The open pits of the 1988 Detroit Grand Prix: Flashback
Formula 1 drivers might not have enjoyed the Detroit streets but it was a playground for a visiting journalist. Maurice Hamilton recalls the city’s 1988 grand prix where team secrets were easy pickings
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According to my notes from 1988, the Benettons in the foreground had several significant technical tweaks in place for this race in Detroit. Having finished third the previous weekend in Montreal, Benetton was in a fight for championship runner-up with pitlane neighbour, Ferrari. And yet here we were with everything exposed for all the world to see. In today’s egotistical F1 ecosphere, the cars would be behind screens with security heavies only too keen to block all sightseers while team principals engage in spats on TV.
Thirty-five years ago, the teams didn’t have much choice. With the paddock some distance away in the vast Cobo Hall, every single torque wrench and tyre had to be humped to a pitlane that was without cover of any description. If a team forgot to bring a vital item from the paddock, the only way to fetch it once practice had started would be via the surrounding streets. On one occasion a mechanic, dispatched in his team’s pick-up, took a wrong turning, found himself in the tunnel under the river and heading without his passport for Canada on the opposite side.
The track ran along the waterfront (to the left of the picture) before swinging into Downtown Detroit and dealing with grid-pattern streets, concrete walls and a railway crossing. It was bumpy and difficult. The drivers may not have liked working in Motor City, but most of us did.
The glass towers rising in the background belonged to the Renaissance Center which housed everything from bedrooms, restaurants and bars to race organisation and the media centre. It was the only race I ever attended where you could slip downstairs to the press room, retrieve the latest bulletins and sneak back to bed. One year, I had to make good use of such a convenient arrangement.
The Ford Motor Company traditionally kicked off the weekend with a party in its museum in nearby Dearborn. Having embraced the evening with some enthusiasm, I felt the need to watch the following morning’s practice from the quiet of my room several floors up.
My secret weapon was a scanner, bought in the local branch of Radio Shack. Scanners being a novelty in F1 circles, the teams were unaware of such eavesdropping and had yet to scramble their radio networks. By the end of the session, I later discovered I knew more than even the most diligent of my colleagues fighting manfully through the crowded pitlane. One of the many joys of F1 in Detroit – of which this race, sadly, was to be the last.
