By 1971, the famous LeMans "standing start" was long gone. Drivers no longer ran across the track to jump in their cars and start up; the cars were too quick off the line. But the traditions still stood. LeMans was and is the world's greatest race because of the length (Le 24 Heures) and the obstacles that need to be overcome: driver fatigue (a minimum of two drivers now, but in the old days, iron men wrestled huge wooden steering wheels for a full day and a full night); metal fatigue (the ultimate race car would last only one minute longer than it absolutely had to; engineering and materials are pushed to the outer limits in every racing car); and other traffic (LeMans is one of the few races to mix classes; a sports prototype can be 100 mph faster than a lesser car, but they both run the same track at the same time).
Connoisseurs have their own favorite "vintages" whether it be movements in painting, periods in music, wine, or race cars. For me, nothing is more beautiful than the race cars of the late 60's and early 70's. They were on the cusp of the movement from voluptuousness to angular wind tunnel efficiency.
The Porsche 917 pictured above reigned supreme in the early 70's sports prototype world. It wasn't as fast off the line (0 to 60 in 2.5 seconds) as the Ferrari nemesis, but it won so often because it held together better. Many a race has been lost to a $2 part. Some people call it "the best racing car ever." The LeMans race saw two versions of the 917, as Porsche experimented with long-tail and short-tail versions. The short-tail seen above has a Kamm design (chopped-off vertically), while the long-tail used a tapered end streaming out about 8 inches longer than the short-tail. The difference was dramatic. Alain de Cadenet (you must see his series, "Victory by Design" on DVD) was passed at about 150 mph by a short-tail and literally blown off the road. He survived. The long-tail parsed the atmosphere much more gracefully.
At the height of its development, 917 derivatives would have 1500 horsepower ("a monster" said Mark Donohue), but in 1971, only about 550 hp was on tap. Bear in mind that this was a car weighing less than a Beetle, shorter than your waistline, and aerodynamic zed to the max. A top speed of 246 mph was achieved on the Mulsanne Straight.
The course at LeMans is about 8.3 miles, most of it ordinary French country roads. Mulsanne is about 3 miles long - plenty of room to top out, and that they did. By this time, race cars had been achieving aircraft speeds for some years, and the designers were very careful to tweak the atmosphere gently, with trim tabs, wings ("upside down", with the curve on the bottom to force the chassis down), and undercar tunnels.
Considering that V1, the speed at which you must take off, for a modern jetliner is about 170 mph, you've got a problem: how do you keep the car on the ground when it's going almost 80 mph faster than that? Sadly, by the late 70's, designers had gone so far in using the wind to develop downforce that any upward tip of the car's nose would rip away the suction effect, and launch it. Ground effects cars were banned for good after Gilles Villeneuve launched and crashed in 1978. He was a very fast driver who was too reckless, and died because he tried to cut under another car in practice. The other driver did not expect this and was already moving to the inside of the turn when their wheels touched.
But notice the immediate problem above: rain. What to do when it rains? Of course, turn on your wipers. However, "normal" wipers start to lift off the windshield at 150 mph, and would have to struggle mightily against the air currents trying to tear them apart. Aircraft speeds require aircraft wipers, and so suppliers to the aviation world began to get inquiries from various race organizations. Another problem: slowing down, even in the dry. Mulsanne terminates in a 40-mph right-hand turn. This means that the 917 would have to scrub off over 200 mph of inertia. Again, "normal" components would simply disintegrate, and again, Girling, the supplier to many aviation manufacturers, was tapped. The problem is not in slowing down once, as I learned in my Formula Ford experience, but doing it over and over again for 24 hours. Watch the cars as they come in for a night-time pit stop. That cherry-red glow you see through the wheel spokes is a brake caliper.
Ah, yes, there probably never was a better overall racer than the Porsche 917. But the Porsches, for all their heroics and stamina, seemed a little cold, maybe too efficient. They weren't exactly welcomed when they forayed into Can-Am and took over there, but that's another story. How about Ford v. Ferrari at LeMans?
In the early 60's, Henry Ford II ("the Deuce", as he liked to be called) hungered for something more exotic, something soul-stirring, and the bloated T-Bird was not enough. Even a Corvette beater was not enough, although Carroll Shelby's Cobra had already hatched. No, it had to be ... Ferrari! Gentlemen, we will purchase Ferrari Automobili he announced, and by coincidence, Enzo Ferrari was going through a difficult financial period. They met, talked, came to a final agreement - and then Ferrari backed out, possibly because he felt he would lose creative control, and that the racing program would be compromised. Nothing mattered more to Ferrari than winning races, be it sports prototype, Formula One, or hill climbs, he was obsessively driven to win. He was a son of a bitch to work for, but he was - Ferrari himself!, a creative genius who also knew what to farm out, such as passenger car design. All around the world, but especially in Italy, the name Ferrari is said with reverence by the cogniscenti. As a matter of fact, Ferrari is donating a scaled-down Formula One car to The Pope; no explanation why, but it puts pressure on Maserati and Lamborghini.
He used some of the best designers in the world, mostly Pinin Farina, but also Giugaro and lesser-knowns. Almost every one of his street cars are a delight to look at in person, perhaps because so much of them is hand-built by craftsmen at their own pace. Brock Yates wrote in a Car & Driver piece that he and a friend were sitting in lawn chairs, just admiring the Ferrari test car they had for the week, then noticing, hey! this car's asymmetrical! And sure enough, measurements proved it. One side was definitely longer, yet the panels met up precisely on each side. Mash up a panel or two and you'd only get the start of fixing it with a "stock" part; it would have to be reworked by hand, probably for a long time at a very high hourly rate. But in the end, the street cars were only meant to support the racing program, and they did. Ferrari got through his dry spell.
Meanwhile, back in Dearborn, The Deuce was frothing with rage. No sonofabitch does this to me! I'm gonna get that little [deleted]! Gentlemen, we are going to beat Mr. Ferrari at his own game. We will win LeMans. Period. Uh... where exactly is LeMans? Most people knew it was in France somewhere, but certainly no one had an official rule book (it was in French anyway). Just how much do you want us to budget for, sir? Unlimited. Sir?? You heard me, unlimited budget. Spend what it takes whenever you need to. If you get any backtalk, tell 'em I authorized it personally. And I want you to use that damn computer room for something other than accounting! Do your analysis on the computer. Yessir, and how long do we get it for? How long?! As long as it takes! You mean all day and all night? Yes, dammit, now get to work!
This was unheard of. There had never been such a project in the history of the corporation, and for some, it was almost too much. For one thing, there was nothing to blame a failure on when you had all the resources in the world.
Where to start? Why, with some friendly folks from across the pond who had been involved with Ford Racing for a while. Eric Broadley, who had designed the very slippery little Lola GT, was brought in for the overall design to make the "tightest envelope" one could out of the materials at hand. The finished design is very similar-looking to the new "GT 40" that Ford has been showing off, but shorter and lighter. The "40" designation means the measurement from asphalt to rooftop, about hip high. [This image is so common that I've linked to the Final version of the car, the Mark IV, not the clichéd Mark I.]
The engineers took some risks in developing a super-strong aluminum sandwich - two sheets of aluminum on either side of a "honeycomb slab" - for the monocoque (the area surrounding the driver, from windshield to engine in this case). Like a Formula One car, the suspensions were attached as a unit to the monocoque. However, Mr. Broadley, being British, was not used to the stature of the American driver, Dan Gurney, who was well over 6 feet. A redesign being impossible, they improvised with "the Gurney bubble", a bubble popped up from below to accommodate Gurney's helmet.
Still and all, most of the drivers loved the interior. It was a model of efficiency and ergonomics before anyone even used the word, and it was actually roomy if you weren't Dan Gurney. This is very very rare in race cars, most of which barely tolerate a human even today. If you plop yourself down into a Formula car, you immediately think "this thing was made by plumbers!", because it's a bunch of metal tubes welded together. On moving out, you discover that the car has become part of your butt, because you've been belted in with 3 sets of heavy belts (2 lap belts, 2 shoulder belts, 2 anti-submarine belts, which hold your crotch tight so you don't sink underneath your other belts on heavy braking). But it's a good feeling, all in all, and you really have to remember to watch the gauges, and the mirrors, and the turn ahead, repeated ad infinitum, all the while you're trying to catch the guy ahead of you, escape the guy behind you, or stay out in front. Don't worry, you'll probably never be out in front.
Time rolled on, and testing became more stringent as the cars were pushed to their limits. Ken Miles was famous as a Cobra driver, and already in the Ford "family," so he was tapped for some high-speed testing. The cars had started with a relatively small 289 cubic inch engine put together by Holman & Moody, the legendary Carolina engine builders, but the Mark 2's were fitted with Ford's biggest gun: the 427 NASCAR motor. It was very powerful but 100 pounds heavier, and the chassis needed to be beefed up and "re-tuned" to match the weight and increased torque.
Ken Miles was an affable guy who had just taken a street Cobra from zero to 100 mph and back to zero in 10 seconds. No one has beaten that record. But he met his match in the Mark 2. A reconstruction showed that the rear wheels had locked for some unknown reason, throwing the car in a sidewise lurch off the track. The "superstrong" honeycomb chassis disintegrated, and so did he.
This is a problem with car racing. Although Jackie Stewart and others pioneered safety innovations in cars and track design (better barriers) 30 years ago, drivers still die. Some people say, well, at least he died what he loved doing. I believe it was Richard Petty who said, shit no! I don't wanna die in no car. I wanta be on my front porch with my grandkids all around me. Safety has improved to the point where we are shocked (we in the racing community) when a driver is killed. Dale Earnhardt's car seems to just gradually slide up to the guardrail, but in reality he hits it at 150 mph and breaks his neck. Ayrton Senna, a very promising Formula One driver, died just a few years ago when his car slid under the "safety" fence, but his head did not. And in the old days, even the best died for the most banal reasons. Jimmy Clark, who I consider to be the greatest modern driver, was doing a tire test at Hochenheim when he went off into the trees sideways at about 140 mph. Mark Donohue was absolutely loved by any race organization he drove for because he was both an engineer and a driver; he could describe to the millimeter what needed to be changed. He, too, died in a tire testing accident in the Trans-Am series. (Trans-Am was a race series before Pontiac co-opted the name.)
Ever see an Indy car hit the wall and fly into pieces? It's designed that way. The crash energy is absorbed to a great degree by the "explosion" of the pieces. The monocoque stays intact. Mercedes and Volvo pioneered the idea of "crumple zones" some decades ago; same kind of thing. And nowadays, onboard fire suppression systems are mandatory. In the old days, you carried a canister bolted to the floor. Hell, in the 50's, sports car racers used to bolt handrails to the passenger side floor to hold onto when they flipped. Look at a NASCAR film from the 60's - see how the cars are at an odd angle in the turns? That's because they're sliding at 180 mph; every turn is a controlled crash. Before the 60's, tires just weren't sticky enough, and there wasn't sufficient downforce to stop the cars from sliding, so you drifted, sometimes four wheels, but mostly two. The new "sport" of drifting, which originated in Japan, is loosely related to this old technique.
Well, long story short, Henry II got his wish. He beat Ferrari not once, but four times. The engineering and computer modeling and infinitely deep pockets won out over beauty, passion, and speed. By the end of one session, the engineers had determined conclusively by their modeling that they would beat Ferrari; the only problem was those damn brake rotors. They heated up so much that they had to be changed out at least six times over the race. A fix was found: the entire wheel setup was changed and the rotors moved outward, so that the mechanics could reach them quickly. Instead of waiting for a failure, the drivers came in after a set number of laps and - voila! the rest is history.
Enzo Ferrari is long gone now, but his spirit lives. The new Ferrari Enzo is the closest experience to Formula One that any street car will achieve. The performance is mind-boggling, and the price of $600k has been driven up by speculators to $1 million. To purchase an Enzo, you must be invited to do so by the factory. Only previous Ferrari owners are invited, and not many at that.
So, why race? To push the envelope, of course! Jackie Stewart has an instructional video showing cornering in a Mustang racer at the limit of adhesion. Now, watch what happens when I apply a little too much throttle. (spins) Finding the limit of adhesion, driving at 10/10ths, is the ultimate goal. When you race, you're concentrating as hard as you can on doing this one thing right, whether it's getting set up for a corner, outbraking another driver (i.e., waiting longer than he does to brake before entering a corner), or getting a better line through that particular corner. Every single corner has an optimal line that will get you through the fastest. The problem is, other people want that line, too. It's always a compromise. And of course the track will get hotter and therefore slicker over time. It's a physics problem, it's a management thing, it's 100% mental but also 100% physical (it's not uncommon to lose 5 pounds during a long race), it's getting slammed from side to side and back and forth for hours. And you are never, ever good enough. Even the best make mistakes, but I have seen some outstanding saves, like Jack Brabham at Monaco, c. 1968, who spun going into the final corner, went 360 degrees, and kept on going to win! I have taken a car out of a spin, and trust me, it tried to rip my forearms apart. There is no way that Brabham thought his way through that problem; it's animal brain reactionism.
Maybe that's why I liked to race (past tense, no money for that now). It's a thought problem but you have to carry out your answer through your own body. You may have a pit crew on your radio, but it's up to you, suckah, to put it where it should be. As someone said, it's hard work! And I guess the salaries top drivers are getting today are justified: $10 million for dribbling a b-ball up and down a court or for driving flat out just barely in touch with the road; yeah, if you go out of bounds in b-ball, you walk back in; if you go out of bounds in racing, well. You know.
They say there are ghosts in Gasoline Alley, the line of garages at Indianapolis. I went there for the time trials in '84, and was surprised to note that you really could see the difference between a car entering turn 1 at 200 and one entering at 205. Tom Sneva won the pole, and I walked over to his area. There, behind the chain link fence, sat a car that had just gone over 200 in the hot sun. It was hunkered down, and waves of heat were pouring off the engine. The tires looked like chewed gumballs, and in fact that's what they were called in the old days; they're very sticky, and only made to last a few laps, just for qualifying. Hey, is that cheating? No, it's allowed. Hooking up a nitrous oxide system to a canister you had hidden in your sleeve for a little extra boost - now that's cheating! A.J. Foyt, four time Indy winner. A reporter saw him fiddling with his sleeve and the bottle. A.J. just looked straight at him and laughed, haw haw haw!
Is your interest piqued, just a little? For God's sake, don't get that Tom Cruise movie about NASCAR. The best racing movie ever, most critics agree, is John Frankenheimer's Grand Prix (boy, did I have a crush on Jessica Walter!). It's fairly well put together but has a depressing load of clichéd dialogue, but the cars are sublime. In those days, it was sacrilegious to think about putting advertising on the cars, so you can appreciate the purity of their lines. I have a hard time watching it, though, because so many of these drivers - cheerful, strong, brave, full of life - are ghosts, dead for years.
Steve McQueen got the racing bug around the time that they were shooting Bullitt, which has the immortal UP down UP down chase through the hills of San Francisco. That's him in a few of the shots; the studio wouldn't risk him for insurance reasons. Plus, they wanted him kept alive. By 1970, McQueen had put together enough money to make his own damn movie, and this was going to be about racing. Better yet, he was assigning the driving duty to himself! A great deal of the racing action really is him, even when you don't see the driver, and the finish is terrific. The movie is called LeMans, and it came out in 1971. Steve drives a Gulf+Wyer 917 like the top picture here. The storyline is terrible, but he knows it's just a vehicle to get more racing in. If you really want to see what high-speed racing is like from a driver's perspective, rent this movie! As for me, the fastest I've ever gone is 155 mph on the autobahn south of Heidelberg. A client had rented a V-12 BMW as a treat for me, and of course I redlined it. There's a rev limiter that cuts in at 155 so you don't have too much fun. Without it, the car would probably do 170. Tip: If you're ever driving in Germany, never pass on the right. There's a very large fine if you survive.