Slipstream - April 2016

The E-Type, Lime Rock, and Le Chanteclair
By Tom Martin
Photos Courtesy of the Author
The day is over, everyone
is already in bed for the night. For
a few brief moments you are alone.
You are one within yourself. You
step inside your garage and find
yourself staring at the Porsche sitting
before you. You close your
eyes and think back to a time long
ago, when you first saw, or felt, or
experienced whatever it was that attracted
you to the Porsche, or any
sports car, for that matter.
So what was it exactly that
sparked your interest in sports cars?
Could it have been that first glance
of the classic “Komenda” shape, either
in person or in a magazine article?
Perhaps it was the sound of a
screamin’ flat-six at redline. Could
it have been the rumbling roar of
brute American horsepower pumping
through a high displacement
V8? Or maybe it was the “voompah”
sound emanating from a British
inline-four on overrun. And let
us not deny that there’s nothing
quite like viewing for the first time
the sensual beauty of an Italian
exotic at rest. Or hearing its V12 at
redline.
Jaguar XKE aka Gina Lollobrigida
18 April
Whatever it was, it’s safe to assume
that something appealed to
all our visceral selves. And there is
a lot to be said for something that
can reach way down within oneself
and endear it for a lifetime.
For me, it may have been the
time when a friend of my uncle let
me ride shotgun in his new Series
1 Jaguar XKE. I was just a skinny,
gangly pre-teen at the time. Getting
into the passenger seat was
akin to slinking into a submarine,
or so I thought. The shape of the
E-Type was pure, unadulterated
voluptuousness. I felt like I was taking
Gina Lollobrigida on a country
run. The sound of the Jag’s straight
6, coupled with the rush of acceleration,
was indeed exhilarating.
Soon, motor racing became a
passion of mine. I subscribed to
both the American weekly newspaper
Competition Press & Autoweek
and the British newspaper Motoring
News, also a weekly publication. I
read every word of each issue, classifieds
ads and all, striving to gain as
much racing knowledge as a country
schoolboy could at the time.
I received my driver’s license
the year after I turned 16 years old.
One of my first ventures into the
world of unfettered freedom was to
journey out to Lime Rock Park in
northwest Connecticut to experience
a motor race first hand -- to actually
see the cars and drivers I had
been reading about all this time.
After I paid my admission at the
gate, I inched my Dad’s Mustang
over the dirt road approaching the
bridge over the course. As I crested
the bridge, a Formula B car, driven
at racing speeds, passed underneath
on entrance to the flat-out
last corner. The sound, and the ensuing
feeling, was intoxicating. The
bridge vibrated like a tuning fork.
The hairs at the back of my neck
stood at attention. My ears resonated
from the staccato shriek of
the engine. I was hooked, big time.
From 1968 to 1972, I ventured
out to Lime Rock for all the major
races. That essentially meant the
Trans-Am Series races and the Continental
Championship (Formula
5000) races. I remember the furious
battles in the Trans-Am Series,
with premier drivers such as Dan
Gurney, Parnelli Jones, Mark Donohue,
Peter Revson, George Follmer,
and Swede Savage duking it out on
the tight Lime Rock circuit.
The F5000 Championship was
contested by David Hobbs, Sam
Posey, Tony Adamowicz, John Cannon,
and Dickie Smothers (of the
Smothers Brothers), among other
drivers. Both series had a 5.0-liter
engine displacement limit, and it
was thrilling to hear and see these
beasts being manhandled around
the circuit by the top drivers of the
day.
The golden years of Trans-Am
Around that time, a new racer
could be seen around the paddock.
A local Connecticut resident, he
was a bit older than most of the other
racers; in his late 40s, he already
had another established profession.
His name was Paul Newman,
and word
around the
pits was that
he was very
serious about
racing, and
didn’t want to
be distracted
by star-struck
fans. Everyone
respected this.
Paul Newman at
Lime Rock
I spotted Paul twice at Lime
Rock, once while walking through
the paddock with my buddy. I gave
Paul a simple “Hi, Paul” as we
crossed paths, and he shot back
“Hello, fellas.” The second time was
when I was utilizing Lime Rock’s
primitive lavatory system (basically