There are many stories of how some have struck troubles, had funny incidents or even tragedy en route to the races.
In Raymond Mays' BRM Story he mentions about being given details of a Bristol Airfreighter into which they had to pack their three 2.5-litre cars in a certain number of minutes for a trip to North Africa.
They made up jigs so the cars could sit atop one another etc, then found the plane was twice as big when it arrived and it was all a waste of time.
The classic story locally is probably of the crossing of the Nullarbor Plain by the Watson team for the 1951 Australian Grand Prix at Narrogin, about 110 miles south of Perth.
The tow cars included a 1937 Chev, the race cars were the Ballot Olds (a nice light thing built on a 1926 road-going Ballot chassis with a 6-cyl Olds engine) and an HRG. First trailers, then gear, tow cars and personnel were abandoned on the way across the desert. John Cummins hocked his shoes (true!) to buy petrol to complete the journey in the Ballot, ruining the gearbox on the way. A replacement was found under a bench at a cab depot - which was ironic: The Olds bits in the Ballot were unused spares purchased new by a taxi operator when he put an Olds into service in 1936.
Eldred Norman (that name again) gained his best ever placing in the AGP in a TR2 with a supercharger fitted. He brewed his own fuel, carting it from Adelaide to the Gold Coast for the race (1954, Southport, just across the creek from the present day Gold Coast Indy track, but 5.6 miles and all balls) in a trailer behind the TR2. During the war he had covered the same path with his bride in a Chev fitted with a gas producer. Spying a nicely burned out tree in a bushfire affected area, he cut out some extra fuel for the journey. Never hurts to carry an axe!
What other stories are there?

How about this?
When DG racing, (My Team), went to the various race tracks in the northeast USA.
We went in the relative comfort of a 1977 Honda Civic hatchback. All the racing kit (tires,fuel, etc.) was stored on the roof and the racecar was towed on an open trailer that was longer than the Honda. If we couldn't find lodging, we slept rough in the reclining seats. Bohemian as it was, we seldom complained, we were racing after all.
One incident that will ever be part of my memories was, when on a return trip, Dennis
and I were winding our way home when one of the trailer wheels decided to part company with the trailer. The next few moments were exciting to say the least, but Den was in control of the situation and brought us to a stop, as we watched the wheel pass us by.
Some of our fellow racers stopped to see if we were OK, but this being a holiday, getting the trailer fixed would be a problem. However, we decided to pick up the errant wheel and try to make it back to the track and find a welder.
On our way we stopped by an auto repair shop and luckily a welder was available. $20 later we were on our way again, just another page in the scrapbook.

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"I Was Born Ready"

[This message has been edited by Keir (edited 03-04-2000).]

One of the funniest stories I have ever heard was about Bubby Baker in a NASCAR race. Apparently, he had a big crash (I can't remember where but at a small 1/2 mile oval track) and he was banged up pretty good and had cracked some ribs. They got him out of the car and strapped him onto a gurney. Then loaded him up in the ambulance all the while the cars were circling the track under caution. When the ambulance started up the banking to leave the track (they didn't have tunnels that go under the track in those days except at Daytona), apparently someone forgot to latch the ambulance door properly and out rolled Buddy on the gurney back down across the track. He wasn't sure if the approaching traffic would see him or were paying attention so with all of his might (painful with cracked ribs) he raised his hand up to wave and get the attention of the oncoming traffic.

Come on, lads,
There have to be more stories out there.

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"I Was Born Ready"

Reading Keir’s post reminds me of an eventful journey to a rally in SW England. We set off with a Transit van towing a borrowed caravan, and a Volvo saloon towing the trailer with the rally car on it. We had hitched the van and caravan up in the dark and someone (errrrr, me?) forgot to remove the towball cover. Somehow the thing seemed to hitch up OK, but a couple of miles from home, the caravan came off. I was driving the van and saw with horror in the mirror the sight of the caravan disappearing into someone driveway. Mercifully, it was a slow narrow twisty bit of road and somehow the caravan didn’t hit anything at all, just rolled to a halt in this guy’s drive.

So we hitched it back on properly and set off again with sighs of relief. Ten miles on, just onto the motorway, one of the trailer wheels went walkabout, bounding past both rigs and down the embankment. We managed to retrieve it from the nettles (useful having work gloves sometimes) and refitted it with three nuts, one off each of the other wheels.

On we went, until, on the M4 motorway, we were gathering speed on a down gradient in Wiltshire when the Volvo and trailer, who were leading, hit the critical speed where the rig started to snake. With a ton or more of rally car and trailer, this quickly got pretty exciting. Paul, the driver, had a theory that you could "drive through" a snaking trailer incident by keeping your foot down (you can’t, by the way!!). So the rig was weaving more and more violently, with me watching from the van behind and wondering which bit of it I would hit. There was no other traffic, thank heavens, a rarity on the M4, and Paul was weaving from hard shoulder to the central barrier and back.

Somehow, he managed to get it slowed down and recovered control. When we checked, the car had come loose and had moved backwards slightly, upsetting the balance.

On the rally, a blown head gasket ended the run and we discovered that mixing hot radiator water with Shell Gemini (an early synthetic oil) resulted in a nasty gungy plastic muck that took days to clean out of the head and block.

All in all, a wonderful weekend…




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BRG

"all the time, maximum attack"

Ah, those Transit vans -- I gave them a mention in the GT40 thread, so you know I l-o-o-ve them!

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Life and love are mixed with pain...

What Keir neglects to mention in the post above was the masterly, some may even say 'Fangio' like way I handled the car as the wheel flew off the trailer. If your not familiar with North West Connecticut, route 7 is a beautiful twisty, windy road. The kind of road that's great to take the Jag or Austin out for a weekend spin but not the type where you want to loose a wheel. Lots of trees, no shoulder, little room for error.
With a combination of brute force and subtle cajoling I brought the Civic and one wheeled trailer to a safe and reasonably gentle stop. After which I checked my pants for any 'accidents', got out of the car calmly, looked at the 35 foot long, 1 inch deep(about 10 meters, 25 millimeters for you metric types) gouge in the black top, light a cigarette and said "Phewwwwwww, what a ride!!!!"
It was also a good introduction of the life of a vagabond race team, 'up close and personal' for my future wife Suz. And she STILL married me. Quite the gal.


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"Pete, Do you sometimes get tired? Of the driving? Lately I have been getting tired. Very tired."

In reply to Zippy's last post.
Yes, it was quite the masterful piece of driving. I think I will always like Sue for her reaction to the whole situation. If only there were more women like her out there!!!
Just another good page in the scrapbook.

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"I Was Born Ready"

[This message has been edited by Keir (edited 03-08-2000).]

These might seem mild, but here goes -
I frequently set out after work Friday to hitch hike to either Melbourne or Brisbane for a race meeting (from Sydney). Melbourne was 560 miles - one time I got a good start and in only three rides I was at the highway and had two cars pulling up to give me a lift. Three more lifts down the road I was suggesting to a young lad in a Toyota Crown to take a shortcut. But at the end of the shortcut he stalled at a steep junction with the highway and flooded the beast.
"Clutch start it in reverse," I said. "Here, you jump in the driver's seat and do it," he offered. And then told me I could drive to Mittagong...
I ripped past a Holden just before Mittagong, just had time to write the name of a book our young friend should read down, got my finger out again and the Holden pulled up.
This was a car full of army lads who had come from Brisbane that morning - they'd been on the road 15 hours. Seeing that I had passed them, they tried to frighten my by driving progressively faster, but their weariness got to them and the slowed down again. Just before Yass, where I had decided it was best for me to leave them (they were turning off to Wagga just past Yass), a Dodge Phoenix (actually, to you blokes this would be a Dart - about 1965 model) roared past as we were back to only about 85 mph.
When I bailed out at the Yass service station the Dodge was there and I asked the passenger for a lift. He was just saying no when the driver came over and asked what I wanted. "A lift to Melbourne," I said. "Hop in!"
He sat on 105 mph all the way, touched the brakes but twice (that road was not as straight as it is now, those of my generation will recall) and backed off real early and coasted in to the slow bits. He owned a fleet of trucks and really knew the road.
I was in Melbourne in 9 hours and 20 minutes, better than most hot shoes ever drive it, and certainly better than you can do legally today. Barry will tell you that to drive it really hard in those days you would do it in eight hours (I did that once, Warwick Brown pulled a smoking Porsche up 60 miles short in five and a half...), but my trip was pretty good for all those lifts...
At the opposite end of the scale, for the Sandown Tasman in 1966 I booked on a bus. They overbooked it, so when I went to get on (which I delayed as long as possible stringing out time with a new girlfriend - later my wife) they said: "I'm sorry, Mr Bell, we've overbooked the bus - would you mind terribly if we flew you?" A couple more hours with her and my first ever trip in a plane - who was I to complain?

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Life and love are mixed with pain...

10 years since the last post...............perhaps someone has found or been told other stories ?

I certainly hope so...

With racing circuits often at far flung corners of a country, there's always plenty of scope for humorous incidents. Especially on the way home, when many tend to be less clear in their thoughts than they were a day or two earlier.