DEREK BELL
The Legend
Ishould warn you that the 800 or so words that follow include moments of introspection – the sort of thing you might not expect from a racing driver. After all, we’re meant to know no fear and lack imagination, right? It all began with the offer of a drive in this year’s Le Mans Classic. Willi Kauhsen, no mean wheelman himself in Porsches, sounded me out a while ago about racing a 917. Would I be interested? Would I!
Dredging my memory banks, the last time I campaigned a 917 in anger was back in 1981, a few weeks after I won the Le Mans 24 Hours alongside Jacky Ickx in the works Porsche 936/81. Peter Norman asked me if I would like to drive his car in the Minolta Trophy race at Silverstone during the Grand Prix weekend. I wasn’t doing anything, so I thought ‘Why not?’ I qualified on pole but lost out to Albert Obrist’s Ferrari 312 PB and John Brindley’s CanAm McLaren at the start. I took Brindley at Stowe first time around, got past Obrist on lap three, and then cleared off. I don’t think I drove Peter’s car at more than seven-tenths and viewed this outing as a bit of fun.
The thing is, only a decade had passed since I’d last raced a 917 and I was still an active driver competing at a high level. I am now a retired racer who forgets the definition of the word. So I come out and play as and when something interesting comes along; something like a drive at a circuit on which I have enjoyed such great success in a car aboard which I did my first season of sports car racing in 1971.
I have known Willi for more than 40 years. He fielded the Alfa Tipo 33s in which I won several International races in the mid-70s. He knows his stuff. He has also owned and restored several significant competition Porsches over the past few decades. The reconstruction of the ex-John Wolfe 917 is merely the latest. He and his backers have put a lot of effort into getting this far, with Porsche’s legendary designer/engineer Norbert Singer assisting in its preparation. The prospect of working with him again greatly appealed.
To say that I was pumped ahead of driving the 917 for the first time would be an understatement, but a series of events during the two-day test session at Valencia made me reconsider my involvement. First, I hadn’t really taken on board the fact that it was the ex-Wolfe car. He perished after shunting it during the first lap of the ’69 running of the 24 Hours, after all. Several of his friends and colleagues were on hand in Spain so I tried to put to one side a lot of what I’d heard about the crash.
The problem was that I didn’t feel at home in the car. For starters, I couldn’t get comfortable. In a 917, you lie virtually prostrate but, despite all sorts of mods to the seat, I still couldn’t see out of it properly. It didn’t help that modern-day helmets are so densely constructed.
When I ventured trackside, the thrill of driving a 917 again was tempered by the discovery that it didn’t handle well. Turn-in was remarkably good, but the rear end wasn’t planted – at all. With Norbert heading the brains trust, lots of tweaks were made including the addition of two rear winglets the size of iPads, and it was much faster and more stable. Between circuit forays came more conversations about the car and that accident.
Then I was interviewed on camera for a piece about my dear friend Rolf Stommelen, who died at Riverside in 1983 after an off in a Porsche 935. I was his team-mate that day and will never forget the sense of shock at his passing. I was devastated. All of this came flooding back. Then, if that wasn’t enough, Jo Siffert’s old CanAm Porsche came past and I recalled the fun times I spent with him in the Gulf-Wyer team 47 years ago. He was another great guy whose life was extinguished too soon.
The upshot was that I had a lot of thinking to do. Did I really want to pilot a 917 at 200mph and more at Le Mans, knowing that I didn’t feel at home in it? I am sure Willi’s team will sort the car, but the prospect of going back and forth from the USA to Europe to do more tests didn’t appeal either. Shortly after I landed in the UK, I received a text informing me that my friend, the broadcaster Henry Hope-Frost, had died in a motorcycle accident. It was all too much. For the first time in a long time, I decided to err on the side of caution and declined the 917 drive. Just because you
do something doesn’t mean you should.
‘TO SAY THAT I WAS PUMPED AHEAD OF DRIVING THE 917 FOR THE FIRST TIME WOULD BE AN UNDERSTATEMENT’