As you read this blog, in the lead-up to the Belgian Grand Prix, every Formula 1 driver worth his salt will be steeling himself for the formidable challenge that is pitting a 750bhp Formula 1 car against one of the mightiest racetracks in the history of Grand Prix racing: Spa.
10. Mosport, Canada
Mosport, which hosted eight World Championship-status Canadian Grands Prix in the 1960s and 1970s, was small but fast, difficult in terms of car set-up, and full of awkward elevation changes. As such, it was a pretty dangerous place, especially the section at the end of the long uphill curving straight at the back of the circuit, which is now called the Mario Andretti Straightaway, and which leads to Turn Eight, a fast and tricky right-hander.
In the 1973 Canadian Grand Prix, in which I finished second for Lotus behind Peter Revson's winning McLaren, I nearly had a massive accident early in the race. I was following my Lotus team-mate Ronnie Peterson, and, as I drew close to him on that long uphill curving straight, my car entered the 'dirty' turbulent air behind Ronnie's car's rear wing. Usually that would just cause an irritating loss of downforce, but it happened just as I was cresting a bump and, combined with the steep uphill gradient we were climbing at the time, my car went light at the front. For a second I thought it was going to flip up and back, as we've sometimes seen sports cars do at Le Mans, but fortunately it stayed level. It was a scary moment though: there were a lot of trees at Mosport in those days.
My best result at Mosport was victory in my McLaren World Championship year, 1974. The long-wheelbase configuration of my McLaren M23 was perfectly suited to the bumpy and hilly nature of the circuit, I found a very good balance, and I won from pole.
As I say, Mosport was a dangerous place, but a big challenge: Grand Prix racing in the raw.
9. Kyalami, South Africa
I never won at Kyalami, but I got pretty close in 1972. I qualified my Lotus third, behind pole-man Jackie Stewart's Tyrrell and second-placed Clay Regazzoni's Ferrari, and I felt pretty confident prior to the race. I felt even more confident when Clay made a bad start, allowing me to pass him straight away, and I felt better still 45 laps later, when Jackie's gearbox failed.
I was now leading, but unfortunately Denny Hulme's McLaren was catching my Lotus. Towards the end of the race my car began to develop a handling problem and I could keep Denny back no more. I ended up finishing second behind that wily old New Zealander.
Kyalami was super-fast, with a long straight that ran from the tight Leeukop right-hander via a tricky right-hand kink, called The Kink logically enough, up the hill to a famously challenging quick-ish right-hander known as Crowthorne. The next two bends were fast and tricky too - Barbecue and Jukskei Sweep.
Apart from the circuit itself, Kyalami was always a fun place to visit, because most of the teams used to turn up a week or so early, testing every day in the lead-up to the race, all of us staying at the nearby Kyalami Ranch hotel, and the sun always shone. In those days drivers used to hang out with one another in the evenings, and some of my rivals got into some pretty hairy scrapes, I can tell you!
8. Clermont-Ferrand, France
Forty-four long years before the modern era of World Championship Formula 1 racing had begun in 1950, the very first Grand Prix took place at Le Mans, in north-western France. That 1906 race was won by the Hungarian Ferenc Szisz in a 13.0-litre Renault, at an average speed of 62.88mph, over a gargantuan distance of 763.36 miles. And, no, I didn't take part in it!
Since then, the French Grand Prix has taken place at no fewer than 17 further circuits, making 18 in all.
I took part in 10 French Grands Prix - at Paul Ricard, Dijon and Clermont-Ferrand - and all three of them were very good circuits, the best of the three being Clermont-Ferrand in my opinion.
I only raced at Clermont-Ferrand once, in 1972, but I'm really glad I did so because it was an incredible racetrack, made up of public roads that wound their way around an extinct volcano. As such it was fast and flowing rather than slow and sinewy in the manner of street circuits such as Monaco and Long Beach: as I say, it was a road circuit, not a street circuit.
I finished second in that 1972 race, behind Jackie Stewart's winning Tyrrell, but what I remember most about that afternoon was what happened to poor Helmut Marko, who's now one of the most senior directors of the Red Bull team but was then a young driver for BRM.
I was dicing with Denny Hulme, and my Lotus and his McLaren were pretty evenly matched. The apices many of the corners at Clermont-Ferrand were made up of crumbling volcanic rock, and either Denny or I inadvertently ran over a loose chunk of rock and kicked it up into the path of Helmut's pursuing BRM. It struck him directly on his helmet visor, penetrating it, the injury causing him to lose his eye and call an end to his Formula 1 career.
There were no fewer than 10 tyre punctures caused by similar rubber/rock interfaces that afternoon, but fortunately no big shunts. Nonetheless, the French Grand Prix was never held at Clermont-Ferrand again, which in my view was a pity, because it was a unique,wonderful and natural arena in which to go motor racing.
Had the organisers resurfaced the asphalt, and thereby eliminated the problem caused by stray volcanic rocks, it would have become much safer.
Clearly, 21st-century Formula 1 cars are too quick for a linked-up circuit made up of public roads such as Clermont-Ferrand, but we could have continued to hold the French Grand Prix there throughout the 1970s, and I for one wish we'd done so.
7. Zandvoort, Netherlands
I loved Zandvoort, and raced there often, first competing there in Formula Ford.
It was a fast, flowing circuit, weaving its way through the sand dunes near the North Sea coast.
There were some brilliant fast corners at the back of the circuit - Scheivlak, Tunnel Oost, Pulleveld - and two notoriously tricky slower corners at the start of the lap - Hugenholtzbocht and, most famous of all, Tarzan.
In the 1977 Dutch Grand Prix James Hunt was leading in his McLaren M26, with Mario Andretti close behind in his Lotus 78. On every lap James hugged the inside of the start-finish straight, protecting the inside line into Tarzan, which was the best place to overtake on the entire lap. Eventually, Mario lost patience and tried to pass James around the outside of Tarzan. The result was an accident, and neither of them finished the race.
Afterwards there was an almighty row, two very strong characters both utterly convinced that the other was 100% in the wrong. As ever, these things are always more complex than the protagonists are willing to accept shortly after the heat of battle.
My view is that Mario had had many years of oval racing in the States prior to embracing Formula 1 on a full-time basis in the mid-1970s, and for him it was second nature to race wheel-to-wheel around the outside of a long-ish turn like Tarzan, even if it wasn't banked and even if it wasn't part of an oval.
James, by contrast, was as British as they come, and I recall him saying that what Mario had done "wasn't cricket". Having raced with both Lotus and McLaren for many years, I knew all about cricket, but it's not a sport I've ever learned to enjoy!
I finished fourth for Copersucar in that famous Hunt-Andretti Dutch Grand Prix, and my best Zandvoort result was only third, for McLaren, in 1974.
I'd qualified third for that 1974 race, behind the Ferraris of Niki Lauda and Clay Regazzoni, and as usual I went to bed early the night before the race.
I slept well - a good solid eight hours - and, after breakfast on raceday morning, I walked out through the reception of the Zandvoort Hotel, and to my astonishment I met Mike Hailwood, my McLaren team-mate, coming in. Mike was a party animal, and he'd clearly spent the whole night enjoying himself in Amsterdam.
He'd qualified fourth - and, as he and I lined up next to each other on the grid that afternoon, I remember thinking to myself, "There's no way Mike is going to be able to race well today because he must still be shattered from last night." But Mike was a one-off: over 75 laps he and I diced nose to tail, and at the finish he was just 1.02 seconds behind me.
Mike was a legend - an utterly brilliant motorcyclist and extremely good in race cars too. I was terribly upset when, years later, in March 1981, I heard the news that he'd been killed in a road accident near Birmingham, England, on his way to buy a portion of fish 'n' chips. But that was Mike: a no-nonsense good-time flat-out true-Brit guy.
