In last week’s post, I listed multiple-day rally competitions as one of the ways in which to enjoy getting behind the wheel of my second (and current) Sunbeam Tiger. During the first few years after getting my driver’s license, my then-girlfriend and I had participated in a number of single-day events organized by like-minded sports-car clubs in northern New Jersey (driving my ’66 Comet Caliente convertible, no sports car by any stretch of the imagination). So I had some experience with so-called “seat of the pants”, or SOP, rallying, in which no timing or calculating equipment was allowed, and just a dab of white shoe polish was applied to obscure your odometer. This time, however, would be different.
It all began with a single phone call, placed on a whim, in the spring of 1998. A famous automotive journalist who shall remain nameless answered the call, confirming that a few spots were still available for an upcoming four-day rally event covering some one-thousand miles or so of Vermont and New Hampshire country roads. Fortuitously, one of my closest friends, also a work colleague at Volvo, was not only available but more than willing to share the adventure.
A credit-card deposit was taken, and the phone call ended with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. I was less than two years into ownership of the Tiger, and with nothing more intense than some short weekend country driving and static car shows under its belt, I wondered whether the twenty-two year-old LBC would survive the rigors of four consecutive days and 1,000 miles on the road, not to mention the 700-mile round trip travel to and from the Freeport, Maine starting and ending point.
We proudly affixed this plate to the Tiger. Some of the rally dust still remains after twenty-four years.
To further set the scene, it wasn’t as if there was nothing else going on in my life at the time, either – it was just a month before I was scheduled to depart the U.S. for a multiple-year work assignment at Volvo headquarters in Gothenburg, Sweden. I had hardly begun to deal with the logistics involved in that major life change, so in a sense, the rally would also become my last state-side ‘vacation’ before flying across the pond.
So we headed north to Maine, speculating on the way as to whether we would see a preponderance of domestic or foreign machinery competing among the event’s fifty-four accepted entries. Checking in at our resort starting point and eyeballing the participating vehicles which had already arrived, we were surprised to note that sports cars built on the Continent vastly outnumbered those produced stateside.
A corner of our assigned parking area. The E-Type was absolutely exquisite. Note the UK license plate.
It was amazing to see vehicles from the 1930s being driven in earnest through the four-day event, including a 1935 Alvis Speed Twenty, a 1936 Auburn 852 Speedster (real, not replica), and a 1983 Bugatti Type 57C. Seeing those true classics with squashed bugs on their radiator grilles and windshields at the close of each day’s rally stages gave us a new appreciation for those owners who delight in exercising their automotive masterpieces instead of treating them solely as garage art.
Part of the lineup after a short rest stop at the Pemaquid Point lighthouse.
That’s not to say that newer models weren’t also in evidence. Amazingly enough, our ’66 Tiger was joined by another example from 1967. Other entrants from the ‘50s and ‘60s included five Jaguar XK-series roadsters, four Mercedes-Benz 300SL roadsters, and three Jaguar XK-Es. Aston Martins, Ferraris, Porsches, and MGs of various vintages also shared the New England two-lanes with us.
My co-driver took this artsy shot at the Owls Head Museum (Owls Head, ME). I strongly recommend a visit if you’re in the area.
And we needn’t have bothered speculating on the depth or breadth of the domestic contingent, as a ’57 Corvette and a ’70 Mustang convertible were the only examples of Detroit iron to be seen.
Observing the action at one of the rally’s on-track opportunities, with two other Ford-powered competitors waiting their turn.
In total, the rally included twenty-eight “stages”, or segments, of which eighteen were timed, with ten “transit” (not timed) stages. Competitors left each starting point at two-minute intervals, and with the length of each stage (in both elapsed time and miles) printed in the route instructions, there seemed little excuse not to complete each stage at the intended time. We learned to factor in the unexpected, such as being stopped behind a school bus discharging its passengers, or following a slow-moving public-works dump truck, or misinterpreting a route instruction at a particularly challenging intersection in the middle of nowhere. Each of those unforeseen events added to the time/speed/distance challenge.
Route instructions, several maps, luggage tags, and other ephemera were our traveling companions for the four-day event.
While we surely tried to “zero out” as many of the timed stages as possible, we also kept in mind that, unlike some participants who had trailered their cars to Maine in expensive tow rigs, the Tiger would be our ride back to New Jersey. So behind-the-wheel antics such as overtaking in a no-passing zone or wandering into the opposing lane on a partially-blind decreasing-radius curve were left to others.
Leaving aside the resort hotels that served as our destinations at each day’s end (and the courtesy luggage pickup and delivery to each), the ample and varied fare at our lunch stops and dinners, and the presence of qualified mechanics to attend any vehicles which failed to proceed at any point on our thousand-mile odyssey, our overwhelming takeaway was the joy of sharing lightly-traveled roads and an eclectic mix of special cars with like-minded enthusiasts.
There’s a price for all this automotive goodness, of course, and there are now several purveyors of similar experience-rich adventures on wheels. After nearly thirty years, my co-driver and I still have great memories of this one. And yes, the Tiger completed the 1,750-mile total flawlessly.
Leave a Reply