How to Build a Car: The Autobiography of the World’s Greatest Formula 1 Designer

by Adrian Newey

After all, it’s actually relatively easy to drive a Formula One car. Throttle, Green, Green, Amber. Change. Brake, turn the wheel, point it at a corner, accelerate. Simple. It’s like an arcade game. The challenge is doing it faster than everybody else without losing control. That is an entirely different level.

At four I was sent to the local convent school where I was told that being left-handed was a sign of the devil.

The Triumph factory in particular was a dirty, union-run relic of a bygone age.

One thing I learnt from almost flunking those exams was that distraction is the enemy of performance:

‘Look,’ said Ian, ‘if you want a job as a draughtsman then it’s yours, but you’ll only ever be a draughtsman. If you want to be a proper design engineer, you need to get your degree. What I suggest you do is get your head down and keep battling.’

That was the mantra. Ken and Ian both said it: get your head down, Adrian; keep battling.

when the going gets tough you need to get your head down and find a way through it.

Thus, the aim of the chassis designer is to: One: ensure that the tyres are presented to the ground in an even and consistent manner through the braking, cornering and acceleration phases. Two: ensure the car is as light as possible. Three: ensure that the car generates as little drag as possible. Four: ensure that the car is generating as much downforce as possible in a balanced manner throughout the phases of the corner.

The ‘spin and win’, it’s called. It’s one of the most dramatic moments in IndyCar history and well worth seeking out on YouTube when you have a chance.

At Red Bull I’ve introduced what I call the 24-hour rule, which is that we sit on an idea for a day or so, throw it around and talk about it, but don’t do anything concrete until it has been critiqued. Does it still stand up after 24 hours? If the answer’s no then we chuck it in the bin.

if you can come up with a decent concept then develop it year after year until either the regulations change or you realise that it was the wrong route. That, for me, is the most fruitful way to work.

To be honest, the important tasks for a driver from my car-focused perspective are that he (a) gives good feedback on the car, and (b) drives it very fast around a series of tracks without making mistakes. And on both counts Nigel delivered.

But as ever in situations like that, there was no point in playing the blame game. Just as I hate it when drivers forget that they are an employee and start blaming the team when things go wrong, the reverse is also true: you’re a team. You stick together.

If a driver feels at risk, you’ve got to listen. It was our job as engineers to make sure the car was safe. It’s all about trust and trust is a two-way street.

Nigel was forced to stop and abandon the car on his slowing-down lap, having run over a spectator at very slow speed. We had a letter the next day from said spectator saying that he had broken his foot in the tumble but felt that he was very privileged to suffer such an injury from Nigel.

Suffice to say, however, that it was around this time that those in the pit lane began to refer to the FIA as Ferrari International Aid.

You question yourself. If you don’t, you’re a fool. The first thing you ask yourself is: Do I want to be involved in something where somebody can be killed as a result of a decision I have made?

Eventually, on the evening before the commencement of the trial, Patrick came up to me and said, ‘Just to let you know that as far as I’m concerned, you were the chief designer and responsible for the design of the car and therefore, I believe, you have to take responsibility for this.’

I also introduced a culture that meetings should only be deemed a success if a clear set of ideas and actions came from them; they should not be used simply to read out reports that should have already been read prior to the meeting.

At Valencia, Helmut, diplomatic as ever, approached Mark in practice and said, ‘Mark, you’re always shit at Valencia; will this year be any different?’ which is not really the best way to motivate a driver.

Look out of the window of a passenger aircraft when you take off or hit turbulence and you will see the wing flexing – the tip of a Boeing 747 wing deflects over 6m at full gust loading.

Thirty-five years later, I can look back on an eventful, fruitful career – one spent designing cars and asking myself the same series of simple questions. How can we increase performance? How can we improve efficiency? How can we do this differently? How can I do this better?