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Le Mans Classic 2018 - A Retrospective Account


Plateau 1 - 1923-1939

Plateau 1 - 1923-1939

Aston Martin DB2

Aston Martin DB2

1952 Jaguar C-type s/n XKC008 & 1953 Cunningham C4R

1952 Jaguar C-type s/n XKC008 & 1953 Cunningham C4R

1954 Porsche 356 Pre-A s/n 52780

1954 Porsche 356 Pre-A s/n 52780

Plateau 2 - 1949-1956

Plateau 2 - 1949-1956

1956 Lister Maserati & 1959 Jaguar Lister Costin

1956 Lister Maserati & 1959 Jaguar Lister Costin

1958 Chevrolet Corvette C1

1958 Chevrolet Corvette C1

1966 Ford GT MkII & 1965 Ford GT MkI s/n GT40P/1079

1966 Ford GT MkII & 1965 Ford GT MkI s/n GT40P/1079

Bizzarrini display

Bizzarrini display

1978 Renault Alpine A442 '3' & '2'

1978 Renault Alpine A442 '3' & '2'

Plateau 6 - Paddock

Plateau 6 - Paddock

 

More than anything else, the three-day visit to the Le Mans Classic was a thoroughly enjoyable learning experience, primarily concerning little known - certainly within the UK - French automobiles from arguably the most innovative and creative decades of the industry’s history.

Many of these purely road going and specialist racing machines I’d only ever seen in books before, and the variances in models was only apparent upon close inspection and subsequent comparison of my own photographic evidence. Similarly, from Germany, in the midst of the esteemed Stuttgart brand celebrating its 70th anniversary, were countless iterations from the Sports Racing Competitions department, not widely seen since the whole company was still in its initial quarter century of existence. Most Porsches had been developed and modified, year upon year, to satisfy the eternal quest for more speed and lower lap times, but it was a joy to see several put back to their original incarnations and specifications - again part of my practical history lesson - and so much more involving than reading text or staring at monochrome photos.

That said, lots of the more familiar ‘usual suspects’ had crossed the English Channel, to experience the thrills of an 8.45 mile circuit, and take the opportunity to race throughout the night which venues elsewhere, particularly in the UK, cannot provide. Jaguars in abundance, especially the XKEs which, in addition to representation in Plateau 3 (1960-66), had their own dedicated race, where all other marques were excluded.

Throughout the vast interior fields and between the swooping curves of the Bugatti circuit were parked nearly 9,000 exotic, historic and interesting classic cars brought by members of clubs from throughout France and many from other countries across Europe. I was particularly interested in the various smooth shapes and slippery styles of Panhard and Deutsch-Bonnet. These being small engined French cars whose construction benefited from low coefficients of drag and high fuel efficiency, both on the road and successfully campaigned within the Index of Performance categories of the 24-hour races at Le Mans. A more luxurious Gallic brand from a similar era was that created by a former aviation engineer and designer, who had also worked with Citroen. FACEL (Forges et Ateliers des Constructions d’Eure-et-Loir), since 1945, had been making make short-run special bodies, for Simca, Ford, Panhard and Delahaye, but in 1954, founder Jean Daninos launched his own complete design, the Facel Vega. Most people know about the subsequent range of large Chrysler V8 engined cars which include the FVS, the HK 500, the Facel II and four-door Excellence, but his smaller convertibles and coupés are less famous outside France, yet equally impressive and still uniquely French. However, it is hard to tell, at first glance, the different models apart, but after studying my own photos taken from both the front and rear, I can now visually separate a Facel III, from a Facellia F2, from a later Facel 6.

Another outstanding car which literally halted me in my tracks, when I first saw it in the metal, hails from Germany and was constructed and entered for Le Mans during the mid to late 1930s. The ‘Adler Super Trumpf Rennlimousine’ on display among other genuine Le Mans racers (rather than sister cars), appeared to have been built to aircraft standards of engineering and was one of the earliest manufacturers to explore the benefits of aerodynamics. In fact, should they have had propellers on the front, and a pair of wings underneath, Adlers, I’m sure, might have flown in the great International air races where pushing the boundaries of maximum potential speed and setting records for such achievements was the continual goal. Even today a car this visually striking would grace any major concours, whether held in Europe or the United States.

That said, perhaps the most monumental discovery for me, though admittedly more mundane, was actually nothing to do with vehicles, but more about the circuit itself. Whilst taking a break for some fruit and water back at my hire car, located on the outside of the Pits Straight, I watched the various black limousines delivering guests of the ACO before they disappeared through a main entrance to enjoy special hospitality and the best facilities that the Automobile Club de l’Ouest could provide. After a while I spotted someone, rather strangely dressed for a corporate lunch. Instead he was shouldering several long lens cameras, emerging from a side door. I say a side door but it was more like the entrance to a boiler room, with visible pipework just inside and corrugated ventilation slats on the metal paneling. A security guard now stood across the way in after previously stepping aside for this photographer to egress. Perhaps the gentleman was just a contracted photographic supplier to the ACO and he preferred to leave by the tradesman’s exit?

Intrigue got the better of me, so I just had to explore further. Locking up my car and grabbing another bottle of water I approached. My closing presence and direction of travel towards the security guard alerted him to formalise his protective stance, as all such members of his trade invariably do. I too, was growing a little tense, wondering how I would respond to his inevitable question or abrupt statement in a language I - still shamefully - didn’t understand. I had just one chance. I smiled, looked him straight in the eye, uttered the ubiquitous ‘Bonjour’ greeting and held out the lanyard round my neck containing my security details and even a mugshot copied from my passport. To my astonishment, not only did I receive a reply of the same word, but the gentleman stepped aside again, enabling me to pass by and enter the building. As this shock result dawned, I immediately quizzed myself as to why I wanted access to a boiler room, doubtless full of industrial air conditioning units, water pipes and electrical cables. There was a hum from some of the machines and a closed door to my left, presumably into the main inhabited part with offices and various function rooms.

However, to my right, and turning a corner, there was a descending passage, in grey painted concrete, with more pipework along its wall. Then steps to go much lower and, following that, a long straight thoroughfare. At the far end, four short flights of steps, rising in alternate directions above each other. Half way up, at eye level, I was suddenly faced with approaching heavy boots belonging to half a dozen broad men in berets and camouflage fatigues, with each one carrying a machine-gun (yes, honestly!). The lead soldier nodded, as did the final one in the line, as a silent thank you for letting the group pass unhindered. What else was I going to do? However, the military presence was reassuring in a World class event attracting 135,000 visitors and billions, in value terms, of total worth, from the gathered automobiles. At the top, another civilian security guard blocked the narrow passageway in the direction of the noisy pit lane so I chose to head in the other. A repetition of ‘bonjour’ to a friendlier female security employee and she smiled, beckoning me through. With that I was suddenly back out in the open again, emerging slap bang in the middle of the inner paddock, between the rear of garages 27 and 28. I climbed a few more longer flights of stairs and headed for the press room to contemplate what had just happened. I’ve been coming to Le Mans since 1995, some being official visits to the circuit when no racing was taking place as well as several when I was part of the team looking after support races, but I never, ever, knew that tunnel existed. Of course, I’ve used a much wider, graffiti strewn public tunnel further down, underneath where the final corner becomes the beginning of the pits straight, but not this one. Perhaps no wonder, as the innocuous entrances are either through a boiler room or a narrow concrete gap, for pit lane officials and ACO staff, only seen by occupants of garages 27/28.

With a fuzzy abstract map containing rough locations of interest, partially imprinted in my mind, I then went exploring. First of all, I met many people I already knew connected with Aston Martin, being especially interested to talk to owners and AMOC members bringing French examples of the marque. Then I gravitated to more domestic displays again and studied several unusual home-grown ‘products’. You may see quite a disparate selection in the accompanying photos, but they included a very curvaceous Renault Vivaquatre Limousine looking well ahead of its time when built in 1936, then a far more rudimentary Darmont Aéroluxe 3-wheeler from only two years earlier. I had never encountered a Darmont before, but this and an older Darmont Special 3-wheeler of 1927 vintage were remarkably similar to British twin cylinder Morgans of the same period, also having a single rear wheel.

Similarly new to me was the manufacturer ‘Th.Schneider’ with an impressive 1921 4½-Litre Tourer catching my attention. Théophile Schneider had entered the French motor industry as early as 1894 from his base in Lyon. By 1912 he was racing cars carrying his own name and entering them for other drivers, with some significant success through to 1914, with several creditable placings in the Grand Prix de France. A similarly imposing convertible, this time from 1950, but based on a pre-war design, was a Hotchkiss 686 GS Cabriolet. 1960s boxy rear-engined rally saloons were typically Renault 8 Gordinis always, it seemed, in French blue, but I was pleased to see various, more sporty looking, Renault Alpine A108 and A110 examples in other shades, as well.

I was gravitating back to the high-speed action on circuit, with hopefully a bit of shelter from the sun and perhaps something like a sandwich to eat a little later on. The ideal position I found was sitting high up in the steeply canted Tribune stands, on the far-right hand side, and watching the practice session for Plateau 6. These the most recent cars originally competing at Le Mans until 1981, potentially among the fastest of the entire weekend. I had an almost panoramic view as they approached after the final Ford chicane, gathered immense pace in front of the Pits before curving out of sight towards the Dunlop Bridge. On two occasions in the space of about 300 yards the back end of a sky blue, with yellow flashes, Porsche 935 produced a terrific bang, like an artillery shell exploding, which was immediately followed by corresponding plumes of blue smoke, but the impressive speed it was attaining seemed unhindered. A couple of minutes later occupants of marshals’ posts were waving red flags and ‘Qualifying’ was suspended. Official cars with flashing lights rapidly left the pit lane, and far in the distance behind them racing cars, completing another lap, were entering it from the other direction.

This signaled an appropriate moment for fellow spectators to break for lunch. Most notably were, immediately below me, a group of middle-aged males producing from bags and rucksacks, small bottles of wine, baguettes and shallow metal tins. The lids were peeled back and the strong smelling greasy looking content spread thickly over the bread. I later learnt this was highly likely to have been foie gras, perhaps not ideal refreshment in the humid 95°F heat. The guy on the end of the row, already large enough and needing to occupy two seats, ran out of bread after his second tin, so upon the opening of his third, he just spooned out the content and devoured it like a tub of ice cream, washing it down with another bottle of wine. I stuck to my weather warmed water, as I no longer felt any hunger.

At this point it felt idea for me to depart and wander amongst the paddock garages, then about half an hour later, I decided to visit the Artcurial auction. As I was crossing a very busy thoroughfare, traffic and pedestrians in all directions, a large breakdown truck emerged and swung around from the Bugatti circuit tunnel. I caught sight of light blue car with bits of yellow, loaded on the back, and my eyes followed to the rear of the lorry as it passed. The cargo had immediately changed, halfway along, from a colourful and recognisable 935 into the aftermath of a cremation. There seemed nothing left but charcoal, ashes and shards of black twisted metal. Obviously a highly stressed flat six had disintegrated after a catastrophic failure and loss of oil, then totally combusted in its own highly flammable vapours and liquid fuel. Thankfully it seemed the driver’s seat was unburnt but hardly anything existed, resembling a Porsche, behind it.

Although depleted by at least one in number, French Porsches, in celebration of the company’s the 70th anniversary, seemed more common than all the domestically produced marques combined. Occupying acres of the central clubs’ display area were, it seemed, several thousand of them. Okay, perhaps a slight exaggeration, but the total number was surely into four figures. Their hospitality marquee alone could have housed and fed an entire army. A slightly smaller but still impressive structure nearby was full of highly polished cars waiting to be sold by Parisian auction house, Artcurial. The stylish company had also put down a huge amount of attractive wooden decking, upon which many other highly sought-after cars in their catalogue were parked, in full view of the public. It certainly enhanced the photogenic aspects of the vehicles and probably made them seem even more desirable.

That said, the two stars of the show were a matching white pair of Swedish registered Mercedes-Benz 300 SLs, one a ’Gullwing’ and the other a Roadster, complete with a spare unused optional hard top, still in its original crate. The sale, due take place the following afternoon, proved to be a very busy and popular occasion lasting over four hours, where a total sum approaching €13 million would change hands. The biggest single contributor to this figure was the world record price paid for the 1963 Mercedes 300SL Roadster, with only 1,380kms on the clock, gaining a new custodian for a staggering €3,143,440, including premiums (and more than double the estimate), with its 1956 ‘Gullwing’ cousin, in support, selling for over €1m gross.

A pair of Lamborghinis were next in line among the most valuable success stories, with a 1975 Countach LP400 “Periscopio” close behind at €977k and a 1968 Miura P400 exchanged for €834k gross. A very colourful Lamborghini agricultural Tractor went for €35,800, well above the high estimate. These machines, of course being those which company founder Ferruccio began manufacturing in 1948, a decade and a half prior to building his first cars also to carry the family name. However, Artcurial’s proportionately greatest success, and most appropriate for the venue, was the sale of the flag used to start the 1967 Le Mans 24-hour race. Estimated to reach between one thousand and fifteen hundred euros, the next person to wave it as often as he wished in ownership, parted with a colossal €32,500 for the privilege.

Returning to the track, action continued apace and very popular overtures were the traditional Le Mans starts. These being where up to 75 entries, for each Plateau era, were reversed back towards the pit wall in ‘echelon’ formation and, at the Starter’s flag, all drivers would sprint across from the other side of the tarmac, jump in their cars - hoping they fired up instantly - and speed off accelerating hard to begin their initial lap. For the Le Mans Classic, this was purely for show but enjoyed by drivers and spectators alike. When the competitors reached the Mulsanne Straight, they would pause, to be marshalled into correct grid positions, secure their belts and harnesses, and be led round by the Official Safety Car before it pulled into the Pits and the lights turned green for a mass high-speed rolling start.

The atmosphere, despite the oppressive temperatures, was friendly and good-humoured, among the thousands of people watching, for if a car ‘failed to progress’ from its initial static position, marshals were vocally encouraged as they pushed the stragglers with all their might in order to get them going with a bump start. In Plateau 2, for those manufactured between 1949 and 1956, a diminutive, underpowered saloon, simply refused to fire up. Every other car had disappeared from view but finally, as the tiny Panhard Dyna X84 burst into life, a huge roar came up from the crowd, cheering in unison, waving and applauding, as it chased after the rest of the pack. When it eventually came around again completing its first lap still several seconds behind the last but one car, due to power from only its twin cylinders and combined 610cc capacity, the spontaneous cheers were repeated.

Earlier in the afternoon when the 1923-39 cars of Plateau 1 had begun with the same procedure, more than a couple of entries were soon struggling for expected speed, audibly being at least one cylinder down when they came around again. Given that most were completely open, one or two of the drivers could be seen bouncing up-and-down (no seat-belts fitted, of course) in frustration or a vain attempt to physically restore full power, to the amusement of all watching. However, on the second completed lap, after a bit more bouncing and a loud bang from the exhaust, I think it was a Singer Le Mans of just 972cc, the fourth cylinder was suddenly restored and the acceleration was markedly visible. The crowd laughed and cheered, the driver punched the air in relief and acknowledgement as he regained momentum.

By the time night had fallen, the competitors in Plateau 5 were underway, these being racing cars of the 1966-71 era and to experience them I’d managed to secure a lift in a ‘Media Navette’ shuttle down to the First Chicane on the Mulsanne. There you could be temporarily blinded every few seconds, by the glare of headlights fast approaching, hear the roar of Ford and Chevrolet V8s in GT40s and Lola T70s or Corvettes, and watch their brake discs glow under violent deceleration. The soundtrack was interspersed with various howls from the full complement of a dozen cylinders made by Porsche and Ferrari, but even more piercing were the screams of front running Cosworth DFV powered prototypes and massed ranks of 4-cylinder Chevrons and open air Lolas. Most extraordinary was the, still futuristic sounding, ‘hum’ from the Howmett TX Gas Turbine, actually constructed half a century ago.

From there I waited for another circulating media people carrier to take me through the forest down the bumpy farm track to my favourite section, the outside of Indianapolis, before the short straight towards the right angle, first gear, corner of Arnage. Just in time for the warm up lap of the next race, I tagged on to a small ‘VIP Pass’ walking group accompanied by an elderly British Marshal, taking a break, and soon found myself at Arnage with the cars of Plateau 6 turning convexly, literally just a few yards away, listening to anecdotes and past experiences from a few 24-hour endurance epics, as told by this stalwart volunteer official. Twenty minutes later there was a sudden commotion of many sounds, both mechanical and human, back at Indianapolis and in the moonlight thick plumes of light grey smoke were rising into the night sky. Almost immediately the nearby 4x4 fire tender truck burst into life, turned on its siren and scrambled over the rough terrain, nearly ejecting one of the firefighters clinging on the back, before it reached the incident. Several others, including me, ran the relatively short distance in pursuit. By the time I got there, the fire marshals were already returning their extinguishers to the vehicle, having discharged some content onto the rear end of another air-cooled Porsche that had got far too hot.

This Group IV 930, was not in such a bad state as the earlier 935 I had seen, but ironically both were of 1979 vintage. This was the same year that these highly modified Porsche 911 variations beat all the prototypes and filled the top four positions - in fact 7 of the first 9 - with film star Paul Newman finishing second overall (with Rolf Stommelen and Dick Barbour). I pondered that skills gained in Mr Newman's famous acting role, along with that of fellow Le Mans racer Steve McQueen, both headlining in the film ‘Towering Inferno’, might have being put to good use saving these Porsches from the flames. When the tow truck arrived and the charred 930 was being winched aboard I received a rather steely glare from owner/driver Frédéric Lemos when he was caught by the flash light of my camera (see photo!) but he said nothing. I raised my hand as an apologetic gesture as understandably he might not have been full of the joys of Spring, given his weekend of racing was already over.

When I finally got back to my car, and had completely run out of energy, it was past 2:30am and yet still 24°C (over 75°F). I thought it wise to make a departure rather than collapse for only a few hours and feel grubby and ghastly as the morning sun soon raised it back above 30° again. Le Mans Classic 2018 had been a wonderful long weekend of motoring indulgence, and I still relished the opportunity of reviewing and identifying my several hundred pictures, then watching recorded coverage of many more highlights and racing action I'd missed, via the Peter Auto website during the later weeks of July.

     Themed MediaCenter Galleries >>> Le Mans Classic 2018

A concluding thought: In June 1931, aristocrats Earl Howe and Sir Henry ‘Tim’ Birkin won Le Mans in an Alfa 8C 2300. Exactly a fortnight earlier Noel Coward had famously sung “Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the Midday sun” for the first time. Yet, three days of it - and with much prior warning - didn’t stop many thousands of eccentric fellow countrymen from taking rather daft decisions, when they felt the magnetic pull of hot and humid Le Mans, even in the height of Summer during an extended heatwave. For proof, take a quick look at a visual example, within my attached photographs. An Englishman, with a few friends, drives down in his immaculate, hand built, Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud III Fixed Head Coupé, with exquisite coachwork by Mulliner Park Ward, a rare and highly valuable ‘Chinese Eye’ model, approaching 18 feet long, fit for a King…also appropriate for an Emperor.

Rather than a chateau or smart hotel, perhaps even a modest mass-market motel, let alone a nearby B&B or an on-site ‘glamping’ unit, this chap, obviously of considerable financial means, parks it in a featureless field and puts up a tiny tent, about a quarter of the limousine’s size. Within the ultra-thin cloth cocoon he sleeps on hard ground, come rain or shine. In this case it’s blisteringly hot sunshine and that, notwithstanding his R-R’s interior being both roomier and doubtless more comfortable, with the soft leather seats fully reclined. But he’s happy, thoroughly enjoying the camaraderie of likeminded friends and, most of all, with thousands of truly fantastic cars of bygone times to watch and hear. That’s the unique atmosphere of the Le Mans Classic!

John Godley
Classique Car Conduits

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