It was the summer of 1975, and the Long Island Sports Car Association was holding another one of their popular time trials event at the famed Bridgehampton road racing circuit on Long Island’s east end. Having attended a time trial there earlier in the year when my friend raced his Mazda RX3, I decided to experience the thrill of racing on of the most demanding racing circuits in the world, one where the big-block monsters of the CanAm series battled every year, prior to which Birdcages and Testa Rossas did too.
With my trusty little 1968 Spitfire MKIII showing the beat-up scars of a parked-on-the-street New York City-based sports car, I drove out from Brooklyn, paid the mighty $25 fee, and hoped that it would pass inspection. It did; barely. Probably did so thanks to the new Pirelli CN54s on the rear. Everything else on the Triumph was original and worn, but it ran like a top.
I was in a class with two other sports cars: a new Fiat X1/9 and a Lotus Europa. And although I had the slowest time of the three I enjoyed myself immensely. Being let loose on a road racing circuit just days before your 19th birthday was like hitting Lotto, only a whole lot more fun.
In a time trial you race against the clock, not bumper-to-bumper with other cars. Each car was let onto the track 30 seconds apart to ensure there would be no direct competition. But who cared about racing against other cars when you had the opportunity to run your flatout laps at a place like Bridgehampton. I was in heaven, and loved every second of that high-revving experience.
So after bolting on a pair of aluminum velocity stacks onto the SU carbs and dropping the convertible top, I was ready. The first time I ran down the long front straight at something like 95 MPH and headed into the sweeping right hand turn at the end, my first such real “racing” experience. It nearly scared me to death. My heart was pumping faster than it ever had before as the brakes were barely adequate to slow the car down, but with a quick drop into third gear I was able to slow down enough to make it through the 90-degree corner of turn three.
With the Spitfire’s little 1296cc engine spinning at 5,000 RPM, running nearly flat out from turn four to the back hairpin was an incredible experience of pure joy as the undulating track was both challenging and entertaining. The run on the East Straight, which goes from the back hairpin up towards turn 13 that takes you onto the front straight, was incredible as the track rose nearly 100 feet in elevation. In the middle was slight curve which allowed you to keep your foot planted without lifting. And, of course, speeding down the long front straight and under the bridge was a fantastic feeling that I will never forget.
While I was out on the track my brother John took these photos. The photo showing me coming down the front straight was the best, and I kept it in my wallet as a reminder of that memorable day. Then in October 1978, when I attended the U.S. Grand Prix at Watkins Glen, I was roaming the pits after the race (back when this was allowed) and came upon Mario Andretti surrounded by a group of fans signing autographs. The only thing I had for Mario to write on was the photo of me at Bridgehampton, so I handed it to Mario who promptly signed it. So not only do I have a great photo of me racing my Spitfire at a world famous track but it’s signed by my favorite driver of all time. More importantly, I still own my beloved Spitfire, and this October will make 40 years since I bought it. It’s my first car, and I will never part with it, especially after we enjoyed a summer’s day of high RPM fun together.
from Hemmings Daily - News for the collector car enthusiast http://ift.tt/SikrJd
via IFTTT
No comments:
Post a Comment