The Observer

I'm late. Jackie Stewart hates it when people are late. He says so in his book.

It's the Thursday before the Brazilian Grand Prix, and I'm on a train heading into London to meet Sir Jackie on a bus. Not a red double-decker, you understand. I bet it's been a good few years since the three-times world champion has been on one of those.

No, this is his tour bus. Very rock n' roll. He's promoting his autobiography (read an excerpt from it in this issue), and being Sir Jackie Stewart, he's not doing it by halves. For over a week he will travel across Britain to attend book signings and functions to guarantee as many people as possible are aware he is telling his life story.

Sir Jackie Stewart © LAT

It's a treadmill the stars with stories have to walk, and typically Stewart has taken to it with gusto. Later he'll tell me: "I bumped into [writer] Jackie Collins on her tour the other day, and then [singer] Paul Anka walked in. I haven't seen Bobby Charlton yet, but I've seen he was due in the same store."

This morning he's been doing a TV interview and I'm to meet him on his bus at a square just a few minutes' walk from Moorgate tube station.

Fortunately, before heading underground, I've had a call from one of his publicists to warn me the Stewart bandwagon is running a few minutes late. That's a welcome surprise, given how the man likes everything to run to strict schedules. I have a bit of time on my side after all.

But as I emerge from Moorgate station there's a message on my mobile phone. It's the publicist wondering where I am. With my A-Z street directory in hand, I begin to run in the direction where I think my rendezvous is - and fortunately get it right first time. I round a corner and there is the tour bus.

I couldn't have missed it. Sir Jackie's unmistakable face smiles at me across the square. The bus is fully liveried up to match the cover of the book.

I do my best to dismiss the flashbacks to numerous dashes for the slightly less luxurious school bus as I trot over to the Stewart-mobile, and attempt to regain a bit of composure. But still I'm panting as a climb the stairs of the coach and introduce myself to the publicity team.

My worst fear is that I'll be taken straight to Sir Jackie, sweating like an out-of-shape rhino and rasping like Darth Vader without his inhaler. Fortunately, the publicity crew lead me to a comfortable leather seat and give me a chance to sort myself out. I'm offered a variety of drinks and choose a can of Irn Bru. Yes, this is a proudly Scottish tour bus.

We glide away and head for Sir Jackie's next appointment: an interview with Steve Wright for his BBC Radio 2 show. I have about half an hour with Sir Jackie and am led through to the back of the bus, towards a luxury office area fitted with plush light grey leather sofas with royal blue trim. There's no tartan, though.

The man himself greets me with a warm smile and handshake, and we're left alone to chat. I've been looking forward to this. Sir Jackie Stewart is good company. He's always got something to say, and as anyone who has followed motor racing over the years knows only too well, he's not slow to voice an opinion or two.

On that Thursday morning, he was still seething about his row with FIA president Max Mosley over comments Stewart had made about the Formula 1 spy scandal.

Being the high-profile figure he is, it was only a matter of time before someone asked him for his opinion on the affair and Stewart had told it straight: that he believed the whole thing had been blown up out of proportion and that it was starting to look like a "witch-hunt" against McLaren. Strong stuff, but exactly what a lot of people were saying to each other privately.

Max Mosley © XPB/LAT

Understandably and quite reasonably, Mosley reacted with a firm rebuttal to this accusation. But then the president took another step. He threw in some humiliating personal insults which were both unnecessary and far beyond the mark of a man in his position.

Damon Hill, who in his role as the president of the BRDC is working to safeguard the future of the British Grand Prix, bravely waded in with a letter to Autosport in which he roundly criticised Mosley, who then refused to apologise for his abuse.

The whole thing was an ugly little sideshow. But Stewart is not the sort to back down from a fight, and it didn't take long for us to get round to the subject. I won't go over it all again here because it's old news, it remains a sideshow and I can't be bothered to be drawn into it.

But I did try to lighten the conversation: "I suppose you've been an irritant to Max Mosley ever since you told him the March 701 was a load of rubbish." "Probably," Sir Jackie replied with a slight smile. Then his smile widened: "Did you notice how many times I mentioned him in the book?" Yes, I did. Once!

And that brought us back to the subject I had come here to talk about. An autobiography should be an accurate reflection of the personality whose life is being told. And Jackie Stewart has delivered exactly what is promised.

His 'voice' is loud and clear when you read this book. The dyslexia that has defined so much of his character meant that he 'wrote' his story by talking into a Dictaphone, but the transcription of the spoken word into the written version is a success. It captures the essence of the man.

"The motor racing part is not a big chunk of the book," he says. "It is a big part of my life, but it is not all of my life."

True. Stewart's racing career spanned just 11 years. He grew up around cars thanks to the garage his mother and father ran near Dumbarton, and his brother Jimmy was a successful racing driver in the 1950s.

But motoring and cars were not central to his life until he had already risen through the ranks of another sport. Clay pigeon shooting was his first love and his experiences with a gun gave him a taste of competition that would benefit him greatly in his later career.

The early years are recounted with warmth and affection. The strongest character who emerges from these pages is his mother, who incredibly never acknowledged his life as a racing driver even when he was a three-times world champion.

Being a loving son and a gentleman in the old sense of the word, Stewart gives only a certain amount of insight into his feelings about his mother. But she was clearly a true matriarch and he was driven to win her approval - even if the odds seemed to have been against him.

This, coupled with his crippling dyslexia, drove him on to prove himself throughout his life. Successful people are often built upon insecurity and Stewart does not hide from this side of his character. "It's still there," he admits to me.

"But I'm not driven by the thought I have to do what I do. I like it."

Jackie Stewart and Francois Cevert © LAT

Stewart enjoyed the taste of success he first experienced in shooting and wanted more, whether it was behind the wheel of a racing car or in his business life.

The account of his racing days is riveting, certainly. Most of the stories have been told in books or magazines before, but it is always fascinating to listen to an account from the eye of the hurricane.

He is eloquent and often deeply moving when he discusses the chapters of his racing life, particularly when he touches upon the tragedy that so often inflicted itself upon motor racing in the 1960s.

In his 11 years as a racing driver, Stewart watched 57 friends and colleagues die. It had a profound effect upon him and he was driven to take up the safety crusade that made him so unpopular within the sport.

Now that was brave: to speak up and continue to do so when most just want you to shut up. He didn't care if people grew tired of him playing the same record time and again. He felt it was necessary - and he was right.

Motor racing is not the relatively safe sport it is today because of Jackie Stewart, but he did play a fundamental part in making it so. He didn't build the safety barriers at the tracks or make the cars stronger.

But he brought the subject to attention, made it public - which is exactly what he is good at. And you have to admire him for his tenacity and conviction.

He took those qualities into his business life post-1973. A large part of the book is dedicated to what happened next after he hung up his helmet and there is in fairness a lot to tell. Stewart has never stopped working.

Much of it is interesting. But for motor racing fans, it is not as interesting as his career behind the wheel. But this is Jackie Stewart. He's not just a retired racing driver.

I have to make some points of criticism here. Too often you feel that Stewart is name-dropping the business contacts and friends he has made over the years because he feels obligated to.

His instincts as a natural networker, his love of business vernacular and codes of conduct can be overpowering. As a gentleman, you sense he feels it would be impolite not to drop various people into his story and gush about his experiences with them. At times, it's overdone.

He also has a tendency to preach - even if he repeatedly expresses modesty that he "doesn't know it all." If you like, respect and have time for Jackie Stewart, you don't hold this tendency against him. Actually, it is almost endearing. But if you are in the other camp - and from what he has said I gather Max Mosley sits here - it can be grating beyond belief.

But this is Jackie Stewart. Take him or leave him. I choose to take him, because of the truly great racing driver he was and the decent man he genuinely tries to be. This book, just like the man, is honest and deeply human.

"In a way I've undressed myself. Going back over things like Paul's illness was hard," he says, referring to the cancer that almost cost his youngest son his life.

Spectators show their support for Paul Stewart © LAT

"I mean, he lost 22 pounds in weight. It was just a terrible time. Although I got him into the Mayo Clinic system in the US, that was all I could do. I was just a passenger."

You feel the pain with him when Stewart recounts times such as this, which is what any successful writer hopes for when he sits down to work. There are many genuinely moving scenes in his autobiography - although the chapter dedicated to his dogs, for me, went too far. I'm not a dog lover, but you can't deny these animals clearly hold an important place in his heart. Still - I don't get it.

Too soon the publicist has interrupted us to tell me Sir Jackie's next interview is scheduled to begin. Time to go. There's a phone interview to do before he heads into Radio 2.

We say goodbye, he gives me another warm handshake and says, "don't hesitate to call if you want to talk some more." And, you know, he genuinely means it. I disembark on Old Portland Street and walk away from the bus which is already attracting a small crowd of autograph hunters.

I go back to my world of relative calm. Stewart's continues to spin at breakneck speed. He'll do the radio interview, head to a lunch at the National Sporting Club, then head to a book signing in Enfield. Then it's time to head north to Liverpool, and from there it's off for a whistle-stop tour of just about every major town in Scotland.

He's 68 years old, but Sir Jackie Stewart is still as fast as ever. He just doesn't do slow.