In my early days as a racing fan, I was thrilled by photos and articles of cars that were simply magical to me: Can Am Porsches, McLarens, and Lolas, Chapparals, Shelby Cobras, Ford GT-40s … iconic sports racing and GT cars which I knew would never see race, but which always evoked images of some Golden Age of road racing.
By the time I learned about them, these cars had been retired, replaced by a new crop of dream cars: Porsche 934s and 935s, 962s, second-generation Can-Am cars, GTP, Group C, and World Sportscar Championship cars. Again, these cars passed into history before I could get a chance to see them race. I knew them only through books and magazines, and fantasies of seeing them roaring around corners, tires screaming, then blasting down straightaways at dizzying speeds, propelled by monstrous bursts of power.
The appeal of these cars never faded for me. My desire to see these legendary cars in action never died.
And I can say with certainty, the reality is every bit as good as the fantasy.
The appeal of these cars never faded for me. My desire to see these legendary cars in action never died.
And I can say with certainty, the reality is every bit as good as the fantasy.
On Saturday, December fifth, I visited Sebring International Speedway to watch part of the Sebring Fall Classic historic car races, presented by Classic Motorsports magazine and organized by Historic Sportscar Racing, Ltd.
There I saw cars of the sort that ignited my passion for racing, four decades ago. I saw some of the cars that fueled my desire to learn about and follow racing, some of the cars that inspired me to read and research and seek out every photo and every bit of text about them.
I saw my dreams, come true.
There I saw cars of the sort that ignited my passion for racing, four decades ago. I saw some of the cars that fueled my desire to learn about and follow racing, some of the cars that inspired me to read and research and seek out every photo and every bit of text about them.
I saw my dreams, come true.
I got to see a Shelby GT-350 battle with a Ferrari 365 Daytona, an Aston Martin DB5 going head-to-head with a late-50’s Corvette, a Porsche 962 chasing an Audi R8—the R8 that won Le Mans five times. I saw Lolas, Chevrons, a Lotus 23b … and I got to see them race.
‘Racing’ Is part of ‘Racing History’
Historic racing is not about TV exposure, sponsorship, high-dollar contracts or endorsement deals. These drivers race not for money, nor for fame—these guys race to race. And they race hard.
Some people might think that these gorgeous classic cars—genuine pieces of automotive history—belong in museums, where they might be enjoyed by many, always.
Historic racers feel that these cars are like thoroughbred racehorses—racing is their purpose and their destiny, and they are not properly living if they are not racing.
The drivers push these cars to their limits … and occasionally beyond. Nobody likes to see a rare automotive gem damaged, but to the owners and drivers of these machines, a bit of body damage is like a bruise to a boxer—it’s part of life, if that life is lived right.
The drivers push these cars to their limits … and occasionally beyond. Nobody likes to see a rare automotive gem damaged, but to the owners and drivers of these machines, a bit of body damage is like a bruise to a boxer—it’s part of life, if that life is lived right.
There were some unfortunate collisions, several lurid spins, and one IMSA-era Porsche was crumpled up pretty completely. But at the end of the day, everyone—drivers, fans, and if you can credit them with feelings, the cars themselves—were satisfied by an exciting day of racing.
Horrendous Weather, Courageous Performances
The Sebring Fall Classic is a usually a three-day event, starting on Friday and ending on Sunday with the Four Hours of Sebring. This year, Mother Nature decided that two-and-a-half days would be enough.
Monsoon rains drowned out most of Friday’s program. The organizers had to postpone the last half of the day’s schedule until Saturday, because the track was simply undrivable.
Saturday started equally grimly, cold with heavy overcast and steady rain, which became intermittent—returning just as the drivers, and fans, started to hope the track would dry out enough for racing.
Rather than disappoint the drivers, the organizers decided to start the day despite the terrible conditions. Despite some serious puddles on the track (some of which never dried) and water generally everywhere, the organizers let the drivers have what they wanted—a chance to run the cars they loved.
To keep crashes to a minimum, the organizers specified extra yellow-flag warm-up laps before each race, to give the drivers a chance to learn where the worst of the water laid. Then, the races were on.
Some time after noon, the rain moved on, pushed aside by a cold front which punished the spectators but probably pleased the drivers: usually the inside of a race car is an uncomfortably hot environment. However, the rain had washed all the rubber off the track, so on top of being damp and pocked with puddles, the track was slick and slippery.
This didn’t lessen the intensity of the racing. I stood on the outside of Turn Ten for much of the Rolex Classic GT/Historic Enduro race, and watched driver after driver claw his way around the corner, sliding and saving, skidding and correcting; several cars ran onto the grass, up the escape road, or simply spun across the track, but next lap, they’d be back pushing the limit again.
After the Classic GTs and Historic endurance racers, historic and vintage GTs took the track. A Jaguar XKE, a ‘56 or ’57 Vette, a Lotus 23b from the early 60’s, Porsche 356s and coupes from a decade earlier … Seeing a black and gold Shelby being chased by a blood-red Ferrari Daytona, just as it was when the cars were new, gave me a thrill that contemporary cars don’t provide.
Of course, no one expects a mid-fifties Porsche with a four-cylinder, 90 bhp motor to keep up with a 12-cylinder Ferrari almost twenty years newer. For these drivers racing the cars they could race, not winning overall, was the goal. These drivers wanted to get on the track, find who on the track was in their class, and have at it—and they did.
Today Will Be the ‘Golden Age’ of the Future
After the Classic GTs and Historic endurance racers, historic and vintage GTs took the track. A Jaguar XKE, a ‘56 or ’57 Vette, a Lotus 23b from the early 60’s, Porsche 356s and coupes from a decade earlier … Seeing a black and gold Shelby being chased by a blood-red Ferrari Daytona, just as it was when the cars were new, gave me a thrill that contemporary cars don’t provide.
Of course, no one expects a mid-fifties Porsche with a four-cylinder, 90 bhp motor to keep up with a 12-cylinder Ferrari almost twenty years newer. For these drivers racing the cars they could race, not winning overall, was the goal. These drivers wanted to get on the track, find who on the track was in their class, and have at it—and they did.
While the Carrera RSRs and the Cobras raced, the 356s raced behind them. Everyone was out to pass whoever they could, and to drive as fast as possible until they got a car in their sights. This wasn’t racing engineered for the TV audience, carefully adjusted so no car was better than any other. This was real racing, with the cars that made racing popular in the post-war period: the cars that started modern racing.
I realized that, in the early Fifties, racing would be just like what I was seeing today: long lines of cars going by, cars of many varieties, and often not overtaking anyone. Racing fans would walk miles around tracks with no amenities—no bathrooms, no food vendors, no Jumbotron TVs showing the action or announcers on PA’s reaching every corner of the track—to get to a good spot on a corner with a lot of action, and sit there to watdch the cars come by.
Fans in the Fifties appreciated the cars, the drivers, and the spectacle of those drivers driving those cars at speed, at the limit of performance, at the limit of safety. Fans might not know who was ahead or who was behind in the race, but they would know that the car approaching was a Ferrari or a Porsche, or a Ford, based on the sound. Every car had a distinct personality: there were no cookie-cutter cars.
Fans in the Fifties appreciated the cars, the drivers, and the spectacle of those drivers driving those cars at speed, at the limit of performance, at the limit of safety. Fans might not know who was ahead or who was behind in the race, but they would know that the car approaching was a Ferrari or a Porsche, or a Ford, based on the sound. Every car had a distinct personality: there were no cookie-cutter cars.
Fans back then came to see the cars, the drivers, the racing. If every finish was not a photo finish, who cared? Most of the fans would be camped at a corner miles from the start-finish line anyway. What mattered, was the cars, the drivers, and getting to see the drivers in action in those cars. That was racing.
Watching those racing icons, those dream cars of my youth, circle the track at full speed, gave me a renewed appreciation for racing. I think now that when the 2010 season starts, I will find a much deeper enjoyment in watching the latest models hit the track. After all, one day, these will be the cars of some child’s dream, finally come to life at some future Sebring Fall Classic.
Watching those racing icons, those dream cars of my youth, circle the track at full speed, gave me a renewed appreciation for racing. I think now that when the 2010 season starts, I will find a much deeper enjoyment in watching the latest models hit the track. After all, one day, these will be the cars of some child’s dream, finally come to life at some future Sebring Fall Classic.
