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Curiously, Clark's most important contest in 1958 was one he lost. On Boxing Day, Dec. 26, he drove the Reivers' Lotus Elite in a ten-lap race at Brands Hatch, found himself involved in "a whale of a dice" with another Elite driven by a persistent, mustachioed fellow who bore a striking resemblance to Actor David Niven. His competitor, it later turned out, was Colin Chapman —a young, prematurely grey engineer who had graduated from London University in 1948, set up shop in 1952 as Lotus Cars, Ltd. For eight of the ten laps, Jim managed to stay in front. Then an Austin-Healey Sprite grazed his Lotus on a corner. Jim had all he could do to avoid plowing head-on into an embankment, and in the confusion Chapman nipped past to win. "Oh dear, nasty," sighs Clark. "Anyhow, that was how I got to know Colin Chapman."
The Full 10%. It was the start of a lasting friendship. "The formula for a champion race driver," says Chapman, "is 10% natural ability, 90% experience and dedication." His own dice with Clark at Brands Hatch had convinced him that Jim "had the 10% in full." Already hard at work on a revolutionary Grand-Prix-car design—a "monocoque" body shell that needed no tubular skeleton, was actually little more than a steerable gas tank on wheels—Chapman decided that Clark was just the man to drive it. If he could get him.
Clark had already contracted to drive a Grand Prix car for Aston Martin, but Aston Martin never got around to building it. So for most of two years, Clark putted around in Formula Juniors and sports cars, until finally, in the middle of the 1960 season, Aston Martin gave him a break, loaned him to Lotus in time for the Dutch Grand Prix.
Some break. Chapman's new monocoque Lotuses had proved to be a sensation all right. Stirling Moss had crashed in one and nearly been killed; Mike Taylor had crashed in one and nearly been killed; Allen Stacey had crashed in one and been killed. "I wouldn't drive a car like that," growled the U.S.'s Phil Hill. "You never know what piece is going to break off next." In the Dutch Grand Prix, Clark's gearbox broke; in the British Grand Prix, it was his suspension. In 1961, Jim finally was able to sign full time with Lotus, but even that didn't change his luck. "I can keep up with the other drivers," he said. "I just can't keep up with their cars."
Exactly 135 & Six. With all the Lotus' ailments, it was only natural that Clark should become a pretty good sidewalk mechanic. So good, in fact, that he could turn a practice lap, whisk back into the pit, and announce: "We've got to jiggle the gear ratios—25, 27 maybe. Even with a good tow, I'm not getting the revs." At the same time, he was polishing his driving skills to the point where he could say: "When I go into a corner, I can tell you instantly whether I'm inches too far out or in from where I want to be. If I plan to head in at 135 m.p.h. and leave six inches, that's it—exactly 135 and six."