There is a hierarchy of great drives in Formula 1 history and the opening lap of the 1993 European Grand Prix at Donington Park sits at or near its summit. Ayrton Senna, fifth on the grid, in a McLaren MP4/8 powered by a Ford-Cosworth engine that was significantly inferior to the Renault V10s dominating the field, produced in the course of a single rain-soaked lap a sequence of overtaking manoeuvres that no television camera could fully capture because they happened so quickly and in such unlikely places.
Prost's Williams was on pole. The race began in heavy rain. At the first corner, Senna had already moved to fourth, passing Karl Wendlinger's Sauber. Along the straight toward the chicane, he went past Michael Schumacher. Before the corner at the bottom of the hill he was past Damon Hill. And then, in the spray and the grey of the Donington Park circuit — a track that had not hosted a Formula 1 race in over fifty years — he passed Alain Prost, the championship leader, the man in the fastest car, for the lead. It was lap one.
What makes the Donington lap transcend simple sporting achievement is its context. Senna had no right to be leading. His car was slower than the Williams on any road in the dry. In the rain, his feel for the car — his ability to sense grip levels that other drivers could not detect, to commit to lines that others held back from — made him untouchable. He led for most of the race, managing the gap, managing his tyres, managing the conditions with the kind of authority that suggested he was operating on a different plane from his competitors. He won by over a minute.