Throwback Thursday 1995: On board the Renault Espace F1

Stopping power came from huge carbonfibre disc brakes, which Renault claimed could bring the Espace F1 to a stop with just 10% more road than a regular F1 car.

However, this ridiculous creation generated up to 2g of lateral g-force, yet still had a high centre of gravity and a 1300kg kerb weight to contend with, meaning that it cornered "sometimes with three, sometimes with two wheels on the ground". A limited-slip differential and traction control system were small consolation.

On 28 June 1995, Autocar's Gavin Conway took a ride in "the world's silliest Espace" with the former F1 driver who helped to develop it, Éric Bernard.

"It's time," Conway began. "Race harness yanked hard enough to knock the breath out of me. Lots of people wagging thumbs up. Seating position feels as high as the road car's, dashboard is hysterically funny, road car-accurate right down to the little carbonfibre glovebox. Earplugs with intercom to driver shoved deep into my ears. Éric, you wouldn't try to scare me now, would you?" 

"No no no no," replied Bernard. "I'm a nice man, me. Heh heh heh."

Conway continued: "Starter motor shriek, interior explodes, high-frequency vibration through the seat. Éric barks at me through the sound haze, I nod furiously, not understanding a word, enjoying his charming Fraunch accent. 

"Into first, clutch comes out for the last time until we stop. We are on fresh tyres, Éric has explained, and will need to take it easy for the first lap. Heh heh heh.

"Easy. Slammed in the back by a moving freight train, fixed rigor face mask, sucked back, harness going to slice me into four sections, noise daggering about the cabin.

"Heart rate drops to a manageable 140bpm. The staggering acceleration/deceleration combo begins to make sense. The sound is glorious, like a Hollywood version of the real thing, cathedral amplified in the carbonfibre tub, the fury of it matched perfectly with the belly-sucking thrust. Eric's little thumbs flick away at the steering wheel buttons, blammin up and down the 'box, sawing at the wheel like a rally hero, emphasising just how hard this crazy limo is to contain. Down the pit straight, a final blam puts us into top, where we stay forever, where 180mph approaches, where imagination fails.

"Over. Engine shuts down, no flywheel moan, just instant silence, broken by the usual grateful oh-migod babble. But Eric is already being briefed for his next passenger, already on his way from the private jet park outside the track. Big noise is coming.

"The Renault Safrane barely settles on its coils when the front doors pop open and suited minders run to the back. A wheelchair appears and Frank Williams is gently lifted into place. Struck deeply at the profound helplessness, arms and hands useless at his sides. It's difficult to know how to feel, instinctive but no sorrow here, thanks very much. Frank Williams, hero constructor, race maker. Come for a ride.