7743 Miles- Dorothy Had it Right

7743 Miles- Dorothy Had it Right

There really is no place like home. By the time my East Coast racing trip was over and I returned home to California I had been away 49 days, had been through two countries, 19 states, one Federal District, and one foreign province, all while living in a camper with only a single place to sit, an area only about two feet by ten feet to stand, and, excluding cabinets and storage compartments, with less than 80 square feet of “living space.” From being exhausted after 300 or so miles of driving, I was so tired of the road and so anxious to get home that I was doing over 500 miles every day.

I was also totally alone. Don's motorhome had broken down in Hagerstown, Maryland. After a couple of days waiting for parts I was more and more anxious to end a trip which now seemed to have more “lowlights” than highlights. We were planning to head back via a visit with Gerald Davenport in Paducah, Kentucky (see “The Long and Winding Road”). So I told Don I would head in that direction and check in with him daily. If his rig got fixed before I reached Lexington I would find someplace to nest and wait for him, but if he was still stuck I would turn west to pick up Interstate 70 and head home...which unfortunately is what happened.

Don had further misadventures, culminating in his brakes failing outside Carson City. On a vehicle with airbrakes a failure causes them to lock as a safety feature, so he was stuck until the unit could be towed to a repair shop.

The last bit of luck I had was the street display and original course tour at Watkins Glen (see “Empire State of Mind”). The last bit of fun Don had was even before that, at least getting a few laps at Lime Rock before his engine blew (see “That's Racing...At Lime Rock”).

Don fought hard to not try to do anything about his car. I couldn't understand it. Local Crosley guys had offered to help, and one of them offered his shop, parts to cobble together a motor, and parking in front of his house in Newtown, Connecticut. Why was he so negative about making the attempt.

Then Hurricane Frances paid a visit.

Though no longer officially a tropical storm this thing still packed a punch of wind and, especially, torrential rain, which arrived just about the time Don had given in and we had parked in front of this fellow's house, setting up a canopy under which we were somewhat sheltered...it kept out about half the water. But it was also surprisingly cold.

Don's Nardi lacks the removable firewall of the Siata, and the Crosley motor sits tight against the panel. The configuration does not allow removal of the transmission along with the engine, and the fit is so tight that getting things back together is truly nightmarish. By the time we were done I had new appreciation for the Siata...along with a much better understanding why Don was resistant to the task. If only he had said that to begin with...

When we got his motor out of the car and took off the water jacket covers we stood there in total shock. The #3 cylinder was...gone! None of us had ever seen anything like it. It seems Don had decided to try an experimental block he had somehow acquired...one that never was put into production, likely because in testing it must have experienced similar destruction. Powel Crosley was always trying to reduce costs, and this block used less iron in the block casting, mainly by thinning out the cylinder walls. The middle cylinders run hotter than the outers due in part to the siamesed ports as well as less air circulation, so are subject to more stress.

Despite a long, wet, cold and exhausting slog to build up the spare motor, when we tried it there was a noise Don did not like and so he refused to risk destroying someone else's property and so did not run, though he graciously came along to the Glen and then up to Mosport.

After the mixed “joy and sorrow” of the Glen we went to Ontario for what was supposed to be a vintage race event. Things got off badly when I wound up in the commercial vehicle line crossing the border. The Canadian officials had not, as I was promised, been notified about us coming, and were extremely nonplussed about the race car. They seemed to not know what to do and wondered if I was going to try and sell the car in Canada without the proper permits. I could have been smuggling trailers but apparently that thought never crossed their minds and did not bother them.

The track at Mosport is quite uninteresting for a low powered car like the Siata. In fact, there is only a single “fun” turn on the entire track...the “Moss Complex.”

 It also turned out the race was just a single vintage group stuffed into a modern car weekend. Worse still was that only about four other vintage cars showed up. Most of the Canadian racers had been at Watkins Glen the weekend before, and were headed for another race weekend at Mt. Tremblant the following weekend, so had decided to skip Mosport.

As you can see, 

Mt. Temblant is a much more interesting configuration as well as a beautiful setting. The other vintage guys decided, after Saturday, that they were not having fun and wanted to bail on the event, but told me they wanted me to make the decision to stay or go as I had traveled the furthest. They also invited me to join them at Tremblant. Obviously I could not see selfishly keeping them at Mosport, particularly since I found the track uninteresting. And Tremblant would mean adding another two weeks to what already was a very long and tiring trip.

So Mosport and Canada became a write off. There was some compensation though. The Canadian Association of Sports Car clubs (CASC) is an FIA affiliate, so the track tech inspection gave me the only FIA approval stamp in my log book. I was also officially timed at 99+mph on the track, the first such speed verification I had.

To end this saga on a positive note I'd like to relate an amusing incident that happened while we were freezing and drowning in Newtown trying to get an engine for Don. I've introduced Peter Giddings before in this blog. Peter was at the Lime Rock event, getting re-acquainted with the 250F Maserati F1 car he had owned some time earlier and had just repurchased.

One of the Prettiest F1 Cars Ever
Driven by a true friend and gentleman

Peter had a day to kill while waiting for a flight out of the country. I don't recall where he was going. Though I had known him for many years, for the most part I only connected with him at race events, though Sherri and I had been to his house in Danville a couple of times and, as mentioned elsewhere in the blog, the Siata had “convalesced” there for a number of months after my traumatic incident at Sears Point in 1987.

Peter asked if he could hang around with us, and of course I was happy to have him join us. He offered to help “chase parts” or do any “gofer” tasks we needed. A real insight into how down to earth he is...a guy with Bugattis, Maseratis, and Alfa racers with fantastic histories “chasing parts” for a couple of low buck Crosely racers.

At some point we were running out of food, so Don's wife and I needed to go to a grocery to replenish supplies. Of course we could not take the motorhome and it would have been very clumsy to move my rig as well. Peter quickly offered to take us in his rental car....and then pushed the grocery cart around the store while we loaded it with stuff.

Peter was dressed well...tan cashmere slacks and a snappy dark turtleneck, also cashmere. He also has a refined British accent. With his close cropped hair and that accent he was quite a contrast to my sloppy work clothes and Alice's housewife outfit. I could sense people looking at us and I just know they were wondering who this scruffy couple with the Brit butler were.

Peter Giddings with his usual warm smile