Most of us can pinpoint the exact moment in our
lives when we realized that gasoline rather than blood courses
through our veins. For me, it was Saturday morning, 20 June 1965. As
an 11-year-old aspiring car buff, I watched a grainy, flickering,
black-and-white image coming from Le Mans. It was my idol Phil Hill
sprinting across the tarmac and into his seven-liter Ford GT Mark II...