Ferrari Mailing List: Sooo

[Douglas Anderson (dnt]

Scottie points out P-car owners in South Florida “Lots of muscles, gold jewelry, and tiny girlfriends. “

 

Ayep.  Just goes to show ya each region is populated by . . . different humans.  Big joke amongst P-car folk is “Q - what’s the difference between a porcupine and Porsche?  A – The pricks on a porcupine are on the outside.”  True true.  Even within the National club now that’s recognized.

 

Been a member of PCA for 48 years and FCA and FOC since 1997. 

 

Go back a few decades, well, 45 years ago, and the Porsche folks who would show up to auto-crosses, time trials, wine tours (Northern California), and dinner parties, were a variety of humans.  BUT most all of them knew how to change a tire, if not engines, transmissions and had grease under their finger nails.

 

Then the Turbo came out - $25,000 1975 dollars (about $125,000 today).  Twice the cost of a 911.  Electric windows, electric seats, wide wide wide tires and body work.  And an engine on boast that would bury your eyeballs, distort your face, and smack you back in your seat.  Not bad for 1975.  The factory made xxx of them and the clubs scoffed – ‘they’ll never sell them all.”

 

They did.  They did to good honest hard working folks who could afford them.  Like good doctors and lawyers.  Ayep, good folks who had never owned a high performance vehicle nor raced anything before.

 

Pete Zimmerman sums it up nicely: “It requires the maximum attention and respect a person can give it.  The car should have been sold with a special prerequisite of having attended a professional driving school prior to ownership.”  It wasn’t that they were terminally fast but that they were blistering fast . .  all of a sudden . . . everything came on the pipe especially at the apex of curvy country roads.  The car, in its earliest configuration could hardly get up a San Francisco (or Seattle) hill from a standing start.  But once moving . . . BAM.  Hand full.

 

The Turbo was involved in more single car accidents than just about anything on the road at the time.

 

At car meetings – Turbo owners finger nails were clean and car knowledge wanting and, unfortunately, for us old geezers, we note the difference today.  The “Mine is bigger than yours,” although not articulated, is prevalent.

 

But as for Scotties “. . . gold jewelry and tiny girl friends” lets go back 40 years to Riverside International Raceway.  July.  Hot.  Triple meet . . . Porsche/Ferrari/Lambo.  Porsche owners that showed up were most likely accompanied with a wife or girlfriend who . . . had road raced real cars.  Such as my wife – Terri.  Although we drove a lowly four cylinder 912 she and I both amassed enough points to finish the season in first place.  The lowly 912 can nevertheless, going backwards at 120, provide plenty of thrills and “now what” moments.

 

Although this was Terri’s (girl friend at the time) first season in a Porsche she was asked at the year end awards ceremony “how did you managed to do so well your first year?”  Her response – “it wasn’t my car and if I broke it, Doug would fix it.”

 

But back to Scotties observation:  Riverside.  The Ferrari and Lambo group had many fathers and daughters.  Fur stoles, gold, tight designer jeans (even then) and . . . high heels.  Riverside.  NOT Rodeo Drive.

 

For the most part all the guys were great to meet, honest and trustworthy afficionados.  I didn’t know what Tifosi meant then.

 

Who won at the end of the weekend?  I dunno.  I guess we all did.  Riverside was a good track . . . right up to the end when it started to chunk apart and Moreno Valley Mall took out turns 6, 7 and 8.  Yeah, I have a chunk of the start finish line.  I look at that and imagine Dan Gurney, A. J. Foyt, the Rodriguez brothers, Carroll Shelby, Masten ‘Thick glasses’ Gregory, Ken Miles, Lyn St. James, Parnelli (Rufus Parnell) Jones, Jerry Titus, and many many more running over that soft ball sized piece of asphalt.

 

Ayep – a good time was had by all.  That is, if we don’t act like mine is bigger than yours.

 

Cheers

Doug