The great escape

In July of that scorched summer, Niki Lauda, the reigning F1 champion, called a meeting of drivers to try to get the formidable relic dropped. Lauda lost the vote, the race remained and on August 1 the men in their machines lined up. It was wet on parts of the track and dry on other stretches; nobody was certain about tyres.

Lauda's rival for the title in 1976 was James Hunt, part of a declining breed of swashbuckling racers who ruled the pits, indulged in champagne nights and defied the odds on tracks that were lethal. Known as "Computer Brain", Lauda was arguably the first of the bionic drivers that have now dominated for so long, a man who only took calculated risks.

It all played out on a miserable summer's day deep in the forest and Hunt, in pole position, pulled clear to leave Lauda trailing and chasing. The championship at that moment, as the cars started to screech and bounce their way round the grey road, was not even close: Hunt was on 35 points to Lauda's majestic tally of 58. The race looked more like the street section of a rally than a Grand Prix, with its curves and bends and trees just inches away.

On the second lap, Lauda's Ferrari clipped a curve and took off, vanishing out of the camera shot for a tiny moment, before ricocheting back on to the track and coming to rest in savage flames. The chasing pack swerved, dropped their gears but two cars took hefty hits and Lauda's inferno moved in two final, dreadful shunts to the centre of the track. The car was still for a moment, but flaming wildly before drivers descended on the fire to save their friend. They stuck their hands and legs inside the car's whirling flames to haul Lauda free. It was a 60-second rescue to get him out; enough time for the toxic fumes to poison Lauda's lungs and start to kill him. The Nurburgring had Porches to speed the doctors to crashes, but it took the medics more than five minutes to get to Lauda.

The black smoke, the dreaded sign that somebody is in danger, billowed from Lauda's car sending an ominous message to the thousands of spectators in attendance. The fans knew the implications of the lethal plume.

Lauda stood for a brief moment, but it was an illusion that all was well and he was soon down, his scorched head resting in the lap of another driver. The Austrian touched his own head, gently stroking at the pain and seeing what was left of his ears, eyes, nose and hair. It was a pitiful image.

At hospital, doctors performed minor surgery to keep Lauda's eyes from permanently closing. A priest sat at his bed with the last rites as the champions's lungs started to surrender and he slipped into a coma.

The race was re-started and Hunt won. It was a ruthless business back then and nobody apologised for the race starting again, or for Ferrari touching up other drivers as they waited in silence at the intensive care unit to say goodbye to their friend. It was business, men died and the sport continued.

Lauda woke from the coma. There was great relief in survival and he was offered a spot on the Ferrari management team. The Italians, meanwhile, had hired a new driver. It looked all over.

The injured driver was released from hospital and, whenever he was pictured, his bandaged head always seemed to be stained with blood weeping from his burns. He got back in a car at a practice track, failed to change gear and pulled in after one slow lap. The Ferrari team believed it was over.

It was not. Lauda raced again in Monza just 39 days after the crash. Nobody could believe it. In the pits his head was bleeding, his burns far from healed. He was still leading the championship, but Hunt had closed the gap. "When I fight, I fight," he said. He also told Enzo Ferrari, the boss of Ferrari and the Old Man, as he was known, that a champion does not lose his title in bed. "Perhaps Italians do," he added for insult. It defies belief that Lauda was even allowed to leave the hospital, let alone get anywhere near a car.

It was Lauda against Hunt for the title in the last race of the season in Japan. It rained so heavily that vision was reduced to a few feet and the race was pushed back again and again. Lauda had a three-point lead – Hunt had been rampant. Nobody believed the race would take place because of the weather. It started just before it got dark and Hunt was in front of what looked like a grey wave of water chasing his car, which was the only one that people could see.

Lauda pulled over after two laps. He wanted to live. He went straight to the airport, leaving the rain and speed and championship behind. Hunt had to finish fourth or better to take Lauda's title. He finished third in the sodden disgrace of an endgame.

Lauda called the Old Man from Tokyo airport. There were no kind words, no understanding murmurs from the boss. The extraordinary season was over.

Lauda was called a coward for stopping in the rain in Fuji. But he never had to prove his bravery; his ruined face was awful testimony to his desire. The Nurburgring was never used again. Hunt walked away two years later after pulling his friend Ronnie Peterson out of a burning car at Monza: Peterson died and Hunt left the sport.

Lauda was back the following year, his scars still pink, and his heart still racing. Lauda won the 1977 F1 title. It is sport's greatest comeback.