It's been 20 years since that tragic weekend in Imola. May 1st 1994, I remember where I was, I remember what I was doing. It was a grey, rainy and miserable day. The entire weekend smelled like dirty wet socks. April showers failed to bring May flowers as the damp feel in the air translated into a numb weekend devoid of any colour.
I had celebrated my 20th birthday just a few days before. I remember the excitement of another Grand Prix weekend, which was always a big deal in my house (still is). My father and I share this special bond as we are both massive motorsport fans. In fact, I credit my father for my passion for everything that goes fast, especially on wheels.
We were still in a...
Full Story »