We enjoyed his supreme, audacious talent for only a few, dazzling years. And then the shining light was gone, extinguished by a stupid rule that obliged drivers like Gilles to take additional risks…as if there weren’t enough already. Thirty years on, here are a few of the photos I took of my friend – and some notes I made in May, 1982.
Brazil, 1982: spying a camera around my neck, Gilles grabbed it and snapped this self-portrait
I was standing by the phone booth in the Zolder paddock on Friday afternoon when I saw Gilles, lost in a big, yellow Ferrari transport van, sitting up there in the passenger’s seat. I waved. He beckoned the driver to stop and wound down the window.
“Which hotel are you in?”, he asked.
“The Mardaga,” I replied. “Quite close to the track.”
“Ok. Don’t worry. I thought you might like a lift…
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