December 19th: the birthday of stars like Jennifer Beal, Jake Gyllenhaal, Philip V of Spain, Italo Svevo, and the poet Guido Gozzano.
It’s also the day Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev was born, as well as the legendary Edith Piaf—and Italy’s very own blue comet, Alberto Tomba.Then comes 1969.
On December 19th, something else arrives—this time in Solihull, a small town in the Warwickshire countryside of good old England.
That day marks the birth of a man who would flirt with death at over 460 km/h, wake up from a coma with a black hole in his memory, and ask if someone had recorded the episode for him.
This is no urban legend.
This is Richard Mark Hammond: the small, hyperactive soul of the most outrageous trio in automotive history.
Standing just 1.66 metres tall, nicknamed “Hamster” by fans and co-hosts alike, Hammond managed to pull off the impossible—turning his obsession with speed, engines, and spectacular crashes into a signature style.
And living to tell the tale.Born in the heart of industrial England, Hammond grew up surrounded by rock guitars, local radio stations, and engine-fueled dreams.
After a stint at Harrogate College of Art, his voice began bouncing around various BBC regional frequencies—until he was spotted on Men & Motors, the beginning of his slow flirtation with fate: in 2002, he joined the team that would revolutionize Top Gear.
And so the legend began.
Car dropped from a blimp? Check.
Challenges on the edge of Mongolia? Check.
Mini crushed by a tank? Check.
And above all, a near-fatal crash in a jet dragster called Vampire.
It’s also the day Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev was born, as well as the legendary Edith Piaf—and Italy’s very own blue comet, Alberto Tomba.Then comes 1969.
On December 19th, something else arrives—this time in Solihull, a small town in the Warwickshire countryside of good old England.
That day marks the birth of a man who would flirt with death at over 460 km/h, wake up from a coma with a black hole in his memory, and ask if someone had recorded the episode for him.
This is no urban legend.
This is Richard Mark Hammond: the small, hyperactive soul of the most outrageous trio in automotive history.
Standing just 1.66 metres tall, nicknamed “Hamster” by fans and co-hosts alike, Hammond managed to pull off the impossible—turning his obsession with speed, engines, and spectacular crashes into a signature style.
And living to tell the tale.Born in the heart of industrial England, Hammond grew up surrounded by rock guitars, local radio stations, and engine-fueled dreams.
After a stint at Harrogate College of Art, his voice began bouncing around various BBC regional frequencies—until he was spotted on Men & Motors, the beginning of his slow flirtation with fate: in 2002, he joined the team that would revolutionize Top Gear.
And so the legend began.
Car dropped from a blimp? Check.
Challenges on the edge of Mongolia? Check.
Mini crushed by a tank? Check.
And above all, a near-fatal crash in a jet dragster called Vampire.
It’s 2006.
Top speed: 463 km/h.
Waking up: two weeks later, with half of England clinging to the medical bulletins.
The runway is long, empty, and bitterly cold.
RAF Elvington, a decommissioned airbase in North Yorkshire, becomes—for one day—the stage of a mad experiment: one modestly sized man versus raw speed, wearing nothing but a fireproof suit and holding the wheel of a rocket on wheels.
Its name is Vampire, a turbine dragster powered by a Rolls-Royce fighter jet engine, capable of reaching nearly 600 km/h in a straight line.
At the wheel, Richard Hammond is smiling—readier than ever, and just reckless enough.It’s the seventh run of the day.
The Top Gear crew has already filmed the briefings, the test laps, the tech team checking parachutes and air compressors.
The tarmac looks clean, the track dry.
Hammond takes off.
The dragster shoots fire from the back, and the telemetry climbs.
150… 200… 300… 400… 463 km/h.
That’s when the front right tire explodes.
A hiss. A bang. A sudden shift in trajectory. The dragster veers off, hits the ground, and begins to flip over itself like a broken bullet.
The roll bar collapses. Hammond’s helmet fills with dirt and blood.
His brain smashes against his skull like it’s hitting a concrete wall—and everything shuts off.One second later, silence. The real kind.
Rescue teams rush in.
His helmet is cracked, his face half-covered in grass and compacted dust.
He’s still breathing—but unconscious.
They airlift him out, in a coma.
The first 24 hours hang in the balance.
Specialists are called in. Neurosurgeons.
There’s talk of irreversible damage to the frontal cortex—the part of the brain that governs thought, speech, judgment, emotion.
Some believe that if he wakes up, he won’t be the same man.
One doctor tells his wife, Mindy, to prepare for “a new Richard.”But he wakes up. Two weeks later.
And asks, “Did you get it on tape?”
He laughs. He cries. He remembers almost nothing.
He starts again, slowly: words, movement, jokes.
Recovery takes months.
Some days, he forgets his own name.
Others, he makes up words that don’t exist.
He has to relearn how to manage frustration, reflexes, fear.
In January 2007, he returns to Top Gear live on air—welcomed by Clarkson with a choked-up laugh, and by millions of viewers with applause.
He’s no longer just “Hamster.” Hammond is the host who touched the speed of sound on rubber and came back with his brain nearly intact.Vampire is retired.
Some want to scrap it.
Someone else buys it and restores it.
In 2021, it runs again—but no one will ever drive it like he did.
Since that day, every time Hammond gets into a car, he looks at it just a little longer.
Then he smiles.
And starts the engine anyway.
Top speed: 463 km/h.
Waking up: two weeks later, with half of England clinging to the medical bulletins.
The runway is long, empty, and bitterly cold.
RAF Elvington, a decommissioned airbase in North Yorkshire, becomes—for one day—the stage of a mad experiment: one modestly sized man versus raw speed, wearing nothing but a fireproof suit and holding the wheel of a rocket on wheels.
Its name is Vampire, a turbine dragster powered by a Rolls-Royce fighter jet engine, capable of reaching nearly 600 km/h in a straight line.
At the wheel, Richard Hammond is smiling—readier than ever, and just reckless enough.It’s the seventh run of the day.
The Top Gear crew has already filmed the briefings, the test laps, the tech team checking parachutes and air compressors.
The tarmac looks clean, the track dry.
Hammond takes off.
The dragster shoots fire from the back, and the telemetry climbs.
150… 200… 300… 400… 463 km/h.
That’s when the front right tire explodes.
A hiss. A bang. A sudden shift in trajectory. The dragster veers off, hits the ground, and begins to flip over itself like a broken bullet.
The roll bar collapses. Hammond’s helmet fills with dirt and blood.
His brain smashes against his skull like it’s hitting a concrete wall—and everything shuts off.One second later, silence. The real kind.
Rescue teams rush in.
His helmet is cracked, his face half-covered in grass and compacted dust.
He’s still breathing—but unconscious.
They airlift him out, in a coma.
The first 24 hours hang in the balance.
Specialists are called in. Neurosurgeons.
There’s talk of irreversible damage to the frontal cortex—the part of the brain that governs thought, speech, judgment, emotion.
Some believe that if he wakes up, he won’t be the same man.
One doctor tells his wife, Mindy, to prepare for “a new Richard.”But he wakes up. Two weeks later.
And asks, “Did you get it on tape?”
He laughs. He cries. He remembers almost nothing.
He starts again, slowly: words, movement, jokes.
Recovery takes months.
Some days, he forgets his own name.
Others, he makes up words that don’t exist.
He has to relearn how to manage frustration, reflexes, fear.
In January 2007, he returns to Top Gear live on air—welcomed by Clarkson with a choked-up laugh, and by millions of viewers with applause.
He’s no longer just “Hamster.” Hammond is the host who touched the speed of sound on rubber and came back with his brain nearly intact.Vampire is retired.
Some want to scrap it.
Someone else buys it and restores it.
In 2021, it runs again—but no one will ever drive it like he did.
Since that day, every time Hammond gets into a car, he looks at it just a little longer.
Then he smiles.
And starts the engine anyway.
It’s still 2006.
The idea is simple, built on the logic of “I think we’ve had enough for one year—let’s take it easy.”
Hammond and his team want to turn a few caravans into mobile homes and try living in them.
Hammond builds one with a retractable roof.
In theory, it’s supposed to fold down gently.
In practice, it completely collapses—while he’s inside making tea.The camera captures the exact moment when the roof caves in, the walls fold inward, and Hammond emerges, covered in dust, still holding his teacup.
It’s not even an accident—it’s slapstick architecture.
And in that moment, you get why Hammond is different:
He doesn’t build to win.
He builds to see what happens when everything goes wrong.
The idea is simple, built on the logic of “I think we’ve had enough for one year—let’s take it easy.”
Hammond and his team want to turn a few caravans into mobile homes and try living in them.
Hammond builds one with a retractable roof.
In theory, it’s supposed to fold down gently.
In practice, it completely collapses—while he’s inside making tea.The camera captures the exact moment when the roof caves in, the walls fold inward, and Hammond emerges, covered in dust, still holding his teacup.
It’s not even an accident—it’s slapstick architecture.
And in that moment, you get why Hammond is different:
He doesn’t build to win.
He builds to see what happens when everything goes wrong.
It’s 2007.
We’re at the Botswana Special.
The car is light, ridiculous, and unstable.
Its name is Oliver—an Opel Kadett from 1963—and Hammond adopts it with the same wide-eyed enthusiasm as a child rescuing a puppy on the motorway.
But the Kalahari Desert shows no mercy.During a muddy river crossing, while Clarkson and May struggle through rocks, Hammond pushes harder.
Oliver bounces off a stone, lands badly—and the roof gives in.
It caves with a dull thud, like an empty tin can.
Hammond steps out, inspects the damage, and smiles… fondly.
In that moment, a cult is born.
Oliver becomes a legend.
And Richard, for the first time, truly falls in love with a wreck.
We’re at the Botswana Special.
The car is light, ridiculous, and unstable.
Its name is Oliver—an Opel Kadett from 1963—and Hammond adopts it with the same wide-eyed enthusiasm as a child rescuing a puppy on the motorway.
But the Kalahari Desert shows no mercy.During a muddy river crossing, while Clarkson and May struggle through rocks, Hammond pushes harder.
Oliver bounces off a stone, lands badly—and the roof gives in.
It caves with a dull thud, like an empty tin can.
Hammond steps out, inspects the damage, and smiles… fondly.
In that moment, a cult is born.
Oliver becomes a legend.
And Richard, for the first time, truly falls in love with a wreck.
It’s 2009.
The goal: simulate the experience of a first-time driver—evaluating practicality, budget, and performance.
Hammond and the other hosts must each buy a used car suitable for a seventeen-year-old, with a maximum budget of £2,500, including insurance and running costs.Richard goes for a 1993 Hyundai Scoupe, while Clarkson grabs a 1995 Volvo 940 and May opts for a 1994 VW Golf.
The challenge unfolds through multiple trials—from races to car meets to a noise test.
In the “parents' drive” decibel test, Hammond hits just 50.4 dB—well below Clarkson’s 66.1 dB, which is loud enough to demolish a shed.Speed isn’t always necessary. Sometimes, idiocy will do just fine.
Proud of his acoustic tuning, Hammond decides to test the soundproofing of his car.
He climbs in. The car crashes straight through a shed.
A glorious explosion of timber and scrap metal.Windshield shattered, passenger side crumpled, hysterical laughter—and one of the most beloved gags by fans.
No injuries. Just the comforting knowledge that if there’s a wall nearby, Hammond will find it.
The goal: simulate the experience of a first-time driver—evaluating practicality, budget, and performance.
Hammond and the other hosts must each buy a used car suitable for a seventeen-year-old, with a maximum budget of £2,500, including insurance and running costs.Richard goes for a 1993 Hyundai Scoupe, while Clarkson grabs a 1995 Volvo 940 and May opts for a 1994 VW Golf.
The challenge unfolds through multiple trials—from races to car meets to a noise test.
In the “parents' drive” decibel test, Hammond hits just 50.4 dB—well below Clarkson’s 66.1 dB, which is loud enough to demolish a shed.Speed isn’t always necessary. Sometimes, idiocy will do just fine.
Proud of his acoustic tuning, Hammond decides to test the soundproofing of his car.
He climbs in. The car crashes straight through a shed.
A glorious explosion of timber and scrap metal.Windshield shattered, passenger side crumpled, hysterical laughter—and one of the most beloved gags by fans.
No injuries. Just the comforting knowledge that if there’s a wall nearby, Hammond will find it.
It’s 2014.
It’s raining.
The tarmac is slick, the camera jolts at the slightest bump, and Richard Hammond grips the wheel of his glorious 1993 Vauxhall Nova SRi like he’s driving a Lancia Delta in a rally stage.
We’re in the middle of the nostalgia-fueled challenge dedicated to '80s hot hatches.
The rules are simple: just make it to the end.
But the road has other plans.A left turn, a slight incline, loose gravel.
Hammond pushes the pace.
The steering responds sluggishly, the rear lifts.
In a split second, the Nova performs a barrel roll—graceful and absurd—and lands on its side, wheels in the air like an overturned beetle.This time, no injuries.
Just shattered fenders, oil on the ground, and the quiet dignity of a man who knows he’s just lost a fight to a forgotten little hatchback.
“I’m alright,” Hammond mumbles from the window.
Even if he’s not entirely convinced himself.
It’s raining.
The tarmac is slick, the camera jolts at the slightest bump, and Richard Hammond grips the wheel of his glorious 1993 Vauxhall Nova SRi like he’s driving a Lancia Delta in a rally stage.
We’re in the middle of the nostalgia-fueled challenge dedicated to '80s hot hatches.
The rules are simple: just make it to the end.
But the road has other plans.A left turn, a slight incline, loose gravel.
Hammond pushes the pace.
The steering responds sluggishly, the rear lifts.
In a split second, the Nova performs a barrel roll—graceful and absurd—and lands on its side, wheels in the air like an overturned beetle.This time, no injuries.
Just shattered fenders, oil on the ground, and the quiet dignity of a man who knows he’s just lost a fight to a forgotten little hatchback.
“I’m alright,” Hammond mumbles from the window.
Even if he’s not entirely convinced himself.
It’s 2016, and we’re in Mozambique.
Riding a tiny cargo scooter, Hammond crosses a makeshift wooden bridge suspended over an African river.
The stunt is part of a pseudo-charity challenge in The Grand Tour, during one of the show’s most surreal episodes.
It’s blisteringly hot, the humidity glues his shirt to his back, and the bridge seems to hold together out of sheer habit.
One wheel catches a plank wrong.
The scooter tilts.
Hammond goes flying.For a few minutes, he doesn’t move.
The producers rush in. The medic checks him.
Nothing broken. Just a swollen knee, the rest of his ego bruised—and the whole scene cut from the final episode.Hammond laughs.
And for a moment, even in Africa, he looks up at the sky.
Riding a tiny cargo scooter, Hammond crosses a makeshift wooden bridge suspended over an African river.
The stunt is part of a pseudo-charity challenge in The Grand Tour, during one of the show’s most surreal episodes.
It’s blisteringly hot, the humidity glues his shirt to his back, and the bridge seems to hold together out of sheer habit.
One wheel catches a plank wrong.
The scooter tilts.
Hammond goes flying.For a few minutes, he doesn’t move.
The producers rush in. The medic checks him.
Nothing broken. Just a swollen knee, the rest of his ego bruised—and the whole scene cut from the final episode.Hammond laughs.
And for a moment, even in Africa, he looks up at the sky.
It’s 2017.
In Switzerland, the mountains around Hemberg are green, flawless.
The sun glides along the tarmac, and the climb feels like a proper hillclimb course—for serious drivers only.
At the top, silent and deadly, a Rimac Concept One is ready to launch.
It costs over a million euros, does 0 to 100 km/h in 2.5 seconds, weighs two tons, and drives like a bad idea set free.Richard Hammond climbs in, straps on his helmet, waves to the crew.
It’s the fourth and final run. The fastest one.The car launches like it’s been bitten by a demon.
It sticks to the road, corners, roars.
Then, in a split second—it happens again.
Too much speed. Maybe too much trust.
The torque vectoring miscalculates. The rear end gives out.
Hammond steers—but it’s not enough.
The Rimac smashes through the barrier, catches air, and flies off the hillside.
And begins to roll.Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
A never-ending thunderclap.
Then silence. Trampled grass. And a burning car.Richard is alive—but trapped.
His knee is broken, he smells the fire, and he knows he has to get out.
Rescue crews pull him free just in time.
The car explodes moments later.A helicopter flies him away.
“Don’t touch my leg,” he mutters.
It’s the only sentence he can manage.
Ten screws, one metal plate, and months of recovery.
His sense of humour? Untouched.Clarkson and May arrive minutes later. Clarkson sees the smoking wreckage and turns pale.
“I thought he was dead,” he’ll say later.
But even that still wasn’t the moment.
In Switzerland, the mountains around Hemberg are green, flawless.
The sun glides along the tarmac, and the climb feels like a proper hillclimb course—for serious drivers only.
At the top, silent and deadly, a Rimac Concept One is ready to launch.
It costs over a million euros, does 0 to 100 km/h in 2.5 seconds, weighs two tons, and drives like a bad idea set free.Richard Hammond climbs in, straps on his helmet, waves to the crew.
It’s the fourth and final run. The fastest one.The car launches like it’s been bitten by a demon.
It sticks to the road, corners, roars.
Then, in a split second—it happens again.
Too much speed. Maybe too much trust.
The torque vectoring miscalculates. The rear end gives out.
Hammond steers—but it’s not enough.
The Rimac smashes through the barrier, catches air, and flies off the hillside.
And begins to roll.Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
A never-ending thunderclap.
Then silence. Trampled grass. And a burning car.Richard is alive—but trapped.
His knee is broken, he smells the fire, and he knows he has to get out.
Rescue crews pull him free just in time.
The car explodes moments later.A helicopter flies him away.
“Don’t touch my leg,” he mutters.
It’s the only sentence he can manage.
Ten screws, one metal plate, and months of recovery.
His sense of humour? Untouched.Clarkson and May arrive minutes later. Clarkson sees the smoking wreckage and turns pale.
“I thought he was dead,” he’ll say later.
But even that still wasn’t the moment.
Crashes, disasters, dents, collapses, crumples, wipeouts.
And yet, Hammond never stopped.
He laughed, limped, and got back on track—sometimes with his two fellow adventurers, sometimes without.
He signed a massive deal with Amazon Prime Video for The Grand Tour and took motorized chaos global.Today, with a few more scars and many more lives lived, Hammond has reinvented himself.
With Richard Hammond’s Workshop, he opens a real garage to restore classic cars.
He hires real friends, makes real mistakes.
Mechanics is the one place where slowing down doesn’t drive him mad.He’s also launched a podcast with his daughter Izzy, where he talks about masculinity and mental health.
He shares his vulnerability with the same honesty he once used to talk about horsepower.Because Richard Hammond isn’t just a former driver.
He’s a survivor who knows how to make us laugh.
A craftsman who knows how to fly. A small man who’s become enormous in the hearts of those who love engines—and real stories.
And yet, Hammond never stopped.
He laughed, limped, and got back on track—sometimes with his two fellow adventurers, sometimes without.
He signed a massive deal with Amazon Prime Video for The Grand Tour and took motorized chaos global.Today, with a few more scars and many more lives lived, Hammond has reinvented himself.
With Richard Hammond’s Workshop, he opens a real garage to restore classic cars.
He hires real friends, makes real mistakes.
Mechanics is the one place where slowing down doesn’t drive him mad.He’s also launched a podcast with his daughter Izzy, where he talks about masculinity and mental health.
He shares his vulnerability with the same honesty he once used to talk about horsepower.Because Richard Hammond isn’t just a former driver.
He’s a survivor who knows how to make us laugh.
A craftsman who knows how to fly. A small man who’s become enormous in the hearts of those who love engines—and real stories.
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