Disguised as a Grand Prix driver, harnessed by a 6-strapped full safety belt, I am prostrate in the cockpit of the 6-wheeled Elf Tyrrell P34 of Ronnie Peterson.
In front of me, a huge, rectangular rev-counter, set into the mini-dashboard, hides the temperature and pressure gauges: The Tyrrell team is trying out a new ignition system, which explains the intrusion of the instrument installed in a haphazard fashion. Behind me, the pits of the Paul Ricard circuit.
On my right, Patrick Depailler throws me a half-mocking, half-reassuring smile. On my left, Ken Tyrrell watches, half-serious, half-jesting:
“Ready, Jose?”
“Ready. Any orders?”
“Only one—don’t shunt it!’
The big moment had arrived.
I am fortunate enough to enjoy the confidence of the officials of the Elf-Tyrrell Racing Organization, and even of Ken…