They were the heroes who took us on a journey of gasoline and asphalt, driving race cars that redlined at more than 8000 rpm. Machines that mixed the cutting-edge technology of the 70s with sublime craftsmanship, hand welding, and the gorgeous fiberglass bodywork that enveloped the enormously powerful V12 engines, turning them into works of art. All of this anchored to a rigid aluminium chassis made to withstand unimaginable stresses. Those were different times. Times that we miss. 

That was when being a racing driver meant being a hero. By default. By definition. The knife-edge character of the cars they drove made them so. Well, cars for lack of a better word. Ultralight, extravagant, dangerous and precious at the same time, they were extremely powerful machines with zero electronic aids to camouflage the shortcomings of the hero of the day. Hundreds of horsepower tamed by the hands of human beings who morphed into heroes as soon as they put their helmets on.