We attended all nine days in Phoenix, with a couple we adore, their introduction to F1 — and they’ve been to every USGP since.
On Saturday morning in 1991, it rained much of the night on our camp west of town, carrying on into the morning. We ran a hair late and stood in line with umbrellas as cars went out for morning practice.
At first, only one car circled around. Or maybe that’s how I remember it. Immediately up to speed, raging amongst the skyscrapers — one could hear every inch of pedal and the countersteering madness.
We knew, we thought, and arrived at the fence about three laps in.
Senna.
Couldn’t possibly have been anyone else.