I don't recall the Stag's Leap variant Bill, but you scooter guys always
were a little different than the car folks. Rumor had it that the bikes
occasionally ran Westwood in the reverse direction which meant going down
the hill into the hairpin; the mere notion of which was enough to convince
me that you two-wheeled cats were daft.
In the 1960's one could not legally race until age 21 in the US, so I
spent my first three seasons at Westwood. You could be excused for assuming
that would have been boring, especially if you never got to drive that
track, but I can assure you that it was anything but dull for me.
Westwood was owned by the Sports Car Club of British Columbia, and as with
any self respecting club, they had a clubhouse. The clubhouse, not
coincidently, was on the inside of the Clubhouse Turn, and tradition had it
that everyone met for beers at the clubhouse after the last flag fell on
Saturday afternoons. Since it was a bit of a hike from the pits, many
people drove around the track to get there and pulled off on the edge of the
track. As you might imagine, after an hour or so of knocking 'em back and
telling lies, occasionally folks would be have a little fun navigating
around the other three-quarters of the track to the exit at the pits.
I seem to recall something about a local brew named Uncle Ben's that had
about twice the punch of the usual Olympia and Rainier that was the typical
fare south of the border. Of course, since I wasn't of age yet, I'm sure I
wouldn't have actually known about the potency of American beer, although in
BC you could race or drink (preferably not at the same time) at age 18.
One particular Saturday afternoon things were well underway at the clubhouse
when, very much to my surprise, I turned to see my parents walking up the
path.
They had decided that it was time to actually see what it was that their son
found so interesting about this car stuff, so they had driven up from
Portland to check it out. Of course, a tour of the track was in order, so
into their car we jumped and off we went.
I had just finished describing the importance of getting a good shot off of
Valley Corner leading onto the straight and was starting to prep them for
the upcoming Deer's Leap when the goddamn deer jumped out at the crest of
it's namesake landmark. I guess I'd have to admit to a less-than-clear
recollection of the exact events that followed, but I don't think we were
going too much over 80 or so, and it seemed like we missed the deer by a
reasonable margin, but I am positive that it was the last opportunity I ever
had to get my mother anywhere
near a race track.
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