Gordon Murray had been pondering a road car for years, but the McLaren F1 project fully surfaced in September 1988 as the company’s directors, Ron Dennis, Creighton Brown, Mansour Ojjeh and Murray, sat in Milan’s Linate airport after the Italian GP (ironically the one race McLaren didn’t win that epic year). Dennis was keen to expand McLaren’s business, capitalising on its engineering and materials prowess. Ojjeh suggested the road car. None of the quartet was interested in a “regular” supercar, not least because that would be too easy.
“We expended a great deal of effort to establish entirely new standards,” Dennis later wrote. “Working with such a compact and varied group of exceptionally creative engineers and designers always proves stimulating. Yet the F1 project also proved intensely frustrating on occasions as well as extremely expensive.” Murray wrote a product plan on four sides of A4, a typically focused manifesto for purest high performance. “No compromise, no plastic, three-seat layout, use F1 technology to create ground effect, automatic retractable aero devices, composite monocoque and body, survival cell à la F1, F1 engine, six-speed transaxle, carbon clutch, electronic differential, 200mph-plus top speed, more than 1g in lateral acceleration, F1 push- or pull-rod suspension, carbon brakes, pedal, steering and gear-change position to suit buyer...”
An overtaking button on the steering wheel was considered and the marketing, Murray noted, is “all about mystique... the product should sell itself”. (It also never meant to race, because Murray knew that would lead to compromise. Little did he know.)
On 8 March 1990, he addressed the newly recruited McLaren Cars team in the company’s Genesis HQ opposite the Formula One team’s base in Woking and fleshed out the concept in a meeting that lasted ten hours. “I went into the detailed targets: maximum weight 1,000kg, maximum width 1.8metres, front and rear overhangs the absolute minimum because I wanted to concentrate the mass within the wheelbase to minimise the polar moment of inertia. Aerodynamically we had to maintain the centre of pressure position, something production car manufacturers never addressed and which accounts for high-speed instability. I just listed everything that was inherently bad on mid-engined sports cars and said we intended to avoid it.
“The engine question remained open – wide open – but I thought a 5.0-litre V12 would do the job and then I eventually opened the meeting to questions...” So there were targets. But Murray wasn’t – still isn’t – bothered about zero-to-60 times, top speed or even precisely how much downforce the car would generate. The F1’s achievements, particularly in the racing series it was never meant to contest (it won the Le Mans 24 hours in 1995), retrospectively overshadow the purity of its original philosophy. This was to be a GT, civilised enough to transport its three occupants to the south of France – as originally suggested by Mansour Ojjeh – with decent luggage space, good visibility, effective air conditioning, audio and ergonomics. (These things mattered deeply to Murray and define the F1 as much as its enormous performance.)
Of course, it would also be the world’s first carbon composite production car, its monocoque consisting of 48 individual mouldings. Whatever this car would achieve would flow from the inherent rightness of its design. There would be no traction control, ABS or power steering. And critically the driver would sit centrally, with the passengers set slightly back on either side. Dennis would have preferred the car to be a single-seater, but such monomania would have been counter to its useable GT remit. Besides, F1 owners were unlikely to drive to Monaco alone...
Then there was its engine. If ever a car was greater than the sum of its parts it’s the McLaren F1, but that BMW motor is surely the car’s calling card. It’s also a core part of the F1 mythology that work on the F1 was well advanced before an engine was even decided upon. Murray had determined that only Honda, BMW or Ferrari could meet his requirement for a large capacity, normally aspirated power unit that could deliver 100bhp per litre. Given the Formula One relationship, Honda was the obvious choice and talks were held and some work done before the plan fizzled out.
“They never really said no. It just sort of drifted into oblivion,” Murray recalled (his personal road car during the F1’s development was the brilliant NSX). At the German GP in July 1990 he met old friend Paul Rosche, BMW motorsport’s engine boss, who had supplied the unit in Murray’s epochal 1983 F1 championship-winning Brabham BT52. He asked how the project was progressing and Gordon admitted he still hadn’t found an engine. BMW had a 5.0-litre V12 in development, but Murray decided it was too heavy and didn’t rev high enough. “I want big displacement in the smallest possible overall package-size – absolutely no more than 600mm long, revving to around seven-five, 550-plus bhp, maximum weight 250kg, rigid enough to work as a load-bearing structural member, dry-sump lubrication to minimise overall height and avoid surge in high-G cornering.”
“We’ll do a new engine,” Rosche replied.
Work began in March 1991 and by Christmas a prototype of the 6.1-litre, 60 degree V12 was on the dyno. It ended up weighing 266kg, a penalty Murray could live with in the circumstances (he would be less beneficent towards other suppliers). Despite its motorsport roots, the V12 – S70/2 in BMW parlance – had to be tractable and well-mannered for everyday use, and operate to a reasonable service interval. BMW’s enormous know-how and processes enabled the engine’s rapid development. So did the fact that Rosche and his team of five engineers were able to incorporate technology used in the contemporary M3 and M5. The F1’s engine bay may have been lined in gold foil, but there wasn’t an excess of unobtainium in its internals. The head and block were cast in aluminium, the cylinder bores coated in Nicasil. BMW was also expert at fitting large-capacity cylinder bores within minimum-sized block dimensions; on S70/2, barely 3mm separated them from each other. The exhaust was made of Inconel and the silencer – necessarily large given the engine’s capability – was designed to double up as a rear impact absorber. Another piece of ingenious lateral thinking.
Murray, meanwhile, was pushing the boundaries elsewhere. He demanded a minimal flywheel effect and used an aluminium plate no bigger than absolutely necessary in order to achieve it. This reduced rotational inertia, imbuing the F1 with a throttle response closer to a superbike than a car. It’s one of the F1’s key signatures, but it wasn’t easy to achieve.
“I told Paul that this was going to be the first road car to have a carbon clutch,” Murray says. “Racing cars use carbon clutches and I wanted a carbon clutch. The normal clutch for that much torque is big and the whole assembly weighs about 6kg. And then you’ve got a massive flywheel, of course, to back that up. So you’re looking at 12-15 kg of clutch and flywheel, which is all inertia.
“I said to Paul, ‘Because the carbon clutch is only 200mm diameter and only weighs about 1.5kg, I don’t want a big flywheel and ring gear. I can put the starter wherever you like. In my opinion, a 60-degree V12 doesn’t need a flywheel, because every 120 degrees you have a cylinder firing and it’s in perfect primary balance. There’s no upsetting force at all. Why do you need a flywheel?’ One of his engine designers piped up and said, ‘You can’t build a road car without a flywheel.’ Paul turned on him and said, ‘Have you ever built a road car without a flywheel?’ He said, ‘No.’ And Paul said, ‘Well, don’t say no until you’ve tried. We’ll try it without a flywheel.’ And it hasn’t got a flywheel. The first thing anybody says when they jump in an F1 is, ‘Well, that’s just got to be the best V12.’ It wangs up and down, which is all part of the experience.”
Dry sump lubrication was another racing solution and McLaren offshoot TAG Electronics worked with BMW to develop an engine management system like none that had ever gone before. Their efforts, and careful throttle linkage design, ensured that the V12 would behave itself on initial throttle openings or in slow-moving traffic. “If you want to do a pure, focused driver’s car, it has to be a single person car, not a committee. Whether it’s styling, packaging... you will never get pure focus if you have more than one person leading a team,” Murray tells me. “You also need a genuinely clean sheet of paper. McLaren, Ferrari, Pagani – they’ve got existing powertrains and chassis, so of course they’re going to make the next model using those. It’s the right thing to do economically. On the F1, everything was drawn from scratch. How many cars can you say that about? The Aston Martin Valkyrie? It’s a racing car for the road. But it’s not a car you could jump in and drive to the south of France. The Veyron was a clean sheet project, but it was also done by a massive committee, one that changed several times during its development. There’s a huge giggle factor of having 1,000bhp, booting it out of a second gear corner and trying to hold on. But I hated the turbo lag it had on the road.”
Exactly how much of the McLaren F1 is directly attributable to him is a matter of conjecture. But while BMW toiled away on the engine, work in the Genesis office continued and every aspect of the car bore the unmistakeable imprint of Gordon Murray. Although he began his career as a draughtsman, and remains extraordinarily attuned to aesthetics, he was still pragmatic enough to know he’d need help in key areas. Barry Lett had arrived from Lotus to oversee body engineering. Paul Martin was in charge of composites. Steve Randle did stress analysis and ended up working on the car’s suspension. “To set the suspension programme rolling I did the original geometry plots and inertia calculations and set targets on castor and camber to be met front and rear – and then turned it over to Steve to meet those targets... but with a compliant system.”
Randle devised something called “Ground-Plane Shear Centre” geometry – a solution patented by McLaren – and each of the front suspension units had its own subframe mounted to the body via compliant bushes; these are 25 times stiffer radially than axially, to deliver more longitudinal compliance, enhancing ride quality without hurting handling or stability. The lower wishbones in the rear suspension are mounted to the gearbox, which is also mounted to the body, so that suspension forces are transmitted through the engine and gearbox assembly. As per its creators’ mania for detail, the components also had a sculptural quality in isolation. Peter Stevens, who had just completed work on the Lotus Elan and knew Murray after a stint at Brabham, was initially contacted by Murray for advice, only to offer his services full-time. “I didn’t want a stylist, because I knew in my head what the size and proportions of the car were going to be. I’d done some sketches,” Murray says. “Peter said, ‘I want the job.’ And I said, ‘You’re a bit senior. I really just want to steer someone.’ He said, ‘No, I want the job.’ So I said, ‘Well, if you don’t mind the fact that you are part of the design team and I’m leading it, fine.’”
Nevertheless, Stevens – whose avuncularity and charm hides a mind as sharp as a steel trap – helped propel the part of the F1 narrative that is often ignored: the way it looks. The received wisdom is that the car’s form was somehow an after-thought, and it’s true that all of the car’s dimensions and aerodynamic requirements would be determined first. The body’s height was set at 1,140mm and Murray refused to go any wider than 1.8m – although it would eventually grow by 20mm and he had to accept it or redesign the suspension. The three-seat configuration in such a compact package was a serious challenge. As was the lack of motive power for much of the time. “The moment BMW gave us an engine length we knew the wheelbase. That’s when we went to the wind tunnel,” Stevens says. Even then, he still didn’t work up a design; instead, he tried a variety of solutions in the tunnel, using four different 3/10th scale models and ran more than 1,100 tests.
At which point a design language began to manifest itself. Both Gordon and Peter were fans of Sixties masterpieces such as the Alfa Romeo 33 Stradale and Giugiaro-designed Canguro, and Murray wanted to homage his early Brabham’s “lobster claw” front end, which was prettier than it sounds. Not a bad set of reference points. Being able to view the F1’s engine and mechanical gizzards was also on the agenda. “I’d wanted something that was Sixties, all soft curves, but it couldn’t look retro. Neither of us wanted a fashionable shape that would date. The way I see it is that Peter’s skill was inventing the look of the F1 in spite of everything I imposed.”
Stevens would tend to agree, but he recognised a golden opportunity when he saw one. “If the packaging is different that’s what sets the hard points on paper. Sitting the driver in the centre gives a cab-forward look for genuine reasons and not just as a styling gimmick.”
In August 1991, a full-size clay was pushed outside into the Genesis car park at 6am and evaluated alongside Murray’s Honda NSX. It’s illuminating to compare the two cars’ proportions – in particular the rear overhangs. There are many highlights on the F1 – the low cowl, the doors, the way it looks from above – but the curves on the rear end encircling the lights are sublime. The interior also remains unmatched in terms of ergonomic first principles. Everything the driver sees or touches feels special in a way no mass-produced car could possibly be. The wheel, gear lever, handbrake and audio controls were all done by Murray himself. It was also his idea to encourage owners to have the central band of the driver’s seat finished in the same colour as the exterior, or in a contrasting one. “My idea was that when the car was parked and a little kid came along and peered in, it would look like a single-seater and you couldn’t see the passenger seats. It works!”
We should also mention the Formula One-inspired roof inlet, enabling the induction to be directly above the driver’s head. Here, more than anywhere else, Murray’s twin primary obsessions – engineering and music, although he has many more – could coexist. As he explains in his recent book, One Formula.: “I tuned the piece of carbon where the induction pulses are coming forwards and backwards up through that. I tuned the thickness of that so it’s a loudspeaker. When owners came in to talk about the car and sit in the seating buck, I explained this to them. And when we had running cars it was easy because I could take them out and show them this roar inside an F1, which everybody thinks is exhaust. But it’s nothing to do with the exhaust. It’s this loudspeaker. Because that’s all a loudspeaker is: just a membrane moving the air. And it transfers the noise perfectly through this thin thing. I offered everybody a thin one and a thick one. Nobody bought the thick one. We never made one.”
That sound is something you never forget once you’ve experienced it. As is the car’s steering feel on the move, or the manner in which the BMW V12 gathers momentum. The F1 actually has more body roll than was fashionable in supercars, then and now, which could catch people out on a circuit, but its compliance remains extraordinary, too. The 25-plus years or so that have elapsed since the F1’s launch have not diminished the car’s unique dynamism and immense character; if anything, today’s bloat and myopic focus on power make it seem all the more amazing. Will Gordon Murray top it with his new T.50? To coin a cliché, if anyone can, he can.
Now read:
Why the McLaren F1 is the greatest supercar of all time
Gordon Murray on his T.50 hypercar: the sequel to the McLaren F1
