Alwyn Brice encounters the extremists of the slot car hobby.
In part three of his slot racing review down the ages, Alwyn Brice encounters the extremists of the hobby.
Anglewinders, spongies, drop arms, rewinds… If all this is alien gibberish to you, then clearly you never belonged to that rather select fraternity of slot racers who were simply not content to go out and buy ready-to-race cars from the likes of Scalextric, Airfix et al. Or maybe they had had experience of the latter – but looking beyond the mainstream, they wanted something different. This creative urge led to a burgeoning slot racing parts market: in fact, this industry was akin to a supermarket, where you could go and shop for the ingredients, prior to putting them all together and concocting something very tasty indeed.
THE LURE OF DIY
Looking back, this movement was probably not so difficult to fathom, if I’m totally honest. By the 1960s, Model and Allied Publications (or MAP, as it was known to thousands and thousands) were exploiting the nation’s interest in building, assembling, modifying and generally creating. Take a look at the auction house sites if you don’t believe me: readily available are old issues of Model Engineer, Model Boats, Meccano Magazine, Radio Models, Model Railways… the list goes on and on. Model Cars was another string to their corporate bow (see box at the end).
So, whilst a desire to manufacture one’s own slot car took seed amongst some, clearly such a desire could not flourish without some husbandry. Within MAP’s broad portfolio, companies taking advantage of the club scene (as well as the home racer) had the necessary stall upon which to lay out their wares. You have to recall that this was a time devoid of the internet and mobile communications: to know what was going on in your community or in your chosen hobby, it meant getting out and about.
Which generally involved a visit to the local model shop.
OVER THE COUNTER
Model shops, sadly, have fallen on hard times. But back in the era of slot racing’s ascent, any self-respecting town had one of these - and they were a magnet for teenage boys (and probably the occasional girl). I can recall travelling from Kent to London to visit one or two, simply because my local emporium (in Bromley) didn’t have what I was looking for. We didn’t think twice about hopping on the train and finding our way there without the aid of a sat nav or google apps.
The model shop was the modern equivalent of Aladdin’s cave and if scratch-building was your thing, then this place would have had it all, from brass wire (with which to fabricate the spaceframe) to tyres (would that be urethane, rubber or sponge, sir?). In between you could examine braids, look at vacuum formed body-shells and ponder over the type of wheels you required. Everything here for the scratch-builder was to a degree specialist, and more often than not, the store owner could probably chip in with advice, if you were stuck. There was enormous satisfaction on leaving the shop with a bag of sundry bits and pieces, all of which were destined to go towards that rapid racing car that was going to outshine that of
your mate. For rare indeed was the boy without access to a slot racing set at this time.
BUILDING SIGHTS
Of course, armed with the necessary parts, actually building from scratch was quite a daunting task. For this reason some companies (like Revell) hit upon the expedient of supplying a car in knock-down form. Engine, chassis, wheels, axles and electrics were already assembled, so the inexpert amongst us (and there were no small number) simply had to assemble the car’s body from the parts provided and attach it to the chassis. It wasn’t much different from building a kit, if truth be told.
But for the diehard, this wouldn’t do at all. Having selected the chosen body (vacuum-formed shells gave a huge choice to the builder, far greater than that of the standard mainstream suppliers), then it was a question of cutting and shaping and soldering the wire to construct the underpinnings. The engine (often chosen with care or possibly even rewound, for greater output), had to be cradled within the structure and sit snugly up against the rear axle, allowing the two cog wheels to mesh at just the right angle. Anglewinders, mentioned earlier, meant that the motor lay at an angle to the rear wheel cog, unlike the conventional inline arrangement or that of the sidewinder, which lay at right angles.
Skill was thus required in this delicate operation. Once the chassis was complete, then it was time for the body. Here the trick was painting (ideally, spraying) the vacuum-formed bodywork from within. That way, any inevitable scuffs or scrapes picked up on the circuit did not impair the finish on the car. Clever, eh? Details had to be picked out and of course masking was required (nothing to do with COVID-19) to prevent accidental overspray. All in all, it was a labour of love and I can recall older pupils on my school bus occasionally showing off their latest creation.
FURTHER FIELDS
Some builders were never content, though, and were constantly striving to increase the handling or speed of their particular vehicle. Getting the vehicle to stick to the track was a major hurdle if the car was too quick for its tyres: hence the reference to spongies, which could be treated with various arcane liquids to get them to adhere to the track better. But just like the tyres in Formula One, these marvels would actually degrade as the laps mounted up.
And then there were the true extremists: one, I recall, wrote an article in Model Cars describing his basic chassis that was driven by a motor linked to a simple fan, itself constructed from a bean can…
Half-baked or what?