Richard Hammond is the guy who survived. That’s the shorthand, right? If you mention Richard Hammond Top Gear to anyone on the street, they don’t usually start by talking about his nuanced review of a Pagani Zonda. They talk about the dragster. They talk about the coma. They talk about the "Hamster" nickname and how he somehow managed to keep his teeth that white while living in a field for half the 2000s.
But there is a massive gap between the "Hamster" persona we saw on screen and the actual engine that kept Top Gear running for over a decade. Most people think he was just the plucky sidekick. The reality is way more complicated—and a lot more dangerous.
The Audition That Almost Didn't Happen
Back in 2002, Top Gear was a dying brand. The "old" version was essentially a consumer report show for people who cared about boot space and fuel economy. When Jeremy Clarkson and Andy Wilman decided to reboot it, they needed a trio.
Hammond wasn't a sure thing. Honestly, he was almost fired after the first series. The BBC suits weren't convinced by him. While Jason Dawe (the original third guy) actually did get the boot to make room for James May in Series 2, Hammond survived by the skin of his teeth.
Why? Because he had this weird, manic energy that balanced Clarkson’s booming arrogance. He was the audience's surrogate. If Clarkson was the billionaire uncle who didn't care about your feelings, Hammond was the younger brother who was just as excited as you were to be there. He wasn't just a presenter; he was the emotional glue.
The 288mph Elephant in the Room
We have to talk about Elvington. September 2006.
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The Vampire dragster crash wasn't just a "TV accident." It was a catastrophic structural failure of a front-right tire at 288 mph. To put that in perspective: that’s faster than a Bugatti Veyron’s top speed, happening on a bumpy airfield in Yorkshire.
Hammond didn't just "hit his head." He suffered a significant frontal lobe brain injury. When he returned to the show in early 2007, the "hero's welcome" with the stairs and the showgirls was legendary, but it masked a very dark recovery period. He’s been remarkably open lately about how that crash changed him. He’s 56 now (it's 2026, time flies), and he’s talked about how his memory is starting to fray. He attributes it directly to that impact.
"I've discussed it with my family. I'm 54 and my memory's getting shaky," he told the Sunday Times a couple of years back.
It’s a sobering reminder that the "entertainment" we watched on Sunday nights had a real, physical cost. He didn't just "get better." He adapted to a new version of himself.
The Chemistry Myth
There’s this popular idea that Clarkson, Hammond, and May are best friends who spend every waking moment together.
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Sorta.
The truth is they are more like brothers who have been stuck in a caravan together for 20 years. They love each other, sure, but they also can't stand each other. That’s why the show worked. If they actually liked each other's company 24/7, the banter would have felt forced. Instead, it felt like genuine irritation.
When the BBC sacked Clarkson in 2015, Hammond and May had a choice. They could have stayed. They were offered massive money to keep the Top Gear brand alive without the "big man." They walked.
That wasn't just corporate loyalty. It was an admission that the Richard Hammond Top Gear era wasn't about the cars or the BBC—it was about that specific, lightning-in-a-bottle chemistry. You can’t manufacture that with "chemistry tests" and casting directors. You only get it by nearly dying together in various deserts.
Beyond the "Hamster" Label
One thing that genuinely annoys Hammond? The idea that he’s "the small one."
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He’s actually average height (about 5'7"). It’s just that he spent fifteen years standing next to a 6'5" Clarkson and a 6'0" May. In any other room, he’s just a normal-sized bloke. But the "Hamster" tag stuck, and he leaned into it because he’s a professional. He knew his role.
But if you look at his solo work—Richard Hammond’s Workshop or his various science documentaries—you see a much more technical, thoughtful guy. He’s a massive fan of the engineering, not just the speed. He owns a restoration business now, The Smallest Cog. He’s putting his own money into keeping classic cars on the road. That’s not a "TV persona" thing; that’s a genuine "petrolhead" thing.
What He Actually Contributed
People forget that Hammond was often the one doing the "heavy lifting" for the big specials.
- He was the one who actually liked the off-roading.
- He was the one who survived the Botswana special in "Oliver" (the 1963 Opel Kadett).
- He was the one who took the brunt of the physical gags.
The Rimac crash in Switzerland (during The Grand Tour era) only added to the legend of "The Man Who Can't Be Killed," but it also started to wear thin for him. By the time they wrapped up their final special in 2024, there was a palpable sense of relief. He’d done his time.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Collectors
If you're looking to capture a bit of that Hammond-era magic, or you're just a fan of the cars he championed, here is the reality of his legacy:
- The "Oliver" Effect: Hammond proved that the best cars aren't always the fastest. His 1963 Opel Kadett became a cultural icon because of the emotional connection. If you're looking for a classic, don't just look at the spec sheet. Look for the character.
- The Safety Reality: If you ever do track days or high-speed runs, remember Hammond’s 2006 crash was caused by a tire that was "within its life" but failed under extreme load. Check your rubber. Seriously.
- Support the Craft: Hammond’s current venture, The Smallest Cog, is a great example of how to pivot. If you’re a fan of his, following his restoration work on DriveTribe gives a much better look at the "real" Richard than the edited Top Gear segments ever did.
The era of Richard Hammond Top Gear is officially in the history books now. We won't see that trio together in a studio again. But the impact he had on how we talk about cars—treating them as characters rather than just machines—isn't going anywhere. He made it okay to love a piece of metal like it was a member of the family.
To keep up with what he’s doing now, your best bet is following the DriveTribe YouTube channel or checking out his restoration projects. He’s finally stopped crashing them and started fixing them, which is probably better for everyone’s blood pressure.