MOTOR SPORT FLASHBACK
MORE THAN 50 YEARS AGO, THESE THINGS WERE UNBELIEVABLY FAST, AWESOME TO WATCH, AND THE DRIVERS MUST HAVE BEEN SUPERHUMAN
The orange elephants
The still fledgling Mclaren racing team won their first title in 1967, when founder Bruce Mclaren was crowned Can-am champion. Six races counted towards the championship and he won two while his teammate Denny Hulme won three, but those were his only points-scoring results; however, Bruce also had a pair of seconds, so the title was his. The inaugural Can-am champion, John Surtees, won the other race, but the nucleus of what would soon be known as ‘the Bruce and Denny Show’ was taking shape.
In 1968, all six rounds were won by Mclarens — three by that season’s champion, Denny; one by Bruce; and the others by North American privateers driving cars with the Kiwi on the logo. This was the late 1960s, and the traditional colours that racing cars had been painted were no longer groovy; Mclaren’s papaya orange was a happening thing, a brazen colour that had been chosen so that it would be unmistakable in the mirrors of cars in front — and the expectation of team manager Teddy Mayer was that those would be lapped cars.
Trying to stop the Kiwis
Fifty years ago, the attraction of the Canadian-american Challenge Cup was crazy; the number of circuits wanting to host races increased, and the number of championship rounds increased to eleven. Instead of starting in September, near the end of the Formula One season, the championship would kick off in June — perhaps this might have the effect of blunting the challenge of ‘the orange elephant’ and give the American teams a chance.
Ferrari had entered the Can-am scene with Chris Amon at the tail end of 1968, with the Scuderia’s biggest engine to that point — a 6.2-litre V12 — but a 6.9-litre version was being prepared. Since the first season of the Can-am in 1966, engines had got progressively larger; the ‘small blocks’ of 1966–67 — of between 5.5 and 6.0 litres — had been surpassed by ‘big blocks’, typically in the region of 7.0 litres and almost exclusively Chevrolets.
Ford might have been at the front of virtually every other form of motor sport at the time — F1, F2, F3, saloon car racing, rallying, Nascar, Trans-am, and long-distance sports cars — but the sum total of wins for Ford-badged engines in Can-am was one, and that was in the inaugural season. From 1967 until the category’s demise at the end of 1974, there wasn’t even a podium for the blue oval.
Frugal and faster
The Mclaren team needed to be careful with their resources; there was no need to start designing and building a new car for 1969, given that the M8A had been so effective in 1968. The ’69 car — the M8B — followed the trend with a tall aerofoil, but that was the most obvious visual difference. Prior to the first championship in 1966, Jim Hall’s Texasbased Chaparrals had been at the forefront of every race; the plain white racers had always looked good, and the subtle support from General Motors meant they never lacked for anything. After the run of previously attractive designs, the 1969 model had limited redeeming features aesthetically; short in the wheelbase, considerably narrower than the Mclaren, and eventually with a centrally mounted aerofoil of massive proportions — rather than the more conventional approach of mounting on the rear suspension. It looked as if it would be either ‘the new way to go’ or a massive flop.
Others were ‘also rans’
The answer to that is perhaps best illustrated by the driver — John Surtees no less. When the only man ever to win the world championship on both two and four wheels was in New Zealand in 1996, I had an hour-long radio interview with him. Prior to ‘going live’, I asked if there was anything he would prefer not to discuss; his response was ‘Could we give 1969 a miss?’. Did I mention that the Chaparral was also automatic and that the driving position was so low that a ‘porthole’ provided lateral vision? So, the prime contender had shot its own foot off before scoring an own goal, and then shot the other foot off to even things up.
In addition to the Ferrari, a good-looking contender from California appeared, named after the manufacturer of high-speed power boats and recreational vehicles: the entirely titanium and aluminium ‘Autocoast Ti22’. Lola had gone off the boil in the wake of the Mclaren stampede, after winning the 1966 title with Surtees, but its development of the T160 series cars looked tidy enough. However, for many privateers unable to get their hands on a works Mclaren, the M12 customer car would be a pretty good bet — essentially a blend of the titlewinning designs of the two previous years. Indeed, Hall bought one for Surtees until such time as ‘the wonder car’ was ready. Meanwhile, Dan Gurney’s Eagle operation was persevering with Ford power in a Mclaren modified to the point at which it was entered as the ‘Mcleagle’.
The opening round of the much-extended championship campaign was at Mosport near Ontario in Canada on the first day of June 50 years ago. The two orange cars secured the front row of grid — Bruce on pole and Denny 1.2 seconds faster than the Chaparral-entered M12 of Surtees. Mclarens dominated the field, and Ferrari didn’t make it. The top three finished in the order they’d qualified.
A fortnight later they assembled at St Jovite in Quebec. Again, Bruce was on pole with Denny alongside, and still no Ferrari — although Chris would immediately be near the pace when the Italians turned up for round three in mid July. Denny won in Quebec from Bruce, and the extent of their superiority was abundantly clear after just two of the eleven rounds. By keeping it simple, with lots of testing, clever engineering and mechanics, combined with careful use of resources, the Kiwis soon showed that they were, if anything, an even stronger force — so much for nearly doubling the number of rounds and bringing the kick-off date forward by several months!
Brendon Hartley
June, of course, is Le Mans month, and it is now more than 50 years since Ferrari last won; in reality, the Scuderia hasn’t had an official entry in the race since 1973, when a three-litre flat-12–powered 312P finished second, sandwiched by a pair of V12 Matras. Nevertheless, Ferrari is still third on the alltime wins board with 9, behind Porsche with 19 and Audi with 13. Then comes Jaguar with 7, and Bentley on 6. Ford and Alfa Romeo have both won Le Mans four times, and in each case it was a ‘double double’— the Italians doing it from 1931 to 1934, and the blue oval from 1966 to 1969.
Neither of the Kiwis competing in 2019 will be in line for outright honours, but Scott Dixon (Ford GT) and former two-time winner Earl Bamber (Porsche 911 RSR) are in the same GTE class. Sadly, missing from the entry is Brendon Hartley, who shared the winning Porsche with Bamber the last time the Germans won in 2017. Hartley was initially down to drive, but it’s not as if he’s twiddling his thumbs; in addition to still being on Porsche’s payroll, the Kiwi is also now a simulator driver for the Ferrari Grand Prix team. There have been drivers who have worked for Ferrari and Porsche at different times over the years, but Hartley is the first person to be in the employ of both at the same time!
June of course is Le Mans month and it is now over fifty years since Ferrari last won – in reality the Scuderia hasn’t had an official entry in the race since 1973
The last Le Mans start
Even non–motor racing people know about this: when drivers are lined up opposite their angle-parked cars and, at the drop of a flag, sprint to their waiting racer, kick it into life, and storm into action. This start wasn’t confined to the legendary French track; indeed, it was a frequently used procedure for sports car races the world over, but it was always referred to as ‘the Le Mans start’ whether it was Daytona, Goodwood, or even Pukekohe. However, half a century ago, it reached its ‘use by’ date. One of the best drivers to race for both Ferrari and Porsche (he won six of his eight F1 GPS for the former, and four of his six wins at Sarthe for the latter) was Belgian Jacky Ickx, and in 1969 he decided to stage his own protest at what he considered was this now-archaic arrangement.
In 1968, Ickx’s compatriot Willy Mairesse, a super-intense, card-carrying, ‘wild man’, crashed on the opening lap of Le Mans, still trying to properly close the door of his Ford GT40 while speeding down the Mulsanne Straight on the opening lap. Ickx was firmly of the view that the accident would never have happened had the race been started conventionally. In the days before seat belts, drivers, particularly the more acrobatic, would practise the art of leaping into their car, pushing the start button, and sidestepping the clutch, all in one seamless, fluid movement — obviously it was preferable to have an open-top car for ultimate effectiveness.
While 44 drivers sprinted to their cars, a 24-year-old Belgian strolled across the width of the start line and then, once aboard his Ford GT40 — in the legendary Gulf livery — purposefully secured his belts before roaring off, probably never imagining that he would, about 24 hours hence, be a party to one of the most exciting finishes ever in the round-theclock event.
Transition
It was an interesting time in prototype sports car racing, which saw the transition of Porsche from being virtually guaranteed a giant-killing class-winning, but ultimately lacking the horsepower required for outright victory, to being a genuine contender. Indeed Porsche had already secured that year’s championship and was looking strong to break its duck at ‘the big one’; wins in the 24 Hours of Daytona and the 12 Hours of Sebring were very nice, but neither had the cachet of Le Mans.
Porsche’s 908 was virtually indestructible, the air-cooled three-litre flat-8 giving 283 bulletproof kilowatts. Porsche had totally dominated that season, winning everything as well as filling many of the other podium places at Brands Hatch, Monza, the Targa Florio, Spa, and Nurburgring. Opposition came from Alfa Romeo, Ferrari, Matra, Lola, Chevs, and — the winner from 1968 — the 4.9-litre Ford GT40. The 7.0-litre Fords that had won in 1966 and ’67 had become museum items when the regulations changed the limit capacity to 5000cc — but surely the old girl was now too long in the tooth compared with the 908. While producing a little more power, around 307kw, the Ford was significantly heavier. In the ‘sprint races’ it had been largely outclassed. Could it go ‘round the clock’ one more time?
While forty four drivers sprinted to their cars, a 24-year-old Belgian strolled across the width of the startline.
To finish first, you gotta finish
In addition to the 908, Porsche had introduced the 917, which would go onto become the benchmark in the early ’70s and is now, quite correctly, regarded as one of the greatest sports racers of all time. At that time, the 4.5-litre flat-12 churned out some 390kw and was incredibly quick at the Le Mans practice meeting in March, recording speeds of more than 370kph. No surprise then that the new supercar led early on, but, when the leading 917 was still in front after 18 hours, Porsche’s top brass could almost taste the champagne — and then oil from a cracked gearbox housing leaked onto the clutch. There was a back-up plan, and German veteran Hans Herrmann and Frenchman Gérard Larrousse were travelling well in the leading 908, but behind the GT40 of Ickx and Brit Jackie Oliver. What then played out was a three-hour sprint to the end. Both cars had problems, but Ickx and Herrmann swapped positions many times. On the last lap, the Ford was surviving on fumes, so Ickx let Herrmann by at the start of the 5km straight, and then slipstreamed past just before the right-hander. Ickx — who’d purposely started at the back; the man who’d win so many races for Porsche in years to come — held on, to deny his future employers by about 120 metres. Years later, I interviewed Oliver in front of a Gulf GT40: “Pale blue and orange; who’d ever have imagined that would be nice combination?”