By Denise McCluggage
A new race car is a
compendium of promise and problems. Only the real world can reveal which
predominates and chart the hoped-for realization of the designers’ vision. That
route is either complicated or simplified by the other element now introduced
to the mix:
the driver.
The driver may, while
simply standing there in his billboard suit, have the sort of talent and
driving style that meshes neatly with the chance characteristics of this race
car. Out of the box the car may fit the driver remarkably well or the driver is
the sort that can overwhelm mismatches. Anyway the 2014 Renault RB10 and Red Bull’s
rookie Australian are off to a dancing start that delights almost everyone
wearing the same logo—the designer, the engineers, the tire-changers, the
crew chief. All…
Unless. Unless standing
nearby in matching gear is a four-time world champion, the obvious Number One
of the team. But his face is clouded by a puzzled frown, his jaw works
slightly. The dance he and his all-but identical car are experiencing involves
misheard melodies, trod on toes and a hitch in the rhythm.
You might recognize an
imagined sketch of the Red Bull Formula 1 team with Sebastian Vettel and his
new teammate Daniel Ricciardo. You might even think you know what has happened
in 2014, like those posting their certitude on the internet. “I knew Vettel
wasn’t that good. It was the car all those years.” “Ricciardo is making Vettel
look silly!” “It wasn’t Vettel, it was the car.” ”It was the car.” Echoing off
in the distance—“itwasthecar.” Oh, how Vettel’s non-fans are gloating!
My observations: at the
least these people are premature in their judgment. Oh, they could be right,
but most likely for the wrong reasons. And only a scant few of them have any
real understanding of racing.
Ah, I am claiming more
understanding than these ardent folk? Yes, I am. Long ago before there was a
known Internet and Formula 1 racing was accessible to the few journalists frequenting
the scene I was there. Close up. Watching, listening and talking to the
principals over dinner.
First, I’ll tell you one
thing I learned from that experience and from my own time racing sports cars.
It is never “the car” or “the driver.” It is both. And before you brush it off
with a brusque “of course” let me add: it is the car and the driver in a more
interwoven manner than many are likely to imagine.
As illustration let me
relate a story about when Dan Gurney came to Europe to drive a factory Ferrari.
The photograph alongside these words shows Dan at a practice session at the
Nurburgring. Phil Hill is interpreting to him what Team Manager Tavoni—blocked
from view by Phil—is saying. Dan has just taken a few laps of the ‘Ring—it was
Dan so they were impressively fast laps. But Tavoni is frustrated. He has asked
Dan what would he like done to the car, what would he like changed. Dan has
said, in effect: “Nothing. I like it. It’s fine.”
Dan had come bursting
out of California, loaded with as much native talent as anyone was ever likely
to see. He could climb into anything with wheels and drive it as well or better
than anyone else could dream of. He was beating internationally experienced
drivers. He was making headlines and it was clear he was going places. I later
wrote in my paper
Competition Press that obviously he would be America’s
next champion. (I got it right; it was history that goofed.)
But here he was brand
new to Europe and was in some odd way disappointing Ferrari’s team manager
because he liked the factory’s car. What was going on?
Phil later told me that
Dan was in effect too good for his own good. ”He can adjust to work with a
car’s quirks and get a great performance. “That’s fine for the level at which
he has been racing, but not on the international scene.” At the top, drivers
were expected to work with the mechanics and engineers to adjust the car to
compliment the driver’s style, augment his strong points and thus reach a
performance level of car and driver in synergy.
Phil had come quickly to
that understanding but had made a different mistake, “I’d tell the mechanics
what they needed to do to fix a problem.” He laughed. That had broken some code
of each to his own specialty. “I learned to tell them exactly what the car
would do when I did this or that and what I wished it would do instead. It was
like playing charades, but they came to see in their own way what it was I
wanted. They did it and we were all happy.” Especially after Phil learned
to do that not only in Italian but in Modenese, the local
patois. They
loved that.
Dan soon realized that
as good as he was he was even better getting his race cars tweaked to suit his
better self rather than dealing with what the car presented to him. He became
so good at that he built his own race cars with admirable successes. (He even
learned to adapt champagne to his unique preferences. It was Dan that began the
now universal habit for race winners to spray the world with bubbly instead of
ingesting it.)
But back to Red Bull and
this year’s trials of a champion. Sebastian Vettel perhaps is less inclined, or
perhaps even less able than his competitors, to adapt to a car’s flukes and
foibles. (Clearly Ricciardo has had a smoother time of it this year than
Vettel.) Historically Vettel has been extremely sensitive to characteristics of
his race cars. Some will recall the struggle he had when blown diffusers were
banned for 2012. (Thus, in brief, decreasing the downforce.) Mark Webber, the
then Aussie teammate, had an easier time adapting than did Seb. But then
something else came along and once again the downforce was more to Vettel’s
liking and he was driving happy again.
The new V6 turbo cars
are as short on downforce as they are on ear-punishing sound. I was wondering
which drivers would have trouble with that. I was surprised that Vettel was one
of them because I had watched in awe a truly supernatural performance of his in
the rain last season. But maybe a general absence of grip, a friction-free swim
in effect, is a different coping problem than rather sudden changes in slip
angle front and rear can be.
Whatever it is about the
RB10 that makes Vettel uncomfortable and makes him drive in such a way that
tire wear becomes a problem etc. it is something he is aware of, unhappy about
and is trying hard to figure out. As is the entire team. (Except maybe a
clam-happy Daniel Ricciardo.)
Does being so dependent
on getting your car to match your driving style make you less a driver than one
who can adapt easily to whatever he is driving? If that adaptability makes you
collect more points then the answer is yes. But it’s the season-end point-count
that matters. Let’s wait for that.
No doubt the process of
reworking a car to mesh with the driver takes time, precise communication between
the driver and engineers and real-world testing. At this point though testing
is racing so time is tight. But the result in the long run is more dependable
and more successful. Four championships mean something.
It will be exciting if
the Red Bull team can tailor the RB10 to Vettel. It may be character-building
for Vettel if they can’t. And he has to change his style or flounder. Can he do
that? Either way it behooves us all to watch the process and not jump to
judgments too soon.
In the meantime are you
not enjoying Hamilton and Rosberg, those “star” teammates, as well? Formula 1
this year, in spite of its goofy green notions, is mighty entertaining though I
will be glad when it gets back to a time zone more compatible to my Mountain
Time. (I refuse to watch racing in anything but real time.)
Am I, after all, as
intransigent as Vettel?
