Spitfire Vintage Racing Continued....
Rocky Mountain Vintage Racing, Colorado
Kirk Buecher '63 Triumph Spitfire #189
Spring Fling in the Rockies, RMVR's first race of the season, had finally
arrived. The track, Second Creek Raceway, located on the far north east
edge of Denver. (This is the same track where I attended drivers school
three weeks before.) The weather was predicted to be unsettled.
I arrived at the track early Saturday morning to find the paddock busy and
alive. A good third of the 135 entries had already unloaded their cars and
were going through their pre-race routines. It was 7:30am.
By 8:30am, the pits were packed, with late come'ers trying to fit in spots
where they weren't all that welcome. The drivers meeting was called to
order, the weekend's schedule was reviewed, I was ready, nervous, but
ready, my little red Spitfire had tech'ed out just fine, and by 9:00am the
first group hit the track for practice sessions.
The only changes I had made since the Test & Tune day the weekend before
was to drain and refill the transmission with Mobil 1 synthetic gear lube,
and of course, change the motor oil, 20-50w, and the filter.
The Spit and I were in the second, and somewhat slower on average group of
"small bore" production cars. Our group, the twenty three of us got our
chance at about 10 am, it was about 50 degrees and windy. The chief of Pit
& Grid had made a rough guess on what order to place us in based on speed,
fast cars to the front, and we entered the track in single file, a slow
warm-up lap, and then we were on our own. I tried to be relaxed and smooth.
I focused on the two corners that had given me the most difficulty at the
drivers school. I practiced my foot work. I enjoyed the experience. Twenty
minutes felt like five and found myself back in the pits.
My second practice session started right after the lunch break. I picked up
right were I had left off in the first session. The Spitfire was running
great and I felt like I had found the right groove around the track. After
the traffic had sorted out a bit, I felt like I was turning some of my
fastest laps yet, all while remaining very relaxed and in control. Twenty
five minutes this time also disappeared in what felt like five. After
checking with a friend who was timing me, find that I've cut 4 seconds from
my fastest timed lap at the drivers school. This great news puts me in a
super mood.
About two hours later, we grid for the qualifying session. The way this
works is that you go out and try to run fast consistent laps for twenty
minutes while these overworked timers in the tower pick out three random
laps of each car to time. Starting position for the real races on Sunday
are determined by the fastest of these three laps. My qualifying session
starts off on the wrong foot when only about 30 seconds before we leave the
grid for the track, someone who was helping the driver next to me tighten
his belts, bumps my right hand side mirror. While I drive the warm-up lap,
I realize that like it or not, I'll have to pull back into the hot pit to
have one of the Tech's fix it. After the mirror is fixed, the pit and grid
flagger waves me back on the track just as the front of the pack is coming
down the main straight behind me. I spend the next five or so laps watching
my newly adjusted mirrors as 2/3rds of the group passes me, while trying to
stay out of their way. After finally finding my correct spot in this
group's pecking order, I start to drive some smooth quick laps. Maybe two
laps later, just as I start to feel like found the groove from the previous
session, I come around the tightest corner and slosh the gas away from its
pickup in the tank, I hear the fuel pump gulp air and the car stumbles.
Another lap and the same thing is happening on three corners. I back off by
30% and find that I'm running on gas again all the way round the track. The
qualifying session mercifully ends a few laps later. Make a mental note to
myself never to allow the gas level in my Moon tank to go below 1/3rd when
racing. I'm sure that I'll be last car on the grid for the first race.
At this point the wind is blowing about 40mph and the temp is dropping
quickly. After the last session we have a "thank you" party for all the
event workers. Many folks are loading up and taking cars home thinking that
race day will be canceled due to bad weather. At last years "Spring Fling"
people awoke to 4 inches of wet snow on the second day of the event.
Well, Sunday dawned with dark clouds and cold temps. A friend at the track
with a RV with a thermometer says it's 40 degrees now and still dropping.
At the drivers meeting we're all jumping up and down and rubbing our hands
together trying to keep warm. The event Steward tells us that the plan of
action is to try to finish the day earlier than scheduled and beat the rain
or snow that looks like it is on the way. So instead of having a fifteen
minute practice session for each group, they want to have *all* the
production cars practice together in one huge group and all the open
wheelers and sport racers in another. By lumping all four of production
groups into one large group it meant I would be one of seventy-five cars
ranging from 454ci Corvette's to a tiny 650cc 3cyl Berkeley all on the
track at the same time. As crazy as this sounded, no one objected. We all
ran back to our cars and started warming them up. Five minutes later we're
on the track. I keep the rpms down and some five laps later my oil temp
gauge finally comes up to 140 degrees, the lowest mark on the dial.
Watching the mirrors and staying out of the way is taking all of my
attention. Herds of thundering Vette's shake the ground as they rush by.
After the oil and water temps come up a little more along with my nerve, I
push the rpms and speed up. My Weber answers back with some roughness above
4800 rpm and much more above 5500 rpm. After 25 minutes, we all come in,
many others have come in early to get out of the traffic. I talk to a few
other drivers with Weber's and they seem to be having similar problems. In
the pits I find that my clutch master cylinder is leaking, I top it off
with LMA fluid and hope that seals have just shrunk because of the cold.
They post the grid order for the first race and much to my surprise I'm to
line up in the 19th slot out of 23 cars. Hard to believe that anyone could
of had a slower qualifying session.
After warming up again in a friends RV, I watched the other "small bore"
group have their first race. If you like Loti, it was a great show with a
very quick Lotus Elan leading the way with three Lotus Super Sevens hot on
his heels. Just as the strongest of the Sevens was making his move to take
the lead, he had some rear brake problems that caused him to retire early.
In mid-pack, a rookie with a MGB tried to make dumb inside pass on the
slowest, near hairpin corner on the track and made minor contact with a
TR-4. The MGB driver was black flagged, talked to by the chief driving
instructor , and sent back to the pits to contemplate his misdeeds. A few
minutes later, Rob in his 911, who was in my small instruction group at
drivers school, is also blacked flagged and sent to the pits for a awkward
pass that forced another driver off track. Standing near one of the Tech's
with a two-way radio, it's clear that all eyes are on the rookies. We are
marked with a taped "X" on the back of our cars.
Back to the RV again to thaw and wait for the open wheelers and the ladies
groups to complete their races. About 45 minutes later they call my group
to the grid. Lined up in front of me, a Porsche 356 and a '67 Sprite, next
to me a '67 BMW 1600, and behind, a Mini and the Berkeley. We enter the
track, a slow warm up lap, we line up in formation two abreast and head for
the start line, the green flag comes out and we all scream down the main
straight inches from each other. The BMW noses out in front of me and I
give him the first corner and pull tightly up behind him. The BMW is
charging hard and I'm watching for my opening. After 2 laps of watching,
I've learned we're about equal in the straights but I have the advantage in
brakes and cornering. Each tight corner, I watch in amazement as he
completely lifts the inside rear and skips the inside front. He's a good
driver and doesn't seem to be afraid of using all the track or tipping his
leaning machine over. Each time I get close enough to attempt a pass, he
takes enough of the track away from me to change my mind. The BMW seems to
be growing taller and wider. Another lap or two later I take what looks to
be my only chance, I cut a good corner before the main straight, out drag
him down it by all of a half of a car length and brake late and very hard
to edge by him going into the first corner. Whew, that was tough, he did
not want to be passed. I watch in the mirrors as I put more and more
distance between us. Coming up quickly is the Porsche 356. I close in
tight through the next corner and he waves me by him in the next short
straight. He's having some type of problem. Some open track allows me to
breathe again, check the gauges, and crank things up another notch. The
Weber still is sputtering above 5500 rpm, but shifting a bit early helps
avoid the problem. Another lap and I'm on the tail of a Bugeye Sprite. I
know this is a faster car based on how he was running in the practice
sessions. He too waves me by and as I pass, I can hear his motor cutting
out. Not too much farther ahead is the '67 Sprite that gridded one row in
front at the start. As I close on him, I spot something hanging down under
his car. As I'm trying to figure out how to pass him *and* tell him that
he's about to lose something, part of what now looks like his tail pipe
drops and starts to drag on the ground sending sparks flying everywhere. He
drives off the track and stops in the dirt. A bit more open track, check my
mirrors, the BMW is still behind me, not close enough to worry about, but
staying with me. Next up another rookie in a hopped up SAAB 96 3cyl who I
chase hard for a lap and a half and then in the up hill stretch that leads
to the "boot" which leads to the main straight, he slows and lets me pass.
(After the race I found out that he lost a spark plug wire going up the
hill.) I set my sights on another Bugeye and after another lap, my trusty
Spitfire and I are ready to strike. While I'm setting him up for a clean
pass he just gives up and lets me by without a fight. Now I've found the
pocket of open track the separates the fast half of this group and the back
half. There is close to 1/3 of a lap between me and the next car, a Tan
Spridget. It's now a race against the clock, can I catch him before the
race comes to an end. With each lap, I gain ground on the Spridget.
Several laps later I'm close enough for him to see me in his mirrors. This
causes him to press a little harder, which ends my chance to reel him in.
Another lap or two and the checkered flag comes out, all the corner workers
are waving and giving thumbs up, after the cool down lap we pull off the
track to the applause of the other racers, family, and handful of
spectators. That felt great. I pull into my pit area, shut the motor down
and stare blankly into space trying to come back to earth. The bottom
line.... I finish 13th out of 23 cars, with 2 DNF's and 2 DNS's. This was
much higher than I had expected. Richard, my other classmate from drivers
school, impressed many folks by finishing a strong second, driving his
aluminum bodied, twin plug head, Alfa. No wonder I had trouble keeping up
with him at school.
In the next "big bore" race, my personal instructor for the season, George,
finished 5th, in his 289ci powered TVR Griffith. This was ahead of both the
Shelby Mustangs, a couple of Sunbeam Tigers, and four other Vette's. I was
impressed, and tell him so after the race.
After a busy morning we break for lunch. Looking at the revised schedule, I
don't race again till about 2pm. My wife and brother-inlaw show up and
we're eating in the car, running the heater, and listening to the radio. We
miss the announcement that it's snowing in Denver and to speed things up
even more both the small bore groups will race together right after a
shorter lunch. By the time we figure out what's going on, cars are already
on the grid, when I get the the grid, cars are entering the track. Quickly
try to put on and snug up my belts, put on the helmet and gloves, and zoom
onto the track. The pack of 40 cars is a 1/2 lap ahead, the corner workers
are waving at me to try to catch up. Just as I near the last few cars, the
green flag is out and we're off. So much for my warm up lap. I laugh to
myself and think that starting dead last means that I have no where to go
but up. Within a lap and a half, I've caught and passed the Berkeley. The
same BMW from the morning race was next, after a lap I'm tight on him. I
try to overtake him again on the main straight, this time it takes every
inch of the straight to nose in front, get on the brakes harder than I've
ever been on them, and cut into the corner half expecting to go sliding off
it. The tires stick and the banking helps and I scoot on down the track
looking for my next conquest. A nice fat 4 door Alfa sedan looms a good
distance ahead. It takes the next three laps to pull up close enough to
even think about passing. Now that I'm on his tail, he's pushing real hard
and making mistakes. He can pull away in the straights but I make up ground
in the corners and under braking. We run around the track like this for a
few more laps, then his right rear brake starts to lock up every time he
uses it. This doesn't seem to slow him down but does make him loose when
setting up for the corners. Together we charge by a couple cars limping
along with some problems. We head into the main straight, I'm three car
lengths behind, full speed down the slight hill, see his brake lights come
on to set up for the #1 corner, both his rears lock up this time, he tries
to make the corner but is carrying too much speed, he slides up the banking
and disappears over the edge in a cloud of dirt and tire smoke. As I go by,
I can see that he and the Alfa are OK. Lots of open track again, start to
notice that there are several cars now pulled off the course, I guess the
cold is taking its toll. I set my sights on the the same 3cyl SAAB from the
morning race and ever so slowly close the gap between us. About this time
the evil Loti are slicing their way through the back of the field. The Elan
is in the lead again with four Sevens in hot pursuit, first I back off and
let them by then the SAAB does the same as they put us a lap down. A few
laps later and the race comes to an end. The Tow Trucks go out to pick up
the unfortunate. This time I finish about 27th out of about 40 cars with
many not completing the race.
While the open wheelers and sports racers run their last race, I load the
Spitfire on the trailer feeling very good about my performance and how the
car ran. I'm a little worried about the Weber and the clutch master
cylinder but both should improve when things warm back up. Switching to
synthetic gear oil was the right thing to do. I overheard several drivers
complaining of stiff shifting boxes due to the cold.
My instructor, George in his sharp TVR, then takes 3rd in the last race of
the day.
The club's only other Spitfire sat out the day on it's trailer.
When the race is officially over at 3:45pm the temp is 35 degrees.
My wife and I pop open bottle of champagne and make a toast to the
Spitfire, to Vintage racing, and to the dreams of boys becoming the joyous
realities of men.
At 3:46pm it starts to snow.
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