Cunningham

Cunningham

Sherri sent me a link to an article about Briggs Cunningham, though it was more about his affinity for and history with rare watches, some of whom were unique “one off” pieces, rather than his work with car or yacht racing (he won the Americas Cup race in 1958 with his boat “Columbia”) with which the public is arguably more familiar. At any rate the article triggered my own recollections about Briggs and his cars. I never met him, and yet there were a number of times my own history crossed paths with his earlier one.

The first instances of this occurred in my childhood, though I did not realize there was a connection until many years later. Cunningham spent much time in Florida, and the factory in which his eponymous cars were created was in West Palm Beach, no more than 60 or so miles from where I grew up.

The other connection was through his friendship with the Collier brothers, fellow racers from the Gulf Coast of the state. This was terra incognito for me while living in Florida. The only time I was in that area, prior to the wedding to my first wife (kind of an odd story in itself, getting married in a town neither of us had any ties to, but not for this blog), was a weekend trip to Naples with the family when I was a young child. Back then the place was a dismal little dot of nothing surrounded almost totally by Everglades wilderness. It was also many years before I learned that the elder Collier had earned his fortune in advertising, and that one of his innovations was the invention of advertising cards originally for Pullman railroad cars and later seen in buses and commuter train cars as well. Oh, and he also built the Tamiami Trail, the first road between Miami and the Gulf Coast, upon which we took that early 50s trip to Naples.

At some point I became aware that there was a southwest Florida county called “Collier,” and that Naples was the primary city in that forsaken place. But it was decades later when I first learned about the Collier brothers, that the county was named for their father Barron, and that they were not only friends with Cunningham, but along with him and Cameron Agetsinger were the major forces in bringing racing to Watkins Glen, New York.

But first I had to “discover” Briggs, and I owe that pleasure, as many others, to John Lewis, some of whose exploits weave their way through many of the blog posts.

In the late 1970s the Long Beach Grand Prix was not an “Indy Car” event, but was on the international Formula One calendar. The Ferrari Owners Club had an entire grandstand on what originally was the dangerous “Queen's Haripin” turn, so named because of its proximity to the permanently docked Queen Mary. Sherri and I attended that event twice with the club, though unfortunately this was an era where Ferrari was not doing well in F1. I no longer recall if we drove down to SoCal or flew, but I have no recollection of driving the Ferrari there at any rate.

But aside from the race itself and other club events and parties there was ample free time and, at John's suggestion, we accompanied him to the Cunningham car collection and museum, which I believe was in Costa Mesa. While we did not meet the man himself, John did know and introduce us to the curator of the collection, John Burgess. John was an artist who did a lot of work painting racing machinery, though much of it related to American dirt track “Sprint” type cars and venues. However, there were exceptions, such as this tempra and watercolor piece now listed for sale here:https://rogallery.com/Burgess_John/w-1720/burgess_john-painting-alfa_rain.html.

John L. impressed upon me that all the cars in the collection were drivable and were “exercised” regularly. I don't recall many of them but two made a lasting impression, a Ferrari and a Bugatti.

The Ferrari is a 166 Corsa, and though shockingly utilitarian and not at all the sleek and refined look I expected, was an important beginning to me education about the early racing successes of the marque as well as being important for another reason...it is said to be the first Ferrari brought to the US. 

1947-1948 Ferrari 166 Spyder Corsa
http://dark-cars.over-blog.com/article-1947-1948-ferrari-166-spyder-corsa-63007209.html

One of the Six Royale
The Coupe Napoleon
Wikipedia Photo

The Bugatti memory stays with me, as it would with almost anyone, simply because of the presenceof the machine. It is one of the six surviving Royale models, and like all of them, it is huge.They are over 20 feet long, and I have a photo buried somewhere of Sherri standing next to the front fender and wheel, which comes nearly to chest height. 

Cunningham used to outrage local Bugatti Club members by driving the car to lunch every so often.Just to show that Ettore must have had a sense of humor, he allowed this hood ornament, designed by his brother, to adorn the cars.

Prancing Elephant
Royale Hood Ornament
Wikipedia Photo

When I got the Siata I was not particularly sensitive to its history. I wanted to go racing. Vintage at that time in California meant “real” been there, done that racers with documented history. For the Siata at that point all I was told was that it had raced at Sebring and ran number #56. That information came from Ernie Mendicki, another name you will see elsewhere numerous times in this blog, but I'm pretty sure it was sourced from the research of John and Jarl deBoer. At some point I will, no doubt, delve more deeply into the complex story of the deBoers as well as John's publication of rare Italian cars and their history, but it Sebring which first tied me back to Briggs Cunningham.

As the years accumulated I also accumulated...more historical documentation about my car. At first this consisted of copying material from magazines Ernie had which discussed the 1953 Sebring race. One of them even listed the results in detail. That is where I learned how successful the Siata was at that race, but also that the overall winner was a Cunningham C4-R driven by Phil Walters and John Fitch.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1953_12_Hours_of_Sebring

So naturally, one year at Sebring one of the booths was selling copies of the Randy Owens poster showing the first and second place finisher (Reg Parnell and George Abecassis/Aston Martin DB3). 

Randy Owens Poster
Still available at
http://stores.randyowens.com/sebring-53-cunningham/

Obviously I had to buy one.

My final connection to Cunningham relative to cars came after I learned the Siata had also raced at Watkins Glen in 1952. Although Briggs was not involved directly in the tragedy which ended street racing at the Glen forever, a Cunningham car was. The result in terms of my history and that of the Siata is that it participated in, and completed, the last race ever run on the original Watkins Glen street course(the preceding Queen Catherine's Cup).

Briggs was leading the race when the second C4-R, again piloted by John Fitch, almost collided with the Allard driven by Fred Wacker as Fitch set up for the right hand turn at the end of Franklin Street. While both drivers reacted by swerving away from each other, the tail of the Allard came out and clipped a young boy sitting on the curb with fatal results. I have an original photo of the Siata taken earlier the same day and just yards from this spot and the casual lack of effective crowd control is readily apparent.

Note the guy weighing himself
and the lack of barriers of any kind

There is, perhaps, one final link to Cunningham, though this is (literally) a stretch. For decades I wanted to learn to sail, and finally took a sailing class on San Francisco Bay a few years ago. While my boat does not have one, a device I learned about and which was present on the boat we sailed, was invented by Briggs. Though not relevant to this blog, here is a picture of it from Wikipedia: 

Cunningham Downhaul
Tightens and changes shape of mainsail

Riverside Run

Riverside Run

I first saw Riverside Raceway some time in the mid 1970s. It was actually one of the first tracks I was at in California, and my exposure to this legendary place started even before I joined the Ferrari Owners Club.

This is the configuration used when I ran the track.
Once, at over 100mph, I was split by two faster cars going by on either side between 8 and 9

Steve Tillum was the head of Neurosurgery with Kaiser Health in Redwood City. He lived in Atherton and had just purchased a second Ferrari to stable along with a 308GT4. The new addition was a 275GTB/C Competizione. That didn't mean much to me at the time, as I didn't know much about Ferrari models, and it looked very much like any other 275. The only visual differences, until you opened the hood, was the “stinger' exhaust tips and the brake cooling “gills” behind the rear wheels. But the competition model not only was built in aluminum rather than steel, and had a four cam engine like other late 275s, but was a dry sump motor.  

Note the Family Resemblance to the Series I 250GTO, particularly at the rear

At the time I really did not know what that meant, but would learn that one characteristic was a huge oil capacity, even substantially beyond the 10 quarts my wet sump 250 2+2 would turn out to require...a lot of oil for a relatively small 3 liter motor.

John Lewis introduced Sherri and me to some of the people in the FOC...Bill and Judy Morton, Tom and Tish Thinnesen, Tommy and Verna Griffiths, and Bob and Theresa Jones, and through them we met other members of the club like “Crazy Bob” Epstein, Steve Tillum, Marshall and Nancy Matthews, Bob Donner, and many others. They were a warm and wonderful group of people and we quickly got wrapped into a social circle with them and the club.

One of the first, if not the first club activity we did was to join them for a track weekend co-hosted by the southern California FOC chapter and the Shelby Club at Riverside. This was in March of 1978. Crazy Bob, Bill and Judy, Steve, the Thinnesens, and the Joneses were all planning on “caravaning” down to the event together, and we were invited to come along, though of course we did not have a Ferrari so would be spectating and not participating in the event. And the only car which was at all appropriate for us to bring was my Porsche 914, which at that time was still a fairly new car. But it had, as it still does, all of 85 horsepower in its 1.7 liter motor...not quite up to the 250 or more in the three to four liter motors in the rest of the group. The line consisted of Steve in his new to him red 275, the Mortons' silver 330GTC, Bob's red 250LM, the Thinnesen's red 246GTS, and the Joneses yellow sister 246GTS. 

Once out of the Bay Area we picked up I5 for a stretch that ran to an offramp to CA33, which parallels 5 for many miles, but is a two lane rural highway with more pronounced twists and turns. It was also, on this occasion, closed. California had a very wet winter that year, and there was significant flooding through parts of the Central Valley. We all stopped at the barrier across the road, but only long enough for Bill, who was leading, to decide that we would chance it, at which point we all simply drove around the barrier and started down the highway. And we never found a flooded section anywhere on the route.

Up to this point the group had been well behaved, but once past that barrier all hell broke loose. Suddenly I found myself trying desperately to keep up with half a dozen maniacs doing anywhere from 80 to well over 100MPH.

The top speed of a 1970 4 cylinder 914 is 105, but the car is decidedly “on the ragged edge” as you exceed about 85-90. And at that point I had little to no serious racing experience and terms like “lines” and “apexes” were still very much a foreign language. I was “rowing gears and pedaling” as fast as I could, “white knuckling” my way down the road and really tossing the car around. I was convinced I was not only over my head, but was now desperately mixed up with the best drivers I had ever seen. It was only after owning and driving a number of Ferraris that I realized, taking nothing away from the skill of these folks, which was quite high, that a Ferrari can make any driver who isn't a total klutz look really good.

When the 914 was rear-ended on the McArthur Causeway in 1972 I decided I would have the car repainted in German Silver, as I thought that was the most appropriate color for a Porsche and, back then, I was not at all sensitive to “originality.” The repair and paint was done poorly and within three years I had it redone, contributing to such depth of paint on the car that it began to crack on the crash bar pillars. But it was still relatively pristine silver for the run down to Riverside, and I have a color portrait I did of the car in the paddock at the track 

The 914 in Silver
Note the stock wheels
I stopped using the bra when I found it put a line right across the middle of the front deck lid

..along with shots of the Morton's car and others.

The Morton's 330GTC at Riverside

I don't recall if it was on the way down or on the trip back, but at one point we stopped next to an auto parts store. Steve had purchased the 275 from Ferrari of Los Gatos, an independent sales outlet, and a mechanic from the shop rode along to make sure the car was healthy. Perhaps it was at a stop for fuel when Steve realized that he was losing copious amounts of oil. I don't recall the car smoking so maybe it was leaking, but at any rate he exited the parts store with a full case, which he proceeded to empty into the separate oil reservoir. Again, with my lack of knowledge about dry sump engines I was totally flabbergasted and laughing wildly, even as he explained that, with no oil showing on the dipstick the car was down at least ten quarts!

I do remember that, at one of these stops, Bill congratulated me on being able to keep up with the group. He was obviously aware of the Porsche's modest power. I'm sure he did not know how very close to the ragged edge of the car's capability, and as well as my own, we were. Sherri looks back on it now and expresses surprise at how calm she remained during the drive.

Just past some little town we all got stopped by the Highway Patrol. The officer said he knew where we were going and expressed appreciation for the cars, but said that when the CHP gets multiple calls from various outraged farmers as we screamed by at well over 80, he had to act. He warned us to get back on I5 and keep the cars to 70. Of course as soon as he left we continued our screaming way down Highway 33. I would guess a pack of a half dozen Ferraris at full chat could be heard for many miles in that rural quiet.

The event was fun but I had no sense then that I would ever drive my own Ferrari on this wonderful track. On the way back from the event Steve decided he needed to buy his wife a gift ands we waited for him outside an antique store. He came out quite happy with his purchase, a ladies purse made from the hide, and in the shape of, an armadillo. It was possibly the ugliest thing most of us had ever seen, and coming from the part of the country where these things roamed I was particularly amused. I could not imagine his rather staid wife appreciating the thing.

The 275 was the same car Steve later put “on its roof” at the Virginia City hillclimb event. See “Nevada Insanity” (January 2017) for details about that little fiasco.

I actually did two track events at Riverside in the 2+2. Both were also co-hosted by the SOCal region of the FOC and the Shelby Club. I loved the track and have a few memories worth noting, but cannot remember which event occurred associated with which event.

The first thing which comes to mind occurred on one of the return journeys home. The 250 lacked, of course, air conditioning, and in addition a fair amount of engine heat gets into the cockpit. I stopped by the side of I5 for a few minutes to try and cool off, exiting the car and sitting on the ground on the shoulder of the road to get a bit of air. Probably not the wisest move in the world but, in those simpler days things were not as risky as they seem now. A fixed wing CHP aircraft noticed me and circled overhead, asking over a bullhorn if I needed help. I waved him off but acknowledged the offer with a salute.

When I got home I expressed to Sherri, with some wonder, that on the highway the car got 18 miles per gallon, second only to our Toyota pickup truck, which averaged 21. In any other situation, no matter how gently or aggressively the Ferrari was driven, it got about 8. But on I5 at least, it was the second most fuel efficient vehicle we owned.

Now that I think about this, both these memories must have been on the second trip down. I borrowed Gary's trailer and towed the car down for one of these events, and I think it most likely that this was the first of the two. As I gained confidence in the car's reliability it seems more plausible that it was the second trip where I drove it down and back.

I think it was also on the first event where I had both a mechanical problem and a driving incident. The mechanical was a leak from one of the front brake assemblies, which was pointed out in the tech inspection by Larry Bloomer, at that time president ,I believe, of the southern region and chief of tech. Somehow he or someone else pointed me at a shop nearby which was able to rebuild the caliper, though I did lose perhaps most of the first day of the event.

The driving incident was about the only time I have ever had a problem on track which did notresult in damage to the car I was driving. Just unlucky that way as, except for one incident, all of the others except one were due to mechanical problems...that one being another driver's lack of judgement. 

As I exited the last turn (9) on one lap, maybe an early one after the brake repair and perhaps I was still decomposed by that, I lost situational awareness of where I was on the track. That last turn was banked, with a large radius and 180 degree change of direction. As you exited the turn there was an access road which angled off to the left towards some garage buildings. The road should have been closed off with cones, but at any rate I mistook it for the main straight. By the time I realized my error I over-reacted and tried to cut back to the right too quickly, and the car spun a full 360 degrees.It really shook me up and I immediately exited into the pit lane. Larry was acting as operating steward for the event and told me “no harm, no foul...go ahead back out when you feel up to it.” Once again I realized I had a lot to learn about car handling at speed.

The only other memory I retain might be associated with an event there in which I was not a participant, but was along to film John Lewis in his 365GTB4 “Daytona,” as he participated in one of these joint track events.

John Lewis's 365GTB/4 at Riverside

John actually paid my airfare down to Ontario so I could do both Super 8 film and color still photography of him. On a lunch break, since I had no car related responsibilities, somehow I wound up making a lunch run for a number of folks, to a local fast food joint a few miles away. I don't recall whose car it was, but I became a passenger in what must have been a very early 308GTB...maybe even a fiberglass car and certainly a carbureted version, as this was again before I had my own Ferrari, which means prior to 1979.

What I remember was that, best I recall, the car was something like a metallic Kelly Green, and that we were blasting down the freeway at over 120. When I asked the owner whether he was worried about tickets or police, he said “at this speed at least I know they won't be coming up behind me.” Ah yes...simpler times indeed.

Makes me think of “Crazy Bob” telling us he had once been stopped by the CHP for doing over 140 in his 250LM...though he did not say how they managed to catch him. At any rate, they wrote him up for that full speed rather than being easy on him. He photographed the ticket (he was the attorney for one of the two biggest professional photography companies in the Bay Area), and later had a gold engraving made of it which hung on the wall of his office in San Francisco.

Indeed.

The ACs in My Life

The ACs in My Life

Though I have only driven two, there were four AC Aces which flitted into and out of my life with cars between 1985 and about 2000 or so. Three of them were Ace roadsters with the Bristol motor while the fourth was an Aceca coupe which had that original unit swapped out for one of the much less common Ford Zephyr engines. They were all, in potential or reality, wonderful and achingly lovely looking cars.

My mentor Ernie Mendicki owned two of them. One was a burgundy roadster while the other, co-owned with Alf Norman, also a convertible, was silver with a metal tonneau cover over the passenger seat and bearing a red racing stripe down its hood and trunk (or, more properly for a British car...the bonnet and boot).

The other two both were owned by John Lewis...a red roadster and the aforementioned Aceca. I'm pretty sure John's open car was the first of the breed I was aware of. I'm not even sure at that point that I knew that the original 260 and 289 Cobras were indeed the same basic car.

As noted in other posts, I met John through his business relationship with Sherri...she did a number of real estate escrows for him the the mid 1970s, and it was at a party where John took us for a ride in his then new-to-him 330GTC which brought me into the Ferrari Owners Club and thence to vintage racing with various organizations. (See “Through the Corkscrew II”).

Along with many others in the FOC, just as I was coming into the group John was leaping off into moving beyond track days with his 330, followed by his Daytona and 275GTS, and into vintage racing with a Bristol powered red AC.

The AC began life as a couple of one-off specials designed and built by John Tojiero. In fact, at about the same time Mike Tangney, who had a big hand in reconstructing my Siata 300BC, was campaigning one of these. One thing led to another in the mid 50s and AC cars bought into the idea of building a slightly revised version of these specials, powered by a four cylinder motor of their own design.

But AC had also obtained, as a result of WWII, the rights to a much more powerful and interesting motor designed originally by BMW. These rights came to them via Bristol cars, thus the designation for the unit. The roadster was actually called the “Ace.” though the more powerful six cylinder version is commonly known as an “AC Bristol” and not an “AC Ace Bristol.” So much for nomenclature.

What made the motor special was its unique valve train. Externally you would swear it was a dual overhead cam engine, but the reality was that it was the unique rocker arm setup which gave it that look and, no doubt, also contributed to its robustness. The combustion chamber was hemispherical, and the result was a powerful yet strong engine. The motor was orignally developed for and used in the BMW 328 and Frazer Nash. Unfortunately I was unable to find a diagram of the setup, but I will try to describe it. The pushrods come up the side of the motor in a conventional manner, but then instead of a normal rocker assembly, the arm actuated by the pushrod is linked to its partner in a manner whereby the partner arm activates its valve...from the opposite side of the motor. The linkage is contained in the head assembly itself, and thus the required chamber for the linkages look very much like, instead, they contain two overhead camshafts.

The result was not only unique, it was staggeringly successful in competition. Though only a few hundred cars were built, it totally dominated the 2 liter class. It was also the only front engined, rear weight biased sports car of which I am aware.

John's cars were never the most pristine or well maintained examples of the breed, and his roadster was no exception. I only drove the car once, and only from the paddock to the tech inspection ares and back for one Monterey Historic, and it was an embarrassment. The car failed because the support for the front anti-swaybar had totally rusted through. I was doing John a favor by bringing the car to tech as he was unable to make it to the track at the required time, He showed up and jury-rigged some sort of fix and did get the car to pass, but I found it incredible that he would even show up at the track with such a glaring safety issue on the car.

Given that, it still amazes me that I allowed Adin to ride back from the Virginia City hillclimb in the car. It was freezing cold for that particular version of the event, and the aluminum floor of the AC is notoriously hot...so much so it could be capable of melting the rubber on a driver's shoe soles. Adin was about ten at the time, and simply curled up in the passenger footwell with the car cover wrapped around him. He was a lot cozier than poor John, whose hands didn't thaw until he had them wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate at a local cafe on Highway 89 around Markleeville for fifteen minutes or so.

John's AC
Virginia City Hillclimb
Circa 1980

It was this same car which John crashed into the wall at turn 4 on the same course a year or two later...claiming he had smelled Sherri's chocolate chip cookies at Turn 3 and lost concentration. See “Nevada Insanity” for more about that event.

Topographical Map of the Virginia City Course
Times are class winning for my Ferrari
Note the comment about the off camber Turn 16
See "Nevada Insanity" (January 2017) for more Information
The dotted line is the "return to start" road
kept open to the public during the event

John later bought an Aceca coupe. John could be a bit of a hot-rodder...once converting a Jaguar X6 to use the V12 Jag motor because he could not find, did not want to spend the money for, or perhaps they never built, a two door V12 variant.

Thus, there were only a handful (nine, I think) Acecas which left the factory with the Zephyr six cylinder motor. But John's research indicated that there were other cars, originally Bristol powered, which were later converted, and decided he would race the Aceca with such a conversion...I think he got as far as painting the car and putting the motor in and convincing CSRG to accept the car, but he passed away before doing much else...and the car passed to his daughter and son-in-law and I lost track of it. It was in need of a full restoration.

Ernie told me that his two roadsters could not have been more different from each other. He said the oversteer of the burgundy car was almost violent in nature (I never drove it, but I have no reason to doubt him), while the silver car was much more gentle and forgiving. He never expressed an opinion as to why this should be, and I unfortunately never asked him.

When Ernie died I really lusted after the silver car, and not only because it was such a joy to drive and so well prepared visually and mechanically. More important to me was that it was the only car I watched Ernie totally restore from one end to another, and the car was a virtual wreck with a front end so badly done it shortened the car by a full eight inches. Ernie did everything on it from paint to upholstery, though I am not sure if he shopped out some of the mechanical work. I do know that his metalwork included fabricating the metal tonneau mentioned earlier in this post.

Alf was a long time friend of Ernie, but had fallen into a rather bad space, with an alcohol problem and assorted medical ailments. Buying, restoring, and racing the AC was, in part, Ernie's way of helping Al recover some reason to get up in the morning, regain some energy and joy in life, and crush whatever demons were haunting him. While I did not know Alf before the AC project, I can attest that in those years the AC was indeed the catalyst for pleasure and meaning for him.

One of Alf's sayings stuck with me. I only heard him say it once, and this was, no doubt, related to some unexpected turn of events in his own or someone else's life...and not for the good.

“If you want to make God laugh,” Alf said, “tell him your plans.”

After Alf died Ernie assumed sole stewardship of the car, and one day he asked me to co-drive a two hour “enduro” with him in the AC, on the original Thunderhill “short” configuration. I was thrilled, though a bit intimidated, as the idea of being responsible for one of Ernie's cars “on track” was not to be taken lightly.

To familiarize me with the car he suggested a drive around Cupertino. I had never driven a right hand drive car in America, and I was not exactly comfortable with the idea of doing so in this dense urban area.

And then I sat behind the wheel, and was so deep in the car that I felt like I could only barely see over the swooping front fenders. Ernie told me to relax, that the car was, in fact, no bigger than an MGA...but it certainly did not seem that way to me. At any rate, I made it around town and back to his house without doing damage to either of us or the car.

The race was far more enjoyable, though the prep work was a bit...uncomfortable. Ernie did not use battery tenders, and when we went to do that test drive, the battery needed replacement. For those unfamiliar with the AC, this would be funny if it were not so annoyingly difficult. I suppose the reason was to keep the weight down low, but at any rate the battery lives at the bottom of the inner passenger fender, in amongst the usual spaghetti of an engine compartment, right down on the lower frame rails. There is precious little clearance to maneuver, and of course the damn thing weighs 50 pounds or so.

It took both of us to wrestle it out and the new one in, and we were so twisted around each other that it could have been an illustration for a “Gay Kama Sutra.” Though we were both laughing, I just hoped Ernie's nearby neighbor and pro photographer, Llew Kinst, did not show up with a camera.

We did really well in the race, though I don't remember the exact finishing position. Ernie demanded a conservative tach maximum, without which we would have, no doubt, done even better, but the car was a delight to drive and I loved the torquey Bristol motor. The photo below was taken by Ernie's wife Marylou, just after competing the event. It was a great memory to share with Ernie, and you can tell we had a great time. Hard not to in such a wonderful car. 

Though I briefly considered making an offer for the car after Ernie died, I quickly gave up the idea when it became clear I would have to sell both the Ferrari and the Siata to have a chance at it. And at that point this was not something I would consider.

We had just finished the enduro at Thunderhill
Unfortunately Marylous did not notice the deep shadows on the car
We used my the permanent number I have on the Siata
the Same number it used at Sebring in 1953

Memories

Memories

Gary loaned me his copy of Leon Mandel's “The Jaundiced Eye” about his life with cars. For those who have never read “Autoweek,” Leon was the resident curmudgeon of that publication, on and off, over much of his life.

An article about his thoughts prior to addressing an SCCA chapter triggered my own about similar memories over the course of 35 years playing with race tracks (and one very small, very beautiful “Baby Barchetta”). I guess, like Leon, it is perhaps that time of my life to be relating experiences made sweeter by time. Despite being a mediocre racer in a very slow car I've got some great ones.

Kenny Epsman...almost leaping through the crowd on the steps of the old amphitheater at Laguna after another successful Monterey Historic with a blender full of margaritas powered by a weed whacker motor. The beast was refilled via a scruffy five gallon white fuel jug emblazoned with a “Union 76” label on the side...but Kenny told us not to worry, he had swished out most of the 110 octane fuel before filling it.

I remember Al Moss, the real originator of the “Great Monterey Hat Swap” which became first a legend, then a ritual at the awards ceremony for the event. The first time I met Al was after finishing my first of the 20+ times I ran that event, before Steve Earle was forced out. No comments about that now.

I had actually and legitimately passed Al, going uphill between what is now turn 6 and 7, though back then, before the track built the go-kart infield section to try and attract F1, it was 4 and 5. This, mind you, with an engine I had built for the Siata, before I realized how much I didn't know about developing horsepower. 

Al was driving the famous ex-Von Neuman MG TD special, old #11. The car later went to Don Martine, after which it became a whole different deal, with power Johnnie no doubt would have wished he had in the 1950s, and tires that didn't achieve that kind of width or grip until well into the 1970s.

Al later ripped around in one of those strange three wheeled Morgans, having great fun trying to figure out where it would jump next. Following him and trying to figure out how to get by was not quite the same joy...it meant just sort of holding your breath and going for it.

Oh, back to the hat caper. It was the second year when Ferrari was the featured marque (1984). Ernie was resplendent in a heavyweight hardware store chain painted gold, baiting the Ferrari crowd. Of course he was wearing a felt cowboy hat. When Al was called up by Steve for some sort of award, on a whim as he passed by Al grabbed the hat off Ernie's head, then snatched Steve's cap and slammed Ernie's down in its place. Well, that was it and from then oneveryone did it and, no, Ernie never got his back and no, Steve never remembered later who had started it all.

There was Pete Lovely, the guy whose real racing career included winning the first ever event held at Laguna (in a Ferrari) and who was a vintage racer long before pro ex-shoes decided this was a new place to extend their career and their retirement funds, doing pirouettes in front of Lee Osborn in his beautiful Shannon/Crosley special between turns 3 and 4. He finally came shooting across the track backwards and clipped Lee non-too gently. The only untoward move I ever saw Pete make in 35 years around him.

Then there was Sir Stirling Moss and one of the dumbest moves I ever sawhim make. Stirling was almost a regular around Monterey...he seemed to be there every year. But this was a special year, 1989 being the 40^thanniversary of Aston Martin's world championship victory at LeMans. The paddock had the most amazing display done by Ford, which owned Aston at the time (see “1989 Monterey Historic” for details), and there was a brace of spectacular Aston racers to fill the display and the track.

I guess Stirling thought he needed to be as spectacular in his drive, but diving inside everyone on turn 2 on the first lap with a very rare DBR he did not own was, in my opinion as I watched him from our perch outside the old Media Center above the Start/Finish straight, a move highly unlikely to succeed, though I had pulled it off a few times myself in the Siata, a car I can stick anyplace on the track.

Sir Stirling then dirt tracked a bit when he was surprised to find the space occupied by Vic Edelbrock in a Lister, though I don't recall if it was Jag or Chevy powered. Poink and Punt went the Aston into the side of Vic. End of race for both of them.

An hour or so later I saw Barbara Schooley walking towards me in the paddock, looking decidedly glum. This was so unusual, Barbara being always, in my experience, of an appearance that can only be called “sunny,” that I stopped her and asked what was wrong.

She reminded me that she was the SCCA “Operating Steward” of the event, a fact of which I was aware. By that point in my racing experience I had developed a deep appreciation for the work, paid or not, of the various workers who made our events both pleasant, and safe. 

Barbara then told me she was on her way, at the order of Steve Earle, to tell Sir Stirling to put anything he was to drive “on the trailer;” that his weekend was over for the little stunt (and shunt) at turn 2.

The only time I saw Steve waive the “13/13 Rule” (13 month or 13 event suspension for causing damage to your own or someone else's car) was when Phil Hill had an off moment and clipped someone.

“World Champions get One Pass” said Steve.

Hard as it is to believe, in the early days of Vintage Racing we were allvolunteers. I was a Driver Observer (DO) at CSRG events, watching and reporting on the behavior of other drivers once my own stint in the car was done. I have worked pre-grid, herding cats into slots before the start of a race, as well as corners with headset and flags, ready to do battle with the herd in emergencies. I have even worked “pre-Start” at the “Virginia City Hillclimb” Ferrari Owners Club event. 

The Starter was Memory Hughes and she would tolerate no one trying a rolling start from behind the chalk line across the highway. That was one of my first interactions with Steve Earle and it was a testy one. He was shepherding Lou Sellei's (I've likely butchered that spelling) 250LM, a lovely ride. Which same he had stopped about 50 feet behind the line. 

Memory told me to make him move up. I conveyed the message. He snapped at me about the car's “on/off” racing clutch. I told him to take it up with her and either move forward or get out of line. End of discussion. Fortunately he seemed not to hold it against me.

There was the delightful vision of the Edelbrock girls, Cammie and Christy, dueling with father Vic in what was largely a grid of GT350s, though unsuccessfully. Cammie was more adept than her sister, and was a serious “hot shoe” in a “big boy's” group, but her dad (perversely in his Washburn Chevrolet Stingray) was un-catchable. 

Speaking of perverse...there was Epsman in his shockingly lime green Dodge Charger, way up with the front runners. Kenny always seemed to march to another drummer, also running a very fast Dekon Chevy Monza. 

As noted previously, Kenny remains one of the funniest people I've ever run across, second only in my experience to Brian Redman. Years ago in Cris Vandagriff's motorhome, Kenny, whose daughter was about 17 at the time, had sworn an oath to keep her pure and innocent forever...very likely already a lost cause then, and most certainly now, all these years later. His approach was hysterical, though I can't remember a thing about it other than being in tears from laughing so hard.

Another tale of tears and Redman, though later told tale elsewhere and in print, at the time I heard it, it was in Cris's motorhome. It was the story of his first foray in a Porsche 917, at the time a good candidate for most evil race car in the world.

Another driver was killed on the track in one that day and Brian, who had not before raced the 917 he was about to mount, was in tears. When asked if he knew the driver and was that why he was crying Brian said “no” and “no.” Well, he was asked, why washe in tears if he was not crying for the dead pilot.

“I'm crying for me,” Brian replied, “because I've got to get in and drive that thing and I think it's going to kill me!”

My memories certainly include those of the crews who worked the track and kept all of us as safe as possible in what was, after all, a dangerous hobby. 

There was Darelene, the constant presence on the grid, always with a smile or, if you were not in a car, a hug. There were also those you only saw from a distance; splitters and corner workers, and the fire crew lined up in full fire suits, giving you a “thumbs up” at turn 5 on the parade lap. 

There was also the Rescue Crew and the stewards in their tower, who you hoped never to interact with in their official capacities. But “thanks,” Marylou, for watching over us. I never forgot to wave and acknowledge the corners after every event I have been in, taking the hear the “No Wave, No Tow” shirts of the workers on the grid.

Oh, and I also know who wound up with Caroll Shelby's hat, complete with British Racing Driver's Club patch, at the “Great Monterey Hat Swap.” And I was instrumental in said person NOT returning it to Shelby, even though the latter was very vocally unhappy about the loss.

You play, you pay. That's just the way it was.

Ashes In The Handlebars

Ashes In The Handlebars

I'm not sure why I still have it, sitting in the shop. Surely it is unlikely I will ever restore it, and yet I have never really considered scrapping it, despite Sherri's oft-repeated request that I do so.

I speak, of course, of my 1977 Suzuki GS750, fifth and next to last (well, maybe) motorcycle.

Oh, I did mention that my automotive history included six motorcycles, didn't I? I'm sure I mentioned that my first non-human powered transport was a Moped. After that I graduated to a Cushman Eagle.In fact, I rode for some months before I ever drove a car. But I don't include those basic transport modes in the six.

It seems more cool now than it did then
©Mecum Auctions

The odd car gig happened like this. Some friend, long since forgotten, had a buddy who was 18 and had his full-fledged license. Best I recall I was 14 and had only recently received my learner's permit. This allowed me to ride a “motor driven cycle” of five or less horsepower, and to drive a car “under adult supervision,” meaning...an 18 year old would work just fine! As I write both those statements I am astounded at how uncomplicated the world was, and how there seemed to be little risk in either activity, despite the fact that a young person like me at the time had absolutely no prior instruction in either riding or driving!

I believe the car I thus had my first experience behind the wheel with was an early 60s vintage Falcon...with stick shift no less! When I told Dad about my first lesson in the car his response was “good, you can tear up someone else's car rather than ours.” 

Not cool back then
But I didn't care
It was WHEELS!
And someone else's gas money

Good ole' Dad. Such a confidence builder.

To me, the moped and Cushman were somewhat embarrassing conveyances, with their only redeeming features being that they were (barely) better than walking. The moped was so underpowered I could actually pedal the thing almost as fast as it went under power. The Cushman was better, but the centrifugal clutch was so slow to “hook up” it was a real dog off the line. 

So as soon as I got my “full” license at 16 I was off two wheels and into four with the Dodge Dad bought pretty much for my exclusive use (Uncool? Yeah, But I'm Riding and You're Walking!).

But after “tasting” the amazing “grunt” of my roommates Suzuki X6 250 when, at the time, I was driving an Austin Healey Sprite with a 0-60 time you needed a calendar to compute, I was again intrigued by what, in particular, a two-stroke bike offered in low cost thrills.

I had to have one. And even though both Mom and Dad were totally opposed, Mom actually loaned (gave?) me the money to buy my first bike...a used Yamaha “Big Bear” 305.

Definitely Cool
Classic good looks
Brakes and Frame too
Yikes!

While not as quick off the line as the X6, in similar fashion the engine power was far ahead of either the suspension or brake's ability to handle...while I have always been a conservative rider I was quite willing to use that power on occasion. It was exhilarating....and probably a lot more dangerous than I thought.

When Marcia and I got married I thought it was time to “grow up,” and sold the bike. I spent the next six months sniffing the exhaust of every motorcycle I got near, and was miserable. I finally scraped together enough cash to buy a used Honda 160, which made me even more miserable.

This was my firsst four-stroke bike, and while well built, I was amazed at how far behind in terms of fun quotient Honda seemed to be. Their “big” machine was a 305. It was top heavy and, relative to either the Yammie 305 or the Suzy 250, painfully slow. The 160 was the worst of both worlds. Built as a “Scrambler” it was also top heavy and even slower than the aforementioned “Dream.” I might have dubbed it the “Nightmare.” I actually tried to use it off-road once...a true disaster. But then, a high pipe Yamaha 305 was available, and no doubt would have been even worse.

When we moved to Georgia for me to continue Grad School I had had enough of the Honda, and almost as soon as we arrived in town bought my own X6 ( see WTF...or HRD?  for my own introduction to the X6). I had to go to Atlanta to get the bike, and of course return there for its first, break in service. It was 31 degrees when we left Athens for the 60 mile ride to the shop, and 29 when we got there. I don't believe I had any protection other than a helmet and a jacket, and we were both totally exhausted and hypothermic when we arrived. My hands were so stiff that the right one had taken on the curve of the throttle, and I feared the shape might be permanent.

But we survived the trip, and I kept the bike when we returned to Florida. I remember that at one point we were living in the back unit of a one story duplex in Miami Shores. I kept the bike on the sidewalk leading to the unit, and there was an identical, though mirror image, unit opposite, on the sidewalk of which was a Norton 850 Commander This was the killer British machine to have at the time.

THE Bike of the early 70s
Wikipedia Photo

Thing was that, like all Brit bikes of the era, reliability was not its strongest point. My Suzuki had electric start with a kickstarter for backup. The Norton was kick only. While Miami was rarely cold, it could get pretty cool in the winter, while still maintaining relatively high humidity. In these conditions the Norton could be quite stubborn about starting. I would try hard not to gloat when I pushed the button on the Suzy and the “world's fastest popcorn popper” instantly came to life, albeit sounding like a wounded house cat. As I left for work the Norton's owner was still exhausting himself cranking his monster.

By the time I decided to trade the Suzy (why, oh why?) Honda had come out with their first really big bike, the 400 twin, and Kawasaki had blasted away the “fastest bike” title with their 500cc H1 two-stroke triple, which quickly became nicknamed the “Widowmaker.” The power of this thing was so far beyond the ability of its frame to stand the flex, or its brakes to shut it down, that it was, and remains, one of the most dangerous street machines ever produced. 

Of course we all lusted after it. When the company decided to produce a supposedly somewhat tamed little brother of 350cc I was all in for that. 

Worst bike I ever owned. Within six months the paint was fading and every rubber piece on it was falling apart. But that wasn't the worst part. While undoubtedly quick, it did not feel faster, nor was it, than my X6 and, unlike that well balanced machine, wanted to become the “world's fastest unicycle” if you did try to wick on the throttle. The front wheel would instantly try to point at the tops of the telephone poles. Pure evil. 

And the gas mileage, or more precisely, the lack thereof, was amazing. I calculated it multiple times before I would believe that 350cc could really get only 22mpg. That, of course, was well after the beast dumped me by the side of the Florida Turnpike one day. I had switched to to the reserve setting all bikes had back then when it began to stutter...and ran totally dry about five miles further on. I just couldn't believe it.

The night it was stolen off my driveway I actually felt relief. This was enhanced greatly when I got the insurance check, which was just big enough to pay cash for a used Suzuki 305.

Another Good Looking Suzy
And another Mecum Photo

 Do you detect a note of brand loyalty here? I always liked the company and thought their products well designed, good looking, and exceptionally well behaved and quick. 

This was the bike that moved with me, buried in a U-Haul trailer connected to a 24 foot rental truck, to Las Vegas at the end of 1972. In early 73 I took a ride outside of town, on US 95. I stopped for a break near the junction with NV156, one of the routes up Mt. Charleston. I took one look around at the totally empty vista and realized...we're gonna need a bigger bike!

Enter yet another Suzuki, the 550 triple. The firm also made a larger 750 version, but after the 305 I figured the 550 was big enough. I outfitted it with a small fairing, and wandered all over the desert with it for the two years we lived in Vegas. 

My 550
In Front of Our Home in Redwood City
c1975

I kept that bike for another couple of years after we moved to California. It was big enough and fast enough to stay with anything, and I remember in particular our first real exposure to Bay Area weather. We were living in San Mateo at the time, so this must have been the summer of 1974. When we left that town the temperature was about 75...pretty warm for that part of the Bay. We were headed for the top of Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County, where we planned to picnic overlooking the City and the Bay. 

We were astounded when we reached the Golden Gate...it was in the 50s and foggy...we were freezing! Then we zipped up through the Waldo tunnel and on into Marin. When we reached the top of Mt. Tam it was 96 and sunny. In about 30 miles the temperature had first dropped 20+ degrees in about 25 miles, and then climbed over 30 from there in less then ten. Welcome to California!

Two-stroke bikes are simple, and should be durable. But motorcycle technology in the early 70s was progressing rapidly, mainly in suspension and chassis design as well as braking. By 1976 Suzuki hit the market with their first four stroke, and it was a winner right out of the box. 

I first noted the GS750 in Through the Corkscrew II. I did not rush out and grab the early 1976 model, but by 1977 I was convinced it was the way to go next in my progression with bikes. In particular, it had front and rear disc brakes, a huge improvement over any drum system. It was also absolutely gorgeous, and I was convinced that the company would not put a bike on the market which did not meet their usual high quality standards.

Still a good looking bike
And a great ride
Beautiful Handling and Plenty of Power (60hp)

I was right. So in early Spring 1977 I bought the bike which now sits in disarray in my shop. Not that I didn't get my use out of it. By the time I stopped riding regularly, in about 1984, I had put 40,000 fun miles on it. It was still in fine shape and totally reliable. Though it also was the only bike I have ever dropped, and I did it twice. The first time was much more dramatic than the second, though I'm not sure Sherri would agree.

I was taking my usual route to work...which meant peeling off 101 onto 280 near Army Street, then off at Mariposa, across the China Basin Bridge, and on to park someplace like Montgomery Street. In the early days there were no motorcycle parking spaces, so I often left the bike in an unobtrusive place on the sidewalk. Most, but not all, meter maids would leave me alone, since by doing that I was not tying up a space for a car. When the City first put in bike parking spaces I recall a few of us standing around and looking at them in amazement. Wow...something sensible...in San Francisco!

Fortunately, when I dropped the bike I was in full leathers, with gloves and boots. And it wasn't the bridge grating which got me. Though that is scary as your machine wobbles about it is not really dangerous and there is little chance the grid will actually drop you. But leading up to and across the bridge is a railroad siding which runs through the right lane of the street, and that is dangerous. Both on the street and on the bridge you do not want your wheels anywhere near those tracks.

I knew the siding was there...I rode this street every day. I knew I needed to avoid it. What I did not know was exactly where it started. And that was further hidden by a delivery truck in the right lane. As I started to cut to the left to pass the truck I started the move just as I came to the siding. My front wheel cleared the track towards the left lane just fine, but the back crossed the lefthand rail at a shallow angle, tried to play trains, and came around sideways.

I suddenly found myself on my hands and knees doing 40mph without a bike. Fortunately I came off the back and did not “high side” it. I was just fine and the bike sustained only a couple of scrapes to things like the clutch lever. So after 15 years of riding, the mantra about there being only two types of riders caught up with me...either you have been down....or you will go down sometime.

The second time was just...annoying. I was in the left turn lane of El Camino Real southbound at Whipple Avenue, going to turn and cross the Caltrain tracks. When the light changed I slowly started forward, and the back wheel started to try and pass the front of the bike. I backed off the throttle, but the wheel continued to swing out, gradually assuming an unrecoverable angle, and down we went.

Yes, Sherri was on the back...the last time she rode. There was no damage to either of us or the bike, and I was confounded about what happened. There was nothing visible on the pavement to explain it. I could only conclude that, while I knew about so-called invisible “black ice,” I had just stumbled into “black oil,” an invisible film with just enough slickness to cause a traction loss of my back wheel.

Still, not bad for over 25 years on bikes.

But by 1984 I had not only stumbled my way back into sports cars in a big way ( see Through the Corkscrew II), I was also half way through turning a “roller” and nine boxes of parts into a vintage race car (I Think I'm Alone Now; There Doesn't Seem to be Anyone Around).

I also realized two things:

• The Suzuki needed work
• I was really just riding it to work and back

The work included a leaking front shock and a rear sprocket which was pretty far gone...to the point it might be unwise to ride the bike without replacing it. As for riding to work...in the ten years since we had moved to the Bay things on the roads were already getting a lot more dicey. From “laid back and friendly” there was a new aggressiveness and tension which grew out of the development exploding from the former groves of the Santa Clara Valley, which had been newly redubbed “Silicon Valley.” It was getting dangerous to ride a bike up 101 every day. And I was already anticipating a new hobby which was also life-threatening. I decided two such activities with a wife and young child might be tempting fate a bit too far.

So I parked the Suzy in a shed I built next to the garage, totally planning to “get back to it” one day. Hah...life had other plans. 15 years later I cut dozens of vines away from it, undid the frozen rear caliper, and hauled it out into the daylight to bring it up to Jackson.

It was a mess...corroded chrome, peeling paint. Sad indeed. I parked it in the shop, out of the way, where it has sat ever since. 

I did have one more bike, a Kawasaki 150cc “metric cruiser” or “wannabe Harley” if you prefer.

My Wannabe Harley
I never grew to love it

 A group of guys up here wanted to ride, and those were the kind of bikes they wanted. While I could have bought something that I likely would have loved more, I fell in with what the group had, a big though relatively nimble machine with footboards and loads of torque but neither the looks nor the ride of the Suzuki. 

And then the guys started feuding with each other, and I realized that, with leathers and some body armor for protection, it was too hot for me in the summer, and too cold in the winter, to be comfortable. I found myself saying “I need to ride the bike” instead of “I really want to ride.” I sold it in 2004 and used the proceeds to buy the closed trailer I needed to take the Siata cross country to race. (See the “Long and Winding Road” series). 

Wait...”where it has sat ever since.” Isn't that the same thing that happened to the 914 (see the “Bring 'Em Back Alive” series)? And look how that came out! Assuming parts are available it would not take much to put the Suzy back together...

And that would resolve Sherri's concern about this visual reminder of the effort it will take to clean up things if I die before her. In fact, as the title of this piece attests, she has threatened multiple times to have me cremated and my ashes stuffed in the handlebars of the bike if I do not get rid of it. 

While I actually think that is not a bad place to wind up, I am reminded of the (paraphrased) words of Road and Track's Peter Egan as a cautionary tale: “Stop Me Before I Restore This (Bike)”

“Then one night over cigars and too much brandy, I began to take the thing apart.”

Bulletin...a couple of weeks later
I happened to mention this article to Sherri, telling her it was triggered by realizing how good a title her "ashes in the handlebar" threat made. I then mused about the last lines of the piece, about how it would not seem to be a difficcult project to get the bike back on the road.

She not only said "hey, why don't you do that with your grandson" (who is already riding his own bike...a Ducati 750), but she then texted him asking him if thar would interest him.

The Internet being the greateest tool in history to test how practical exercises like this might be, with no effort at all to find out, I meantime "Googled" "Suzuki GS750 parts" and had enough hits which seemed to have, in a quick glance, extensive lists of brake, cable, engine, body, graphics, and other parts to make further investigation worthwhile.

Tristan, of course, said he would love to do that project. But, Tristan being Tristan, interest does not always translate into action. I would be willing to give him the bike at the  completion of the activity if he at all would stick with putting any reasonable (tbd) effort into it.

Wait, I probably should not be putting that in print!

Uh oh...have I just taken on another restoration project?