by John Glynn | Nov 12, 2009 | Classic Porsche Blog, Project Cars
I’m currently shipping my third Porsche 911 to the UK from the USA (West Coast/California). The first leg of the Porsche’s voyage is aboard the container ship Valencia Express, which is taking it from LA to Caucedo in the Dominican Republic. After unloading the Porsche 911’s shipping container and who knows what else, Valencia Express will then head across the Atlantic and down towards Spain, while another ship, the Sormiou, currently en route from Valparaiso, will pick up the UK shipping freight, including my classic Porsche 911 SC. Once loaded, it will set sail for London, via Rotterdam.
Shipping a Porsche 911 from California to UK: Vessel Tracking
Knowing the ships that are bringing Varmint home is pretty cool. You can track them using Hapag Lloyd’s site, which I had been doing in the evenings since it left LA.
According to the Hapag site, Valencia Express was due in Manzanillo, Panama yesterday, which Google Maps told me was on the Pacific, like Manzanillo in Mexico. Finding out that the ship was late, I had a little search and learned that Manzanillo port is actually on the Atlantic: it is the port just by the mouth of the canal. Google Maps is properly sketchy about Panama but this seems a bit of an obvious mistake.
Anyway, as it hadn’t arrived, I surmised that it might still be in the canal. I googled for some real-time Panama Canal update sites and found the live webcams at the Canal Authority’s website late this afternoon.
There are two cameras at Gatun Locks: the locks where the canal meets the Atlantic. I couldn’t see much from the seaward one, as it was covered in rainwater, which eventually knocked it off line. Judging by the other camera, facing back up towards the lakes, there didn’t seem to be much going on in any case, so I gave up and got back to work. After dinner, I logged in again and immediately spotted a Hapag Lloyd vessel queuing up to get into the locks behind something else. Turns out it was the Valencia Express – what a fluke!
If I need to tell you how toe-curlingly geekish and outrageously brilliant this is, then you’re not one of us! Very cool to be watching the ship carrying your little sweetheart 911 back from the USA live via the Internet – especially as it was so totally random.
Keeping my inner nerd in motion, I’m considering getting in touch with Hapag and Tilbury docks, to see if I can blag my way in to the harbour and watch the thing arrive in London. I’ve taken all that week off, so I have the time. You never know, they might just let me do it.
As for those who wonder “where is she now?”, the Valencia got to Manzanillo at 6.30 their time on Wednesday: a day late!
by John Glynn | Oct 26, 2009 | Classic Porsche Blog, Modified Porsche Hot Rods
Early impact-bumper Carreras – the 1974/75 Porsche 911 2.7 Carrera and 1976/77 Porsche 911 Carrera 3.0 – are some of the most misunderstood 911s ever made. John Glynn looks at two interesting examples, with not a lemon in sight. (First printed in 911 & Porsche World magazine).
Citrus Carreras
The sun finally emerges from behind wispy white clouds and treats our retinas to a cascade of colour. Non-911 people looking at these cars, and their drivers of a certain age, could be forgiven for misguided references to mid-life crises, but there is more to these pukka Porsches than a bit of loud paint.
The first impact-bumper 911s arrived in the showrooms in late 1973, ready to appeal to a whole new audience. First registered in November of that year, the Lime Green car seen here is a very early 2.7 Carrera. Both American and Rest-of-World (RoW) Carreras have the same engine capacity, but while the 49-state US versions use an emissions-conscious 165 bhp K-Jetronic version of the 911S engine, RoW 2.7 Carreras feature the 210 bhp mechanically fuel-injected 2.7 engines of the ’73 RS, and are quite a different beast.
Nigel Watkins first spotted this car hidden in an Autofarm barn. Nigel, a long-term 911 enthusiast, immediately recognised race potential in the tired 2.7, and a deal was soon agreed. The colour was then metallic black, but evidence of factory Lime Green paint abounded. Ever keen on detail, Nigel decided to return the car to its original ‘74/’75-only shade.
2.7 Carreras predate the galvanising introduced for the 1976 model year, and many have fallen victim to the ravages of rust. The urge to convert corroded Carrera bodywork to ’73 spec has been too much to resist for some owners, but despite his love of the Carrera RS, Watkins chose not to backdate. A bare-metal respray in January 2006 produced this incredibly vivid vehicle, with impact bumpers intact. Nigel’s commitment to the chunky-cornered look was not in vain, as later that year, the car won a deserving Best of Show at Classic Le Mans.
Participation in the 2006 Curborough Sprint Championship also brought rewards. Following a very competitive season, Limey eventually won the championship outright. The win earned the Carrera further specialist attention, this time at the hands of Bob Watson. Bob is well regarded amongst the 911 cognoscenti, particularly for his in-house chassis dyno and excellent results on tuning MFI-equipped cars. Wrapped up for the winter in Watson’s workshop, Limey’s engine was removed for rebuilding.
A knock from cold was traced to the intermediate gear, so a lighter (drilled) steel unit from a 993 replaced the worn aluminium original. The motor was balanced and blueprinted, with a flowed crankcase, matched combustion chamber capacities and the heads polished, ported and matched to the manifolds. Once reinstalled, the engine was run-in on the dyno and tuning began. MFI pump condition is critical to horsepower, and Limey’s pump turned out to be a cracker. With tweaked fuel rates and ignition timing, the refreshed powerplant produced an excellent 237bhp.
An engine bay refurb and a transmission service, including the addition of a ZF limited slip differential, were completed at the same time. Southbound Trimmers provided the pièce de résistance by retrimming the original sports seats in proper perforated leather, lifting Limey to almost perfect condition. 
The relative rarity of the 2.7-engined IB Carrera, with less than 1,550 road cars produced over two years, has brought renewed interest to the model in the last few years, with a corresponding rise in prices. Nigel’s investment in professional restoration and period detail meant Limey was now a valuable commodity. The double-edged sword of rising prices made racing the rare bird more risk than Watkins could bear. A difficult decision was made to let Limey go, in favour of a more motorsport-focussed 964RS.
Neil Dickens was the man chosen to supply Limey’s replacement. Dickens’ dealership, The Hairpin Company, had the right RS in stock, and soon found an enthusiastic new owner for the 2.7. Neil has sold many noteworthy RSs over the years, and drove the ’74 Carrera daily while the deal was going through, so has some insight on driving the 911 that straddles the line between early and impact bumper.
“The car is entertaining in its own right, and the driving pleasure is readily accessible, but it lacks that iconic effortlessness,” declares Dickens. Serial Porsche owner Vic Cohen agrees. Cohen, who has owned two RS Tourings and currently runs a brace of Blood Orange cars; a 2.4S and a 993 GT2 CS, describes the ’74 as “flat” in comparison to the all-conquering ’73. “The car had an impossible act to follow,” notes Cohen. “Even nowadays, what can match the poise of the Carrera RS?”
It’s tempting to write off the first IB Carreras as a step backwards in performance, and there’s no doubt that the weight added to IB 911s in order to maintain their marketability created a dynamic divide between old and new. But despite the shared power source, comparing ’73 RS to ’74 Carrera is not comparing apples with apples. The modern equivalent would be like comparing a 996 GT3 RS with a 997 C2: an almost irrelevant head-to-head. A significantly lightened impact-bumper machine would make a much better yardstick. Enter the orange car.
I first encountered this 1976 Carrera 3.0 on the Pelican Parts Porsche forum in 2004. The owner was GeorgeK, a Swiss 911 aficionado who at that time also owned a very nice 930 – and a ’73 RS. George is the anorak’s anorak, combining encyclopaedic 911 knowledge with a heartfelt appreciation of the heritage, and a love of the flat-six driving experience.
George bought his Carrera 3 in 1996, from much-respected Swiss Porsche specialist Alain Pfefferlé, an RS and RSR owner and hillclimb champion in his monster 935. Then finished in Copper Brown, the Carrera was wonderfully period, with two-tone sports leather in black and cream. The car was used daily for 18 months, until medical student George inherited a BMW at a bargain price. This allowed the Carrera to be taken off the road for restoration. The aim of the rebuild was to provide a fun car for use in the Swiss Alps surrounding George’s home. The shell would be repaired where necessary, strengthened where possible and then the car would be rebuilt on a lightweight RS theme.
Space is at a premium in Switzerland, and finding a place to work on the C3 was no easy task. Claudio Ciutto came to the rescue, donating a spot in the corner of his bodyshop, where the Carrera would eventually be painted. Workspace sorted, the car was stripped, and the shell and doors were sent for acid dipping.
First job on the post-dipping list was to protect the bare metal with primer, before repairing the usual IB rust spots: one b-post, windscreen corners and inner wings by bumper mounts. The work was done on a jig, as the car had previously been down the road on its roof, and this was an ideal opportunity to correct some of the lesser-quality repairs following that accident.
Myriad modifications were made to the shell. Strengthening was added to the rear shock towers and front aperture corners, and strut tower brace brackets were fabricated, all the patterns coming from an RSR. Upgraded rear anti-roll bar mounts were fitted, and superfluous holes in the tub were welded shut, including the vents above the rear window. Before a repaint in satin black, the interior was modified with a bulkhead battery master switch, lower seat rails from a late 3.2 Carrera, and welded mounts for an aluminium Heigo roll cage. The front panel was cut and boxed and a custom oil cooler installed, fed by hand-cut slots in the front valance. The rear bumper was slotted and lightened, a fibreglass valance was fitted and the bumperette holes were welded shut, pads replaced by readily available 917 race number lights. The fuel tank was enlarged for extended range and a polished 5.5-inch Fuchs rim was modified for use as a spare.
The lightweight parts fest continued. Aluminium was used for the front undertray, torsion bar covers, oil pipe clips, fuse box, smugglers’ box and centre tunnel lids, master cylinder mount, fuel sender cover and luggage compartment heater cover. The front lid is aluminium, from a 993 Supercup racer; Ciutto expertly repairing the bonnet pin and centre filler holes. In these pictures, the car is fitted with a fibreglass rear lid from an early Turbo, but it also variously runs an early fibreglass ducktail, and an aluminium 2.2S engine cover.
When it came to picking a colour, one shade stood out: Continental Orange, available for the ‘76-‘77 model years. The shell was infused with cavity wax, and thin layers of stone chip sealant were used on the underbody and wheel arches before the paint was painstakingly applied. Ten years later, the quality of Claudio’s work remains impeccable, with only a few minor blemishes visible.
Swiss vehicle safety checks are incredibly strict, insisting on cars being presented as type approved and measuring ride heights and exhaust noise levels. The C3’s mechanical parts would therefore be left more or less factory. Suspension is fairly standard: 19 and 26mm torsion bars, with stock anti-roll bars and Koni adjustable dampers. The brakes were uprated, with 964 calipers up front, 3.2 Carrera calipers in the rear and 3.2 discs all around. The magnesium-cased transmission was overhauled, with a shorter 7:31 final drive, new synchro rings and a 40% ZF limited slip diff. The engine had hydraulic tensioners fitted but was otherwise left stock.
The interior picked up a dash retrimmed in leather and a black headliner, both wrought by George’s fair hands. A pair of silly-expensive Recaro A8 lightweight recliners was installed. A Wevo shifter with elevated billet knob went in, along with the Wevo shift coupler. The wheel used here is an ex-race Momo Prototipo. Pedal box, column stalks and so on were stripped, cleaned and rebuilt. The loom was reconstructed minus now-defunct circuits such as electric windows and centre heater controls – backdated manual heat and windows having been fitted. Uprated headlamp relays were wired in. Reap Design in Middlesex rotated the tacho face, and the clock was replaced with an RSR blank. Prototype plastic exterior door handles were fitted, with RS door panels inside. Two years after starting the restoration, ‘The Orange’ was born.
Ownership following the rebuild was challenging to say the least. In September 2002, the original engine blew. C3 engines are rare, using the 6-bolt crank of the ’73 RS and early Turbo, rather than the 9-bolt version fitted to later models, so it took almost two years to find a replacement. In late 2004, an oil line failed on a mountain drive, causing more grief. George then began working overseas, so the car remained in storage. In October 2006, with a burgeoning medical career consuming more time, and a new baby on the way, the car was advertised for sale, quickly finding a new owner. A few weeks after the mountain snow melted in early 2007, The Orange was parked in my garage.
Changes to The Orange in my ownership have been few. The 7 & 9” Fuchs gained grippy 16” Michelin Pilot Sport Cup tyres, Ferodo DS3000 brake pads were fitted all round, and the heavy 18 kg battery was replaced with a lightweight Optima unit, mounted in the smuggler’s box. Seemingly strong dyno runs, showing 202 bhp at 5400 rpm, revealed a fuel pressure problem at high revs, duly rectified. With the marvellous Michelins, bulletproof brakes and a recent fuel and ignition system sort out, this little car now drives like a demon. 
Torque of 255 Nm is identical to the 2.7, but the timing of the softer cams required by the K-Jetronic injection means C3 torque peaks 900 revs lower, at 4200. Combine the low-down torque with light weight, LSD, a shorter final drive and a slick Wevo-assisted shift, and you have a car built for back roads. The Recaros offer total support, and the lower seat height, higher shift knob position and reduced gear lever throw complete the perfect driving position. Stamp on the throttle in a standard C3 at 30 mph in fourth, and you’ll hit 100 almost 8 seconds faster than a 930 of the same vintage. Imagine what a lightweight feels like.
En route to our second location, I check the 2.7 in my 935 door mirror and the mile-wide grin on Dickens’ face is unmissable. Turning on to the beautifully undulating B4100, we open the throttles, our 911s living up to their exuberant exteriors. A little later we swap cars; I slide into the smooth driver’s seat of the 2.7 and prepare to be amazed.
The Orange weighs 960 kilos on an almost-empty tank, so driving the heavier 2.7 is disappointing at first. The bulkier chassis dulls the edge typical of lightweight torsion bar cars like the ’73 RS and the stripped-out C3, but something is still amiss. It is of course my own fault – I have forgotten that with wilder cams and 7300 rpm redline, Limey hides its 237 bhp higher up the range. Double-checking the rev counter and resetting my expectations, we start again. 
Now the unmistakeable gruff howl of SSI heat exchangers penetrates the comfortable cabin, and at 4500 rpm, the car takes off. As the revs tear past 5500, induction and exhaust erupt in tumult, and Porsche pedigree floods through the controls. First gear, second gear, third gear come quickly, showing 40, 70, the magic ton on the speedo. The competition suspension geometry is evident; despite a weight disadvantage, this car on Yokohama A022A rubber is eminently driveable. Limey runs an original ducktail without the chin spoiler introduced in 1975 to balance the bigger tails, but the absence of front aero does not induce a noticeable tailward bias: it feels perfectly solid whatever I try. The brakes are not as sharp as expected, given that the Carrera runs Turbo discs and calipers, but a firm shove on the middle pedal calmly wipes off speed with zero drama.
For a long time, Limey has been one of my very favourite 911s, and driving it today is a very special experience. But my heart belongs to lightweight specials and to The Orange, a car I have dreamed about owning since I bought my first orange 911 on a trip to France at the age of 10. As I leave lovely Limey behind and settle back into my own Carrera, a smile runs through me. The bright C3 is lithe and alive; pulling harder, turning quicker and braking with the bite that only fewer kilograms can give. My R-Gruppe hot rod aches to be driven, and that is just fine by me.
Sandwiched between the increasingly expensive early cars and their more populous IB siblings, the ‘74-‘77 Carreras are still a bit of an unknown quantity, yet when properly set up and driven to their strengths, they inspire like few cars before or since. Good condition examples represent some of the best value for money out there, so if you’re in the market for an interesting 911, don’t be afraid to try one – you just might like it. 
Thanks to:
Nigel Watkins
Bob Watson
Neil Dickens – www.thehairpincompany.co.uk
The Courtyard, Bicester – www.thecourtyard.org.uk
by John Glynn | Oct 25, 2009 | Classic Porsche Blog, Project Cars
Our recent features trip to the US was the out-and-out scene on many levels, but one huge plus was the success of my first US-bought 911: the Varmint SC.
Buying a Porsche 911 in the USA
Varmint is an 1980 911 SC Coupe that I spotted on Craigslist in Berkeley, California. The same guy had owned it 20 years, commuted in it for a long time, so cranked up some huge miles (2ooK or so) and rebuilt the engine with euro pistons and cylinders a few years back but then not used it much afterwards. We’d eventually come to an agreement on price, I’d sent the cash and he’d dropped the 911 down to a buddy’s place near where he was.
If you’re not a 911 guy, then there is nothing special about this car. Even if you are a 911 guy, you might still look at it and think I’m nuts for buying it. Most of my buddies did, and maybe still do. But, when you see what you’d pay for a rusty, right hand-drive 180bhp SC in this country, versus what the Varmint will owe me landed and registered in the UK, you have to ask: who is the bigger nutter? Me buying the well-worn but comfortable old bus that goes like stink but hasn’t an inch of rot on board, or the guy who buys his supposedly cheap UK car and then is landed with at least the same again in bodywork bills? I think I’ve done OK.
Using Varmint in the States was brilliant. Before we got there, I spent $900 with John Holleran Porsche in Pinole, having it fitted with new turbo tie rods and then 4 wheel-aligned, some clutch cable/arm clearance issues addressed and an attempt made to seal the weepy nose bearing (was successful for 100 miles or so but then failed), as well as a few leaking exhaust gaskets and oil seals (crank seal & inter shaft seal).
The clutch action is still jerky with a high bite point, first gear synchro is a little worn and the shift could be smother (just needs stripping and sorting) but you are used to all this after a few miles so no big deal, though that clutch does kill any chance of spinning the wheels on take-off. It also has a sticky brake caliper on the right rear.
As the miles went on, it did start to suffer from what felt like a timing problem but I eventually traced it to blocked fuel tank breathers and sorted it temporarily – I’ll fix it properly when it gets home. I’ll also have to do some wiring, as there was a lot of melted stuff headed to the clock and elsewhere behind the dash too. Pulled it all out but I need to look in more detail. I tidied up what I could get to and also rewired some of the fusebox while we were there. The fuel pump wiring was hilarious – NOT.
The interior has had its day: ain’t no beauty contest prizes coming here. It’s all still perfectly functional; the thick-rimmed wheel feels great, still has the proper shift knob and the dash is in great condition, sunroof and windows work, radio works and so on. It’s just worn: sand-blasted windscreen, missing door pocket on driver’s side (just missed one on eBay – grrrr), no rear seat backs, oddball centre console stuff and slightly mangy carpets. Neither did it come with a jack, toolkit or any service history at all. The backdated heat is disconnected, few bulbs out, old-ish tyres, no front compartment carpet either. Plus – I forgot about the bodywork – the paint is shot. But I’m not bothered by any of this.
What mattered to me from a buying point of view is that it was reliable, ran hard and was rot free. As far as those criteria go, I reckon I scored three out of three. At the price I paid, with the fun I have already had out of this car, and with the happiness it has yet to offer, you can’t say fairer than that.
Varmint’s ETA in the UK is at the end of November. More news as it happens!
by John Glynn | Oct 16, 2009 | Classic Porsche Blog, Road Trips
Sunday had been all about enjoying the cream of US muscle car action, so Monday was back to Stuttgart’s finest. We wanted to get down town and see what was going on, plus I had some bits to find for the Varmint, so after a quick liaison with the following day’s shoot subject, we downloaded directions for the famous Porsche parts specialists at EASY San Francisco (European Auto Salvage Yard) and headed towards Emeryville.
I’d be lying if I said that we got there first time – we never get there first time. Put both of us in one method of transportation together and it is guaranteed to go tits up. Just check our flight history: 3 flights together and all either cancelled or delayed. So it was a roundabout trip with many laughs, but we arrived in the end. Took some great pics en route also: the shot of a battered-to-near-death Alfa Spider, scorching across the Bay Bridge with the SF skyline in the background, was one of the best ‘Go USA’ shots Jamie got all trip.
We arrived at EASY and pulled up behind a well-worn orange 914. Looked good to me in that CA way that the Varmint appeals: honest, done its fair share of work, now just getting driven hard for fun and loving it. We walked in and were greeted by the orange car’s owner, Rich Breazeale, son of owner Jim. A good chat ensued with Rich, and John, who is on the tools there. Jim was away in Maui, which was a shame as I had a great line to use on him: “Hey, I love what you’ve done with the place, Jim.” OK not great, but I would have laughed regardless. They didn’t have what I was looking for, but they let us have an interesting wander, and we spoke about how business was doing.
While we were there, two guys came in trying to sell cars/find buyers. One was a guy with a shoddy 944 Turbo on 19s that swore he had a trick top end on his car, and Cosworth pistons (stick-on Cossie badge near the VIN plate). He took some abuse from a regular, while the rest of us were quite nice to him in that “we’re way too nice for you, sod off you maniac” kind of way. Made no difference.
The other guy was a nice bloke with a clean 3.2 Carrera – a Cali car all its life. The car was not bad, and had a G50. It was painted in some Special Wishes custom colour that looked like Penske Blue, but was identified as Doom Blue when the guy started talking. How he was struggling to get $15K for this car was initially beyond me, as he’d advertised it “everywhere”, but I guessed he must have had fairly dull phone patter, as the car sold itself to me while I was standing there.
It was way past lunchtime, so we said our goodbyes and shot around to Rudy’s Can’t Fail Cafe. This is owned by Mike Dirnt of Green Day – felt cool eating at the bar in a bona fide rock joint. The food was OK, not amazing but it was great to get a picture of Varmint outside. Seemed like a good omen. I had a few other SF errands to do that didn’t quite come off, so we avoided failure by heading up to the mall at Dublin to get our hostess a present.
We took a wrong turn leaving the place, then swung a U- turn, flew towards an unseen stop sign, locked the fronts at the last minute and sailed right through with huge screeching and tyre smoke filling the air. Spotting a cop about 200 metres further down, we made ourselves scarce using an iPhone escape route, all at the 30 speed limit, and managed to escape without a tug. Happy days – we were delirious laughing about that one.
by John Glynn | Oct 14, 2009 | Classic Porsche Blog, Road Trips
I had been talking to Phil Bell at Classic Cars about doing something for the magazine, and making suggestions regarding feature cars. A mate of ours over there is big into MoPar (short for Motor Parts, and all to do with big old Chrysler-built muscle cars) so I had flown some pics past Phil’s window. He was looking for a needle in a haystack: a rare groove muscle machine. Eventually my buddy Alex found it: a low mile, 2-owner Hemi ‘Cuda.
The Hemi is a legendary engine, and that motor in a Barracuda was seriously hard core. Phil loved the pitch, so we set up a shoot and met the owner one Sunday morning in the hills above San Ramon. I heard the V8s rumble while they were still a couple of hundred feet below. Suddenly the Hemi was here and it had brought a friend: another Hemi, but a Road Runner. They were absolutely jaw-dropping; Alex had struck gold!
I love Road Runners. They are plain and simple bits of kit that make a huge noise and an even bigger statement. “You don’t like big cars? Too bad!” says a Road Runner. One flick of the gas pedal is a big injection of space between it and whoever is behind. The ‘Cuda however is a whole ‘nuther thing. It is mean and takes no prisoners. It is grand theft auto, gun-in-the-glovebox stuff. The Hemi ‘Cuda is is the archetypal automotive villain.
Our Hemi owner was the nicest guy in history. I was so pleased about the story that went with this car. He had put heart and soul into achieving a factory restoration rather than a candy-assed, chrome-splurged show job. This car retained all of its manufacturing ‘defects’ for authenticity. All the nitty-gritty details had been meticulously photographed before disassembly and put back exactly as they had come off: paint splashes on the distributor base, unpainted screws under the hood, tiny differences in the door gaps side to side. Guys like this operate in a different stratosphere to the rest of us.
After the shoot, we all went out for lunch at some Mexican place that wasn’t up to much. Even though I am fairly new to Mexican I know bad stuff, and this was very boring food. Beware of Danville Mexicans that flatter to deceive! We went our separate ways afterwards, but vowed to hook up again next time we are over. It was an honour to spend time with the owner and his cars, especially in slightly cooler weather, but still with oodles of Cali sunshine to make the Plum Crazy colour really fly.
Can you believe that this is a regular working guy and yet he has 4 fully-restored Mopars in his garage and one more on the way? The Hemi is probably a half-million dollar car and none of the rest are that much cheaper. I know it’s not about the money – we didn’t even mention it on the shoot – but still, it goes to show what one guy can do when he really puts his mind to it. As we say in California: awesome!
by John Glynn | Oct 12, 2009 | Classic Porsche Blog, Project Cars, Road Trips
It was Saturday. We were headed back to Sears Point for the CSRG races and perhaps a feature shoot if we found the right car. First things first: coffee. We followed John Gray up 680 to Peets in Pleasant Hill, and met up with Mr Bob Tilton.
Suitably re-caffeined, we fuelled up around the corner (my first time sticking fuel in the SC) and headed north. Our three-car convoy to the track was good fun. There we said hello to Cary Noel, a fellow Grupper who owns a super Silver and Blue Carrera RS rep. The weather was glorious but that is one unmercifully hot sun, so sunscreen was the order of the day. I use factor 50+: translucent-skinned Irish people are always better off playing it very safe! 40 degree heat certainly takes it out of a body.
We had our wristband press photo passes so could go wherever. We did some paddock shots just in case we decided to sell an events piece to Classic Cars magazine (decided not to bother in the end) and I ended up at the pit lane exit, about 6 feet away from Can Am cars doing 150mph+ on the entry to turn 1. Never been so dumbstruck by fear and excitement in my life; I couldn’t quite believe they had let me take pics from there. But then the camera couldn’t cope and I was only slightly better! Here’s a pic (imagine insane amounts of noise and speed):
Back in the paddock, things were really hotting up, with temps soaring way past 40 degrees. We took a load off at John Thornton’s racebox, chatted with John, Fuchs-meister Harvey Weidman and Gray for a while before he and Tilton could stand it no more and shot off for lunch at an air-conditioned pizza shack.
Sears Point Porsche
We stayed for the wicked BBQ, before deciding to try and nail some pics of John T’s very groovy Emory-built 912 racer. We gave it our best, but had left some gear in the Martimobile from the day before, and John had to go get ready to race, so we left it for another day. It’s a great car though, and was worth the effort to get the few shots Jamie did.
Lesson learnt number three: Empty all gear into the works van once back at base camp.
While Jamie went to get some tracking shots up at the top of the circuit, I headed for the grandstand to watched some racing. I came down after the Jags had finished – just before I started to melt. Sadly, one of J’s lenses had not been so lucky.
Expanded by the unmerciful heat, it had taken a minor bump while mounted to the camera body and pulled the screws out of the mount, breaking its electrical contact ring. Hard to believe, but there we were: down one lens and fading fast. We decide to say our goodbyes, head for the ranch and try a few things to re-equip ourselves for our Mopar shoot the following day. Varmint had been sitting in the sun all day so was nicely warmed up…
