Andy Priaulx: The Autobiography of the Three-time World Touring Car Champion. Andy Priaulx
meticulous in his preparations as I am – no wonder we worked so well together!
In the context of the race in Dubai, there was no doubting that we faced a major if not massive challenge if we were to find the perfection we needed to beat the others. But I was not too worried. I had done my own extra special bit of preparation, too, and I was fitter, sharper and more ready for it than I had ever been.
When we rolled our car out at the circuit, I had to learn the track from scratch. So, I went about crawling on my hands and knees and I learned every bump, every little bit of camber and every little bit of kerb at that place. My friend Chris Cramer even taught me to climb trees and look at the track in a very different way, which provided another edge. Maybe the extra help that I thought had been given to the Schnitzer team worked to my advantage. I was motivated and I was so fit. It was just one extra reason to overcome the odds. I worked with my team on every detail we could think of to improve our performance and in the end we ended up with the best car we had ever rolled out up until that point. I felt confident, but I was racing into the unknown.
Before the races, I said to my engineer Sam Waes: ‘I don’t know about you Sam but this feels like a Hockenheim-type circuit to me…’ And I remember my car was really good at Hockenheim. Sam said to me: ‘Yeah, I have the same feeling.’ It was good that we were thinking on the same wavelength then. It gave us both a sense of extra confidence.
In the first free practice session, my car was just sensational. I looked at the others and I saw they were really struggling. The competitor in me said: ‘Yeah, you have come here and tried to outdo me, but we have come with the better car or, if not, at least the better package…’ We knew we were right on the pace and I felt I was right on the money.
Then, in qualifying, I put it on pole by more than a second! It was incredible. the competition were absolutely nowhere by comparison. They were struggling badly and I was the man in charge. They were gutted. The other drivers had produced nothing. And there was little old me, the guy from Guernsey with the almost unpronounceable name, on pole position. It was a triumph for the small team, too. We were all racing for BMW, whether it be for the GB Team, as in my case, or those representing Italy, Spain and Germany, but there was plenty of healthy and competitive rivalry. I think we all fed on that. I certainly did. That night Jo and I went back to my very luxurious hotel and had a nice meal. It was a great evening. I knew what was happening and I felt I was in control all the way.
The pressure must have eaten into and wrecked Dirk Muller’s brain because he had a terrible weekend whereas I drove two good races. Alfa were really, really fast in Dubai, so Gabriele Tarquini beat me twice, but I knew that I only needed to finish second or higher, to win the championship in race two. It was always going to be tight at the end. I expected it to be that way. However, I must admit that it worked out tighter than anyone could have foreseen.
I was leading the first race for a while but there was an Alfa in my mirrors, getting faster and faster and faster. It was Tarquini. I just managed to hold him off until the very end, when he slipped past me and I finished second. I think it was enough, at that point, to rule Alfa Romeo out of the running for the championship. Dirk had struggled and I had closed the gap, but he was still ahead of me.
We started race two with the reverse grid. That meant I was down in seventh place. I think Dirk finished the first race outside the top ten, so I was ahead of him on the grid again. When the race started, there was a big accident at the fourth corner – and I was involved in it. Jan Magnussen rolled, Alex Zanardi tried to avoid him and in doing so he clouted me. The impact damaged my right rear suspension and I thought that was it. Race over. Championship over. Dream over. Oh, my God. I just could not believe it. My heart sank.
It was so sudden. And there I was, crawling back to the pits, almost sideways, with the car wobbling all over the place. From that early high, I was now feeling despondent. But the next thing, the team came over the radio and said: ‘Andy. Andy. Do not come into the pit lane. The race is red-flagged. Do not come into the pit lane.’ More great strategy from Bart. It was red-flagged because Magnussen was on his head – so I had a chance again. The red flag meant the original race was stopped and aborted. A new race, with a new start, would follow.
So I pulled onto the grid and the team managed to fix my car. I remember someone took a few photographs of the scene. There was a picture of myself, and Dirk, sitting against the pit wall helpless while our mechanics buzzed around in the heat with parts and tank tape. He looked really nervous and I looked cool but under pressure.
When the race re-started, I made a brilliant start, cut through the field and managed to climb up to third place. Then, I pulled a great move up the inside of Jörg Muller and was up into second. Tarquini was ahead of me and behind me was James Thompson who was faster than me. I was under massive pressure. That was where my fitness really came in because on every single corner on every single lap I had to defend. I had to hold Thommo off for the whole race in temperatures of 70 degrees Celsius. It was absolutely, stunningly, extraordinarily and crazily baking hot inside my car. If I had given up my position I would have given up the championship and I had no intention of doing that. Dirk was stumbling around in sixth or seventh position but still fighting through the field. I knew I could not afford any slips. The pressure was huge, monstrous and incessant. Combined with the heat, it was a tortuous race for everyone.
I was behind Dirk in the points and I could not let it go. I would not let it go. I fought like a madman to defend from Thommo. Dirk was having all sorts of scraps behind me but I hung on. I finished second. We had to wait for Dirk to come through before we knew if I had won the championship. It seemed like an eternity.
Then, finally, as I cruised around in my oven of a car with my sweat-soaked race suit undone a little to find some cool air, I got the call. It came literally just after the finish line on my slow-down lap. I was waiting, waiting and waiting and then the call came: ‘Andy, you have done it…You are the champion!’
I could hardly believe it. I was the European Touring Car Champion. I had won my first international motor racing title. It was an amazing moment. I could hardly take it in.
Jo and I had survived and climbed our mountain. I thought of my dad, my mum, my sister and my granddad, how proud my family would feel. I thought of my kids and all the people who had believed in me and worked to help me.
The teams were out in the pit lane when I came in. They all lined up and clapped me in – an absolute honour. My mum and dad were there in tears. My dad had Parkinson’s and he was shaking a lot from the nerves of the whole thing but he was so happy for me. Jo was there too. I stood on the car and jumped off the roof. It was amazing. I had such a lump in my throat, it was unbelievable. As I stood there, it felt like a dream.
There were some tears. But this time, they were tears of joy. We had achieved it. We had won. I knew things would change for Jo and I. It was not the end; it was the start. No wonder we all wept again…At last, after the caravan, the hard times and our struggle to survive, we had arrived. That afternoon, in the heat of Dubai, standing on that podium with my family there to share our joy, I knew I had realised my dream. But I knew, too, that it was just the first step.
I took that championship, in the end, on number of races won. Dirk Muller and I finished level on 111 points for the season. It was that close, so close. My superior preparation, that of the team and my absolute determination to succeed had carried me through. That is the way I saw it. I knew I would win and that in my mind nobody else had a chance.
After that final race, Frank Diefenbacher, one of the Seat team drivers, drove his car back to parc ferme and fell out of it. He collapsed with heat exhaustion. He was taken away and put on a drip. The poor guy was so knackered he could hardly stand up, barely breathe and had no chance of speaking properly for a while. He was utterly crushed by those conditions.
Yet he had been just one place in front of Dirk at the finish of the race.
As I let things sink in, I realised that if he had flaked out a lap earlier, or before that, I would not have been champion. Dirk would have passed him and my dream would have been all over. But his courage in producing that fighting finish and crossing the line had secured my first international title. Those are the margins you work