Speedster
Racing in the 60s - Part IV
This is the
last of a series of articles written by Pat Tobin which
appeared in '356 Talk' . It is reproduced with the kind permission
of the Author.
The six hour
enduro at Riverside
- After the crash and fire at
Willow Springs, still thinking that I would return to racing,
I began cleaning up and repairing the car, but progress was slow.
In early 1966 a six-hour enduro race was announced for Riverside
in July. Two drivers per car were mandatory. The enduro did not
give national points, so few of the top drivers chose to expose
their cars to six hours of racing, which might jeopardize their
chances in later national points events. I had finished rebuilding
my engine, but not the car. Bob Kirby was willing to risk his
car if I would supply the engine, so I was co-driving with one
of the best, running my fresh engine in Kirby's racing speedster
"Fred."
-
- My rebuilt engine had new "C"
heads, carefully ported, and another new cam profile from Racer
Brown. Installed in Fred, I put it on Roger Bursch's dyno. It
was cranking out the ponies, so much so that the 200 mm clutch
was slipping a little, and we couldn't get an accurate power
reading. The clutch was a little tired - I had done all my racing
on it without renewing anything. Replacement included the flywheel.
Perhaps it had been cut a little deep when I converted it from
180 to 200 mm; I don't recall the reason for replacing it, but
I was taking no chances. By then time was short and we didn't
get another chance to put the car on the dyno, but I knew what
I wanted to know - the engine was putting it out.
-
-
- Pit Communications
-
- CB radio was in its infancy
in 66, and I decided it would be a neat idea to have radio communication
with our pit during a long race which would include pit stops.
To the best of my knowledge, this was the first use of two-way
radio in a race car. With the assistance of Yoshi and Bob, "the
rolling Stones," a POC couple who were into CB, we equipped
the car. I cut a round hole for the antenna in the flat part
of the left front fender near the windshield post. Bob has likely
never forgiven me for cutting a hole in Fred, which had just
been cherried out and treated to a gorgeous new shining black
lacquer job. A large 12-volt dry cell battery was strapped to
the floor behind the driver's seat. There were no helmet-mounted
mics easily available to the CB crowd in those days, so we used
an ordinary "10-4, good buddy" hand mic clipped to
the bottom of the dash.
-
- I knew that we could not hear
a loudspeaker. Bob and I both wore Bell "shorty" helmets
with soft flaps over the ears. I split a pair of old military
headphones, and Yoshi Stone sewed one into the ear flap of each
helmet. With our helmets on it looked as if Bob and I had serious
growths on the right side of our heads, but it worked.
-
-
- Organising
the team
-
- The race was to use a LeMans
start, in which the cars are angle-parked along one side of the
track and the drivers are lined up on the other side. When the
gun sounds, the drivers run across to the track, jump in the
cars, fire them up (hopefully) and take off racing. Altho a little
advantage at the start makes no real difference in a six-hour
race, I had decided I wanted to be first away just for the principle
of it.
-
- It had been decided that I would
drive the first of four shifts (two for each driver). Unlike
the starts at LeMans, at this race a club observer would be positioned
at each car to make sure that the driver fully buckled up before
leaving. So in the driveway I practiced jumping in the car and
getting buckled up, shoulder and lap belts, in record time. I
even considered adding a foot-operated starter switch. The ignition
switch could be left ON with the engine positioned so that the
points were open. Just hitting the starter switch with one foot
would allow me to start the engine while I was buckling up. But
I didn't get quite that far.
-
- I organized several friends
into a timing and scoring team. The race was open to all production
classes, from bug-eye Sprites in H-production to ground-thumping
Corvettes, Cobras - what have you. It wasn't realistic to think
that we could win overall unless all the big V-8 cars DNF'd,
but if it was worth doing at all, it was worth our very best
efforts.
-
-
- Where was
the performance?
-
- On race day, the performance
of the engine in practice was very disappointing. What had happened
to all the power we saw on Roger's dyno? I was heart sick - after
all this effort we had a slow car. Finally I decided to put a
timing light on it, even though the timing had been adjusted
on the dyno. The timing was retarded! It wasn't showing the max.
advance it should have by five to ten degrees - I don't recall
the actual figures, but it was serious. I re-set the timing to
my best guesstimate of what it should be and the car took off
like a scared jack rabbit. Bob went out for a few more practice
laps, brought his time down about 5 seconds and said that the
engine was at least as fast as any of his ever had been. We were
puzzled, but competitive!
-
-
- Problems
with the LeMans Start
-
- The CB base station antenna
was in place on top of the motor home of some friends of Bob's,
the drilled and crack timing team was in place, the car was running
great; we were loaded for bear. Then came the LeMans start and
we did a scene from Laurel and Hardy.
-
- Due to the logistical requirements
of the LeMans start, it was staged near the end of Riverside's
long straight, just before turn 9. The cars were parked along
one edge of the track and the drivers along the other. My shoulder
straps were crossed in a certain way and laid across the passenger
seat so that when I put them over my head from the right side
they would un-cross. I had worked out the routine in countless
practice runs at home. There had been no need to explain the
routine to Bob, since I was the designated starting driver.
-
- At the last moment, with me
and the other drivers across the track from our steeds, there
was a change of plans by the officials. The announcement was
made that, in addition to the club observer, they had decided
to allow an assistant at each car to help with the strap and
buckling-up routine. I saw Bob approach our car, and was horrified
to see him un-crossing the shoulder straps, because in doing
so he was going the wrong direction which put a full-turn twist
in them behind the seat.
-
- Then the gun sounded. I bolted
for the car, jumped in and began wrestling with Bob over the
shoulder straps. I was trying to get them untwisted that full
turn while he, seeing that the ends were properly oriented, kept
trying to force them down over my shoulders. All around us cars
were starting and driving away. Unable to explain the situation
to Bob in the heat of the moment, finally I gave up and decided
I could live with the shoulder straps being too tight.
-
- When I began trying to buckle
it all together I got another surprise. In my practice runs I
had failed to take into account that the metal buckle of the
aircraft lap belt would have been setting in the direct overhead
July desert sun for 45 minutes! The lap belt didn't want to come
together by about two inches due to the shoulder belts being
shorter by one full twist. I drove bare-handed - no gloves. The
pain of pushing hard on that very hot metal buckle, trying to
force the halves together, brought tears to my eyes. Finally
I got it together, started the car and motored off. But not first.
I was dead last by a big margin, except for a couple of cars
which wouldn't start! Our pit crew, across the course near start/finish,
and Rita and the kids, watching from outside the S's, wondered
what had become of the black Porsche which was going to be first
away.
-
-
- Making up
for lost time
-
- But then it was fun for a while.
The car was honkin' and so was I, sometimes passing two and even
three slow cars in a single turn. Then I encountered a problem.
This time it wasn't an Elva, but a Lotus Elan. The Elan was much
faster than the Porsche, but this one was obviously piloted by
an inexperienced driver. He was slow through the turns but when
I passed him he just blew my doors off down the next straight.
After a couple of laps this became tedious, and I didn't want
to spend the remainder of my shift trading places with this guy.
What to do?
-
- I figured that if I could pass
him just at the entrance to a long series of turns, I might,
just might, be able to build up enough lead that he wouldn't
be able to catch me on the long straight. The longest series
of turns at Riverside began with turn 1, up through the esses
and around turn 5. Then there was a short straight between 5
and 6, and after 6A there was the long straight followed by turn
9. (Turns 7 and 8 were no longer used.) The problem was, turn
1 was preceded by the S-F straight, along which he could out-drag
me, so it would be difficult to lead him into turn 1. I formulated
a plan.
-
- I followed him around 9, then
dropped back a bit on the S-F straight, loading the slingshot.
Just before he slowed for turn 1 I floored it. By the time he
entered turn 1 I was tip-toeing around him on the outside. And
let me tell you, that was hairy - up on the non-cambered outside
part of the turn, inches from the Armco metal barrier which I
had tried a piece of in my very first race. But it worked. Bob
would have had a stroke had he seen me doing that in his car
with the new lacquer paint job.
-
- On the very short straight between
1 and 2 I looked in a mirror and saw the nose of the Elan rise
and tremble with rage, under heavy acceleration. By the entrance
to turn 2 he was right up my exhaust pipe. But he slowed for
turn 2 and I didn't, and thus was the tale told. By the end of
the long straight he had almost caught me again, but I built
up enough distance in turn 9 to keep him from catching me on
the S-F straight. By the time I was in the S's he had disappeared
from my mirrors and I never saw him again. Mission accomplished.
Later I heard that an Elan had flipped later in the race. I don't
think there were any others, so it was probably that poor guy.
Fortunately, I don't think he was injured.
-
- Then I began making up lost
time, occasionally taking time down the long straight to pick
up the mic and tell the crew everything was fine. But it wasn't
to be. At about the 45-minute point I had worked up to 5th, behind
four much-faster ground-thumpers. Then, on the S-F straight,
the engine quit clean. I pulled off course to the right and radioed
the crew that I was dead in the water just before turn 1. Turning
the engine with the starter gave a steady sound that indicated
that no compression was being done. When the crew got there with
a few tools, I popped a valve cover and had someone hit the starter.
No valves moved. The cam drive was broken, and that was the end
of my race and racing career.
-
-
- What had
gone wrong?
-
- Later inspection revealed that
a few teeth had stripped on the large timing gear, then, probably,
a couple of teeth hit nose-to-nose and the force broke off the
flanged end of the camshaft. Foolishly, I had allowed my machinist
to cut a groove down the center of the teeth of the large timing
gear. This was supposed to reduce the tendency of the timing
gears to act as an oil pump at high revs and throw oil out the
filler vent. But I had the new, high oil filler box of the C
engines, and had never experienced oil loss. Why I let him do
that I will never know. It proves the old maxim: if it ain't
broke, don't fix it.
-
- I had 45 minutes of good fun,
but felt terrible for Bob, who never got to drive in the race,
and for the crew which had worked so hard. I would have enjoyed
seeing what Bob could do with the big cars. Had the engine held
together, given Bob's expertise, I think we could have finished
very well indeed.
-
- Monday morning I was on the
phone reading the riot act to Roger Bursch. The timing had been
set by one of his men, on his dyno, and was seriously retarded
when I checked it at the track. Roger was puzzled and, I must,
say, a perfect gentleman when confronted with my somewhat abrasive
complaint.
-
- When I put down the phone, the
brain began working. An hour later I was back on the phone with
Roger. I had figured it out. When I replaced the flywheel, I
had failed to check the crank end play. I hate to admit it, but
I just forgot to. If there had not been enough end play I would
have known it - the crankshaft would not have turned. But too
much end play can retard the timing because of the way the distributor
is driven from a gear on the crankshaft. I levered the crank
pulley in and out. Click - clack - a LOT of end play. On this
new flywheel evidently the nose protrusion was less than on the
1960-model flywheel I had previously used and set the end play
with. I called Roger to confirm. I apologized, we had a good
laugh about it and remained the best of friends. Now, there's
a real gentleman.
- Epilogue
-
- By the running of the Enduro,
the marriage was crumbling. Six months later Rita and I parted.
The stories of racing ruining marriages are legion; ours was
one of the very few which evidently had been held together, at
least in part, by racing. Altho I was living separately, we remained
very close as a family. I was with them every weekend, maintaining
Rita's new VW Fastback and her new house and enjoying home-cooked
meals. The kids and I enjoyed many activities, with Rita included
when she chose. I was dating during the week, but weekend days
always belonged to the family. Sometimes I think they wished
I would disappear for a while. Many times Rita and I talked into
the wee hours after the kids were in bed, as we had always done.
Rita became a programmer, finished her degree and began to enjoy
some of the personal fulfillment she had yearned for while "just"a
wife and mother. When Janice was approaching driving age I gave
her the world's most thorough driver training, which extended
over several months, in my new BMW 2002 (I didn't care too much
for the early, short-wheelbase, slab-sided 911s, and couldn't
afford one anyhow). She has repaid our efforts by never having
an accident in the ensuing 24 years of extensive driving.
-
- I hadn't sold the Speedster,
having turned down an offer of "$1,000 as is," a ridiculous
offer even in those days. It languished seven years in a rented
storage garage. In the early 70s we hauled it out to their garage.
We restored the engine and drive train to stock and enjoyed it
once again on the street. First, I started the engine on the
stand to make sure everything was OK. As I flipped it over with
a ratchet-handle socket wrench on the pulley nut, I had teen-aged
Janice hold the throttle linkage open a little. Even tho there
was a muffler on the engine, it caught with a mighty roar that
sent terrified Jan running for cover. I asked her, "Well,
what did you expect? Putty-putty?" The first night we had
the car ready to go, Jan, Brian and I jumped in and drove directly
to the Pomona fairgrounds, a sentimental trip which returned
the car to the scene of its wins some eight years previous. Later,
Janice occasionally drove the Speedster to college at Stockton
for stretches of a few weeks, where it became a star among her
friends. In one of my previous blurbs I recounted how a girl
friend of Jan's had thrown herself over the car, protecting it
with her own body when another car attempted to park dangerously
close at a drive-in.
- When Brian reached driving age
he, too, enjoyed the Speedster occasionally. Then the crank broke
and the car was laid up again until Jan and I installed the industrial
engine (with 356 ancillaries) in about 83. Rita re-married after
fifteen years; I never have. Brian, a strapping young man of
31, in the prime of life, died of heart disease at the end of
91, leaving his son, Brian James, for us to remember him by.
I never had a strong urge to race again. Racing, to me, had never
been a matter of urgency, nor did I feel that it was related
in any way to testosterone. I enjoyed it almost as an art form.
Stirling Moss has been quoted as saying that he believes that,
among the arts, racing is most akin to ballet. The timing, the
precision, above all, the balance and rhythm. I was competitive;
Rita said that my lap times always went down a second or two
when I was in close contention with another car. I had progressed
from beginner to winner in about a year. I proven that I could
learn to do it and do it well, and that was enough. Sure, if
someone offered me a prepared car I would jump in and be off
in a flash, but racing is no longer worth the life-consuming
time, effort and expense.
-
- For years I have wanted to write
up the memories of my brief racing career, just to have the record.
This forum has been the ideal venue. I have tried to stress the
entertaining, or at least interesting parts. I appreciate your
indulgence and hope that you have found my tale worth the telling.
-
- Pat Tobin
Racing in
the 60s, parts I to IV were reproduced with the kind permission
of the author, Pat Tobin (tobinp@ix.netcom.com)
Pat is a major
contributor to '356 Talk' (356talk@356registry.org)
and a leading
supporter of the 356 Registry (http://www.mejor.com/356registry)
To read the other articles in
the series simply cluck on the links below
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