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ver since I was nine years old I have had but one passion - motor racing. I founded a specialist motor sport magazine in 1970, simply tc to be able to live in the environment of a sport where man is tera 1 constantly trying to surpass himself while striving to surpass others. Since my early childhood I had dreamed of one day being a racing- car driver, following in the footsteps of someone as famous as Fangio. Thanks to contacts made through the magazine I founded, I was given the opportunity to race and about ten trophies now adorn my apartment as a result of those races. On the 13th of December 1973, however, I went to a volcano overlooking Clermont-Ferrand in central southern France. I went 1 1 co oro od 1 1 : ae more to get a breath of fresh air than to take a drive in my car. My legs were itching after a full year following the races from circuit to circuit, almost always living on four wheels, so to speak. The air was cool at the time, and the sky rather gray with a background mist. I walked and jogged a little and left the path where my car was parked, aiming to reach the center of the crater called Puy-de-Lassolas where I often went for picnics with my family in the summer. What a superb and breathtaking place it was! To think that thousands of years ago, right where my feet were standing, lava had spurted out at incredibly high temperatures. Decorative volcanic ‘bombs’ can still be found among the debris. The stunted vegetation resembled that of Province in France but without sunshine. THE ENCOUNTER