An excerpt from Chapter 13 Winning Is Not Enough by Sir

“Look,” said Mark, aged six. “There’s Daddy’s autograph.” We didn’t know what he was taking about, but we turned to see our young son was pointing at the instantly recognizable blue oval-shaped emblem of the . He had so often seen me wearing racing overalls with the Ford insignia, or appearing at Ford events, or featuring in Ford advertisements that he had grown to assume their logo also represented me. In fact, I was first contracted to the company in 1964 and I would remain so until 2004. First as a racing driver, then a public affairs representative, a sales and marketing spokesman, a vehicle dynamic assessor, a concept design consultant and lastly a strategic adviser in training engineers, my forty years with Ford represented the most significant commercial association of my life. It began in October 1964 when I turned up at the British Motor Show at Earls Court, , as a young racing driver hoping to make some contacts in the motor industry. These were early days, and I had decided to drive south from through the night because I didn’t think I could afford to stay in a London hotel. Even so, I had three names written on a scrap of paper—Dick Jefferies from Dunlop, Geoff Murdoch from Esso and from Ford—and I hoped that if I could meet any of them, they might be able to help develop my career and hopefully improve my financial situation. The Motor Show was paradise for an enthusiast like me, and my attention was drawn to the Ford stand and a creamy white Ford Zodiac with red upholstery and chrome wheels. I can still see it now, displayed on a rotating turntable behind red leather- cushioned balustrade, and I just stood there, staring at it. “Do you like it?” A complete stranger was standing beside me. “Yes,” I replied. “It’s lovely,” he said. “Would you like one?” “Of course, but that’s unlikely to occur.”

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“Well, if you drive for me, I’ll give you this car and a bit of money as well.” I looked at this small, dapper man and wondered if he was for real. “You don’t know me, but I know you,” he said. “My name is Walter Hayes.” We started talking, and that evening I phoned Helen to tell her about my new contract with the Ford Motor Company. In return for driving a Ford in a few touring car races and making the odd appearance, they would give me £500 per year and a creamy white Ford Zodiac with red upholstery for my own use. *** Once I had retired as a racing driver at the end of 1973, my role at Ford extended into vehicle assessment, and I began to work as a research and development consultant on future vehicles, assessing performance, recommending improvements to everything from accelerator pedal function to door handles, from engine characteristics to transmissions, steering and brakes. I began traveling around the world on behalf of the company, visiting associated companies and testing vehicles at Ford testing facilities in such far-flung locations as Lommel in Belgium, Cologne in Germany, Geelong in Australia, Warley and the MIRA facilities in the UK, Hiroshima in Japan, road routes in Brazil and on a frozen lake in Norway. The largest facilities were in the United States, at Naples, Florida, and Dearborn, Michigan. At least, I thought they were large until I worked at the 4,500-acre testing facility in Romeo, Michigan; and I thought that was impressive until I saw the 7,500-acre site near the small town of Kingman, in Arizona. In essence, I was creating a new career for myself by taking the analytical skills I had gathered during my racing career and deploying them in the development of road cars. This knowledge and experience turned out to be the cornerstone of the value I added to the Ford Motor Company. “There’s too much stiction on roll,” I would tell a group of engineers, after testing a vehicle. “Huh?” they would reply. “Too much stiction,” I would say. “It’s not helping the feel of the car, and I’m not happy with it.” “What is stiction?”

--more-- “Look, stiction is different from friction. When a car enters a corner, there is ‘dive’ as the weight moves to the front of the car under braking. Then there is lateral ‘roll’ under steering input as it goes around the corner. Then there is a ‘pitch’ change under acceleration as it exits the corner. If everything is set up correctly, this critical sequence of ‘dive-roll-pitch’ movements will be silky smooth, gentle, linear, controlled and consistent. Do you follow me?” I would look at them, checking they were still with me, and then I would continue: “However, what you often find is that the car gets hung up or sticks on one of these stages, and that can cause discomfort to the driver or the passengers, or both. Maybe it sticks at a certain point of the roll and then suddenly snaps to another point, and then to a third. Instead of a single smooth linear progression from zero lateral loading to maximum lateral roll, it can go in three stages, jolting and disturbing other component functions and negatively affecting the ride.” “So, what’s stiction?” an engineer said. “Exactly.” “What do we do about it?” “Well, it’s sometimes a puzzle, and the answer could lie in a of component areas that need to be examined and checked. It could be created by the shock absorbers, roll bars, suspension bushes, rose joints or suspension links, and it could be something to do with the deformation of certain materials, which might be caused by a myriad of variations in the directional stresses connected to the compliance of the components. You got that?” “Erm . . . yes.” It was often complex stuff, but it was my job to try and make them understand exactly what I meant. In fact, “stiction” turned out to be one of the simpler problems to identify and solve.

Copyright 2008, Headline Book Publishing. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission from Winning Is Not Enough by Sir Jackie Stewart. Text copyright 2007. Published by Headline Book Publishing Group (distributed in U.S. by Trafalgar Square Publishing/IPG). Available in bookstores everywhere January 2008.