I have received several private requests to explain how I
considered my last (I hope) rollover to be the fault of
race workers. I've decided to tell you all, so the curious
who did not mail can find out, too. If you don't care, hit
"delete" now.
I thought I had this story in my RIGHT LINE file, but I
guess I never published it there, so I will write it up
again, from the perspective of nearly three decades.
In 1972 there was an icekhana in Menomenie the day before a
three-hour race on Sunday. During open practice, there were
both studded and non-studded cars on the track. I was
running non-studded, since Flip Shockley was bringing the
race tires out on Sunday.
There was a pretty fast left-hander between the pit straight
and another straight. I was taking the corner about as fast
as a non-studded car could. I expect my exit speed was
about 50.
On one particular lap, I came out of this corner to see that
a studded NSU had parked it on the right side of the track.
Two workers in an Opel Kadett drove out on track to see what
was up. Amazingly, the driver parked the Opel on the left
side of the track, opposite the stalled NSU!
If that were not stupid enough, the shotgun guy got out of
the car, LEFT THE DOOR OPEN, and then walked across the
track.
With all this parked hardware, and all these folks milling
about, I was doubtful I could get through there without
killing somebody. So I knew I had to either stop or hit the
Opel. I refused to hit the NSU. He was not the fool here.
Stopping a studless car on ice in the distance allowed at
the rate of knots I was doing was obviously impossible.
(In an ice race once, I had driven the last several laps
with no brakes whatsoever by leaning on snowbanks.
Important difference: I had had studded tires then.)
So I edged into the right snowbank to slow down. Everything
was going so well. Then the front of the car found a bit of
an outcropping where the plow guy had been less than
fastidious. OK, physics buffs, what happened next? That's
right. With no studs to help with the directional stability,
the car rotated clockwise. Before I could steer out of it,
the nose of the car dug right into the bank. Since I was on
ice-race suspension, not summer autocross suspension, the
center of mass and the soft springs let the bank trip the
car. She rolled over 3/4. Slowly enough that I could have
jumped out and taken a picture. With Matthew Brady's camera.
The car came to rest sideways on the track, showing her
greasy side to the small mob of people, some of whose lives
I might have just saved. I was hanging from my red Rupert
Parachute Company harness, looking for stuff to stand on
before I pulled the lever.
I climbed out. The gang came over and righted the car. I
had had a moment to calm down and thus refrained from
killing the two Opel idiots with my bare hands. I never
made a complaint to the stewards, and I don't know if
anybody ever said anything to the workers.
I was not done with fun times yet, though. Since this was
my streeter (a V4) and not my race car (an 850GT two-stroke,
which had been wrecked at Gimili when a Mini backed out onto
the course in front of me), I didn't want to restart the
engine, ignorant of where all the oil might have gotten to.
A Jeep materialized to tow me in. The guy had a CHAIN.
Sigh. OK, he hooked me up and we were off to the pits. I
honked and waved at my pit and the Jeep stopped. I let her
coast to put some slack in the chain and stopped. As I was
opening the door to get out, the moron in the Jeep DROVE
AWAY! When he hit the end of the chain, WHACK, the car
launched like a double-A fueler. The Jeep guy figured it
out and stopped again. I got the ship down and got out to
survey the damage. He'd just about torn the bumper off the
car. Sigh. Pushed the car into the pit slot. Dick Hooker
(who passed on a year ago or so) came by and closed my
driver door. Since the locks had inexplicably frozen, I
made him climb in through the trunk to open the door again.
The next day, Flip showed up with the tires and looked at
the Christmas-tree crack in the right side of the
windscreen. The crew changed tires and Flip and I went out
for qualifying. My nerve had left me for the weekend. I
was afraid of my own shadow out there. Flip was his usual
brilliant self. Since my times were pathetic next to his,
I made a silent resolution. Flip started the race. When
he came in for fuel, he got out of the car. The rules said
you had to close the door momentarily with nobody in the
car, but any driver could get in. I had my helmet on, but
I looked Flip in the eyes and asked him if he wanted to
drive again.
"It's your car."
I know. Do you want to drive again?
"Yeah. Thanks."
After Flip took off, I got in his hearse. The crew said
they had wanted to talk to me about that, but were afraid
to bring it up. I did the same thing at the other fuel stop.
Flip Shockley drove the whole three hours in my stock car
into which we had hurriedly bolted his roll bar the previous
Wednesday. You see, one of the Archer brothers had hit him
at Gimili and he went over the bank. It had been a really
tough weekend for SAABs.
When the checkered flag came, Flip was fourth overall.
Peter Kitchak in a 911, Tom Jones and Jerry Hansen (in
Minis, I think) were the only drivers who beat him. There
were many very fast cars behind him. And I made it all
possible ... by staying out of my car.
At the awards banquet, Flip got a standing ovation when he
went up to get his trophy. He said that the car ran like a
train and he called me up and gave me the trophy. It is
standing on the hutch above this computer as I type.
3RD CLASS A
1972 WISCONSIN ENDURO
NORTHERN PINES CORVETTES
The car returned home to Minnesota the way it had come:
I drove it. And I drove it to work that way the rest of
the winter. I picked my future wife up in it for our first
date. The roll bar was gone, but she had to look through
that Christmas-tree crack.
And I never did get around to knocking those two workers'
heads together.
Phil Ethier Saint Paul Minnesota USA
1970 Lotus Europa, 1992 Saturn SL2, 1986 Chev Suburban
LOON, MAC pethier@isd.net http://www.mnautox.com/
"If I can do it, it's not art" - Red Green
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