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Classic Adelaide
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Classic Adelaide 1999 - the upside down view |
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After driving to a meritorious 12th place in his
much loved 1995 Lotus Elan in the inaugural Classic Adelaide in 1997, John
Allison participated in the event for a second time this year. Here is his
report, prepared a few days following the event ...
She was big, she was curvaceous, she was beautiful ... and also extraordinarily agile for a 63 year old. What more could a man want? Well, not much actually. I refer, of course, to John Fitzpatrick's Delage, with its dramatic Figoni et Falaschi two-seater body, which was the only pre-war car in the main 'competitive' section of this year's Classic Adelaide.
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John and I shared the driving and navigating on alternate days. I have never navigated before - always said I never would - so was subject to some starting-line nerves about the prospect of wrong-calling a corner. Also, when it came to my turn to drive, there was the fine line between being so slow as to let the side down, or going faster and damaging this treasure of a car through inexperience. John=s attitude is great, though - in his opinion these old cars are to be fully extended, not left as static exhibits or in collections. He's had many good cars over the years, Lola, Bugatti, Lotus, Ballot Olds, Aston Martin, you name it, and they all had a good airing in his hands. It's a wonderful feeling, sitting up there behind the large diameter, beautifully crafted steering wheel, with big chronometric rev counter, and louvred bonnet extending forwards to the imposing German silver radiator shell. No grinding away on the starter with this old car, the engine starts every time with a brief push on the foot starter button, which is located next to the clutch pedal. The steering is reasonably precise, and the ride is not bad at all - an early example of independent front suspension, you see, albeit with friction dampers. Even the brakes work well. Perhaps the most lasting impression of this car is how strongly the engine pulls, almost regardless of which gear you're in - it's a 3 2 litre overhead valve six, fed by three large SU carburettors. The gearbox is four speed with nicely chosen ratios, the only problem being that, in this event, it developed a habit of slipping out of third gear on the overrun; which was disconcerting because third was the perfect ratio for the multitude of medium-speed corners in the Adelaide Hills. In all, however, this Delage is a most impressive package for its age, which maintained a more than respectable position in a field of more modern cars with the primary advantage of much better tyres. That is, until disaster befell us ... Towards the end of Day Three, Fitz detected an engine problem, which we stopped to investigate on a transport section. It turned out that an advance spring had come adrift and been chewed up in the distributor, so we cleaned out the detritus, decided to complete the last few stages and get to an auto electrician that night. On arrival at the control for the next competitive stage, 'Gorge Road Long', I told the marshal we had been delayed and were thus mixed in with a slightly faster group of cars. Also that we had an engine problem, so I expected the following car, starting a minute behind us, was likely to catch us ten kilometres or so into the stage. I asked the marshal to tell the following competitor we would look out for them and pull over to let them pass, but if they had any doubt we had seen them to flash their headlights. John Fitzpatrick spoke directly to the driver in similar vein. It duly happened: About 11 kilometres into the stage, shortly before a left hand corner, John slowed, pulled to one side and waved the car through. It went past quite quickly, almost as though to emphasise how fast it was compared with our old bomb ... and then spun directly in front of us. John managed to avoid hitting the other car, but this part of Gorge Road is narrow with loose stuff on the verges, and the rest is history. Our Delage skidded over the edge and rolled upside down on top of us. The next few minutes were absolutely horrific. I was trapped face down, with my body in the cockpit and head protruding from the door cut-out, wedged tight. My visor was jammed shut so I had no air, yet I was unable to control my rapid breathing. I managed to get my finger under the base of the visor to allow air in, otherwise I'm sure I would have suffocated, and was greeted by a strong smell of petrol. At that point I thought the car would catch fire, only a matter of time, and I had a great fear of this manner of passing. Fitz was also trapped, I knew that because he was calling out; but he stopped after a while, so I feared he was badly injured. The only hope was if more competitors arrived soon enough to lift the car off us before it caught fire. People from the car which had spun in front of us were talking intermittently in high pitched voices, but they didn't come over to us. I therefore assumed they were injured or also trapped in their car. Or perhaps, from the scene confronting them, were certain the occupants of our car must have been killed anyway, and were awaiting the next car through for help. (In fact they were unhurt and able to go on to finish the event). The next people on the scene were unable to lift the back of the car, but rolled it slightly in my direction - had they been fully successful I realised it would break my neck, so I tried to call out for them to lift straight upwards instead. I don't know whether they heard me or not, but they stopped doing it. I was fully conscious through all of this. I wished someone would talk to me. I was able to move one of my feet slightly in my feeble efforts to push free, but each time I did so it pushed on the starter button ... how come my feet were in the driver's side? ... each time the starter went the people seemed to run away ... anyway, the slightest spark, I thought, would ignite the petrol and kill us ... mustn't move that foot any more. Then I heard more people arriving (I now believe it was Rod Anderson and Geoff Graham in their BMW). They seemed to reappraise our situation and marshalled everyone to lift the rear of our car a little so we could squeeze out. The relief was indescribable. Rod said afterwards that I took off on my belly like a crocodile, heading blindly for the creek into which we had nearly plunged, and he had to catch and stop me lest I drown! Then the paramedics arrived, who immediately put neck braces on us and took the utmost precautions against spinal injury. In fact we were both in good shape considering what had happened, and were released from the Royal Adelaide Hospital a few hours later. It hurt a bit to laugh, but the organisers arranged a No Joking table for us at the wind-up dinner the next evening, which we were gingerly able to attend. As it turned out I was in exalted company: Johnnie Taylor, husband of the lady who was my first wife, navigated Sir Jack Brabham, no less, into a tree the day after our crash. Di Taylor told me Sir Jack was charmingly apologetic to her about the incident afterwards ... she was also overheard telling someone else, "Well, of course, my husbands all crashed this year"! Now, four days later as I write this, I am sore and bruised from knee to shoulder, with a broken rib and chipped vertebra. My body is like that of a granny-bashing victim, but I am inordinately pleased to be alive and home with my family. John Fitzpatrick escaped in similar condition. He says damage to the Delage is mainly to the upper bodywork and quite repairable. John Allison
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