Trailer Trash

Or, more precisely...trashed trailer.

The race weekend went just fine. To ease the effort needed to prep the car, get it to and maintain it while at the track, reload it and drive home, Adin suggested not using the camper, staying in a motel, and renting a garage on pit row. All good suggestions and, with his help, it made the event much less demanding onmy aging bones and back.

Siata in Garage after its dozen lap excursion

I had not been on a track in two years, so my goal was to refresh myself and also be sure the caar was in solid shape to begin refitting it for entry in the Mille Miglia. This is a 1000 mile open road time and distance rally honoring the original road races held from 1927 to 1957,  when it was stopped due to the carnage which often resulted. It now is an expensive, but magnificent opportunity to drive freeely on some pretty magnificent rural roads and through many fabled medieval towns such as Siena and Florence...literally a once in a lifetime opportunity that has been on my radar for decades.

The weekend was spent dodging raindrops (some quite forceful). I actually only ran one of rhe four possible sessions I might have. The first was at 9AM on Friday, which would have meant an extra overnight or a very early drive and I was not up for either. So I was first on track in the second session, Friday at 1PM.

There were only half a dozen cars which went out, but even then I wounmd up last, running around on an apparently empty track. The only other sub liter displacement car was my engine builder Lee Osborn's special, and even it is way faster than the Siata. Though I can claim a 6th overall and second in class that is a "wink, wink" answer to the general public's inquiry as to how I did. 

I did have two other opportunities to run, but passed on both. The first was Saturday morning and it was on and off haard showers and not only a very wet track but a likelihood you would get dumped on while driving...drove in pouring rain only once, just to day I did it, and learned mainly that "cold, wet, and scared" did nothing for my enjoyment. So pass on that one.

The afternoon could not make up its mind as to what it wanted to be. Once minute partial sun , the next pissing rain and cold. As it turned out, after I decided to pack it in and was on the highway returning to the motel it got reasonably nice out, but I have no regrets. I am superstitious enough to think that reversing  decision at the last minute is just testing the gods and asking for trouble, whivh I don't need. The watchword for the car at this point in my life as well as its own, is preservation.

We had a nice meal and chat with Adin at Tarpy's...we had never before eaten inside and it has been decades since we were last there. We also decided to spend a dull night in what used to be the Way Station, by the ariport and closest place to the track...also a place we had not been to in many years. 

After breakfast Monday morning we were on the road...I decided to tool up CA 1 to Watsonville and across to pick up Pacheco Pass, the latter being the way we had come in. This actually was much more pleasant than the section of 101 we otherwise would have been on, and even with some heavy rain at times it was more relaxed for me. In no time we were on I5 headed north towards home.

And then...bang! Or really, no drama at all that was apparent. I felt a very slight sort of tremor, and when I looked in the mirror I saw a wheel raoaring along in a lane over and a bit behind, though catching up. I remember thinking at first it could not be mine, as the trailer was still merrily rolling along and on the level, but it was quickly apparent it did have to be off my rig. I gradually slowed, the gyroscope effect tailed off and the tailer tilted to rie on the brake drum as I maneuvered towards  the way too narrow shoulder, watching and hoping the wheel did not cause damage to anyone or wind up with cars inn a ball trying to avoid it. Miraculously that workd out.

Now what? Of course it was the right side I lost...so to try and even look at the camage mant exposing myself to traffic whizzing by at 70 or better, with absolutely no one changing lanes for their own and my safety. 

SO...now what? No way to do anythng where I was. Nice young black guy...Caribebean descent possibly, pulling his own little trailer, stopped on the shoulder ahead of me,  I saw him as I waa wrestling the tire up from the roadside ditch and back to the car 1/3 of a mile away. He graciously offered to put his truck in the slow lane to get traffic over while I pulled ahead on the shoulder so he could follow me off to a safer location.

We ultimately wound up at a poor looking gas stationin French Camp, surrounded by Latino farm workers in worn out clothes. Several of them offered to help find a mechanic who might work on the trailer, but of course on Sunday this would be a miracle if it happened.

Still, why is it that those with little resources of their own are the very ones o offer to help? They didn't ask who I voted for or what I thought of immigration...they just reached out to fellow human beings in trouble. It was the highlight of my day and well beyond, and made me embarrassed for our relative indifference to the plight of people who are oot white children of great privilege such as we.

The towing company also was more than just mildly helpful. While costly, they let me store the trailer in their yard while I tried to find someone who could work on it, or until I could get parts and work on it myself somewhere, those thesee litiginous days it was unlikely any firm would let me do so on their property. 

Storing the trailer meant unloading it from the flatbed tow truck and reloading it the next day. I had watched the sympathetic driver do the loading and even helped make sure there was enough clearance, so I knew this was no small task for which the company could justify charging an extra fee, but did not.

And it was the towing company who suggested a possible solution I would never had though of, after the biggest camping specialty company in the US said they would not work on the trailer. Not a glowing endorsement of a place calling itself "Camping World." There are a hell of a lot of RVs running around pullling cars for local use in trailers or on dolls, and that lack of service by such a spacialty company was shocking.

Of all the places I would never have thought of, it was Les Schwab in Manteca who took me in. I had alwasy considered the company to be a low and and kind of shlocky place...sort of a "Pep Boys" of the tire world. Instead I found people who went out of their way to help, both empathetic and pleasant. 

While the trailer continuses to just baffle me-this is the third time some sort of wheel oroblem developed while traveling- the adventure was a very positive verification that the angry hostility of the ightly news cycle is out of whack with the realities of humanity in the flesh. There are very good people in this country, and in all possible modes of ethnicity and heritage.

Les Schwab, Manteca California

Model Building

So what do you do when you are too old and decrepit to do much wrenching on cars and motorcycles? In fact, I am perhaps, even too old and weak to ride the Suzuki I recently brought back to life after a "sleep" of more than two decades (see "Back From the Dead, August 5, 2021"). 

Well,  the answer to the second sentence may be obvious...sell the Suzy and buy a smaller, lighter machine with comparable performance. Of which there are many, all two strokers built before the tightening of pollution laws in the 1970s). It is easy to envision a Yamaha RD350 variant, or even a Suzuki T250 or X6 sitting where the GS is today. In total insanity a Suzuki RG250 is a gorgsous and not totally impractical replacement...though it will be like selling one of my sons to see the 750 go. 

Yes, it's the model I built and not the real bike
Would you have known if I didn't tell you?

But I have returned to an activity of my childhood (don't we all, at some point?)...putting together plastic model kits of various interesting vehicles. This actually started as what I thought was going to be a prelude to returning to the model railroad and continuing to debug the electrics (always a weakness with me) and finishing another town (see the two posts on the Sierra Northern from May and July of 2020...but has now turned out to have taken on a life of its own.

As a youngster I of course built a number of cars and planes (no boats I recall other than one aircraft carrier) from plastic kits made by Revell or Monogram mainly, with the cars coming from AMC. Many of the builds were military items from WWII...at one time I had a fairly complete little "army" of figures, trucks, tanks, and artillary. Enough to construct a second unit with tacked on bits of tape upon which I had drawn swastikas to represent "the enemy." A friend and I would then hold mock battles between these armies.

But my current attempts started to see if I could reinvigorate my skills to work in small scale. I had actually become intimidated by my N scale railroad, as every time I touched a car to return it to the tracks my hands shook so badly it was frustrating and took three or four times the effort it did when I was younger and could even see the damn things! I was afraid what my neurologist said was normal tremors and not a sign of developing Parkinsons would prevent doing anything further on the layout. 

And if you can no longer do any of the activities which have given spice and meaning to your life it is hard to see the point of contiuing with that life.

The first kit I attempted actually came about due to a book I had just finished. Reading is, of course, a passive activity, and though I am a pretty avid reader it is hard to envision my life without active "handiwork." So when I finished a Kindle bargain book I had bought on the development of the P51 WWII fighter ("Wings of War: The World War II Fighter Plane That Saved the Alies and the Believers Who Made it Fly") I decided to build this historic plane. actually this would be my second "modern era" kit, as I had first completed a large scale Saturn V moon rocket meant to represent Apollo 13, IMO the most important Apollo of them all, even eclipsing the landing of Apollo 11 and the moon circumnavigation of Apollo 8.

All stages come apart
Note the workmen on the base
and the Two Stage Lunar Module
The labels indicate the crew and serial numbers of the components
Custom painted to match photo of real ship

Why? Because the amaxzing ability to improvise and solve the issues of that crippled craft was a testament to the skill and procedural thoroughness developed and refined by NASA, which is now the template for solving complex problems and failures of technology. Though the scenario that occurred on that journey was never planned for in the NASA guidebooks for the flight, the devlopment and rehearsals of the problems that were executed and documented in the flight plans underlay and supported thoroughly the solutions to those problems that saved three lives and justified the intense and costly work that went into that planning.

The world of plastic models has become much more refined over the decades. In particular, as I read about available P-51 models, the D (later) version of the plane made by Tamiya in Japan was a standout, offering high detail and multiple variants of the bubble canopy variant of this landmark plane in a scale (1/32) big enough for me to have some confidence in being able to handle.

The sheer number of parts in the kit were intimidating...probably north of two hundred. Even using a magnifying headset painting some of these required bracing my unsteady hand, taking a deep breath...and holding it while using a brush that was little more than a single hair. And I think Tamiya must be imitating the Gillette razor theory, where the cost of the paints (think razor blades) almost equalled the cost of the kit, though thankfully my friend Lee gave me his supply that was left over from a project to provide a headstart. 

I also wanted to try and replicate a plane that might have seen action on D Day...but I could not find decals of the black and white "invasion stripes" used to ID Allied aircraft for the event. So after decades of gathering dust I dragged out my Wren airbrush and first painted the entire areas to be striped pure white. I then laid masking tape (more Tamiya speciality stuff) over what would become white stripes, and overlaid the area with black. While not perfect, neither were the last minute applications made on the real planes. So for my first deep dive back into this world I was more than happy with the outcome, even cutting and pasting together decals from various sets to avoid inaccurately displaying a "real" participant in the battle (some observers and modelers are real nit pickers for authenticity).

The detail of this beast is incredible
All control surfaces move
All engine cowling is removable and attaches with tiny magnets
The canopy slides open
You can open the machine gun bins to see the guns and ammo
A complete set of wheels and gear doors are included to change the display to "on the field"
The cockpit has full instrumentation and controls
The plaque behind the plane is a B model given to me by a friend whose uncle worked on them

With a good dusting off of long dormant skills provided by this excellent kit and outstanding plane I got enthused about re-reading one of the best war novels I have come across, a well researched one centered on the Battle of Britain. "Piece of Cake" then led to me trying my hand on the most iconic British fighter of the war, the SuperMarine Spitfire.

My decision to keep these models in the same scale led to the conclusion that the only models available in 1:32 were later variants than the version involved in those early battles. But since they are all visually quite similar in the wing design the charactreized the model, I naturally chose to stick to the Tamiya line.

The biggest challenge of this model turned out to be the painting, in particular the camoflage that it seems all British fighters used, though with differeing color schemes and patterns. The first headscratcher was, of course, how to mask the plane.

Making off the fuselage in order to paint the bottom of the model was not an issue, as the entire area was painted to represent the normally soft blue/grey tint of English skies. Of course, yet more expensive Tamiya paint was involved.

The real challenge was the camo, which covers the entire rest of the plane. I finally based my attempt on the technique I used for the "invasion stripes" on the P-51...do the entire area in the lighter color, mask off what areas were to remian that shade, and then spray the darker color over the entire area.

The big issue was how to create masks for the varied sections of camoflage. Though I quickly abandoned the try at exactly  duplicating the pattern of the plane which graced the Tamiya box, I did develop a very workable approach which I could easily apply to any future builds. 

I laid regular old blue Scotch masking tape in overlapping strips on a sheet of glass. Then I drew outlines freehand of various areas to receive the darker color, and cut these out with an X-Acto knife, then laying the resulting pattern on the plane. The result is shown in this photo.

The final step was then oversparying the entire surface with the darker of the two colors. When the tape is peeled off the areas that was under it would remain the lighter color, and the finished product is shown in the second photo.  

Pattern in tape laid on lighter color application 

Though the result came out even better than the 51 as my old skills were dusted off and new ones were developed, I was aware that while the Spitfire got the glamour and accolades for what became known as "The Battle of Britain" the real success of that effort was acheived by a somewhat more "Plain Jane" workhorse of the RAF: namely the Hawker Hurricane.

FInished Camo Pattern

Unfortunately, Tamiya does not make a model of this plane in 1:32 scale, only in 1:48.

The Hurricane would be a leap of faith, as the model is not made by Tamiya, but a company I had not heard of, Trumpeter...out of China. 

As it turned out the model was quite acceptable, though not quite up to Tamiya's refined details. The main issue in terms of building challenges was the comparatively crude and oversized attachment point of parts to their supporting sprues. The model was a clear attempt to challenge Tamiya, but it really doesn't. On the other hand, it did cost less than a comparable Tamiya version would have, and still encompasses enough detail and parts assemblies to be far more than an easy "shake the box and drop out a model" type of kit.

So far I have completed two other WWII aircraft. The P40 (later M version) was a plane whose attention attracted me as a kid, when seeing pictures of the famous shark mouth "Flying Tigers" planes. The other was a dive into US Navy planes. I was attracted by the Tamiya Corsair, both the model and the real plane, with its characteristic gull wings, but I was not at that time ready to pay over $100 for a kit. So instead I bought another Trumpeter kit, of a plane I was not familiar with, the F4F-4 Grumman Wildcat. 

        

Hawker Hurricane
Note the lack of color on the canopy
Trumpeter did not supply a painting mask
nor did I look for an aftermarket one

    

Curtis P-40M

Grumman F4F-4
Really nice Trumpeter Kit
Open box bargain that came with a canopy painting mask the seller threw in
Yes, the wings do fold and the gun bay covers are removable

The first picture in this post was evidence that I did not just stick with building planes, with their large fuselage and wing surfaces. In my search for models I found, of course, cars, motorcycles, and even boats, though these of necessity are in smaller scales and I have not checked into them. In fact my first dip into something other than 1:32 planes was to build a kit for my friend Gary, who was struggling with what would prove to be his last illness. 

The Lotus 25 was a very successful Formula 1 racer in the hands of Jim Clark. The model is very delicate. In particuar there is a ton of fragile chrome plated parts. Though the normal procedure is to scrape off the mating surfaces where the glue is to be applied as cement will not stick on the chrome, many of the parts are so small and fragile this is, or at least was for me, impossible. In looking back I should probably have used Zap A Gap "super" glue on these, but it's too late now. Though the body is removable (just like the real car) and the front wheels steer, I handle it as little as possible, afraid to knock something off. 

I am most proud of the way the paint flowed on-very realistic, glossy, and even. I guess maybe the ridiculous $12 for a can 1/4 the size of regular paints might be justifiable after all.

   RIght now I am working on two more...the Tamiya USN Corsair of WWII, which is an amazing and highly detailed kit, and a model of the two stoke, three cylinder Suzuki 380, which is as close to the various real bikes like it I've owned that I could get in a model, by Hasegawa. See "Ashes in the Handlebars" if you're curious about the bikes in my life, or  "The X6" or, as mentioned in the start of this article, "Back From the Dead."

My hand shows the small size of this beastie

The finished model
Sitting on top of it's box
The driver shown is Clark
Now Protected in my display case

Ferrari 4219GT

 https://mycarheaven.com/2022/09/the-beautiful-1963-ferrari-250-gto-4219gt/

This is going to be another one of “those” stories. Though I have not thought about this car in years at one point I not only saw it but literally crawled all over and through it. 

It happened like this. My 250 2+2 was serviced by Modena Motors in Redwood City (now long defunct). Originally owned by Jef Provost, who along with the Motorsports Writer for the SF Chronicle ran one of the early vintage racing organizations in the US, it was taken over by a good friend from the Ferrari Owners Club. Bill Morton was in QA for a Silicon Valley firm (I think it was Fairchild Camera, one of the tech pioneers of the Valley) but his love for things Ferrari led to the purchase and management of this shop which was devoted to the brand and other Italian exotics. Bill was also a neighbor. He and Judy lived a mile or so from us in San Carlos and their friendship played a major role in our decision to purchase our car and join the Ferrari Owners Club.

One day when I brought our Ferrari in for some service or repair, I pulled in behind the building and next to a dark blue GTO. A couple of things caught my attention (other than the sheer loveliness of the design, of course). The color was unusual, and there was a small light on the driver door which was meant to illuminate a race number during night events, meaning the car was intended for long distance endurance races such as Le Mans. 

Bill’s mechanic came out to take the keys to my car from me and I asked who owned this lovely beast. I was told the fellow’s name was George Dyer and that he lived in the wealthy Peninsula enclave of Hillsborough and that no, the car had never raced. I was also told that the car had been owned by Dyer since new. According to the above article and other sources neither comment seems to be true. 

At any rate, I asked if it was OK to look over the car more closely, and with the mechanic watching carefully I visually inspected the car from stem to stern. It was in excellent visual condition and did indeed look like it had received only gentle street use. 

For some reason I was curious to know its serial number. I had failed to look at the VIN plate on the firewall while inspecting the engine and did not want to open the hood again, so we opened the glove box to find the California registration for the car, which was street licensed. To my shock the number was 4219GT.

Why the shock? As I learned about company history and oddities I had found that at least the production cars, and likely all the cars, were built on a single line. In those days Enzo had a little quirk to differentiate cars built for racing had even serial numbers, and most had red cam covers (hence the original designation as “Testa Rossa” which is literally “red head”). Production cars all had serial numvers ending in an odd digit. These usually had a two letter appendage, generally “GT” for “Gran Turismo”, meaning a “luxury” touring car. So my car was “250GT4217.” You can tell how low the volume of production still was in the 60s by the fact that there were only four digits in the serial numbers.

The GTO model was a bit of gamesmanship by Enzo. To be accepted as a production car by the FIA a manufacturer was required to build at least 50 examples. There were never that many GTOs built, but there are something like 34 of the prettier Series I cars such as 4219, as well as a second series of about nine cars in 1964 called a “250GTO64.” The 1968 version of the Corvette Stingray is a ratheer blatant copy of the design.

So the shock was what I knew about how serial numbers of production cars were assigned. Each car off the line, regardless of model, got the next number ending in an odd digit. So my car was coming down the line just ahead of this particular GTO. They were built virtually at the same time, and it is very likely the engine assembly for both cars was done by the same individual, as this is Ferrari practice to this day.

Until I read this article I did not know about the earlier history of the car, nor the multiple color changes. It seems it is now a rather sinister looking black (the only GTO I have ever seen in that color). I also find the primer colored area behind the door odd looking and wonder about it. But I do see that the number light on the door is still there, though I don’t now about the one on the rear deck. 

Just another bit of nostalgia that brings me back to a wonderful era to have been lucky enough to have enjoyed deeply with great people and wonderful cars.

"Whether you actively engage in the violent culture of hate or merely step out of the way to give it permission to persist and room to grow, you are complicit"

-Brittany Packnett-

A "Ferrari" Tale

An article in “Classic Motorsports” my friend Lee passed on to me triggered some memories about my years of close involvement with things Ferrari. It was about a green 308GT4 Dino which won a “Best of Show” award at Concours Italiano during the “Monterey Car Week.” 

One of the first things I noticed in the article was a photo caption showing the interior of this “Ferrari.” Of course, it is not, and never was, and I applaud the owner's decision to remove the Ferrari badges which were on the car when he bought it and replace them with the correct ones, which are the signature of Enzo's only legitimate child, Dino. My memory has lost his legal name, “Dino” being, in typical Italian fashion, an affectionate nickname such as given to many, if not all, children born in that country. I also have forgotten what disease caused his premature death at a young age, in his 20s or 30s.

Dino was deeply involved in his father's company, as Enzo's illegitmate son Piero was not until long after the Commedatore's death. In fact, Piero's very existence was well concealed for decades..likely a good story for someone willing to do the digging and write about it. And calling a Dino a “Ferrari” is akin to calling a Cadillac a Corvette.

Dino was also, as Enzo was not, a believer in the value and strengths of the V6 engine configuration. In fact, Enzo was once asked if a car with that type of motor in it that Dino had a big hand in was a “Ferrari” (perhaps the lovely 206/246 Dino GT series) . Enzo replied, in his imperial fashion, that a Ferrari was a 12 cylinder car...an engine type that almost totally dominated his thinking from the earliest type 125 produced after he left Alfa Romeo, right up to the last car he had a direct hand in, the 365GTB/4 “Daytona.”

The company did produce cars, for racing only, with other engine configurations than the V12, including an inline 6...in my opinion an unlovely and ultimately unsuccessful rare variant. But the 12s were THE Ferrari motor from 1940 all the way to the founder's death and beyond, and are still part of the company's offerings.

Dino's work was much more successful with the V configuration, including the achingly lovely 206S and SP versions which stood up well in events such as the Targa Florio. My friend Bill Schworer had the SP which won that event...I have sat in the car and it fit me perfectly, though Bill was frustrated that Steve Earle placed it in with all other FIA championship cars at Monterey, where it could not compete effectively against the bigger machines in that group. See “206SP”, May, 2018 for info and photos. But as you can see, it was simply the best of the line of gorgeous race cars in that era (Scaglietti design I would guess). And yes, it was badged as a Dino.

The car featured in the “Classic Motorsports” article is a lovely shade of green called “Verde Pino Metallizzato.” There are two three quarter views of it in the piece, one from the rear, on display on Lighthouse Avenue in Pacific Grove and another, from the front, on what I presume is the grass of the Quail Lodge during the Concours. That photo is a bit alarming as the rear wheel in the photo shows a startling amount of negative camber...the top of the tire is a good four or five inches inside the wheel well while the bottom is the same distance outside. Since there is no such extreme look in the street view I wonder if it has something to do with the uneven lawn surface in the Concours shot.

GT4s are the unloved stepchildren of the Ferrari world, an outlier as it is the only large production run Bertone styled model ever done by the factory..and its 1970s wedge shape, originally penned by Guigiaro, might look dated today but is still quite handsome. The car is also billed as a 2+2 though only suitable for toddlers or someone with no legs in the cramped rear seats. 

GT4s are said to actually outhandle the more popular GTB and GTS 308 versions...and I believe the earliest of those, at least the GTB “plastic” cars, were also badged as Dinos. 

Last I checked a good condition GT4 was selling for a bit over half what the more popular GTS cars were going for. Those too are lovely looking and plentiful..I'm partial to the “Fly studio Giallo” (yellow) paint schemes, but there are many other colors and the cars look good in all of them. 

And a GT4 would be as much fun to own and drive as any 3x8. It shares a history with the 206/246 as well as the 206S and SP racers, and though a V8 and I am not sure how much he actually had to do with it, it is a fitting tribute to Dino, a rising star who was lost too soon.

As long as it is not red, that is.

Jamie

He died years ago. I probably knew the cause at the time, but have long ago forgotten. He had moved back East from California and I lost track of him, though I did see, from time to time, his name associated with the Pittsburgh Vintage Grand Prix, another one of those races I wanted to do "some day" and likely never will. Run through a park in the city, it is not the place to drive "Ten tenths" but the course is said to be tailor made for small bore cars. Our MGB would be about the most powerful racer I would want for the event.

Jamie Pheifer was a graphic artist, and a darn talented one. I was not at the event featured on his HMod event poster...though I don't remember why, as it was at one of my "local, home tracks." And I never got to ask him why he chose to feature my car as one of the three on the layout (the others being Don Racine's Aardvark and Don Baldocchi's Nardi/Crosley), but of course I was flattered that he chose to do that, rather than, for example, showing his own car.

Honored and Flattered
And I wasn't even at the event!

Jamie's ride was a Berkeley, a car so small it made the Siata seem like a sedan by comparison. And it was a lot quicker than you might expect, given that tiny size. 

The "Bumblebee" in Action
As Usual, ahead of me

A huge part of the joy of vintage racing was the sense of community, and in particular drivers with cars that ran together generally also "hung out" together at races, though that did not preclude us from also being part of other flocks as well. And a couple of such gatherings stick in my memory for tall tales which are funnier in the retelling than were the original events.

The first story involves not race cars, but a van and a rental car, the former driven by Jamie. For many years the US Navy hosted a vintage race weekend put together by the managers of the Holiday Bowl footbal game, at the Naval Air Station in Coronado. This airport course was challanging due to the flat expanse and resulting lack of landmarks. It could be virtually impoassible to tell exactly where you were on the course or where exactly to brake for corners at the end of long straights. 

Off the course was even worse, particularly after dark. Everything looked the same and driving was a nightmare on a huge expanse of concrete and lights of all kind with no hint as to where exactly they were or what they meant.

A group of us decided to go to dinner in San Diego. Getting off the runway apron after dark was a bit challenging and should have warned us that getting back in might be problematic, but...after a nice dinner partly fueled, no doubt, by alcohol, we proceeded back to the base, showing our paddock passes to the gate guards and motoring cheerily back to the airfield apron.

Or at least it appeared to be the apron. What seemed like miles of unlit concrete punctuated by lines of obscure lights in various colors. On we went, trying our best to navigate towards where we thought the gate to the temporary race car paddock might be when...off to our left we saw an orange van approaching at a high rate of speed, with a flashing ligh ton top. The rental car, which was in the lead, stopped, apparently as ordered by the individual driving said van.

After some period of time the van and car proceeded off to our left, towards some dimly perceived buildings. We took a pool amongst ourselves and, not knowing what we were supposed to do, figured the occupants of the car were being detained for some infraction, and started to slowly motor off on our own. 

Bad move! Said van came screaming back out of nowhere (where had it gone in the meantime, and where, oh where, was the rest of our party?), with a very large and very unhappy uniformed woman with an "SP" arm bad screaming at us out of the passenger window. 

"Did I not order you to follow me?" she yelled. Well, no, she had never come back to say anything to us, actually. But then what she added was a bit chilling.

"You are on an active taxiiway with moving aircraft! FOLLOW ME!" Uh, well, YEAH. While we did not see any moving planes that is just due to the sheer scale of that apron. Like a whole city paved in concrete!

Notthing like stopping the US Navy's Flight Operations by simply getting lost. We all agreed that, if asked, we would blame the confusion on Jamie. 

The second Jamie story got a bit more personal for me. Damn near wound up crunching the Siata right after finishing the restoration after the 1987 broken brake line made that necessary. (See series "This is Not Going to End Well" posts from April of 2017). 

Over the years Jamie was likely a significant contributor to the increase in the cost of Ariel Square Four engines and components. While a lovely looking motor and bike, the square configuration of an air-cooled engine using 1940s technology was more than a bit of a stretch in terms of the capabilities of the era. The issue of course was lack of effective cooling for the two rear cylinders. Add in the stress of racing and pumping more power out of the box than it was designed for and you have all the components for a really expensive hand grenade.

Though I don't really know much about the Berkeley it is my understanding that the Ariel was indeed the correct power unit for Jamie's example of this tiny little buzz-bomb. And in black and yelllow it is impossible to not think of it as an oversized honey bee. But it was damn quick and with Jamie's skilled handling runs like it's on rails.

Until, that is, the motor blows up...which it unfortunately did on Jamie's car with what I am sure was, for him, annoying regularity.Those of us with Crosley power spent a number of years with our own rather steep learning curve on how to reach that motor's theoretical potential without putting bits of it through the side of the block, so we can empathize to a point.

That point does not include a decision Jame made with the particular explosion in question. 

He was several turns ahead of me when it must have been clear from the lack of mechanical nosie from the motor, other than the tinkling sounds of little bits going through the block, that another large repair was going to be in order. But he then decided he might be able to coast from the top of the Corkscrew back into the paddock enttrance at Turn 10 instead of sitting by the side of the track waiting for a tow when the race session ended. 

Unfortunately there was one component to make that alternative possible which was less than a stellar decision on his part...he would have to stay on "the racing line"in order to maintain enough momentum for the plan to work.

Oh, and did I mention that Jamie was running a synthetic oil which was invisible on asphalt? 

After the steep drop of the Corkscrew, Turn 9 is still significantly downhill as well as being somewhat off-camber if you get too far to the outside on your entry. It also resulted, upon hitting Jamie's ivisible oil, in the Siata pirouetting in the most unnerving 360 I have ever done in the car (but then it is also the only full spin I have ever done in it). 

There is a white, concrete wall on the inside of the turn, but so far away from the course it would be virtually impossible to hit. Still, to me it looked as large as the Great Wall of China and a whole lot closer...that's what happens when your eyes get big in total shock at something totally unexpected.

Oil flag? Where the hell was the oil flag? Not to be seen. I must have hit something as I crossed the curbing at the apex of the turn, as when I looked under the car after returning (immediately) to the paddock I found a small dent on the bottom of the left rear fender.

As I shakily returned to my pit row Terry Matheney was standing in the middle of the aisle, shaking a finger at me and mouthing "I saw what you did" at me. Once I got the car parked and belts undone I immediately jumped out and grabbed him as he came into the pit.

"Did I just miss the flag?" I asked, somewhat incredulously. 

"No," Terry explained. "It was your spin, when you were halfway around, that the corner worker realized there was oil on the track even though he couldn't see it, and waved the flag."

Fortunately there was no serious damage and the small dent could only be seen by lyiing on your back under the car. But I do remember telling Sherri that racing was somewhat of a crap shoot and that, no matter how careful you are, there is always something beyond your control which can snap up and bite you.

I can laugh at it now but Jamie gave me more than a few grey hairs that day. My first outing after a four year restoration and it could have been a total disaster thanks to one small and inappropriate decision on his part. Thankfully it came out well and we remained friends who could laugh at ourselves and, on occasion, our own stupidity.

The Ariel is Indeed a Lovely Confection

The Last Siata in California

 

Marty, Ernie, and Gary "at play"

Thunderhill Raceway

Circa 1991

This is not a totally accurate title. There are very likely a number of Siatas in the state-certainly several 208 variants and at least one 300BC under slow restoration by my dear amico Paolo Epifani in Berkeley. Actually he has a second one there as well, though that is sort of a “donor' basket case.

But it is true that of the three shown in this rather bad copy of the photo introducing this piece, mine is the only one left here, and it is for certain the only one left “racing” in the US. If you exclude those which show up from time to time in the Mille Miglia, it is the only one “on track” in the world.

Hard to believe. It was, as noted elsewhere, Ernie's persistent urging and mentoring which led to my purchase of ST402 in March of 1983. At that time he had owned and competed in ST428 (the red car in the photo) for a number of years, and Gary also had his Fiat powered convertible (ST441 I believe), though it also was red when he got it, prior to Ernie's later correctly reshaping the flattened front end and getting it resprayed yellow some time later. 

The photo dates from the very early years of the SCCA track called “Thunderhill,” just outside the small town of Willows, up near Chico about three hours drive north from the mid-San Francisco peninsula. I think the facility opened around 1991, and consisted of less than half the full built-out configuration it now has, the most used version being about double the roughly 1.5 mile, eight turn original pavement with one long straight that we are trundling down in the photo. 

And it was as crude a place you could imagine...gravel paddock, no shade or buildings, and either blazing hot, bone chilling cold, brutally wind-driven, or cold, wet, AND windy all at the same time!

On one occasion in October the wind blew sand and gravel around to cover my Quantum Formula Junior and put a layer of grit into the floor of the car. Try as I might to clean it out, even with as easy as it was to pull off the body and get to everything, I was still finding grit and sand spewing out from odd corners of the car several years later!

Today, Thill is a competitor's dream...with fully paved paddock, huge dual “carports” for early arrivals and claimants, a comfortable lounge and tower with an air conditioned and heated viewing room, actual bathrooms, and electrical hookups for trailers and RVs.

But Ernie's car was the first to go...sold to a collector and racer in Mexico. The car has not been seen since. And now Gary's is leaving for an East Coast collector car dealership. So 402 is now the lone survivor of the group. Of course, at the imte I got it Bob Graham's 420 (also blue) was still around, but that car too seems to have disappeared into the mists of time.

But it is the loneliness and diminutive perspective of the photo which now makes me sigh, knowing it is “for certain” the world will never again see such a sight...three of these wonderful little warriors charging happily together down some track or another. 

Like many things these days in ways well beyond those of the “vintage” car communities, the world has moved on, and not necessarily for the better.

Jesse Alexander

Jesse just died...a life fully lived...he was 92. 

I have had the privilege of interacting with a number of heroes of my first days following sports cars and European road racing. What I mean by that is more than just a “hi” or a request for an autograph. 

To name drop a few...I was with Phil Hill on a number of occasions and he and I were actually on a first name basis as I also chatted with Alma and Derek...a child at the time. But there was also Brian Redman, Carroll Shelby, Dan Gurney, Stirling Moss, Jackie Stewart, Bobby Rahal, the Edlebrocks (Vic Jr, Cammie, and Christy)...and both Froilan Gonzales and Juan Manuel Fangio, who I spoke with on multiple occasions through the Ferrari Owners Club meetings and events or at various vintage racing venues. 

All of these giants of racing were more than gracious and easy to talk to and with...but of them all only Jesse had me tongue tied in total awe...and he was not a racer. But I have spent a life playing in the world of photography, though I never had the equipment to do what he did around cars, and was too busy participating or concentrating about it to do more than some static paddock shots of race cars.

I was also too shy to shove a camera in anyone's face to capture them. I rarely did “people photos” and even when I did some professional figure studies or weddings did not pose my subjects but just snapped them “as they were.”

But Jesse's work was just so stunning that I could do little more than stammer a “hello” as I looked at what he displayed in his booth at the Monterey Historic races. That he was still shooting racing at that point in the late 20^th century, after his fame and talent had been long recognized and rewarded, evidenced his ongoing love for the machinery and participants in the history of motor racing. 

I never bought one of those works nor even his arguably most famous book, “At Speed.” But I did grab a copy of his later work “Driven,” published in San Francisco at the turn of the new century.

And as I flipped through it again as my own memorial to his Jesse's life work, I recognized that I too am at the stage in life where reprising and revisiting negatives shot long ago seems a natural way to sum up my own visions of the world. 

The book is autographed, but I was too “star struck” to ask for a personalized comment. It has, however, motivated me to return to the darkroom again and look back to see if there is yet more of my own history captured in silver on acetate I wish to bring to life again. 

It is, perhaps, the time of my own life to reminisce a bit, and to be fortunate enough to have both these memories, and my own visions, captured externally as well as within myself.