Taken from Motor Sport, March 2005

Watkins Glen paddock, Sunday October 5, 1975. Niki Lauda is next to me in a queue for a helicopter. A queue, mind. No special treatment here. An hour or so earlier he had hopped out of his Ferrari 312T at the end of the United States Grand Prix after nailing his fifth win (sixth if you include Silverstone’s non-championship International Trophy) of the season — a season in which he had secured Ferrari’s first Formula 1 World Championship for 11 years. Putting them into the context of their time, Lauda’s achievements had saved Ferrari’s reputation in much the same way Michael Schumacher’s have done over the last decade.

Fast-forward almost 29 years to the 2004 Australian GP. Not much changes: I am shooting the breeze with Lauda in an F1 paddock. Except this time the interruption is human, not mechanised: Michael Schumacher, sleek and groomed in white T-shirt and designer jeans, moves in to chat. Lauda, the very antithesis of F1 ‘high fashion’ in his crumpled jeans, sloppy sweatshirt and scuffed Timberlands — a cross between an off-duty mechanic and a binman — smiles and listens, hands stuffed in pockets. Niki has always been thus. But this is a very different Schumacher: no trace of arrogance or confidence, just respectful good nature. They are equals in F1 status, but Michael happily defers to the older man. You can sense his admiration for this veteran who put Ferrari back on the F1 map, back when Schuey was only six.