Gilles Villeneuve
It all started with a dinner conversation with some English friends. Carol had just come back from London and was talking about her old school girlfriend. Pearl was into her second marriage and her husband was the publisher of Autosport, and Carol was mentioning how her friend was now living the good life.
I was sharing a house with a guy who constantly had his nose in guitar and car magazines and one day I mentioned about Nigel, a friend of Carols. He suggested we contact him to see if he wanted a story and photos on the upcoming Formula Atlantic race at Westwood, just outside of Vancouver. We shortly got a message back saying we could send what we wanted to on spec and if they liked it they might publish it. They also sent a letter confirming accreditation. When we called the Formula Atlantic press office for our passes we were both a little surprised at the yes sir attitude.
The weekend of the race we made our way to Westwood. It was a lovely road track on the side of a mountain with incredible views. (It is now a housing estate like most racetracks that were once just outside of cities. Riverside is another example.) I had never been to a car race before and it probably showed. As far as I was concerned it was just another gig and a full press pass was no different than an “all access” backstage pass. Undoubtedly we looked like rock and rollers in the midst of motor heads and grease monkeys. Needless to say we got funny looks from the rest of the media people. The Autosport accreditation made it all the more incredulous for them. I had no idea at the time it was considered the “Bible’ of auto racing. Finally one journalist could take it no longer and asked me how the hell I got Autosport credentials. I casually answered that a friend knew the wife of the publisher and left him shaking his head.
So we both went about our business trying not to get run over in the pits and getting too close at times to trackside. Watching the guys on the track it became apparent that there was one driver standing out amongst the rest. He appeared way, way faster than everyone else. He was absolutely amazing to watch. Outrageously exciting and he seemed to be on the ragged edge 100% of the time. I had to meet this guy.
After the Saturday’s events I made my way to the back of the paddock where the campers and motorhomes were. I found the little demure French Canadien called Gilles Villeneuve. I had visited the press tent moments before and had stuffed several cold beers in the camera bag. Introducing myself I offered a beer to which he declined and popped open a Coke. I marvelled at his driving style and the apparent breakneck speed and asked what he was doing that was so different. He replied in halting English with a deep Quebecois accent that he had learned to race on ice and what he was doing on the road was driving as fast to turn the road into almost ice. Like I said, right on the edge.
I was taken with the guy and became an instant motor racing fan. When he secured a seat in F1 with Ferrari no less, I was ecstatic. I was over the top with his win in Montreal, and shattered at his death at Zolder.
Gilles Villeneuve with journalist Ross Morris.
Many, many years later I was attending my first European F1 race at Monza. Saturday between morning practice and qualifying found me wandering around the historic track. Approaching the pedestrian tunnel I spotted a piece of graffiti on the wall next to the entrance and was gobsmacked. It stopped me in my tracks. All it said was “Gilles toujours avec moi”. I raised my camera to take some photos. I could feel the tears running down my cheeks. I could barely focus. As I was drying my tears I felt an arm around my shoulders. A man slightly older than me was gently squeezing my arm and said something in Italian. I gurgled that I was Canadian and only spoke English. He then said in broken English “We all feel the same for Gilles”. He asked if I was OK and I said I was and he disappeared back into the crowd leaving me to contemplate Gilles legacy.
