In the mad, rain-soaked blur of June 1995, something happened that motorsport purists still struggle to accept, and Ferrari fans try to pretend didn’t exist.
McLaren, a company that had only just rolled out of the gate with its road car, the F1, turned up at Le Mans for the very first time… and won. Not just won its class, not just survived, but beat everything.
The TTAC Creators Series tells stories and amplifies creators from all corners of the car world, including culture, dealerships, collections, modified builds and more.
A transcript, cleaned up via AI and edited by a staffer, is below.
[Image: YouTube Screenshot]
Become a TTAC insider. Get the latest news, features, TTAC takes, and everything else that gets to the truth about cars first by subscribing to our newsletter.
In the rain-soaked blur of June 1995, something happened that motorsport purists still struggle to accept—and Ferrari fans try to pretend didn’t even happen.
McLaren, a company that had just released its first road car—the F1—showed up at Le Mans for the very first time… and won. Not just its class. Not just surviving the race. It beat everything.
Now, 30 years later, McLaren has gone back into the archives and dusted off the celebration cannon. Enter the 750S Le Mans Edition—designed to remind everyone, especially Ferrari, that McLaren did something outrageous in 1995 and hasn’t stopped talking about it since.
But here’s the thing: we’ve already had the 650S Le Mans. Then the 720S Le Mans. Now, like clockwork, it’s the 750S Le Mans. It’s become so predictable you could set your watch to it.
And that raises a question: while McLaren’s been busy rolling out these increasingly shouty tributes… where is the actual car that won in 1995? What happened to the beast with rain in its exhaust and champagne on its roof?
Sit down. Pour yourself something that smells like poor decisions. Because the story of the winning F1 GTR is just as unlikely—and bizarre—as its victory.
First, a mind-bending fact: the McLaren F1 wasn’t designed to race. Not at all. Gordon Murray, the genius behind the car, envisioned it as the ultimate road machine—no turbos, no ABS, no power steering. Just pure, analog, V12 lunacy with three seats: one for the driver, one for your wallet, and one for the courage it took to drive the thing.
But the racing world—and a few stubborn customers—had other ideas. They poked, they prodded, and eventually persuaded McLaren to give it a shot. So they did.
What resulted was the F1 GTR. A slightly reworked version of the road car, now with more vents than a submarine, a wing the size of a picnic table, and less weight than your average American dad.
Now here’s where it gets silly. The car that won Le Mans—chassis number 01R—wasn’t even supposed to be a race car. It had been intended as a road car. But somewhere along the line, for no clear reason, it was turned into an F1 GTR test mule. Then it was handed over to Kokusai Kaihatsu Racing, a Japanese-backed part-time team.
Race day. June 17, 1995. Rain so heavy it looked like the universe was washing the track. Visibility was basically zero. Drivers were falling asleep behind the wheel. Prototypes—cars built for these exact conditions—were hydroplaning into barriers like fish on roller skates.
But the F1 GTR, driven by JJ Lehto, Yannick Dalmas, and Masanori Sekiya, just kept going. It wasn’t as fast as the prototypes. It wasn’t supposed to win. It wasn’t even supposed to finish. But it refused to break. It clawed its way through the rain and the darkness.
By June 18, it had pulled off the kind of miracle that usually ends up in movies—except this one had no slow-motion hero shots or dramatic montages. Just brutal endurance and an engine that sounded absolutely mental.
When the checkered flag dropped, the McLaren crossed the line first. First time at Le Mans. A race car built almost by accident. And it won one of the hardest races on Earth.
Sekiya, by the way, became the first Japanese driver to win at Le Mans—which is a lovely detail we’ll come back to.
But back to the car. What happened to it?
You might expect it was sold to a billionaire, retired into a private collection next to a Bugatti, or auctioned off for an absurd price, appearing at concours events escorted by men in boat shoes.
But no—McLaren kept it.
Before the race, there had been an agreement: if the car didn’t win, Mr. Motokazu Sayama, owner of Japan’s Ueno Clinic (the sponsor), would get to buy it. But it won. So McLaren said, “Sorry, we’re keeping it.”
Instead, they sold Sayama a consolation prize—chassis number 043. Painted black with gray accents to look like the real race car. Inside: black leather, gray Alcantara, even Sekiya’s autograph. It eventually made its way back to the UK after doing just 3,000 miles.
As for the real winner—01R—it never raced again. McLaren retired it immediately and parked it inside their Technology Centre in Woking. It’s still there, quietly reminding everyone that sometimes, you get everything right completely by accident.
Since then, McLaren’s made a habit of reminding people about 1995. The 650S Le Mans Edition in 2015. The 720S Le Mans in 2020. And now, five years later, the 750S Le Mans Edition—limited to 50 units.
Because exclusivity is key when you’re talking about a £300,000 missile designed to make rich men feel like heroes.
Visually, it screams “race car vibes” without actually going racing. Carbon fiber splitter, massive roof scoop, and rear wing. Five-spoke wheels straight out of 1995. Le Mans badging everywhere. Available in Le Mans Grey or McLaren Orange.
Inside, it’s track day meets Mayfair: Alcantara, leather, racing harnesses, embroidered headrests—even the floor mats drip nostalgia.
Mechanically, it’s unchanged. Same twin-turbo 4.0L V8 with 740 horsepower and enough torque to rearrange your spine. 0–60 in 2.8 seconds. Top speed of 206 mph. Fuel economy? Who cares.
So is it worth the money?
Depends who you ask.
If you’re a collector who loves a good origin story—sure. You’ll want one of the 50. Park it next to your Chiron and Gulf-liveried 911. Sit in it once a year, inhale the Alcantara, and say, “This is the one they built in honor of 1995.”
If you’re me? You just want to go to Woking, stand in front of 01R, and whisper: “The original is always better.”
Because that car—the one that beat everyone—never saw a checkered flag again. It didn’t need to. Its work was done. It showed the world what happens when engineering meets audacity… and the rain refuses to stop.
The 750S Le Mans is a lovely tribute—but just that. A tribute.
The real legend still sits in Woking. Still victorious. Still unbeaten. Still, somehow, the greatest racing fluke of all time.
[Outro]
Let me know what you think of the car and the 750S Le Mans edition. Personally, I’m not the biggest fan of special editions like this. You could just buy a regular 750S, throw some money at cosmetic mods, and get nearly the same thing for less.
Sure, these limited models go up in value, but in my opinion, that’s a bit silly—especially when it’s just a body kit and some stickers. It’s not a flagship Ferrari or a top-tier Lambo.
But I might be wrong. Let me know in the comments.
If you enjoyed the video, leave a like and subscribe. Check out the rest of the channel—there’s probably something else you’ll enjoy. See you in the next one. Cheers.
