Dawn at Le Mans. The final eight laps of the Indy 500. The scream of Formula One cars as they dance just inches off the aluminium barriers at Monaco, then dive into the tunnel at breakneck speed.
These are the three greatest forms of motorsport, though it could be argued the barely controlled ballet of gravel rallying, or the bumpercar shunting of Australian V8 supercar racing might also have their place. Still, when it comes to the unofficial Triple Crown of motorsport, there are only three places on the podium: F1 at Monaco, The Indy 500, and the 24 Hours of Le Mans.
To this day, only 17 drivers have managed to compete in all three events and win at least one of them. Each is challenging in its own way - Monaco has the tightest corners in the F1 circuit, making passing a near-impossibility; the Indy 500 is both a test of high-speed endurance and strategy, as the lead car is at a disadvantage to those who can draft along in its wake and wait for the chance to spring. Then there is the carefully choreographed chess of Le Mans, where drivers lap continuously, battling fatigue and straining to see ahead in the night. With three classes of cars, the fastest machines must always be on alert for the unpredictable amateur drivers ahead.
The Indy 500 was founded in 1911. LeMans first ran in 1923. Monaco held its first race in April of 1929.
While there have been gaps in the schedule due to world wars and other upheavals, that's nearly a century of racing for all three. But only one man ever conquered them all: Graham Hill.
Graham Hill looked like the man Errol Flynn wanted to be when he grew up. In the 1960s and '70s he was the quintessential English Grand Prix hero, with a pencil-thin moustache, a laughably inadequate helmet, and a rapier wit. Hammering into the barrier at Watkins Glen and badly shattering his legs, he said, "Just tell (my wife) I won't be dancing for two weeks."
This was the sort of stuff any F1 fan could get behind: charm, selfdeprecating humour, and the stiff-upper-lip resilience of a Battle of Britain Spitfire pilot. As it happens, Hill was born a little too late to fly fighters against the invaders, and grew up amidst the post-war deprivation of England. When he turned 16, the Hampstead native joined Smiths, a manufacturer of automotive instruments. He served in the Navy for a few years, where he had the charming title of artificer: a metalworker with knowledge of both combustion and steam engines.
This mechanical aptitude opened the door to racing. After paying a few shillings to turn a lap in a demonstration car, Hill was hooked, and offered his mechanic services in exchange for a chance to drive competitively.
He didn't get his road license until the late age of 24, and his first car was the same age. A 1929 Austin in horribly decrepit shape, the machine rattled and struggled up hills and soon lost its brakes completely. Hill would later say, "The chief qualities of a racing driver are concentration, determination and anticipation. A 1929 Austin without brakes develops all three - anticipation rather more than the first two, perhaps."
After limited success at an amateur level, still working on the cars in the evening for a chance to drive during the day, Hill happened upon a chance meeting with a gentleman named Colin Chapman. The founder of Lotus had yet to make a proper name for himself in racing circles, and was just about to design the lightweight Lotus Seven, a classic shape carried on by Caterham even today.
Graham was paid the nominal sum of one pound a day as a mechanic, but it would take constant demands, including a brief resignation, to get Chapman to allow the Londoner a chance behind the wheel. He debuted in Formula One racing in 1958, and had his first race at Monaco. The car broke.
In fact, Hill would finish only five races over three years, with his lightweight Lotuses plagued with mechanical issues. On the sixth try, this time behind the wheel of a BRM, he finished on the podium at the Dutch Grand Prix in 1960. Two years later, he came second at Monaco, but swept to overall victory as the world champion.
In 1963, he won at Monaco. In 1964, he won at Monaco. In 1965, 1968, and 1969, he won at Monaco. Only Ayrton Senna would eventually surpass Hill's record five wins, and the Brazilian would do so in cars that were significantly less dangerous than the narrow-wheeled rolling bombs that the Brit slid sideways around the guardrails.
In 1966, Hill turned his eye towards the Indy 500, a 200-lap, high-speed circuit race that still holds the distinction of being the most-attended motorsports event in the world. More than a quarter of a million people watched him take victory in a Lola-Ford - even as The Beatles spearheaded the U.K.'s takeover of pop music, the racetracks of America saw a different sort of British invasion.
Sadly, that crash at Watkins Glen would mark the downward slope of Hill's F1 career. And 1969 was the last time he would take the podium. Monaco would be the last place he'd hoist a first-place trophy over his head.
When Matra, the French racing manufacturer, told the young Henri Pescarolo he would be sharing driving duties with Graham Hill, the Frenchman was somewhat dismayed. It was 1972, and while Hill was a legend, he was also in his early 40s. Pescarolo, who had never met Hill, feared both the overbearing arrogance of an elder statesman, and an inability to stand up to gruelling night racing.
He needn't have worried. "He knew it was important not to have your teammate as your enemy," Pescarolo would say, "Not all F1 drivers, especially world champions, have understood that. We beat the other Matras with their F1 drivers - François Cevert, Jean-Pierre Beltoise - because we drove as a team."
Hill shared four-hour stints evenly with his young co-driver, all through the night in the open cockpit of the Matra, and stepped aside to let Pescarolo take the checkered flag: a French driver winning the premiere French race in a French car. It was a gesture typical of the man, the sort of thing you expect to see from a champion.
In November of 1975, a small plane carrying five members of Hill's racing team crashed in night time freezing fog near North London. All, including Hill, were killed instantly.
His son, Damon Hill, would go on to win the F1 championship in 1996, but his legacy is more than his bloodline. Graham
Hill brought wit, poise, and sportsmanship to the highest level of racing, no matter which trophy he was contesting for. A king among drivers, triply crowned. A gentleman racer.
