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Engine Technology Company, an
Autodynamics spin-off across town (that I helped to found, but
that's yet another story) re-hired me just to prepare this car
(after laying me off to swindle me - again that other story).
They supplied engines to the Autodynamics "factory team"
and fielded this private entrant car during 1970 season. They
had won a few national level races and qualified for the run-offs.
They were able to obtain a substantial sponsorship from "KeyLocks
Inserts" a new Division of Phillips Screw Co. to go to the
SCCA National Championships at Road Atlanta (the "run-offs"
as we used to say). I had an excellent short term pay package
and virtually unlimited resources and budget to overhaul the
tired car and prepare it for the run-offs. Whoopee, I was psyched.
I weighed the car on four wheel
scales and then tore it down to a bare chassis. Scrutinizing
the chassis paint for stress indications, I noted some areas
of likely flex. I weighed the four suspensions and the wheel-and-tire
assemblies. Then I set some targets for corner weight reduction
and for a weight shift from the rear of the car to the front.
I got Bruno at Autodynamics to beef up the chassis to my specs
and add some brackets and a big battery box up front. I move
the battery and some oil system components and everything else
I could to the front of the car. I weighed six brands of wheels
and chose Minilites. I dumped the Firestones over objections
because they were egregiously heavy ("They don't call 'em
Stones for nothing") and had no stick advantage, altogether
shaving several key pounds from the unsprung weight. I scoured
the catalogs and airports for titanium bolts and got a friend
at Hanscom Field to order some huge sized ones that fit the uprights.
I went crazy reducing unsprung weight, shifting weight forward
and hitting minimum weight. I weighed shocks and springs, rod
ends and VW brake parts, then drilled and milled and ground down
everything I could to reduce weight.
Meanwhile, the guys (who screwed
me out of my share of that shop - okay I'll stop) built engines
for our car and the Autodynamics factory, including Ray Caldwell
himself. The dyno testing went on all day and we talked a bunch
about what they were doing and the rules restrictions. Some of
the talk was about the fan and housing and that they had to be
installed intact. I called a friend named Eric Sonnechson who
I knew from Northern research & Engineering where I had once
worked as a turbo-machinery test technician . Eric was a young
engineer who knew everything about moving air with fans and fans
with air - NREC designed lots of turbochargers. I told Eric the
rules and brainstormed with him. We (well, he really) came up
with a simple sheet metal donut that we pop riveted to the fan
housing to block a huge percentage of the intake opening, thus
"choking" the fan. The engines that all produced from
112 to 118 real horses on our dyno, jumped to 132+ bhp. We had
invented something! It was a huge competitive advantage in a
class where the cars and engines were so tightly matched.
There were lots of political
sparks from Caldwell, who wielded great power, over whether Engine
Tech had given him "the best" of their SV engines.
They did not, of course. Nor did they give him what Paul Petricone
dubbed the "McGaffilator," our super trick fan baffle.
We quietly kept that little honey to ourselves and loaded up
the car for a drive to Atlanta. I drove down with David Loring
who was wrenching/towing for Caldwell. We towed a doubledecker
with the two Caldwell D-10s and ate burgers as we cruised at
100 mph. "My" D-10 had a brand new body and looked
the nuts! We drove straight through to Atlanta and stopped for
a robust breakfast of ham and eggs with a pile of grits and raisin
toast.
At practice, we slipped on a
McGaffilator plate and Jim Clarke went out there and screamed.
My good friend Bob Appleton from Cambridge had driven down to
spectate and confirmed Clarke's observations: He could easily
pass any other car anywhere on the track, straights, corners
anywhere. Even on the uphill entering the esses. he just blew
by at will. We had the hot lash-up. This thing was in the bag
as long we did not tip our hand to Caldwell. Fortunately, the
front of the Type III engine was close enough to the firewall
behind the driver that the McGaffilator was invisible. People
started coming over to our pit and gawking at the car. We told
Jim to sand-bag the rest of practice and most of qualifying.
We did not want the attention. Guys like Tom Davy were just too
smart and he was snooping around. They'd figure it out if we
were not careful.
Our strategy was typical of any
FV, FF or SV race - be in second on the last lap and then slingshot
to a win. Clarke insisted that we might not even need to do that
- he could just run away with the whole enchilada flag to flag.
I was busting at the seems. Yahoo. We made only one slight adjustment
to the shifter - Clarke was beside himself too, with the "transformation"
that the car had undergone since he drove it last. He insisted
that we "fool with nothing - nothing at all!" He made
me promise. Here it was the night before the run-offs and I had
no - zero - work to do except maybe check fluids and "nut-and-bolt"
the car. I bled the brakes and clutch just to keep busy. David
Loring sat in the car and pushed the pedals for me as I did that.
He was so exhausted that he kept falling asleep between calls
to "pump!" I removed the shift knob and carved deep
finger grooves in it so that Jim's hand would be less likely
to slip off and miss a shift. I could not think of anything else.
Besides, I promised.
Race day dawned bright and I
was really excited - until I saw the look on Paul Petricone's
face when he arrived at our paddock later than I had expected.
"No biggie - don't need anything," I thought. Then
I realized that Paul was really upset. It seems that Jim Clarke
had been up much of the night suffering from an attack of sheer
terror. Jim drove stock cars when he wasn't driving the SV and
he had recently suffered a bad crash. Paul explained to me in
secret what he believed was going on. The crash had cost Jim
an eye. He had proven in qualifying that he could still compete
with the best, physically at least, even with only one eye, but
the thought of another crash hit him last night and the loathsome
prospect of blindness with it. He has vomiting with fear just
before they left the motel, according to Paul. That's why they
were so late. Jim eventually showed up at the paddock with thin,
brittle smile plastered onto the front of his skull. He said
all the right things and he and Paul finally decided to race.
 Jim started out fine from a modest position
near the front of the grid - fifth, I think. We were in no hurry
to let anyone realize that our car could run away and hide at
will. Jim just settled for a comfortable place near but not at
the front. The flag dropped and the cars all roared away. Jim
stayed at or near his starting position for a few laps, then
made a move, then dropped way off the pace and fell way back
into the pack. I was confused and upset. A million thoughts went
through my mind about what must be happening on the vast expanses
of track that I could not see from the pits. As the race neared
the end Jim started picking up positions on every lap. My heart
pounded in my chest. Go Jim, goddamnit, go Jim! With one lap
to go Jim slid into second and followed the leader. I am told
that coming under the bridge, he made a move for the lead and
got crossed up briefly, scrubbing off enough speed to lose the
leader and let the third place car past. Crossing the finish
line at the bottom of the hill, Jim was third.
 I later learned that his fastest lap
as he was making up lost ground (a 1:34 if I recall correctly)
was the fastest lap of the race and a new track record for SV.
That record lasted for several years, even into the change to
the new water-cooled engines. That was some consolation, but
only after the dismal disappointment wore off. To have such a
huge advantage and then lose was too much irony to bear. I was
to young to realize that it was probably not unusual.
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