308gt4 Le Mans The 308 GT4 made a first appearence at the 24 hours of Le Mans in 1974. Prepared by Luigi Chinetti and entered by the famous NART team, the GT4 compteted in group 5. It shared some performance parts, like brakes from its bigger cousin, the 512 BB LM. Reasonnably well qualified with a 4.32 by drivers Harley Cluxton and Giancarlo Gagliardi, it did however not see the checkered flag, due to clutch problems. It was entered again in 1975, but some still unclear pre-race debate made NART retire all his four Ferrari's, including the GT4, before the start on saturday. 
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NART-Sticker)
NART. One of the most respected names in motorsports. Some of the most famous drivers in history spent at least some of their time driving for this classic team owned and organized by long-time
Ferrari man, Luigi Chinetti who not only was the man responsible for importing Ferraris into America but as a friend of Enzo
Ferrari convinced him to not make tools and instead make cars. If this weren't enough he also had many wins under his own belt including three at the great spectacle of Le Mans.
This car, chassis number 08020, is the only factory 308 GT4 competition car. It was prepared by the factory as a group 5 car for Le Mans in 1974 but retired with clutch problems after four hours lying 38th.
A former owner of the car, W. A. Schanbacher, had these comments about the car:
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As a car for use in club or exhibition racing, it is almost perfect, being well-balanced with no really evil habits. In hard cornering, the throttle can be used to induce easily-controlled under or over steer. The motor is stone reliable, turning to 8000 rmp so easily that I have to watch my self-imposed 7000 - 7500 rpm limit. The DS II lining and silicon brake fluid have provided tremendous, balanced, fade-free, easily modulated braking. The suspension is surprisingly supple with light, but positive, steering. Even on rough parts of the track, the car holds well and doesn't lose its balance. Its predictability is confidence building, and allows me (the all too occassional driver) to drive hard with only my own limitations to worry about!"
S P E C I F I C A T I O N S E N G I N E
Daytona pistons and rods; crankshaft and cylinders machined to increase tolerances. Heads ported and polished. 42mm carburettors, race profile cams, and special exhaust headers. Re-engineered oil sump baffling. Result 300bhp at 8200 rpm designed to last 24 hours.
C H A S S I S AND B O D Y
Brakes: Girling four-cup calipers with DSII pads. Master cylinders, linkage box and hoses from the 512. Additional ducting. Suspension: Rigid bushings, drilled A-frames, larger diameter anti-roll bars front and rear. Aluminum doors and lids; plexiglass windows. Chin spoilers and adjustable rear wing. Result: 2350 lbs wet. 40 gallon fuel capacity. Top speed: 176 mph.
H I S T O R Y
This car enjoys a special place among modern
Ferrari racers. For one, it's one of the few
Ferrari four-seaters ever converted to compete as well as one of the few factory ventures into group five production-based racing. In its initial outing at Le Mans in 1974 it retired after only four hours with clutch problems while lying 38th.
The following year it was entered by the NART team of Luigi Chinetti and qualified with a time of 4:32 placing it in the top-half of the grid but was withdrawn along with the entire NART team as the result of historic flap between the French officials, notorious for their often "unique" intrepretations of race rules and regulations, and Lugi Chinetti, usually notorious for his skillful dealings with officials.
308 gt4 LM by former owner W.A. Schanbacher
The one-off 308 LM was one of the last GT race cars to be prepared by the
Ferrari factory. Built to be a LeMans Group 5 car, it is based on a standard 308 GT (we believe that the car was built from the first production prototype). The modifications involved all aspects of the car: motor, braking, suspension, aerodynamics, and lightening.
The motor was extensively modified to long distance racing standards. Competition Daytona pistons and rods were installed; the crankshaft and cylinders were machined to increase clearances slightly. The heads were ported and polished. Valves were standard, though polished, and the exhaust valves were xrayed for hidden faults. 42mm carburetor venturis, coupled with a modest race cam and an excellent set of exhaust headers completed the power boost modifications. To maintain oil pressure during hard cornering, the oil pan baffeling was completely reworked. The result was an engine that would produce 300 hp at about 8200 rpm and could last for 24 hours. (Personally, the wonderful reliability has been one of the great delights of the car.)
To stop the car, Girling 4 cup calipers with DSII competition pads were mounted all around. The master cylinders, linkage box, and hoses were from the 512. Brake cooling ducts were installed and the results, even with stock disks, are amazing.
To help around corners, the suspension was reworked to the extent allowed by the rules. Elastic suspension bushings were replaced by rigid ones. The A-frames were extensively drilled for lightening. New anti-sway bars were installed front and rear, and the car was shod with Goodyear 8 x 15's in front and 10.5 x 15's in the rear.
Weight, the eternal enemy, was removed by the construction of new super light aluminum doors; the replacement of all glass except for the windshield with plastic; and, the fabrication of new motor and front deck lids out of light-gauge aluminum. The new result was a car that, when filled with 40 gallons of gas and all other liquid, weiged 2350 lbs.
Aerodynamics were cleaned up with a spoiler and an adjustable wing. The overall effect was esthetically very pleasing (and personally a nice improvement on the somwhat prissy appearance of the production car). During track tests, the car achieved a top speed of 283 - 286 km/hr or 176 mph.
The car was completed in June of 1974, just a few days before the LeMans race. The car, unfortunately, retired with clutch problems in the fourth hour while standing 38th.
1975 NART TEAM ENTRY
In 1975, the car was again entered by the NART team by Mr. L. Chinetti. The drivers, Harley Cluxton and Giancarlo Gagliardi drove the car to 4:32.9 qualification, which was the top half of the grid when the politics of European racing struck. The car was withdrawn, along with the rest of the NART team, and a slower French car was put in its place.
The following is the sequence of events which led to the withdrawal of the NART Team from the 1975 LeMans Race.
On Tuesday, June 10th, all the cars were taken down to the track for technical inspection, and with minor exceptions and changes, all the cars were set for practice for qualification. Wednesday at 4:00 p.m. began the first of the two days of practice. There were two aspects of qualification: first for speed both night and day, and second for fuel consumption. In order to qualify for fuel consumption, the car had to make 10 full laps past the timing mark and obtain better tha 5.6 miles per gallon.
The first day all four of the NART Team cars attempted to qualify, both for speed and for mileage. That evening, one of the Course Officials by the mane of Pierre Allanet, whose official position it was the hudge on such things, said that three of the NART cars -- the #17 Dino, the #46 Daytona Spyder and the #99 Boxer had all qualified for both mileage and for speed, but that the #45 Daytona had not qualified because of excessive fuel consumption. The following morning, the #45 Daytona went out on the track and set som steady laps for fuel consumption and several fast laps for speed proof, and at 10:30 p.m. on Thursday evening it was reported that all the cars had completed their qualifications both at night and during the day, and all of the dirvers had qualified.
With receipt of this information, the Team Manager, Jahn Baus, directed the team to pack up, return to the garage, and get the cars prepared for the race to start at 4:00 p.m. on Saturday, June 14th.
At the driver's meeting on Friday, which started at 2:30 in the afternoon, the NART Team was advised for the first time that the 308 Dino was not qualified. This, despite the fact that the car had placed in the top 40% of the grid, and had beaten three-fourths of the
Porsche Carreras at the track in qualification. The ruling was that because the car was in a Prototype Class, it had to qualify faster than cars in other classes. This Class ended up with 2 Gulf Mirages, 4 908 Porsches, 3 French Ligers, and a lone Lola & 380, none the least bit comparable to the Dino. However, the car was put there by Automobile Club de L'ouest although the BMW 3.0 CSLs and racing Capris, which were reasonably comparable cars, were in Group 2. How that happened I don't know, but I am sure that it would make an interesting story.
Our problems were compounded by the aritrariness by which the size of a Class was established, or even indeed that a class speed division existed; and the notivication that we were "bumped" by a slower car without explanation as to why in spite of our assurance by an Official that we were qualified. LeMans has a history of political intrigue and Mr. Chinetti challenged the ruling. He then asked for a sheet showing how our car had qualified so slowly and how the other car had qualified faster, but the Officials refused to give him any records to document the alleged bump. Further, they disavowed their own official's statement that the car had been qualiified even though he was the specific Automobile Club de L'oest official assigned to make such hudgments. We then found that the car which bumped us was being fielded by the Guy Verrier French Driving Team which had almost bumped the
Porsche Team a couple years ago. The
Porsche Team threatened to withdraw and Automobile Club de L'oest relented then. Seeing as the Automobile Club de L'oest had no records which would substantiate their position, and that an Official had clearly advised us that we were officially qualified and would be allowed to enter the race, they said they would take some time and reconsider the matter.
A decision was to be reached by 10:00 the following morning. At 10:00 it was going to be 11:00; and at 11:00, 12:00; and at 12:00, 1:00; and at 1:00 it would be 1:15, and at 1:15 at 1:20; and finally at about 1:30 p.m. they said that their decision was that they were not going to allow the car to run. When confronted with the fact that they had no eveidence to show that the car had not qualified, they then asked Mr. Chinetti to sign a release saying that the car did not run fast enough and that was the reason it was disqualified. Outraged, he refused.
Mr. Chinetti then pulled the two French drivers from his Team Cars and put in an Italian and an American, and went on TV explaining the foul play. Automobile Club de L'oest then said that they would cancel his insurance if he pulled the French drivers, in another power move.
Mr. Chinetti, during the playing of the Anthems just prior to the race, then pulled all four NART cars from the race.
And that's where it is. Not racing, just politics.
Driving at Le Mans
by Sam Posey Excerpt from "The Mudge Pond Express" by Sam Posey
Le Mans is more than a great race; it is a French national Institution. The event has survived two world wars; the organizing club was founded in 1906 and has proved more durable than the government itself. Every year in June 350,000 devotees return to Le Mans for a total experience which can be compared only to the Woodstock rock festival. The track is on the outskirts of Le Mans, a large industrial city. The race is run on public roads which are in everyday use, so that a few hours after the last
Ferrari has blasted down the Mulsanne straight a French housewife will drive the same road in her old Citroen The road surface has been much improved, however, and is billiard-table smooth. Over the years the organizers have repeatedly modified the track in the interest of safety. After Levegh's horrendous crash in 1955 the entire pits and main grandstand--three tiers high and a half mile long--were rebuilt twenty feet back to allow the track to be widened at that point. A decade later, when other track-owners were complaining about the high cost of safety guardrail, the Le Mans organizers lined the entire eight-mile course with guardrail on both sides. In 1968 they installed a new turn, immediately nicknamed "Virage Ford," just before the pits in an effort to curtail the frightening lap speeds being achieved by the big Fords and Ferraris. Within two years speeds were higher than ever, and fresh safety measures have had to be taken.
The countryside through which Le Mans runs reminds me of Sharon farms and farmhouses, open pastures interspersed with dense pine forests. You never have the feeling of going round and round at Le Mans; instead it is as if you are driving in the country from one town to the next. Despite the safety improvements Le Mans is a dangerous track. Its single distinguishing feature is the three-mile-long straight, called the Mulsanne because it is the main road from the outskirts of the city to a small suburb of that name. Before you are halfway down this straight your car is doing its absolute top speed; then you just sit there at 200 mph or more. Near the end there is a difficult right swerve followed by a hump which has launched several drivers to their deaths in the surrounding treetops. Several hundred yards before the end of the straight you stand on the brakes--it takes a long time to slow a car from that speed, and while you sit there you feel oddly weightless as the world comes back into focus.
Like Sebring, Le Mans features an elaborate tech inspection procedure, which the French call "scrutineering." It says a lot about the two tracks that Sebring always held tech in a supermarket parking lot, whereas at Le Mans there is a special half-acre enclosure surrounded by high walls, with a permanent building for the inspectors, a hydraulic lift, and sophisticated scales with a digital read-out.
Scrutineering goes on for three days and each team has an appointment; failure to show up on time incurs penalties. Even for a detail as small as checking the brake lights there are five or six inspectors, all dressed in blue business suits and each carrying his own official seal with which to stamp the car's papers. Over the years, as the officials have added rule after rule, scrutineering has become so complex that eventually NART entrusted the inspection of its cars to a specialist, John Baus, whose experience in dealing with the Le Mans bureaucracy went back twenty years to the time when he performed the same function for the Cunningham team. The drivers are as fastidiously inspected as the cars. In 1970 the officials ruled that Charlie Parsons, slated to drive a NART entry, would not be allowed to race at Le Mans because of his gimpy leg. We were all outraged and I argued with them for hours, pointing out that Parsons' leg had not prevented him from winning the USRRC in 1966 or the Daytona twenty-four-hour race in 1969. But they wouldn't listen. The next day Mr. Chinetti arrived and was apprised of the situation. His response was like a thunderbolt. If Parsons could not race, then not only would he withdraw NART's whole entry but he would also have Enzo withdraw the factory Ferraris. He would bring in the surgeon general from the nearby SAC base to certify Parsons' leg, and he would then get the American ambassador out to Le Mans and create an international incident. Suddenly the officials were honored to have "Monsieur Parsons" in their race. [...] I already knew about the French officials from my disqualification in 1966 when I drove for Bizzarrini. If only I had known Mr. Chinetti then!
For 1969 NART decided to enter their venerable
Ferrari 275LM--the exact car with which they had won Le Mans in 1965, and which even then was something of an antique. I was to drive along with Theodoro Zeccoli, who was Alfa Romeo's chief test driver at the time. There was no question of competing with the Ford GT40's or
Porsche's array of 908's and the brand-new 917's, but this was immaterial to me: the Bizzarrini ride had whetted my appetite for Le Mans and now I was getting another chance. The race traditionally begins at four P.M. but in 1969 it was started two hours earlier so that racegoers would have an opportunity to vote in the presidential referendum the next day. On the morning of the race the customary ten-minute drive from my hotel required two hours. The entire pit area was an impossible crush of people; the crowds were so dense that the sixty cars, lined up in echelon for the start, were invisible. Bands marched by on the track. An hour before the start a long line of blue-coated gendarmes swept the whole area clear of people.
At the American races Mr. Chinetti customarily left most of the decisions to other NART personnel, but at Le Mans he was always the boss. He decided that since Zeccoli was a Le Mans veteran he should make the start: the traditional footrace across the track. The old Le Mans start went like this: The cars are lined up diagonally on one side of the track and the drivers stand in small white circles on the other side. When the Bag drops, the drivers run to their cars and you can hear their feet slapping on the pavement. Then one engine bursts into life, followed by others; a car jerks forward out of line, the others begin to move; the noise reaches a crescendo-a very exciting business, but dangerous and quite meaningless in a twenty-four-hour race. As if to make this point, in 1969 Jacky Ickx walked to his car. Others should have followed his example. On the first lap the English driver John Woolfe, who had earlier announced his intention to take it easy in his new
Porsche 917 because "the car frightens me to death," crashed and was killed, a victim of the excitement of the start: in his eagerness to get underway quickly he had neglected to fasten his seat belts. Zeccoli threaded his way through the crash scene but not everyone was so fortunate, and one car was ignited by the blazing wreckage.
The early hours of the race were a sprint, with the new
Porsche 917's predictably taking the lead. For a while the gaps between the front runners were measured in seconds; but gradually certain cars were delayed with minor troubles, or couldn't quite keep up, and toward dusk the character of the race had changed subtly as it always does at Le Mans. A car which seemed forever destined to be twenty seconds be hind the leader was now unaccountably three laps back. This transition was reflected by a change in the personality of the cars. In daylight each car could be recognized a mile away by its shape and color, and it was possible to distinguish between co-drivers by their helmet designs. Now the drivers were unseen, anonymous, and the cars only bursts of noise and lighted number panels in the deepening summer twilight. For a competent driver there is no essential difference between daylight and night driving, except at Sebring where the lights of the other cars point directly at you in certain parts of the course. Everywhere else, the darkness simply makes it harder to see, and your lap times may slow fractionally. Around midnight, however, you approach and pass your ordinary bedtime. The instinctive need for sleep is reinforced by your realization that it is imperative to be well-rested, but at the same time you are reluctant to miss anything, to sever your direct involvement, to lose touch. Besides, it is very hard to get to sleep. Close your eyes and you still see the road rushing at you; lie down, and the horizon begins to tilt and you become dizzy. You grasp the edge of the cot for balance. "Wake me up in twenty laps," you tell someone; time is no longer measured in hours and minutes, but in laps.
Around one A.M. it became my turn to drive again. I awoke immediately, as if I had never been asleep, except that I was shivering with the cold. Three laps before Zeccoli was scheduled to pit I began nervously to get ready. The earplugs felt chilly and unpleasant. The pullover hood reeked of clammy perspiration. As I pulled my helmet on I became aware of my own breathing, like a diver. Under the harsh glare of the pit lights the NART mechanics in their blue coveralls wearily prepared to refuel the car. Their tools were scattered everywhere, a mute contrast to the neat array of wrenches at the start of the race. I peered down the track into the darkness, careful not to blind myself by looking directly into the headlights. Our car loomed out of night, flashing its lights as it wailed past the pits: one lap to go. I tried to rehearse the procedure for getting into the car and buckling the seat belts. Then I saw one of the mechanics out in the pit lane, waving his arms, and suddenly where there had been darkness there was the red mass of the
Ferrari instead, with steam rising from it. The door opened and the back of Zeccoli's driving suit forced up through the opening. Then I was getting down into the dark cockpit, reaching around behind my back to hook my arms in the shoulder harnesses. I could sense arms reaching in to help me and then I felt the belts click together. The windshield was being wiped clean and I could see the legs of the mechanics--nothing more than that because the car was so low. I found the toggle switch for the fuel pump; then they were giving me the signal to start so I threw the switch and pushed the starter. The engine noise was startling in spite of the earplugs. I drove out through all the legs, flicking on the headlights as I moved down the pit lane. Then the pit lights were gone and there was only the pool of my own lights ahead of me on the track. Into the darkness. The first rush of acceleration was calming; it spun the tumblers of my mind and reset them. Once again I was alone with the
Ferrari. The cockpit was warm and sweaty. The instruments glowed. Driving in a groove which I had developed after hours behind the wheel, I guided the car with an economyof physical movement. The tense effort of the earlier hours, the pinpoint concentration, gave way to reflexive motions and intuitive thoughts. My mind contracted until all that mattered was the sensation of speed and of covering distance, Lap after lap,like an automaton. The miles spun off in an endless journey to nowhere. The lighted Ferris wheel beside the track seemed to turn as if it were geared mysteriously to the cars revolving on the track.
It is a strange psychological phenomenon of Le Mans that the thousands of miles which the drivers accumulate on the track do represent a vast journey away from the common space and time which they shared with their team at the start of the race. In the middle of the night the drivers begin to feel distant, as if rather than going in circles for hours they had actually been driving away from the starting point. At four A.M. I replaced Zeccoli again and headed down the Mulsanne in the
Ferrari, slipping through small patches of fog. As I reached the point where the road kinks slightly to the right, everything--the trees, the sky--flashed pink as if millions of stage lights had just been switched on. I hit the brakes automatically and a moment later I went into a fog bank suffused with eerie pink light. It was like driving into a huge ball of cotton candy. I stopped the car. Then I realized that I could be hit from behind so I jumped out and hurdled the guardrail. Now I was in the woods. I noticed another driver wandering around as if in shock and recognized him as the German Udo Schutz. As I ran toward him the fog lifted for a moment and I saw a car burning in the middle of the track; it was the combination of flames and fog which created the pink light. I could see the course workers bravely trying to fight the fire, so I got my arm around Schutz, brought him to the guardrail, and shouted to the rescuers so they would see that he was out of the car. Then i ran back to my car and accelerated away. Just before dawn the fog worsened. Shooting down the Mulsanne, I would be confronted every lap with an impenetrable gray wall and no way to tell whether it was a little patch or a whole bank. If I slowed down and it turned out to be a harmless wisp I knew I would feel like a fool; so as long as my nerves could stand it I would roar into the fog at full speed, traveling the length of a football field every second into fog so thick that I could not see more than two car-lengths ahead.
When dawn finally came it was a shock to see the changed appearance of the surviving cars. Even those which came through the night unscathed were stone-blasted and streaked with oil. Racing along, I could smell breakfast cooking over ten thousand campfires. Shortly after lunchtime Elford's
Porsche 917 broke down after leading for seventeen hours. For some time the Ford GT40 of Jacky Ickx had been dueling for second place with Hans Herrmann's
Porsche 908. Now they were racing for the lead, and with ninety minutes to go they were only a fewfeet apart. I had taken the wheel for the final two hours. The track was almost empty. Near the end of the race the crowd began to gather near the guardrails. A few waved. Five laps to go. Four laps. More were waving. Past the pits. Crest the hill under the Dunlop bridge. Down into the esses. The crowd was massing behind the guardrails, waving, waving. In the signaling pits the NART people were waving a bottle of champagne. As I made my dreamlike progress around the track for the last time I felt an electric contact with the crowd. On the Mulsanne a big cargo plane flying very low slowly caught and passed me. its rear door had been removed and a television camera was pointing out with two men standing beside it. Realizing that they must be following the leader on his last lap, I looked in my mirrors and saw both Ickx and Herrman bearing down on me. As they went by, Herrmann had just pulled out to pass Ickx, and for a moment the three of us ran in line abreast. Then Herrmann completed the pass and Ickx tucked in behind him; but at the end of the straight, just before they vanished from sight, Ickx repassed. When I reached the finish line the entire area was hooded with people. I slowed to a crawl, trying to find my pit, but people were pounding the roof and sitting on the fenders. Trapped and exhausted, I was finally rescued by the NART mechanics. The crowd was going wild in the excitement of the finish. Ickx had clung to the lead I saw him take; the man who had walked to his car twenty-four hours earlier had won the race by fifty feet. Zeccoli and I had finished eighth: the highest-placed Per- Udo Schutz had survived intact--only to be killed in a race just one week later. Later that night I asked the NART people what they thought had happened when I was missing for so long when I stopped for Schutz. "Oh," said Dick Fritz, "there was one lap that seemed a bit longer than the others, but we didn't think anything of it."
The following year, 1970, was the year of the rain. When the race started at four P.M. the track was bone-dry but the the lead, and with ninety minutes to go they were only a fewfeet apart. I had taken the wheel for the final two hours. The track was almost empty. Near the end of the race the crowd began to gather near the guardrails. A few waved. Five laps to go. Four laps. More were waving. Past the pits. Crest the hill under the Dunlop bridge. Down into the esses. The crowd was massing behind the guardrails, waving, waving. In the signaling pits the NART people were waving a bottle of champagne. As I made my dreamlike progress around the track for the last time I felt an electric contact with the crowd. On the Mulsanne a big cargo plane flying very low slowly caught and passed me. its rear door had been removed and a television camera was pointing out with two men standing beside it. Realizing that they must be following the leader on his last lap, I looked in my mirrors and saw both Ickx and Herrman bearing down on me. As they went by, Herrmann had just pulled out to pass Ickx, and for a moment the three of us ran in line abreast. Then Herrmann completed the pass and Ickx tucked in behind him; but at the end of the straight, just before they vanished from sight, Ickx repassed. When I reached the finish line the entire area was hooded with people. I slowed to a crawl, trying to find my pit, but people were pounding the roof and sitting on the fenders. Trapped and exhausted, I was finally rescued by the NART mechanics. The crowd was going wild in the excitement of the finish. Ickx had clung to the lead I saw him take; the man who had walked to his car twenty-four hours earlier had won the race by fifty feet. Zeccoli and I had finished eighth: the highest-placed Per- Udo Schutz had survived intact--only to be killed in a race just one week later. Later that night I asked the NART people what they thought had happened when I was missing for so long when I stopped for Schutz. "Oh," said Dick Fritz, "there was one lap that seemed a bit longer than the others, but we didn't think anything of it."
The following year, 1970, was the year of the rain. When the race started at four P.M. the track was bone-dry but the sleep, but when I closed my eyes the rain would start comingat me again. For the first time in my career I was aware of the possibility that I might not live through the race. In any race there is always the danger that something may go wrong unexpectedly, but at Le Mans almost every moment on the track was perilous. Nevertheless there was only one thing to do, which was to continue.
Hans Herrmann, who would eventually win the race, was interviewed at dawn. "You cannot see a thing," he said."You daren't use more than third gear on the straight; you cannot brake, accelerate or decelerate; the car doesn't respond to the wheel at all." Dawn usually provides an emotional uplift which helps to offset the fatigue, but at dawn it was raining harder than ever. Each car trailed a wall of spray, so that in order to pass you had to drive into the spray completely blind, trying to guess where the other car was and knowing that you had to complete the pass before you arrived at a turn. Out of sheer exhaustion I sometimes hung back behind a slower car for nearly a lap, just out of range of his spray, summoning the courage to pass.
Sometime in the early morning Vic Elford passed me in his
Porsche 917. 1 tried to follow but I couldn't make myself take the risks he was taking. Before he became a racing driver ElEord had been one of the world's top rally drivers and had plenty of experience driving in ice, snow, fog, and rain. Perhaps that gave him an advantage over me; but there was also the likelihood that Vic was just braver. That depressed me so profoundly that I forced myself to try things that seemed irrationally dangerous. An hour later Elford crashed; perhaps he had been driving too fast, I don't know. [...] By noon, with four hours to go, the track began to dry. We were running fourth, miles behind the leading Porsches. Two of the
Ferrari's cylinders were out and our top speed was cut by 30 mph. There was no point in pushing hard now; we were driving deliberately, trying to avoid the easy mistake. With an hour to go Bucknum brought the car into the pits for the last time and lifted himself wearily from the cockpit. I climbed in and drove slowly back onto the nearly empty track. The crowd began to come to the guardrails to wave. The year before I had felt as if their emotions were being transmitted to me like electrical energy, but this time I felt nothing. On those last laps I had no emotion at all left in me. After winning the race Herrmann announced his retirement. He had enjoyed a long and illustrious career; in his fifteenth Le Mans he had finally won the race and given
Porsche their first-ever Le Mans victory. But as he explained, "Even if I had not won, I made up my mind to chuck racing altogether. In the rain one found oneself in situations so absolutely beyond control that the risk was really too great." Only seven cars were classified as finishers. Of those which failed to finish, eleven had been put out by crashes. For the second straight year I drove the highest-placed
Ferrari. In the week prior to the race I had been sharing a hotel room in downtown Le Mans with Charlie Parsons. Every morning at five A.M. We would arise, lift our suitcases onto the beds, and wait. "Long after we've forgotten whatever happens in this race," Charlie said philosophically on one occasion, "as long as we live we'll always remember sitting here, before dawn, watching the bidet overflow." I agreed with him then; most races are soon forgotten. But not Le Mans 1970.
The year 1971 proved to be by far my most successful Le Mans. Tony Adamowicz and I were third in NART's 512M and for the third consecutive year mine was the first
Ferrari to finish. But the race was an anticlimax after the epic struggle of the previous year. There was, however, one high point. Our car was delayed in the opening laps, which gave me an excuse for some fast driving to make up the lost time. When I pulled into the pits to hand the car over to Adamowicz I was startled to receive a standing ovation from the crowd.
"What's happening!" I asked. - "You just broke the lap record!" someone told me. I shot a quick glance at Mr. Chinetti, who was forever ordering me to
drive slowly to save the car, but although he was trying to look stern he could not keep the smile off his face. Mr. Luigi Chinetti is a little old man. To look at him you would never guess that he has won Le Mans three times as a driver. In his third victory, except for two hours, he drove the entire race himself.....at the age of forty-nine! That was the first time a
Ferrari won Le Mans; years later, when Mr. Chinetti's car won in 1965, it was the last time a
Ferrari won at Le Mans. Now another of his cars had broken the lap record, and he could barely conceal his pride. Seventy-one years old and stilla racer. [...] My record was bettered later in the race by a
Porsche 917, but it didn't matter. For years NART had shown that their cars could finish a race; now they had also shown that they could be fast.
Six weeks later I had another chance to show the car's speed. The day after the six-hour event at Watkins Glen there was a Can-Am race, and many of he long-distance cars were entered, including Penske's
Ferrari 512M and the Gulf
Porsche 917's. After an hour of racing I was trailing Donohue by a scant two reconds when his steering broke; I went on to defeat the two Gulf Porsches and finish sixth overall. By the end of 1971 NART had come a long way from that afternoon at Daytona when Dick Fritz let me drive the beige GTB to the garage. Surprisingly, they were becoming a team to be reckoned with. But just as they reached the threshold of success the rug was pulled out from under them. In 1972 the rules were changed and the magnificent 512's became useless museum pieces. The
Ferrari factory introduced a new 312 which proved to be invincible. At NART we waited and hoped for the day when a 312 would be made available to us, but the day never came. In the meanwhile, as a stopgap measure we ran the Daytonas, which were better than nothing and proved well suited to Le Mans; I co-drove a Daytona to
sixth overall there in 1972. But trying to eke out a class win in a glorified street machine just wasn't the same as rushing down the Mulsanne at 230 mph.
Driving for NART had been like riding a merry-go-round while NARTs fortunes rose and fell according to
Ferrari's whim. In five years I had ridden every horse and I had reached for the brass ring; but the music was fading now and
the merry-go-round was slowing to a crawl. It was time to get off.
Huii, a bisserl viel Text....ich brauch ´n Kaffkaff 
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Turbo läuft und läuft und läuft...
