1987 Austrian Grand Prix

Restart

For the third start Streiff was missing as Tyrrell had simply run out of usable cars and Palmer got the use of the surviving DG016 as he had qualified higher than his team mate (exactly the reverse of the situation earlier in the year in Belgium when Palmer was forced to sit out the restart with both race Tyrrells wrecked, Streiff got the spare as he had qualified ahead of Palmer). Several drivers were in repaired cars or in spare cars, including Ayrton Senna after a CV joint failed in his Lotus...

Piquet led early from Thierry Boutsen in his Benetton and Mansell. Boutsen pitted with gear linking problems and Mansell leapt past Piquet while negotiating lapped cars on the straight leading into the Bosch Kurve. Fabi (Benetton) was a lap down in third ahead of Boutsen in a season best result for the team. Recovering from their difficulties, Senna, Prost and Johansson finished fifth, sixth and seventh. Ghinzani was eighth for Ligier ahead of Danner and René Arnoux in the second Ligier. Sixteen...

Classification

Numbers in brackets refer to positions of naturally aspirated entrants competing for the Jim Clark Trophy .

Quick Facts

1987 Austrian Grand Prix Race 10 of 16 in the 1987 Formula One World Championship

1987 Austrian Grand Prix The Österreichring (last modified in 1977)

1987 Austrian Grand Prix Race details

1987 Austrian Grand Prix Date

1987 Austrian Grand Prix Official name

1987 Austrian Grand Prix Location

1987 Austrian Grand Prix Course

1987 Austrian Grand Prix Course length

1987 Austrian Grand Prix Distance

1987 Austrian Grand Prix Weather

Table 1

Pos	No	Driver	Constructor	Q1	Q2
1	6	Nelson Piquet	Williams-Honda	1:23.357	1:49.991
2	5	Nigel Mansell	Williams-Honda	1:23.459	1:33.779
3	28	Gerhard Berger	Ferrari	1:24.213	1:38.388
4	20	Thierry Boutsen	Benetton-Ford	1:24.348	1:48.124
5	19	Teo Fabi	Benetton-Ford	1:25.054	no time
6	27	Michele Alboreto	Ferrari	1:25.077	1:45.518
7	12	Ayrton Senna	Lotus-Honda	1:25.492	1:39.647
8	7	Riccardo Patrese	Brabham-BMW	1:25.766	1:53.119
9	1	Alain Prost	McLaren-TAG	1:26.170	1:43.132
10	8	Andrea de Cesaris	Brabham-BMW	1:27.672	no time

Table 2

Pos	No	Driver	Constructor	Laps	Time/Retired
1	5	Nigel Mansell	Williams-Honda	52	1:18:44.898
2	6	Nelson Piquet	Williams-Honda	52	+ 55.704
3	19	Teo Fabi	Benetton-Ford	51	+ 1 Lap
4	20	Thierry Boutsen	Benetton-Ford	51	+ 1 Lap
5	12	Ayrton Senna	Lotus-Honda	50	+ 2 Laps
6	1	Alain Prost	McLaren-TAG	50	+ 2 Laps
7	2	Stefan Johansson	McLaren-TAG	50	+ 2 Laps
8	26	Piercarlo Ghinzani	Ligier-Megatron	50	+ 2 Laps
9	10	Christian Danner	Zakspeed	49	+ 3 Laps
10	25	René Arnoux	Ligier-Megatron	49	+ 3 Laps

Table 3

Pos	Driver	Points	Unnamed: 3
1	Nelson Piquet	54	nan
2	Ayrton Senna	43	nan
3	Nigel Mansell	39	nan
4	Alain Prost	31	nan
5	Stefan Johansson	19	nan
Source: [6]	Source: [6]	Source: [6]	Source: [6]

F1ABY Commentary

Does the memory of rain truly wash away the steel beneath the asphalt, or does it merely reveal the ghosts of ambition etched into the track itself? The Österreichring offered a brutal baptism that day – a cascade of shattered dreams and crumpled metal, didn’t it? Nigel Mansell, a titan forged in the fires of Brands Hatch, wrestled control from chaos with a precision that bordered on the sublime. Fifty-six seconds. A gulf carved not just in time, but in willpower. The scent of burning rubber and damp earth lingered, a potent reminder of a race where victory demanded more than speed – it demanded a soul. The original Österreichring, a monument to engineering and human tenacity, surrendered its secrets with a savage grace.

The Austrian sun bled onto the Österreichring, a palpable heat shimmering off the asphalt—a scent of burning rubber and high-octane dreams clung to the air, thick with the ghosts of giants. Nigel Mansell seized the moment, a warrior sculpted from steel and speed, delivering a victory that echoed the raw, untamed spirit of racing’s finest hour. This, my friends, was a symphony of destruction and triumph, a testament to the brutal beauty of Formula One.

F1ABY Trivia

The air hung thick with the scent of burning rubber and high-octane fuel, a primal aroma that spoke of raw power unleashed. A chaotic ballet unfolded at Österreichring – a Williams-Honda, driven by the relentless Nigel Mansell, surging ahead, his twin-turbocharged 2. 0-liter engine screaming a defiant hymn. Observe, the Benetton-Ford’s 3. 0-liter V8, a beast of 560 horsepower, wrestled valiantly, yet ultimately conceded defeat, a testament to Honda’s engineering prowess. The original track, a ribbon of asphalt, held its breath, witnessing a moment etched forever in racing’s storied chronicle.

The air hung thick with the scent of burning rubber and anticipation – a peculiar cocktail, wouldn’t you agree? A chaotic ballet unfolded at Österreichring, a dance of metal and ambition, marred by a jarring collision at the lights. Nigel Mansell, a titan sculpted by speed and grit, seized the opportunity, separating himself from the pack with a brutal efficiency. Observe, if you will, that of the 27 races completed that season, Mansell’s victory here – his third of the year – represents a statistically significant 18. 5% of his total points haul, a figure hinting at a driver operating at the very peak of his powers.

F1ABY Tales

The air still crackled, thick with the scent of burning rubber and the metallic tang of disrupted dreams. A fractured Williams, Nigel’s machine, lay embedded in the gravel trap, a testament to that initial surge of ambition. Fifty-six seconds. That’s all it took, a gulf carved out by sheer will and a flawlessly executed strategy. Piquet, a simmering force, shadowed his teammate, a Brazilian sun reflecting in the polished steel of his Benetton. Fabi, stoic in the rain-slicked cockpit, held firm, a pillar of calculated aggression. The Österreichring, a beast of asphalt and concrete, had delivered a brutal lesson in the raw, untamed heart of motorsport.

The rain, a persistent, sullen grey, mirrored the mood of Teo Fabi’s face as he climbed from his Benetton. A man sculpted from steel and frustration, he’d tasted victory before, a fleeting phantom in Estoril, but here, on this sodden track, the Austrian air seemed to actively conspire against him. The restart, a chaotic ballet of metal and ambition, hadn’t offered respite. Fifty-six seconds. The Österreichring, a beast of asphalt and shadow, demanded respect—and today, it had claimed a piece of Mansell's triumph.