Race
At the start, Hill beat Prost away, while the Benettons were slow and were passed by Berger and Senna (who had already got ahead of Brundle and then Alesi). Hill was leading Prost, Berger, Senna, Schumacher and Patrese. Senna passed Berger for third on lap 2. On lap 6, Prost took the lead from Hill. Soon afterwards, Schumacher passed Berger with Patrese following him through five laps later. The order stabilised at: Prost, Hill, Senna, Schumacher, Patrese and Berger.
Race Result
| Pos | No | Driver | Constructor | Laps | Time/Retired |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 2 | Alain Prost | Williams-Renault | 69 | 1:36:41.822 |
| 2 | 5 | Michael Schumacher | Benetton-Ford | 69 | + 14.527 |
| 3 | 0 | Damon Hill | Williams-Renault | 69 | + 52.685 |
| 4 | 28 | Gerhard Berger | Ferrari | 68 | + 1 Lap |
| 5 | 25 | Martin Brundle | Ligier-Renault | 68 | + 1 Lap |
| 6 | 29 | Karl Wendlinger | Sauber | 68 | + 1 Lap |
| 7 | 30 | JJ Lehto | Sauber | 68 | + 1 Lap |
| 8 | 20 | Érik Comas | Larrousse-Lamborghini | 68 | + 1 Lap |
| 9 | 23 | Christian Fittipaldi | Minardi-Ford | 67 | + 2 Laps |
| 10 | 12 | Johnny Herbert | Lotus-Ford | 67 | + 2 Laps |
Qualifying
| Pos | No | Driver | Constructor | Q1 | Q2 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 2 | Alain Prost | Williams-Renault | 1:18.987 | 1:19.135 |
| 2 | 0 | Damon Hill | Williams-Renault | 1:19.491 | 1:20.145 |
| 3 | 5 | Michael Schumacher | Benetton-Ford | 1:20.808 | 1:20.945 |
| 4 | 6 | Riccardo Patrese | Benetton-Ford | 1:20.948 | 1:23.268 |
| 5 | 28 | Gerhard Berger | Ferrari | 1:21.278 | 1:21.513 |
| 6 | 27 | Jean Alesi | Ferrari | 1:21.414 | 1:21.660 |
| 7 | 25 | Martin Brundle | Ligier-Renault | 1:21.603 | 1:22.026 |
| 8 | 8 | Ayrton Senna | McLaren-Ford | 1:21.706 | 1:21.891 |
| 9 | 29 | Karl Wendlinger | Sauber | 1:21.936 | 1:21.813 |
| 10 | 26 | Mark Blundell | Ligier-Renault | 1:22.097 | 1:22.622 |
Championship Standings After This Race
The Paddock Breakdown
Barry · Gary · KatGary — 33 · Three Fantasy F1 leagues
The air hung thick with the scent of pine and gasoline, a Montreal summer distilled into the roar of sixteen engines. Senna, a ghost in his scarlet machine, stalled on his out lap – a mechanical tremor that echoed the anxieties of a nation still grappling with economic uncertainty. The Williams, with its 6. 4-liter Judd V10, pulsed with a restrained fury, a beast of 575 horsepower meticulously calibrated for this unforgiving asphalt. This wasn't merely a race; it was a testament to the brutal ballet of engineering and will, a final, poignant performance overseen by the spectral presence of James Hunt.
The air hung thick with the scent of pine and gasoline, a Montreal summer's peculiar perfume. Senna, a ghost of brilliance, was do. stranded in ninth, a frustrating echo of his earlier dominance. A curious statistic emerged: Alain Prost secured his fifth pole position of the season, a relentless, almost obsessive pursuit of control. Consider this – only five drivers, Prost, Berger, Alesi, Mansell, and Patrese, had achieved multiple pole positions that year, a testament to the brutal, unforgiving nature of the championship battle.
Kat — 30 · Technical journalist
The rain, a bruising grey, hammered the asphalt – a frantic drumbeat against the Villeneuve circuit. Hill's Williams shuddered, a desperate plea against the relentless onslaught of water. Prost, immaculate in blue, wrestled his machine forward, a predator sensing weakness. A brief, blinding flash of spray, and then – the lead. The scent of ozone and wet rubber, a primal aroma clinging to the air, underscored the brutal ballet unfolding before us. Senna, a ghost in the shadows, sat fifth, a silent question mark etched across the track. This was not a victory to be claimed, but a story to be witnessed.
The rain in Montreal always held a particular weight, didn't it? I recall a young Murray Walker, practically vibrating with nervous energy, describing the slick tarmac as if it were a treacherous beast. Senna, a man sculpted from granite and ambition, paced the pit lane, his brow furrowed, a silent calculation playing out against the grey sky. He seemed to absorb the city's pulse, a deep, insistent rhythm of speed and anticipation. A fleeting glance at the stopwatch, a subtle adjustment of his helmet – a warrior preparing for battle. The air hung thick with the scent of ozone and damp concrete, a primal perfume of motorsport. This was more than a race; it was a confrontation with history.