courage, for still Rindt was not close enough to make a move. As it was, though, he tried to get by before the hairpin, going off the line, where no one had been all weekend. On full right lock he slid straight on, thumping into the barrier at my feet. Rindt, flicking into the corner, shook his head in disbelief.

When it was all over, I ran the length of the pit straight, arriving near the Royal Box in time to see Jochen shake hands with Rainier and Grace, accept the garland and trophy. Trembling, with tears rolling down his face, he looked like a man in a trance: his final lap - another record - had been 2.7 seconds quicker than his qualifying time.

That night, after the Gala Ball at the Hotel de Paris, Jochen came down to the Tip-Top Bar, as drivers did in those days. We were waiting for him, and at midnight he and Nina arrived, swinging the trophy between them, staying until well after two.

Nearly half a century on, my eyes still moisten at the memory of that day, not least because four months later I made my first trip to Monza, and it was there, in final qualifying, that Rindt was killed, never knowing that the world championship was his.

Monza's greatest finish

If my first touch with Monza came at a terrible moment - and I was to see further tragedy there - still it stirred my soul as no other circuit has ever done, and the Italian Grand Prix weekend remains my favourite the year round.

Yes, I know these days the race itself is invariably a brief and boring procession, but the ghosts still abide of Nuvolari and Ascari, and so do my memories of Monza when it was a flat-out blast. Let me take you back to the 1971 race, when Howden Ganley - six-tenths behind the winner - finished fifth.

Nothing more than a race victory was at stake, for Stewart had already clinched his second world championship, but still the grand prix promised to be something, because in those days it always was.

This was my first season inside the sport, and through a summer of getting to know everyone of particular help to me was Chris Amon, who would become one of my closest friends. At the time he was with Matra, who had probably the best chassis, but a V12 engine which sounded inimitably glorious, but was well off on power.

So hopeless had it been at the Nurburgring that the team gave Austria a miss, but by Monza a persistent oil churning problem had been solved, and Amon reckoned his engine on par with Cosworth, if not Ferrari and BRM. Running a rear wing about the size of a tea tray, he put the Matra on pole.

At the start - or rather, before the start - Clay Regazzoni leapt away from the fourth row, but back then they didn't worry about things like that, particularly when it was a Ferrari at Monza. Gianclaudio duly led the first lap, but the pack soon caught him, and most of the early leading was done by Ronnie Peterson's March, with Regazzoni and team-mate Jacky Ickx, the Tyrrells of Stewart and Francois Cevert, and the BRM of Siffert close at hand. Amon for the moment sat back.

In those days reliability was not something to be taken for granted, and at Monza the attrition rate was always particularly high. Long before half-distance both Ferraris were gone, and so were Stewart and Siffert, but others were coming through, including Mike Hailwood, who had not been near a Formula 1 car for six years: "I didn't know what this slipstreaming lark was all about," he laughed afterwards. "I'd never done it before."

"A better result than last year but much less fun. They've ruined the place with these poxy chicanes..."
Mike Hailwood laments 1972-spec Monza

After running easily in the pack, with 20 laps to go Amon asserted himself, the Matra screaming past in the lead, where it stayed until lap 47, when Peterson came by in front once more, and Chris - one hand shielding his eyes - was dropping back. "I'd been losing tear-offs," he said, "so this time I taped it more firmly - too firmly, as it turned out, because when I pulled it off, the whole bloody visor went! Actually, in the end it didn't make a lot of difference, because then I started to get fuel starvation as well."

Mortified as I was by this development, still there was an epic fight to watch. On the last lap Cevert and Peterson arrived at Parabolica together, but left their braking too late, and got out of shape, at which point Peter Gethin - fourth going into the last lap - dived past them, taking his BRM V12 a thousand revs over its limit before snatching top gear: at the line he was a couple of feet ahead of Peterson, with Cevert third and Hailwood fourth.

Believe this if you will: that day the lead changed 25 times, among eight drivers - and, most remarkable of all, on only eight of the 55 laps was the order unchanged from the previous time round. Gethin never had another world championship race victory, but 46 years on he remains in the record books as the winner of the fastest grand prix ever run: 150.754mph.

To some degree that 1971 race was something of a last hurrah for Monza, for when we went back the following year chicanes had been installed, utterly changing the character of the circuit, reducing the lap speed by 20mph. Again Amon and Ickx shared the front row, but neither finished, and it was left to Emerson Fittipaldi's Lotus to win from Hailwood's Surtees. "A better result than last year," Mike remarked, "but much less fun. They've ruined the place with these poxy chicanes."

So they had, but still there were to be memorable days at Monza. Ask Stewart to name his greatest race, and he does not, as you might expect, go for the Nurburgring in 1968, when in appalling conditions he won by four minutes: rather he chooses the '73 Italian Grand Prix, a race he didn't win.

"The thing is, anyone can go fast at Monza. There are some testing corners - particularly the Lesmos - but basically you're flat out for a lot of the lap, so it's difficult to make up time. On the eighth lap I got a puncture, and then came through from last to fourth - I think it was probably my best drive, because it was a matter of being fast and ultra-smooth, of not scrubbing off speed anywhere. I don't know how many times I broke the lap record, but I kept getting pit signals from Ken Tyrrell, saying things like, 'Minus 25 Fangio'!"

This was indeed one of the great comeback drives, but Amon's at majestic Clermont Ferrand the year before stands as the best I have seen. On pole with the Matra - using a Le Mans sportscar engine! - Chris comfortably led until picking up a puncture.

After a slow lap back, and a 50-second pitstop, he began a charge from 10th place, repeatedly shattering the lap record, passing Peterson and Cevert in a single lap, finishing on the heels of second man Fittipaldi - and taking a minute out of Stewart, who won.

'Bravo Stewart, but thank you, Mr Amon' ran next day's headline in L'Equipe.

Creating racing folklore

When Amon retired in 1977, the wheel of his Wolf Can-Am car was taken over by one Gilles Villeneuve, then the sensation of Formula Atlantic. "Is he quick?" I asked on the phone. "Quick ?" Chris retorted. "He's as quick as anyone I've ever seen!"

Once Gilles moved into Formula 1 with Ferrari (via a one-off drive with McLaren), the legends began almost immediately: a disarmingly honest man, he was, I believe, the fastest racing driver I have seen. If his greatest drives came at Monaco and Jarama in 1981, his last full season, more than any other Villeneuve race it is Dijon '79 that most resonates with me. The battle between Gilles and Rene Arnoux is embedded in racing folklore.

"That was my best day," said Jean-Pierre Jabouille. "The first win for me and for Renault - and in France. Sadly for me, though, no one remembers who won - only the fight for second place! And when I saw the video, I understood..."

In qualifying only Villeneuve got near the turbocharged Renaults, and he duly led from the start, running away from Jabouille at a second a lap: "To go for it was all I could do. For straightline speed we had to run very low downforce, and I knew I was hurting the tyres, but what was the alternative - run third all the way, and go to sleep?" That was him.

Soon after half-distance the inevitable happened, and Jabouille whistled past the Ferrari on the pit straight. "I could see his tyres were finished when I passed him," Jean-Pierre said. "How he got to the end, I'll never know."

In the Ferrari pit they had new Michelins ready, for Jody Scheckter - running at nothing like his team-mate's pace - had already been in for a change. Villeneuve, though, stayed out, and Arnoux began to reel him in: going into the last five laps the cars were as one, and with two to go Arnoux came by ahead. That was that, we thought: Villeneuve's gamble had failed.

But Gilles was not like that. "I thought Rene would run away down the straight, like Jabouille had: I was in really bad shape with the tyres, but I could stay with him - so he had to have a problem, too."

"I don't know how many times we touched - but it was never because we were trying to push each other off. It was fun!" Gilles Villeneuve on his epic Dijon scrap

He had, in the shape of faltering fuel pick-up. "I thought I'd try to get him back as soon as possible," Villeneuve said, "because he wouldn't be expecting it. At the end of the pit straight I wasn't really close enough, but I went for the inside and left my braking really, really, late."

No one - not even Gilles and Rene - really knew how many times they passed and repassed, how many times they banged wheels, slid wide, went off, rejoined, touched again. Halfway round the final lap, Arnoux seemed to have it done, and at the uphill hairpin felt secure enough to take the conventional line in - whereupon Villeneuve, braking later than late, dived through on the inside, and that settled it.

An abiding memory is that on their slowing-down lap Villeneuve gave a wave of respect, immediately acknowledged by Arnoux, and when they climbed from their cars, they embraced. "I thought for sure we were going to get on our heads," Gilles giggled, "because when you start interlocking wheels it's easy for one car to climb over the other. I don't know how many times we touched - but it was never because we were trying to push each other off. It was fun!" Nearly 40 years on, we have seen nothing like it since.

Mario Andretti described the scrap as, "Nothing to get upset about - just a couple of young lions clawin' each other", but at the next race, Silverstone, Villeneuve and Arnoux were grilled at a GPDA meeting by other elder statesmen, Niki Lauda, Scheckter and others calling them irresponsible. Gilles was unfazed: "From where they were, what the hell could they see?"

Rain masters: Villeneuve, Rosberg and Senna

While on the subject of Villeneuve, I should mention Watkins Glen at the end of that year - and not so much the race, which he won, but the first day of practice, when the rain was so bad that few drivers ventured out.

Denis Jenkinson and I were in the pits, taking what shelter we could, when Jacques Laffite got our attention. "Gilles!" he shouted. "He's going out!" And sure enough there was a Ferrari mechanic, carrying the tiny helmeted figure across the river in pitlane to his car.

Only eight drivers took to the track, and clearly Michelins, as used by Ferrari, were the thing to have. The fastest Goodyear runner, Vittorio Brambilla's Alfa Romeo, lapped in 2m25s, and then Scheckter - who admitted to scaring himself - went round in 2m11s. That made him second fastest, 11 - eleven - seconds behind Villeneuve.

It was surreal. "Look at him," murmured Laffite. "He's different from the rest of us." So he was. The only racing man who has since reminded me of Gilles is Marc Marquez.

In the 21st century we have become accustomed to endless periods of domination by one team - Ferrari, then Red Bull, then Mercedes - which makes the statistics of 1982, the year of Villeneuve's death, seem barely credible: 16 grands prix produced 11 winners, from seven teams. No one had more than two victories, and the man who took the championship, Keke Rosberg, won only once.

At the time Rosberg's Williams team was still using the Cosworth DFV (now in its 16th season!), and struggling to stay with the turbos. At Monaco in 1983, though, Keke scored his greatest victory, choosing slicks for the damp start, and leaving his wet-shod rivals behind. It was like sleight of hand, all deftness and flair: the rest looked clumsy.

A year later at Monaco came the celebrated wet race that was stopped before half-distance. After Nigel Mansell crashed while leading, Prost took the chequered flag, with the Toleman of rookie Ayrton Senna at his heels - and the Tyrrell-Cosworth of Stefan Bellof catching both of them. Knowing little of Senna at that time, we assumed he would be thrilled by his great showing; instead he was incensed that the race had been stopped.

Twelve months later, at Estoril, there was another race in terrible conditions, and this one - because he was in the lead - Ayrton wanted to be stopped! His first grand prix victory came, appropriately, after a drive for the gods. "Villeneuve all over again, isn't it?" Jenks said as he took the flag. "A driver who's ahead of his car."

Senna led from the start, and drove away. For a man in only his 17th grand prix - and in conditions unthinkable today - it was a numbing performance, and the pity was that so few were there to see it. Thanks to the miserable weather, and high ticket prices, the crowd was generously estimated at 10,000.

"In the spray it was impossible to see where the deep puddles were - I was doing maybe 300km/h, and once you start aquaplaning at that speed, you're finished..."
Prost after his 1985 Estoril crash

It's not easy to convey how appalling the rain was that day, but a clue may be had from one of Piquet's many tyre stops. So dire were the Pirelli wets on Nelson's Brabham that when he came in - laps behind - for the final time, he got out of the car, and disappeared, returning eventually in clean, dry, overalls. Well, there was no hurry, was there?

In those days, of course, we had no safety car, no facility for continuing a race 'under yellow' until the weather improved, and Senna frequently signalled to officials that they should call a halt to it.

They didn't, though, even when Rosberg crashed at the last corner, his car bouncing off the guardrail into the middle of the track. Keke - thumb broken when the steering-wheel flicked back - ran to safety, but there were horrifying moments as unsighted drivers swerved around the Williams.

Next Prost went off - and on the pit straight: "In the spray it was impossible to see where the deep puddles were - I was doing maybe 300km/h, and once you start aquaplaning at that speed, you're finished."

After 67 of the scheduled 69 laps, the two-hour mark was passed, and out went the chequered flag, Senna immediately flinging off his belts, wildly waving both arms, half out of the car in his joy.

"The big danger," he said, "was that conditions changed all the time. Maybe people think I made no mistakes, but actually I've no idea how many times I went off! One time I had all four wheels on the grass, totally out of control, and everyone said, 'Fantastic car control!' It was just luck."

Eight years later, in similar conditions, Senna would win for McLaren at Donington, moving up from sixth to first in the course of the opening lap, and putting in what many considered his greatest drive. Ayrton snorted at that: "No way - I had traction control! OK, I didn't make any big mistakes, but the car was so much easier to drive - compared with Estoril, it was nothing, really."

The most dramatic of title deciders

Over 40-odd years I have seen many a world championship settled at the final race, the most bizarre being Las Vegas in 1981, when easy pole man Carlos Reutemann inexplicably faded to nothing in the race, leaving the title to an exhausted Piquet, while the most unsatisfactory was Abu Dhabi in 2010, when Fernando Alonso and Mark Webber were trapped for most of the way behind Vitaly Petrov, allowing Sebastian Vettel to take an unexpected first title. Unquestionably the most dramatic championship decider, though, was Adelaide '86.

Going to Australia, the heavy favourite was Mansell, for although Piquet and Prost were still in contention, third place would do it for Nigel, whatever happened to his rivals.

Prost's slight chance remained thanks to a stupendous drive in Mexico two weeks earlier. "Even in normal circumstances," said Ron Dennis, "Alain had a lot less power than the Williams-Hondas, but this time he was down a cylinder for half the race, and didn't dare to make a second tyre stop, for fear of stalling. Therefore he had to make two sets last, whereas Mansell needed three, and Piquet four. Alain finished second, ahead of both of them."

If over the season Prost's McLaren-TAG had indeed been outpowered, he remained in contention because his racecraft was without equal, and he made fewer mistakes than anyone else. In this first era of turbocharged engines, his other surpassing skill was juggling speed and fuel: each car was restricted to 195 litres, and if you got it absolutely right, you ran out after taking the flag. Alain hated the rule as much as anyone, but whatever it took to win, 'The Professor' would adapt.

Given his power deficit, though, Prost was never going to be a contender in qualifying, and he concentrated, as always, on a perfect set-up for race day. The fight for pole position was between the two Williams-Hondas, Mansell edging Piquet, with Senna's Lotus third, and Prost fourth.

For all that, Rosberg, Prost's team-mate, insisted that Alain was going to win the title: "He's the greatest driver I've ever seen - for me it would be a joke for anyone else to be world champion, and I'm going to do everything possible to help him." This was Keke's last grand prix, and he wanted to remember it well.

The opening lap was sensational, with Mansell leading initially before being passed by Senna and Piquet. Nelson then outbraked Ayrton, so in the space of two miles the race had its third leader!

The man really on the move, though, was Rosberg, who had qualified seventh, but was up to third by the end of the first lap, and into the lead by lap seven. Prost, after starting in typically conservative style, moved past Senna and Mansell, into third place.

"I always like to see these guys' characters come through in their driving," commented Patrick Head. "With Prost, we'd be way ahead of him at first, and think, 'Where's Alain?' Then you'd see that he was sixth, then fourth, and you'd think, 'Ooooh, Jesus...' That was him, wasn't it? That inexorable quality."

By lap 23, with Rosberg leading easily, Prost passed Piquet for second place, after which Nelson spun back to fourth. At McLaren all was looking good, for if it came to it, Keke would undoubtedly let Alain through, but Mansell continued to run third, where he needed to be, and on lap 32 his title hopes vaulted further when Prost's right front tyre punctured.

Tyre changes were far from an automatic feature of races back then, so Alain, slowly making his way to the pits, seemed to be out of the championship. After a 17-second stop, he rejoined, now fourth, and immediately set a series of record laps: "At that point, all I could do was push as hard as possible - even second place was no use to me."

Mansell could have stopped for tyres, and still won the title, but a Goodyear engineer assured Williams that he should have no problem. Only a lap later Mansell, flat out down the Dequetteville Straight, had his left rear tyre disintegrate...

In the pits Goodyear technicians examined Prost's discarded tyres, and found that the wear rate was less than expected: all being well, they concluded, no one would need to make a stop.

Head again: "Because we had quite a big power advantage, we were also able to run more downforce than anyone else, and I never doubted that was why we encountered tyre problems."

At this stage, though, Williams had no cause for concern. For close to 30 laps there was stalemate, Rosberg still leading from Piquet, Mansell, and a charging Prost.

Then, on lap 63, with 19 to the flag, Keke abruptly pulled off, believing his engine had run its bearings. In fact, what he had heard was a delaminating tyre flapping against bodywork: his right rear Goodyear was in tatters.

As Rosberg retired, so Prost passed Mansell for second place, but still Nigel had the four points he needed - indeed at that point he could have stopped for tyres, and still won the title, but a Goodyear engineer assured Williams that he should have no problem.

Only a lap later Mansell, flat out down the Dequetteville Straight, had his left rear tyre disintegrate. From around 190mph, he fought the bucking Williams to a halt, and parked in the escape road, world championship gone.

"At no time did we think we were taking any sort of gamble," said Head. "Goodyear gave us no reason to consider changing tyres, and anyway it wasn't a wear problem - the bits that were recovered indicated that the carcass had failed, by fatigue."

Now it was simply a matter of winner take all - Piquet against Prost, two seconds apart, each needing the nine points for victory to take them past Mansell's total. Then Nelson headed into pitlane...

"After Nigel's tyre had failed, we were between a rock and a hard place with Nelson," said Head. "If we'd left him out, and he'd made it, we'd have been heroes, but if he'd had an accident, and hurt himself, we'd have looked idiots. There was no choice: we called him in."

Piquet stopped at the end of lap 65, and was still in second place when he went back out. Now it was his turn to apply the pressure, but he made little impression on Prost until the last four laps, when Alain drastically cut his pace: "From the halfway point, my fuel read-out had been telling me I was five litres the wrong side, and wouldn't finish unless I backed off - but of course I couldn't do that, because I was so far behind, after my puncture, so I just had to hope that, for once, the computer was wrong."

For once, it was. Although Piquet set another record on the final lap, Prost's engine stayed alive, and he crossed the line four seconds to the good, at once pulling up in front of the stands, climbing out and literally jumping for joy.

Jackie Stewart summed up the day: "You don't often see a grand prix won by a slower car, do you? But this guy's won the world championship in one." For sheer unending drama Adelaide '86 remains without equal in my experience.

Modern highlights - and the greatest race ever

So many other races, though, have had their moments. I remember that boiling day at Brands Hatch in 1976, when fears of a riot in the crowd kept James Hunt in the race, and he went on to beat championship rival Lauda, only to be subsequently disqualified.

And I think of Silverstone in '87, of Mansell's instinctive pass of Piquet, selling him a dummy into Stowe; of Estoril in '88, when Senna chopped across McLaren team-mate Prost, almost putting him into the pit wall in a move that profoundly shocked us at the time, but nowadays wouldn't raise much of a ripple.

Very clear in my mind, too, is the championship decider at Suzuka in 1989, when Prost and Senna tangled at the chicane, and the re-run at the same circuit a year later, when Ayrton took aim at Alain at the first corner, and at 150mph pitched him off the road in the most reprehensible move I ever saw at a race track: behind them were 24 other cars, and the wing of Prost's Ferrari - sheared off in the impact - could have come down anywhere.

Suzuka has always been strong meat, and more than any other circuit has given us drama down the years, as in 1994, when - in conditions so awful that the race was stopped, then restarted - Damon Hill produced the drive of his life to beat Michael Schumacher, only then to be cynically taken out by his rival at the title decider in Adelaide.

Five years after that we went to Suzuka in some trepidation, only too aware that any failure by Mika Hakkinen or McLaren would make Eddie Irvine world champion. As it was, driver and team were faultless, and Mika took his second title.

Hakkinen was the only driver Schumacher feared through most of his career, and they had a particularly intense duel at Spa the following year, Mika resisting Michael's intimidatory tactics before pulling off a pass into Les Combes that ranks with any the sport has known.

The best pure race I ever saw was at Monaco in 1969 - and not the grand prix, but the Formula 3 race run the day before

There are so many memories of Schumacher, but perhaps the most unforgettable for me is Barcelona in 1996, his first year with Ferrari, when - in a car nowhere near the best - Michael simply, stunningly, humbled his rivals in torrential conditions.

I remember, too, a couple of extraordinarily intense V10 era races at Imola, in 2005 and '06, fought out between Schumacher and Alonso, the man to whom his torch would be passed. Fernando won one, Michael the other: on both occasions the rest were nowhere.

And what of L Hamilton, who has won more than half the races in the four years of this hybrid era? It might surprise you, but looking back on Lewis's career to date, the victories most memorable to me were scored not in a Mercedes, but during his McLaren years. First, Silverstone in 2008, when he produced a wet weather drive to rival anything by Senna or Schumacher, and second the inaugural race at Austin, in 2012, when he relentlessly chased down Vettel's faster Red Bull, ultimately pressuring Sebastian into the mistake that decided the race.

I don't have space enough to go into detail on these, and so many other of my 547 grands prix, so maybe they will be the basis of a similar story at a later date. For now, let me conclude with the best pure race I ever saw, which was at Monaco in 1969 - and not the grand prix, but the Formula 3 race run the day before.

From the start a couple of youthful Swedes, Ronnie Peterson and Reine Wisell, cleared off on their own, swapping places constantly for the entire 24 laps, and ultimately lapping three seconds faster than the pole time! Not for a lap - not for a corner - did the action let up.

In the end it was Peterson by a nose, and years later he told me he remembered it as the most exciting race of his career. If Ronnie thought that, it'll do for me, too.