Chris Amon would have been 80 years old today. He passed away seven years ago, a victim of cancer.
What a great, great driver. What a lovely man. Chris did not have the air of F1 star about him, more the casual approachability of a farm hand at the sheep market. He was a 19-year-old farm boy when he was almost obliged to leave New Zealand to seek his fortune, such was the obvious enormity of his gift of driving racing cars extremely fast and apparently effortlessly. He was 34 when he returned, to continue with the farming, bringing with him his new partner Tish and settling down for the long haul, a life of family, of sheep and farm machinery and a bit of road car development driving for Toyota in between. Quiet pastures, sunny days, an evening whiskey in front of the hearth with friends.
Decades after his retirement, he was always happy to talk about those days when he'd set the track alight in his Ferrari or Matra, would matter-of-factly explain how he'd driven away from Jackie Stewart or Jochen Rindt, recall the times he'd engaged Jim Clark in wheel-to-wheel battle. But only because you'd asked.
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