I'm thinking very seriously of duplicating your approach, with a minor
twist--I'm considering taking the pukka racing TR3 I built and modifying
it for street--in a minimalist way. Install an alternator, headlight
wiring, and presto--a car you can drive to the races. My engine is not
too wild to accommodate it, and I think it would be fun, which is my
primary criteria for doing about anything. Of course if anyone hits me
there'll be a large cloud of fiberglass, and me, sitting in a roll cage.
But what the heck.
-----Original Message-----
From: Richard Taylor [mailto:n196x@mindspring.com]
Sent: Monday, November 16, 1998 3:47 PM
To: fot@autox.team.net
Subject: Race Car Trailers
The subject of race car trailers is seldom very high on the bench
racer's
agenda, but I have just fashioned one for my TR-4 vintage racer maybe
worth
a little discussion. Although it's a bit unorthodox, it rolled smoothly
to
the HSR race down in Savannah a couple of weeks ago. We cruised the 200+
miles each way at a steady 72 mph (3000 rpm, 4th gear OD) with neither a
wiggle nor a citation.
My friend Bob Wagner designed and built a custom hitch on the car so
that
it could be removed pretty easily. However, at the level I competition I
have to offer, the few pounds it weighs doesn't make enough difference
to
warrant the dismounting exercise; so I just raced, trailer hitch and
all.
Incidentally, there were four big Triumphs there and mine was the only
one
to finish the endurance race. Two of us finished the sprint race but of
course I was pretty far behind. My best-posted time was a 1:34 and the
leaders were turning low 1:20's. Maybe it was the trailer hitch after
all.
Loaded on my race car trailer was a fresh set of sticky Hoosier race
tires
plus my trusty '74 Triumph Triple motorcycle.
For three hours of track time, the TR-4 performed flawlessly, but I
spent
all weekend tinkering with the bike. It kept fouling plugs. My purpose
for
taking it, obviously, was to have transportation back and forth to the
motel after the car was set up to race. A true purist, on the other
hand,
might have raced with the windshield on as I did last year at Daytona.
But, for this blatant disregard for protocol, I was publicly castigated
in
a Vintage magazine last month. I will be forever memorialized as
representing something of the lunatic fringe of vintage racing.
Parenthetically, I also raced last year at Savannah with street tires
but
this turned out to be an unpublicized yet thrilling experiment in
un-safety.
Let's be honest. The competition these days is not sports car racing.
It
is racecar racing. True, the cars are based on a chassis, which, at
birth,
was a real live sports car. But they are not that any more. However,
trust
me, I have no quarrels with this. Especially if you real racers
continue
to permit me to tag along and bring my small whiff of nostalgia with me.
I
have a great set of mirrors and a serious sense of respect for those of
you
boring through the Red Mist. I've been there, paid my dues and still
remember how to keep a predictable line, but that is another story
entirely.
As with many of us, I have consciencely tried all my life to be a
conformist; to center myself agreeably within the boundaries of the
acceptable norm. And, like most of us, most of the time I'm reasonably
successful. Now, however, using a quasi-race prepared sports car to tow
an
old motorcycle to a racing event might raise a measure of speculation.
And
perhaps it should. But, on the other hand, maybe we all ought to pause
a
moment and re-evaluate what sports car racing is really all about. But
be
forewarned, I may be at a stage of my life where I might actually be
comfortable being the only person right and the rest of the world in
left
field.
It could be easily argued that if a car is so modified that it must be
drayed to the racetrack on a carrier, it is no longer a sports car but
rather a racecar. It's kinda like NASCAR where the manufacturer's
marque
is no more germane to its origin than its color. Its association to its
heritage is diluted to such an extent as to be irrelevant. What
difference
does it make whether it's a Triumph or an MG once it becomes transformed
into a piggybacked racecar. To me, at least, the car has simply lost
its
relevance to its Marque. The difference between a winning MG or winning
Miata race car is ultimately a function of the quantity of the
godalmighty
dollars pumped into it. As they say, "It's not cubic inches, it's cubic
dollars." Given an unlimited budget, let's say 25 million dollars +,
maybe
even my old TR-4 could be built into the quintessential class
whatever-it-is competition winner. Am I wrong? If I am, then let's
raise
the dollar threshold. Ultimately I'll be right. And so what's new?
On the other hand, when I drive my el-cheapo, race-prepared bright red
TR-4
down Peachtree Street I sense that I am carrying something of a banner;
a
symbol that has something to do with that era in history when
automobiles
were a form of art, mechanical achievement, imagination, identification
and
personal satisfaction. Creature comforts, reliability and economy
played
second fiddle to exhilaration and fantasy. Station wagons, big
convertibles and fourdoors were a bore and SUV's not even imagined. But
still the Walter Mitty in each of us (then and now) simmered and
surfaced
with neither shame nor excuse.
I'm sorry, group, but my arrested maturity never outgrew those
beautiful,
wonderful and harmless images.
Now, back to the racetrack. Would I like to be the fleetest amoungst the
fleet? Of course I would. But I'm burdened with this nagging image of
what sports car racing really is. And, to me, that means driving to the
race, racing, and then driving home in the same machine you take to the
DQ.
So where does that leave me? Two places. First, in the back of the
race
pack and second, in a pretty exclusive class of unknown (and largely
unappreciated) enthusiasts. There would be a measure of comfort if I
could
hear a whisper of support from just one other brethren or kindred
spirit.
Where are you all?
So this begs the big question: does this ideological burden leave me out
of
the fun? Not one whit! Moreover, by selectively re-evaluating the
ambitions and motives of my fellow racers, I have found that I have WON
nearly all of the races I have entered! Was it the Oracle of Delphi who
stated, "To thine own self be true." I don't really remember, but
somebody
did and I happened to be listening. And by damn, there is not a
competitor
out there who drives home on Sunday evening with a warmer glow in the
belly
and piece of mind between the ears left by the adrenaline draindown than
I.
Period!
Plus, I drive home in with the one I brought to the dance.
But all this makes the whole issue of racetrailers far more interesting
than one might imagine. Mine is a featherweight, $200, three-rail
motorcycle trailer with the two outside rails removed. Add $20 worth of
red spray paint and I guess that the whole thing weighs in at a little
under 300 pounds. The TR-4 race tires are paired two on each side of
the
motorcycle and everything is bundled together with a bunch of tie down
straps. And it tows effortlessly!
So now you've got the picture. This grey bearded bespeckled 'ole guy
cruising along in these pretty English toys of some bygone era feeling
smug
that he is obediently complying with some invisible "norms" of
conformity.
But let's not tell him that his world is but an illusion. And certainly
don't mention that the rest of his motor-head friends still have blood
in
their eyes and a burning fire in their belly to be Numero Uno. No,
let's
just leave him be and pass him with a fair berth in the turns. He'll be
all
right. He's just having fun.
Richard Taylor
TR-4 #96
Atlanta
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