A PHASE OF MOTOR RACING.

Otago Witness, Issue 2840, 19 August 1908, Page 64

A PHASE OF MOTOR RACING.

The following graphic description, oulled from the, Motor (Eng.),. of the "doings" iat- a roadside racing depot in the recent Terga Florio Motor Race (Sicily) conveys 4 good idea of 'how the fuel and tyre stations are organised and manned in the important automobile races in Europe: — "'Qnt'-of the cloudless, turquoifee sky the flun blazes fiercely down on Ike little cluster tjf wooden, stands gay from many coloured flags, which nutter 'from time to time in |be fcreeze coming fitfully off the dark- ~ blue sea that seems so clcee. Straight as «a arrow lies the road, "narrow and blotched brown with tar where it passes between the timekeeper's box and the grand stand with its half-filled tiers of fceate. A little way up the course on one eide is » plank-floored space, running in I front of a little row of wooden sheds. This is- the replacement depot where each racing £rin has its stores of petrol, oil, and tyres. fpn one side is the open-air restaurant, Sphere the straw-hatted waiters are laying the tables and opening the big umbrellas Which are to shelter the dinersr f rem the sun. Before the tribune, opposite the long scoring board, there is a const-ant stream of men in dust-coats and women in motor-veils, ijiscussing the latest message or the chances ?.f their favourites. In the replacement heds the mechanics sit about in groups pn cases of petrol tins or piles or tyres, in different languages. Across tfche read, behind the wire fencing, sit a tew score spectators, who know from experience that this is the most interesting i fipot. And above the buzz rises the longdrawn cry of the water-seller — for this is Sioily. Suddenly, across the hum of conversation cute the shrill note of the telephone bell. It is that little town over there, three miles away -on the brown ish.frreen .hillside, calling up to say a racer ttias just gone through, and in less than three minutes he will be here. At once $here is a consultation of time-tables end Comparing of notes to see who is due to pass. The, car's number is hoisted on the aide of the timekeeper's box, and the waitSag mechanics hurriedly begin to get out the spare tyres, the huge funnels, the big jacks which lift a oa>r like a feather, and fell the hundred-and-one - things which

their ' champion ip likely to want if he stops. A thin line of dust rises suddenly on the hillside, ami & moment afterwards a thread of smoke flickers up into the sky, bursting into a little puff of white like a ball of cottonwool. That is the bomb announcing: that t.he tracer has reaohed the straight run to the grand stand. A huge, bulging cloud spreads at the end of th© long road, and in a few seconds there is a little black - dofc in the middle that seems to sway from side to side on the road, growing rapidly bigger and bigger. Then the open exhaust hums eoftly up «gainst the wind, and the two men can b© seen crouching in the car, the- driver hanging on like grim death to the swaying, jerking wheel. Will he stop? No— yes! The car reaches the plank road and swings in- to the aide, skidding to its shed with a. squeal of brakes a.n<3_& crunching of steel studs on the wood, and stands quivering, the engine, beating out a steady roar. In a moment the driver and mechanic are out of the car, feverishly unstrapping the torn and burst tyres which they have changed during the round. The car ha 3 been jaoked right off the ground, and there is a little group of mechanics at each wheel taking off the used-up covers, working the braces like lightning, hammering off the detachable rims wjth anything handy, for the tyres are too hot to touch. In go the big funnels, the petrol and oildrums 'are upended, and their bottoms smashed in — there is- no time to wait whilst the liquid gurgles out at its own sweet will. Above the roar of the engine sounds the clank of cans, the ring of metal on metal, the crash of the old tyres as they a-re flung down anywhere out of the way, and the quick shouts of the driver, answering the many questions flung at him by his friends. The dripping- radiator is covered with the remains of what once were butterflies, which the hurtling moneter has swept away as they fluttered across the road in its path. Suddenly all is ready. The driver nimbly olimbs in, the car comes down on its four wheels, tools, petrol tins, jacks, and the rest are kicked out of the way. There is a yell of 'Via— via-a-a! 1 and the onlookers scatter. The engine roar 3 out angrily, there is a crunch, a clash of gears, and the car plunges forward. The mechanic waves his hand in answer to the shouts of the bystanders, the driver pulls down his goggle, with one hand, and, wrenching the flying car on to the course again with the other, shoots between the tribunes and disappears down th© road on another round of his battle with fortune and the circuit. As the throb of his engines dies away in the

distance, the mechanics pick up the rent and battered coi ers and roll th-eni into the eheds, showing- them to one another with laughing comments. The jacks are stood in order again, the tools are laid out in neat rows on the ground. All that is left of the fiery visit is a few splashea of water, some oily smears on the planks, and two grooves where the steel-atudded tyree bit deep into the soft wood. And then one settles down until the next racer comes in, when the drama is repeated. It is a mig-hty struggle, this pitting of man's skill and courage against the open road and' its dangers, a struggle, in whioh the big machines are like fierce animals, tamed and controlled by a 1 turn of the wrist of the keen-eyed man with nerves of steel sitting calmly, watchfully, at the wheel, ready for any emergency, scheming to save a fifth -of a second, to swirl round the bends and corners at the highest speed possible without courting disaster. Playing with death? It may be, but it is the finest game that man has yet invented to risk his neck in."