No Regrets

Great post Will. One can only wonder what Jules might have accomplished had he been able to secure a seat at Ferrari. I think with the right car and right team around him; he would have been running up front contending for podiums.

When I heard that Jules had passed, I was reminded of that dark weekend at Imola with Roland and Ayrton.

Formula 1 has come so far safety wise since the accidents at Imola but it still has a ways to go.

The 2014 grand prix at Suzuka should never have been run given the weather conditions. As I was watching the race, I was reminded of footage that I have seen of the GP in Fiji in 1976. That race should have never been run either but, like Suzuka, Formula 1 had an obligation to the promoters, TV, etc. to run the race. Driver safety should always be first but money speaks loader than common sense sometimes. It had been so long since Formula 1 had a fatal accident I think that the people involved in the sport thought that their was a chance that it might not happen again which is dangerous complacency.

Hopefully, Jules Bianchi’s passing will make everyone stop and think for a moment about ways that the sport can be made safer because Formula 1 will always be dangerous. The crane should have never been where it was but, it all comes down to the race should have been postponed or cancelled.

If the race was cancelled, the money lost could have been made again possibly in the future. By running a race that risked irreplaceable human lives in poor weather conditions, the promoters, commercial rights holder, etc. made the choice that money was more important than the drivers’ lives. Hopefully, if a situation like Suzuka 2014 presents itself again, people can put aside their greed and think of the potential human cost.

A family has now lost something that money can’t buy a replacement of…a son, brother, family member. Rest in peace Jules.

The Buxton Blog

Jules Bianchi c/o James Moy Photography Jules Bianchi
c/o James Moy Photography

I’ve been staring at my computer screen for three hours now. The clock ticks relentlessly, the marking of time with the movement of hands clunking louder and heavier and seemingly slower every second. The electrical whirr of the fridge freezer behind me, a low monotonous mechanical dirge. The creaks of the walls. The twisting of pipes as the boiler flickers on and the flame ignites. A roar in the corner. And all the while, the endless swirling of white noise in your mind, and the deep rhythmic thud of your heartbeat.

Silence isn’t really silent at all.

Focus blurs and vision glistens. The warm emotional relief as tears flow, punctuating the numbness if only for a moment.

I have tried, and failed, to put into words what and who Jules Bianchi was. While part of me made peace with this eventuality some time ago…

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