Whatever the outcome of this year's tantalising championship -- and the signs are it will go the distance -- the back story will never come close to one particular event in 1958.
In Portugal, sixty years ago this weekend, Stirling Moss went out of his way to help Mike Hawthorn, who would go on to win the title at Moss's expense. Stirling did not think twice about an honourable act that, in a sad reflection of changing priorities and pressures, would be deemed totally ridiculous today.
If you want to talk street tracks, there was none tougher than Oporto, used to stage a F1 championship Grand Prix for the first time on 24 August 1958. In fact, it was so difficult (thanks to cobbles, kerbs, tramlines, lamp posts, trees and drains) that drivers were mildly shocked by the conditions -- but raced without official murmur, as you did back in the day.
The start/finish area, located on the harbour esplanade, fed into Avenida da Boavista, a dual carriageway with a tramway running down the middle. From the longest straight, the track swung left onto another main road surfaced with cobblestones before eventually diving left into a narrow turning between houses and shops. From there it was a comparatively smooth-surfaced high-speed winding descent back to the sea front and a sweeping left across more tramlines and cobbles towards the finish line.
With this and two more races to go, the championship had boiled down to a fight between Moss and Hawthorn to become the first Briton to win the title. Moss took pole position in his Vanwall with Hawthorn's Ferrari alongside, just 0.05s slower. Such an exceptionally close margin helped draw 120,000 spectators to the Circuito da Boavista for the start at 4 p.m.
Moss led initially, Hawthorn overtaking the dark green car on the second lap. Five laps later, Moss was back in front as Hawthorn began to experience brake problems. At half distance (25 laps), Moss was leading by almost a minute and in complete control. Hawthorn called in the Ferrari pit for attention to his brakes, rejoined and set the fastest lap (worth one point) on his way to third place - which became second when Jean Behra's BRM was slowed by engine trouble with eight laps to go.
Moss, meanwhile, had caught and lapped the Ferrari. When he decided to let Hawthorn unlap himself, Moss took the chequered flag seconds after Hawthorn set off on his final lap.
When he reached the tight left-hander between the houses and shops, Moss found that Hawthorn had spun into the escape road and stalled. With his engine still running, Moss actually waited to see how his fellow Englishman got on.
Officials had come to help but Moss joined Hawthorn in waving them away for fear of being disqualified for outside assistance. Moss continued to watch as Hawthorn pushed the car until he had enough speed to jump back in and jam the Ferrari in gear. Early in this process, the car had mounted the pavement, where it stayed while Hawthorn coaxed the V6 back to life before continuing and saving his second place thanks to being a lap ahead of the Vanwall of Stuart Lewis-Evans.
Meanwhile, there was confusion among officials when it was reported that Hawthorn had restarted his car while travelling in the wrong direction; a breach that brought disqualification. At which point, Moss came forward as a witness to point out that his rival had been travelling on the footpath -- which was not part of the circuit. At 11 pm, the officials agreed; Hawthorn could keep second and his six points (plus one for fastest lap).
Two races later, Moss would lose the championship by one point.
Six years ago, over lunch in his Mayfair home, I asked Sir Stirling if he ever had any regrets over his action that day. His look of complete incredulity over such a question made the answer superfluous.
"I had no hesitation in doing it," he said. "I can't see how this is open to debate. He was not on the circuit. The fact that he was my only rival [in the championship] didn't come into my thinking. Absolutely not."
History now relates that Moss never did win the championship, a statistical injustice that pales into insignificance when compared to an amazing and typical piece of sportsmanship 60 years ago this weekend.