Through the Corkscrew...On Skateboards?

Through the Corkscrew...On Skateboards?

Laguna Seca Raceway has always been like home for me. Sears Point was closer to where I lived on the San Francisco peninsula, but somehow it lacked the magic of Laguna. I doubt it was the proximity to tony places like Carmel and Pebble Beach...as those were way out of my league. Somehow it was just the beauty and peacefulness of the surrounding hills, the fog as it rolled across the paddock, the hawks circling above, and, when the racetrack shut down, just the depth of the silence.

The Corkscrew is the iconic turn of Laguna. I can pretty much guarantee that almost any photograph you have seen of any car on the racetrack will have been taken from below that left/right complex...said to be the steepest drop in the shortest distance on any racetrack in the world.

The first time I actually got to drive the course was with the old Ferrari Owners Club (FOC) in the 1970s. At that time the track was still part of an active military base...the US Army's Fort Ord, and it was not at all unusual for track events to be “serenaded” by the sound of artillery practice off in the distance.

Laguna was not, and is not now, a long track. It was enlarged from 1.9 to 2.2 miles by adding an “infield” section by turning the original second turn into a 180 degree hairpin, followed by two rights and a left to return to the old track section at was formerly turn three, with the turns connected by short straights.. While the track is highly technical, there is no longer the sheer terror that was turn three, and the infield section is about the only flat part of the entire track.

Pre 1987 Configuration

But there is still plenty of terror to be had, since a “bad day” at what is now turn 6 can put you in a tree overlooking Salinas, and the Corkscrew remains, as it always was, intimidating to the unfamiliar, and a place that could still bite no matter what your level of experience.

Laguna Today

The first time I came up to the top of the hill...heck, for the first few hundred times, I knew that turn 7 was a slight jog to the right and that unless you got really stupid all you had to do was then aim straight for the big oak behind the left which starts the complex, and then stick your foot to the floor as you turned right, and the track rose up to “stick” the car to it, actually gaining traction as well as the speed you might expect from going so steeply downhill. At least that is the theory with my car.

But that is what my mind told me...my eyes and stomach told me I might be wrong about the jog, I might not have gotten on the brakes before the crest, which would put me into the wall, and maybe the unseen first left really wasn't where I thought it was.

Even after I thought I “knew” the turn and could take it well, I still often had to catch my breath quickly as the downhill speed made the off camber next turn come at me a lot faster than my mind could catch up with.

So the Corkscrew could be...interesting.

At first the Monterey Historics were a one day affair, with the Ferrari Club taking over the track for a club day on Sunday, which was and remains the day of the Pebble Beach Concours, already by the 70s one of the premier events of its kind in the world. So much so, in fact, that Steve Earle was soon asked to add a second day to the races in the hopes it would somewhat alleviate the crowds. It didn't.

In fact, Steve next added a club race the weekend before the Historics, partly as a practice opportunity for those Historic entrants unfamiliar with Laguna, and also as a sort of “consolation” for folks who were not accepted to the “Invitation Only” event that the Historics quickly became. Naturally this event was quickly dubbed the “Prehistorics.”

When the Historics went to two days, the FOC club day then moved to Monday. Things continued to spiral upward until what was the Monterey Weekend became the Monterey Week, with parties, multiple auctions, and car shows by the handful.

After the Historics there is an awards party for the participants, which I mentioned in an earlier piece. And then for some folks not wanting to face the congested traffic on Highway 68, or who just needed more time to unwind, or who were staying around for the FOC event the next day, there were clusters of barbecue groups in the paddock which ran for hours. But by not long after dark most of the racers, spectators, and crews had left, leaving a small contingent of the Tifosi.

Most club events in those days were run by volunteers; the members of the club. Even the Historics had volunteers for many functions. For example, I was a volunteer technical inspector who, along with others, was responsible for clearing entered cars in terms of safety and conformance to the required rules. At other events I have also been a flagman for signaling on corners, and a grid marshall responsible for “herding” the cars into position prior to their race.

So it was not at all unusual that, on this occasion, I was in possession of the combination and keys to the locks on the gates controlling entrance to the actual track. The gates were chained and locked, but it was possible to pull the chains apart enough to slip through.

There was a group of perhaps a dozen of us finishing up our dinners. Among our numbers were several children, ranging in age from perhaps six or seven, up into their teens. This included our own boys, who were about ten and sixteen at the time.

We never really worried about the kids having the run of the place in those days. It was a really benign environment and besides, where could they go? The older boy was not really into cars, while the younger one grew up with oil instead of blood in his veins. So of course it was the older one who wandered off someplace with John Lewis Junior...an apple not far from his dad's tree if there ever was one.

Suddenly out of the dark we heard this double “swooossshh” sound, seeming to come from the hill upon which is the scoring trylon...and beyond that the Corkscrew. It only occurred once, but about fifteen minutes later the two appeared, with skateboards under their arms. Their faces were literally as white, in the moonlight, as a sheet of paper.

“You didn't,” I muttered in horror and hope.

“Thank goodness we were sitting down,” was all Jason said in response.

Bet they have the record time for that little stunt...perhaps the only time it was run.