Credit: unknown
This is the earliest photo I have of my PV in
competition. The event is a “Gymkana” held at the
Westchester County Center in White Plains NY
sometime in early 1964. A “Gymkana” was similar
to today’s “Autocross” and “Solo” competitions in
that it involved timed runs through a course
delineated by traffic cones laid out in a parking lot.
Today’s events are generally faster and dispense
with “gimmicks such as the “keyhole” which were
popular on “Gymkana” courses. This particular
course used both paved and dirt portions of the
parking lot and required a versatile driving
technique. As can be seen, this photo was taken
after the Spring drivers school at Lime Rock as the
car has already acquired the roll bar and the 5”
Dodge wheels. Note that I’m still wearing my old
“Bell Shorty” kart helmet. The car still has it’s
radio antenna and a Community College parking
sticker. For some reason I hadn’t yet got around
to removing the rear bumper. Racing rules
required a second hood tie down and I chose to
add leather straps as I’ve always been fond of the
vintage look when racing cars sported leather tie
down straps.
This is the earliest photo I have of my PV in
competition. The event is a “Gymkana” held at the
Westchester County Center in White Plains NY
sometime in early 1964. A “Gymkana” was similar
to today’s “Autocross” and “Solo” competitions in
that it involved timed runs through a course
delineated by traffic cones laid out in a parking lot.
Today’s events are generally faster and dispense
with “gimmicks such as the “keyhole” which were
popular on “Gymkana” courses. This particular
course used both paved and dirt portions of the
parking lot and required a versatile driving
technique. As can be seen, this photo was taken
after the Spring drivers school at Lime Rock as the
car has already acquired the roll bar and the 5”
Dodge wheels. Note that I’m still wearing my old
“Bell Shorty” kart helmet. The car still has it’s
radio antenna and a Community College parking
sticker. For some reason I hadn’t yet got around
to removing the rear bumper. Racing rules
required a second hood tie down and I chose to
add leather straps as I’ve always been fond of the
vintage look when racing cars sported leather tie
down straps.
Credit: unknown
Lime Rock Park in 1965. Bob Huber of Mayer
Volvo in New Rochelle NY is leading in his Volvo
122s followed by George Sainaiberger in a much
modified push rod, four door Ford Cortina. I
usually ran behind these two in my early events
although I did manage to pass Bob the following
year only to break a left front wheel as soon as I’d
made the pass. Bob and I had a friendly rivalry
but would always help each other out if the need
arose. Behind me is Bill Peck with his twin cam
Lotus Cortina shadowed by his arch rival Angelo
Oliva in a two cycle Saab 93. Though they were
good friends off the track one would never have
guessed it from the way they’d beat and bang on
each other on the track. Here Bill is taking a line
obviously intended to block Angelo. .Bringing up
the rear is another Saab 93 driven by a fellow who
worked at Mayer Volvo who’s name I no longer
recall. He rolled it up in a ball before the season
was over and gave up racing. The old Saabs had
a peculiar habit of tripping over their outside front
wheel if not handled properly.
Credit: unknown
My PV drifting the fast, sweeping left hand bend
we are shown entering in the previous photo.
Note the side pipe dispensing with the rear muffler.
Credit: Southern Westchester Press Association
The “Hobo Hill Climb” was a favorite event. The
course was narrow, rough and very steep in
parts. Ideal for the PV to show it’s stuff. I ran the
event five times altogether, four with my green PV
and once with my sisters car setting a class record
with the green car the last time I ran it there. A
fellow showed up with a much modified 122s at
one event but didn’t seem to be doing very well.
When I talked to him I found that his car should
have been much faster than my PV. He said that
when he tried to go fast the car sounded as it
were going to come apart on the rough surface
(and it was rough). My reply was, “SO?”. Mine did
too but as it was a Volvo I just ignored the
hammering and banging and kept my foot down.
Photo credit: Denrae Photo Lab
Bridgehampton Long Island has always been one
of my favorite courses. Unlike many current
sports car courses it was comprised of huge
elevation changes and very fast bends. World
Champion John Surtees once likened it to the old
Nurburgring in the Eiffel Mountains of Germany.
Like the Nurburgring it was scary and dangerous.
At one of our small club events a driver died when
he lost control of his car on a fast downhill curve.
He was around 40 years of age, a TV producer
and father of two small children, driving a sprite
much like the car directly behind me in the photo.
Racing had been a lifelong ambition and he finally
had the resources and the time to make it come
true. I nearly quit racing that day.
The turn in the background is the infamous “Echo
Valley” where I was to have my “Moment of
Decision” in my first race.
Credit: Denrae Photo Lab
Though it’s a bit fuzzy I’ve always liked this shot.
Note the old style split lens goggles that I’m
wearing. Bridgehampton was built on the sand
dunes at the extreme tip of Long Island and I tried
the goggles in the interest of keeping the blowing
sand out of my eyes. They were more trouble
than they were worth however. A group of
enthusiasts have been trying to save what’s left of
the old course but part of it has already been
made into a golf course.
Credit: Denrae Photo Lab
This is the “Millstone” corner mentioned in the
story. These photo’s may have been taken on the
day of my first race as the PV is sporting a set of
Goodyear Blue Streak racing tires. Note the
“Drift” attitude through the bend with the front tire
inside the line and the rear tire outside. Although
the car appears without it’s license plate in most of
the photo’s, it was street licensed throughout it’s
racing career. On one occasion I drove it in a
track race at Lime Rock on a Saturday and then,
on a whim drove up to the County Center on
Sunday and ran in a Gymkana. I won my class at
the Gymkana and was pleasantly surprised to
receive a compliment from Harry Fanelli, the
president of the sponsoring club, when he
presented me with the trophy. Harry pointed out
to the assemblage that my PV and I were a great
example of what sports cars were all about. Harry
had been at Lime Rock the day before and had
seen me racing and now here I was having driven
to the Gymkana and run it too. I thought it
interesting that I should be a great example for
sports cars with my Volvo sedan.
Credit: unknown
Marlboro Speedway in Upper Marlboro MD in
1968. Unfortunately I have only this one photo of
my PV at the old Marlboro Speedway. Marlboro
was the extreme opposite of Bridgehampton. It
was flat and only half the distance per lap yet
required about four times the gear changes per
lap. How tight the course was can be seen in the
photo. The pavement in the middle background is
the approach to the turn I’m in and the pavement
behind that is the back straight traveling from right
to left. Notice the complete lack of barriers.
“Mickey Mouse” as it was, it was fun place to race.
By this time I was racing with the SCCA as well as
the local New York area clubs. My PV was
gradually “morphing” into a racing car. Note the
“chin” spoiler under the grille. This was actually a
splitter intended to direct air to the scoops on the
backing plates of the front brakes which had been
drilled for ventilation. The larger racing tires that I
was using necessitated reshaping the rear
fenders and “curling” the top of the wheel arch on
the front fenders.
Lime Rock Park in 1965. Bob Huber of Mayer
Volvo in New Rochelle NY is leading in his Volvo
122s followed by George Sainaiberger in a much
modified push rod, four door Ford Cortina. I
usually ran behind these two in my early events
although I did manage to pass Bob the following
year only to break a left front wheel as soon as I’d
made the pass. Bob and I had a friendly rivalry
but would always help each other out if the need
arose. Behind me is Bill Peck with his twin cam
Lotus Cortina shadowed by his arch rival Angelo
Oliva in a two cycle Saab 93. Though they were
good friends off the track one would never have
guessed it from the way they’d beat and bang on
each other on the track. Here Bill is taking a line
obviously intended to block Angelo. .Bringing up
the rear is another Saab 93 driven by a fellow who
worked at Mayer Volvo who’s name I no longer
recall. He rolled it up in a ball before the season
was over and gave up racing. The old Saabs had
a peculiar habit of tripping over their outside front
wheel if not handled properly.
Credit: unknown
My PV drifting the fast, sweeping left hand bend
we are shown entering in the previous photo.
Note the side pipe dispensing with the rear muffler.
Credit: Southern Westchester Press Association
The “Hobo Hill Climb” was a favorite event. The
course was narrow, rough and very steep in
parts. Ideal for the PV to show it’s stuff. I ran the
event five times altogether, four with my green PV
and once with my sisters car setting a class record
with the green car the last time I ran it there. A
fellow showed up with a much modified 122s at
one event but didn’t seem to be doing very well.
When I talked to him I found that his car should
have been much faster than my PV. He said that
when he tried to go fast the car sounded as it
were going to come apart on the rough surface
(and it was rough). My reply was, “SO?”. Mine did
too but as it was a Volvo I just ignored the
hammering and banging and kept my foot down.
Photo credit: Denrae Photo Lab
Bridgehampton Long Island has always been one
of my favorite courses. Unlike many current
sports car courses it was comprised of huge
elevation changes and very fast bends. World
Champion John Surtees once likened it to the old
Nurburgring in the Eiffel Mountains of Germany.
Like the Nurburgring it was scary and dangerous.
At one of our small club events a driver died when
he lost control of his car on a fast downhill curve.
He was around 40 years of age, a TV producer
and father of two small children, driving a sprite
much like the car directly behind me in the photo.
Racing had been a lifelong ambition and he finally
had the resources and the time to make it come
true. I nearly quit racing that day.
The turn in the background is the infamous “Echo
Valley” where I was to have my “Moment of
Decision” in my first race.
Credit: Denrae Photo Lab
Though it’s a bit fuzzy I’ve always liked this shot.
Note the old style split lens goggles that I’m
wearing. Bridgehampton was built on the sand
dunes at the extreme tip of Long Island and I tried
the goggles in the interest of keeping the blowing
sand out of my eyes. They were more trouble
than they were worth however. A group of
enthusiasts have been trying to save what’s left of
the old course but part of it has already been
made into a golf course.
Credit: Denrae Photo Lab
This is the “Millstone” corner mentioned in the
story. These photo’s may have been taken on the
day of my first race as the PV is sporting a set of
Goodyear Blue Streak racing tires. Note the
“Drift” attitude through the bend with the front tire
inside the line and the rear tire outside. Although
the car appears without it’s license plate in most of
the photo’s, it was street licensed throughout it’s
racing career. On one occasion I drove it in a
track race at Lime Rock on a Saturday and then,
on a whim drove up to the County Center on
Sunday and ran in a Gymkana. I won my class at
the Gymkana and was pleasantly surprised to
receive a compliment from Harry Fanelli, the
president of the sponsoring club, when he
presented me with the trophy. Harry pointed out
to the assemblage that my PV and I were a great
example of what sports cars were all about. Harry
had been at Lime Rock the day before and had
seen me racing and now here I was having driven
to the Gymkana and run it too. I thought it
interesting that I should be a great example for
sports cars with my Volvo sedan.
Credit: unknown
Marlboro Speedway in Upper Marlboro MD in
1968. Unfortunately I have only this one photo of
my PV at the old Marlboro Speedway. Marlboro
was the extreme opposite of Bridgehampton. It
was flat and only half the distance per lap yet
required about four times the gear changes per
lap. How tight the course was can be seen in the
photo. The pavement in the middle background is
the approach to the turn I’m in and the pavement
behind that is the back straight traveling from right
to left. Notice the complete lack of barriers.
“Mickey Mouse” as it was, it was fun place to race.
By this time I was racing with the SCCA as well as
the local New York area clubs. My PV was
gradually “morphing” into a racing car. Note the
“chin” spoiler under the grille. This was actually a
splitter intended to direct air to the scoops on the
backing plates of the front brakes which had been
drilled for ventilation. The larger racing tires that I
was using necessitated reshaping the rear
fenders and “curling” the top of the wheel arch on
the front fenders.
 |
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| |
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| |
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MY PV by Ron Polimeni
PART ONE
A British motoring publication once
carried a survey listing the top 100
enthusiast cars as compiled by 200
motoring enthusiast "experts". Granted,
some of the names on the list were
impressive. Phil Hill, John Surtees and
Eric Carlsson to name a few. Although I
have the utmost respect for the opinions
of these people in the matter of
automobiles, somehow this
"who's who" of motoring enthusiasts
managed to leave out a car that in my
humble opinion, is one of the great
enthusiast automobiles of all time. The
VOLVO PV-544. I personally believe
there is no other car that can hold a
candle to the Volvo PV-444/544 for
versatility and durability. My "544" Volvo
was capable of fulfilling any task that
might be asked of it with only minimal
modification and on the shortest of
budgets. The PV-544 Volvo always made
me think of the caricature of the big
Swedish lumberjack named Oley or Olaf,
who would good naturedly perform
any task that was requested of him even if
it were impossible simply because he
didn't know it couldn't be done.
My interest in Volvo's had got its start
through reading of the exploits of Art Riley
and Bill Rutan in the Lime Rock "Little Le
Mans" and Marlboro 12 hour endurance
races in the late '50's
and early '60's. Art Riley's Volvo 444
seemed able to take on all comers and
survive incredible abuse. When Riley
snapped a rear axle (the Achille’s heel of
the PV) and rolled the car, breaking the
windshield and rumpling the body work,
he repaired the axle, kicked out the rear
window, donned a pair of goggles and
roared back into the fray (setting the 2nd
fastest lap with the damaged car to boot).
The Volvo's twin carb 85 hp four cylinder
engine and 4 speed transmission gave it
performance such that it could match a
small block Chevrolet at a stop light.
My introduction to small cars took place
one day when a friend of mine showed up
with a 4CV Renault and offered to let me
drive it. I'd never driven an imported car
till then and couldn't believe the
difference from the large sedans I was
accustomed to. The little "quatre vaux"
handled like the go-karts I was racing at
the time. My first car (a standard shift '56
Mercury 2 dr. hdtp.) was beginning to
show signs of strain from my practicing
"road racing" on every winding
road I could find. I had my excuse.
I had spotted a green (that awful pea
green that mercifully was offered for only
two years) PV-544 on a used car lot on
Boston Post Rd in Mamaroneck NY. I test
drove it, fell in love and for $1150.00
became the proud owner of a 1959 Volvo
PV-544 shortly before my 18th
birthday in the spring of 1962. I had no
clue as to it's history beyond the “spike”
heel marks noticeable on the passenger
side floor mat and the salesman’s line that
he thought, “it might have belonged to a
doctors wife”. Over the next seven years
this plucky little car survived every
lunacy a youthful motorsports enthusiast
could manage. It provided daily
transportation to work and school, it ran
household errands and spent time at the
drive-in on Saturday nite. In short, it
handled all the daily chores that one
could expect of a compact sedan. At the
same time this little car took it's owner
from gymkanas and hill climbs through
small club racing to SCCA
regional and national competition, the
Sebring 12 hour and the Road Race of
Champions at Daytona Speedway.
I soon found, as I got waves and "thumbs
up" from other Volvo owner’s, that when
you own an enthusiast automobile, you
have automatic membership in an
informal club. It also didn't
take long to become involved in
impromptu contests at traffic lights and on
back country roads.
My PV could match the "283" Chevy's
between traffic lights (provided the block
wasn't overly long). It even proved a
match for a well driven high performance ’
63 Ford Galaxie convertible and a
Porsche Speedster on winding back
roads. The Ford driver gave me a wave
of approval as we went our separate
ways. I've often wondered just who that
was in the Ford as he sure knew his stuff.
The gokart racing in which I was heavily
involved at the time was becoming
increasingly
expensive and I began to wonder if I could
race my Volvo on the same budget. My
problem was, How? I had no contacts,
and no idea how to get into motor racing.
Providence stepped in.
In my travels I would occasionally see a
particular PV on the road going the other
way. The car was white with an offset
racing stripe and had decals and racing
numbers on the doors. It sat
hunkered down on its suspension, no
hubcaps, and I could see a rollover bar
inside. The driver would always give me a
big "thumbs up" when we passed. I
thought the car looked neat so I
decorated mine similarly, minus the roll
bar and lowered suspension. As I was
filling up at the corner Gulf station one
day, the white Volvo roared in. Out
jumped a stocky young man in a
very bad temper. I was told in no
uncertain terms that I had no right to the
decorations on my car. I hadn't earned
them. In this manner I was introduced to
Norm Horowitz, the local Volvo
hotshoe. Norm didn’t suffer frauds
lightly. Eventually he had to pause for
breath and I took the opportunity to
explain that I wanted to go racing but
didn't know how. Norm’s anger quickly
evaporated and he put me in touch with
the British Sports Car Owners Assoc., a
club that oddly seemed to have more
Volvo owners than anything else.
Over the winter I purchased a set of used
Michelin X tires, a set of 5'' wide Dodge
wheels from a junkyard, had a simple
hoop roll bar installed and a 3"
competition lap belt. It's interesting
that I had to replace the three point
harness that came with the car with a
simple lap belt to comply with the racing
safety rules of that era. The only plus to
the racing belt was the instant
release capability. I bought a black cotton
drivers suit and with the Bell Shorty
helmet from my kart racing, I was set to
go. The following spring Norm was my
instructor at the BSCOA March
competition drivers school at the Lime
Rock Park race track in Connecticut.
Up to this time I had earned something of
a reputation as a driver among the car
crowd in my neighborhood. I didn't own
the fastest cars, but I could slide through
the "esses" on the Bronx
River Parkway faster than anyone. I knew
how to “heel & toe double clutch down
shift”. I knew about "racing lines",
"apexes" and how to "drift" a corner from
my kart racing and the reading I
had done on European style road racing.
In short I was loaded for bear and ready
to set the racing world on fire.
It took Norm less than four laps to burst
my bubble and deflate my ego. I thought I
knew my Volvo pretty well but I soon
found it had a whole 'nother personality.
My “performance” driving
up till then amounted to nothing more
than a Sunday cruise in the country by
comparison. I had NO idea that a car
could be driven that fast and stay on the
road. Norm kept his foot down
entering the turns till we were RIGHT
THERE. I was sure we'd hurtle straight on
into the woods (there were no “sand
traps” on race courses back then). I had
a death grip on the vent window
post and the seat frame despite the three
point belt still mounted on the passenger
seat. As I was bracing myself for the
inevitable crash, Norm would stab at the
brake, throttle and clutch
pedals simultaneously, much like a dance
step. While braking hard with the ball of
his right foot, he rolled his foot to the right
to blip the throttle as he double clutched
with his left foot in what is
known as “heel and toe” down shifting.
He flicked the wheel with his left hand,
the gear stick with his right, then
squeezed the accelerator to the floor.
The PV heeled over with a violence
that I knew had to carry it the rest of the
way over onto its roof. The little B-16
engine screamed defiantly and my feet
floated up off the floor as we howled
through the turns. All the while Norm
kept up a running commentary about
lines, apexes, etc. as if he were in a
classroom. He pulled into the pits after
four laps (which was just as well, one
more lap and I would have lost my
breakfast) and told me that that was
about one half racing speed just to give
me the idea. I was stunned and
humbled. Some years later, a good
friend of Norms laughed when I told him of
that experience and said that Norm was
probably going as fast as he could turn a
wheel. Norm used the remark about half
racing speed purposely to humble cocky
students. Thanks to an instructor who
understood the mindset of a 19 year old
male I was able to learn how to go fast
without finding out the hard way that I
didn't know as much as I thought I did.
Due to insurance regulations the club
couldn't issue a competition license to
anyone under the age of 21. I filled the
intervening year and a half with
gymkana's, hill climbs and more drivers
schools. When the day of my first race
arrived it was an experience
I would never forget.
PART ONE
A British motoring publication once
carried a survey listing the top 100
enthusiast cars as compiled by 200
motoring enthusiast "experts". Granted,
some of the names on the list were
impressive. Phil Hill, John Surtees and
Eric Carlsson to name a few. Although I
have the utmost respect for the opinions
of these people in the matter of
automobiles, somehow this
"who's who" of motoring enthusiasts
managed to leave out a car that in my
humble opinion, is one of the great
enthusiast automobiles of all time. The
VOLVO PV-544. I personally believe
there is no other car that can hold a
candle to the Volvo PV-444/544 for
versatility and durability. My "544" Volvo
was capable of fulfilling any task that
might be asked of it with only minimal
modification and on the shortest of
budgets. The PV-544 Volvo always made
me think of the caricature of the big
Swedish lumberjack named Oley or Olaf,
who would good naturedly perform
any task that was requested of him even if
it were impossible simply because he
didn't know it couldn't be done.
My interest in Volvo's had got its start
through reading of the exploits of Art Riley
and Bill Rutan in the Lime Rock "Little Le
Mans" and Marlboro 12 hour endurance
races in the late '50's
and early '60's. Art Riley's Volvo 444
seemed able to take on all comers and
survive incredible abuse. When Riley
snapped a rear axle (the Achille’s heel of
the PV) and rolled the car, breaking the
windshield and rumpling the body work,
he repaired the axle, kicked out the rear
window, donned a pair of goggles and
roared back into the fray (setting the 2nd
fastest lap with the damaged car to boot).
The Volvo's twin carb 85 hp four cylinder
engine and 4 speed transmission gave it
performance such that it could match a
small block Chevrolet at a stop light.
My introduction to small cars took place
one day when a friend of mine showed up
with a 4CV Renault and offered to let me
drive it. I'd never driven an imported car
till then and couldn't believe the
difference from the large sedans I was
accustomed to. The little "quatre vaux"
handled like the go-karts I was racing at
the time. My first car (a standard shift '56
Mercury 2 dr. hdtp.) was beginning to
show signs of strain from my practicing
"road racing" on every winding
road I could find. I had my excuse.
I had spotted a green (that awful pea
green that mercifully was offered for only
two years) PV-544 on a used car lot on
Boston Post Rd in Mamaroneck NY. I test
drove it, fell in love and for $1150.00
became the proud owner of a 1959 Volvo
PV-544 shortly before my 18th
birthday in the spring of 1962. I had no
clue as to it's history beyond the “spike”
heel marks noticeable on the passenger
side floor mat and the salesman’s line that
he thought, “it might have belonged to a
doctors wife”. Over the next seven years
this plucky little car survived every
lunacy a youthful motorsports enthusiast
could manage. It provided daily
transportation to work and school, it ran
household errands and spent time at the
drive-in on Saturday nite. In short, it
handled all the daily chores that one
could expect of a compact sedan. At the
same time this little car took it's owner
from gymkanas and hill climbs through
small club racing to SCCA
regional and national competition, the
Sebring 12 hour and the Road Race of
Champions at Daytona Speedway.
I soon found, as I got waves and "thumbs
up" from other Volvo owner’s, that when
you own an enthusiast automobile, you
have automatic membership in an
informal club. It also didn't
take long to become involved in
impromptu contests at traffic lights and on
back country roads.
My PV could match the "283" Chevy's
between traffic lights (provided the block
wasn't overly long). It even proved a
match for a well driven high performance ’
63 Ford Galaxie convertible and a
Porsche Speedster on winding back
roads. The Ford driver gave me a wave
of approval as we went our separate
ways. I've often wondered just who that
was in the Ford as he sure knew his stuff.
The gokart racing in which I was heavily
involved at the time was becoming
increasingly
expensive and I began to wonder if I could
race my Volvo on the same budget. My
problem was, How? I had no contacts,
and no idea how to get into motor racing.
Providence stepped in.
In my travels I would occasionally see a
particular PV on the road going the other
way. The car was white with an offset
racing stripe and had decals and racing
numbers on the doors. It sat
hunkered down on its suspension, no
hubcaps, and I could see a rollover bar
inside. The driver would always give me a
big "thumbs up" when we passed. I
thought the car looked neat so I
decorated mine similarly, minus the roll
bar and lowered suspension. As I was
filling up at the corner Gulf station one
day, the white Volvo roared in. Out
jumped a stocky young man in a
very bad temper. I was told in no
uncertain terms that I had no right to the
decorations on my car. I hadn't earned
them. In this manner I was introduced to
Norm Horowitz, the local Volvo
hotshoe. Norm didn’t suffer frauds
lightly. Eventually he had to pause for
breath and I took the opportunity to
explain that I wanted to go racing but
didn't know how. Norm’s anger quickly
evaporated and he put me in touch with
the British Sports Car Owners Assoc., a
club that oddly seemed to have more
Volvo owners than anything else.
Over the winter I purchased a set of used
Michelin X tires, a set of 5'' wide Dodge
wheels from a junkyard, had a simple
hoop roll bar installed and a 3"
competition lap belt. It's interesting
that I had to replace the three point
harness that came with the car with a
simple lap belt to comply with the racing
safety rules of that era. The only plus to
the racing belt was the instant
release capability. I bought a black cotton
drivers suit and with the Bell Shorty
helmet from my kart racing, I was set to
go. The following spring Norm was my
instructor at the BSCOA March
competition drivers school at the Lime
Rock Park race track in Connecticut.
Up to this time I had earned something of
a reputation as a driver among the car
crowd in my neighborhood. I didn't own
the fastest cars, but I could slide through
the "esses" on the Bronx
River Parkway faster than anyone. I knew
how to “heel & toe double clutch down
shift”. I knew about "racing lines",
"apexes" and how to "drift" a corner from
my kart racing and the reading I
had done on European style road racing.
In short I was loaded for bear and ready
to set the racing world on fire.
It took Norm less than four laps to burst
my bubble and deflate my ego. I thought I
knew my Volvo pretty well but I soon
found it had a whole 'nother personality.
My “performance” driving
up till then amounted to nothing more
than a Sunday cruise in the country by
comparison. I had NO idea that a car
could be driven that fast and stay on the
road. Norm kept his foot down
entering the turns till we were RIGHT
THERE. I was sure we'd hurtle straight on
into the woods (there were no “sand
traps” on race courses back then). I had
a death grip on the vent window
post and the seat frame despite the three
point belt still mounted on the passenger
seat. As I was bracing myself for the
inevitable crash, Norm would stab at the
brake, throttle and clutch
pedals simultaneously, much like a dance
step. While braking hard with the ball of
his right foot, he rolled his foot to the right
to blip the throttle as he double clutched
with his left foot in what is
known as “heel and toe” down shifting.
He flicked the wheel with his left hand,
the gear stick with his right, then
squeezed the accelerator to the floor.
The PV heeled over with a violence
that I knew had to carry it the rest of the
way over onto its roof. The little B-16
engine screamed defiantly and my feet
floated up off the floor as we howled
through the turns. All the while Norm
kept up a running commentary about
lines, apexes, etc. as if he were in a
classroom. He pulled into the pits after
four laps (which was just as well, one
more lap and I would have lost my
breakfast) and told me that that was
about one half racing speed just to give
me the idea. I was stunned and
humbled. Some years later, a good
friend of Norms laughed when I told him of
that experience and said that Norm was
probably going as fast as he could turn a
wheel. Norm used the remark about half
racing speed purposely to humble cocky
students. Thanks to an instructor who
understood the mindset of a 19 year old
male I was able to learn how to go fast
without finding out the hard way that I
didn't know as much as I thought I did.
Due to insurance regulations the club
couldn't issue a competition license to
anyone under the age of 21. I filled the
intervening year and a half with
gymkana's, hill climbs and more drivers
schools. When the day of my first race
arrived it was an experience
I would never forget.
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