My husband wants to go to the Mission Raceway. Vintage car racing…to see old cars go fast.
‘Wanna pack a picnic? It’ll be fun.’
I need some convincing, but it’s a leisurely Saturday. I ask how he got the bug.
‘Well, they’re not really practical, but they’re fun to drive, close to the ground. You’re shifting all the time and actually driving, not just aiming…’
Alongside Mission Raceway, an MG and a Triumph, mint, mint.
He had a Porsche 914 that he drove to Whistler in winter (an experience that nearly killed him). By the time I met him, he was driving a sensible Chevy Blazer.
We ‘aim’ along Highway #1, Trans Canada, straight as a drag strip, to Mission’s Vintage Racing Club of BC (VRCBC).
Open-wheeled or closed-wheeled, these modern wheels don’t skid…apparently.
Braking and turning; braking and turning…
The Road Course at Mission has been a racing track since the Westwood track closed in 1990. The track is one lap and cars accelerate out of the start, gearing down for a hard right hand turn then a left at Greg Moore Corner, gather speed for the third turn, a left hairpin before Cascade Corners—braking and turning, braking and turning. It takes the fast guys just over a minute per circumference.
We position ourselves at the top of the Grand Stand overlooking Greg Moore Turn. It’s hot. We’ve had our picnic, and the first race begins. It’s tight between two yellow ’91 Mazda Miatas and a 1969 BMW.
They don’t make every corner, but this guy walked away.
‘If they can’t beat that ’69 BMW, they’re not racers,’ says a seasoned, retired-racer next to us.
Out of the blue comes a Mini. He pulls into second and holds position behind one of the Miatas. The BMW comes third. Impressive one minute- ten second laps. Did I just time that?
The noise. The vibrations of
‘VROOM’, not once but multiple times
At dizzying decibels
And the commentator
Sputtering names, numbers
Vehicle years, makes & models
The colour, the class, where they’re from.
They come around, lapping the track.
From a dozen Dinky Cars to a fascination with Stirling Moss, the 1950s British race car champion, my husband, an ex-Brit, owned a 1950 Ford Meteor V8 after he came to Toronto in 1956. He took the street car to/from work. The Ford was for a pleasant Sunday drive: a semblance of freedom and adventure.
‘What adventure?’ I’m still trying to fathom the car mystique.
‘We’d drive to Buffalo for cheap beer.’
‘Oh, right.’ (I’m not getting any closer.)
‘Then in ’59, I sold the Ford when one of my Aussie friends drove four of us to Mexico in his Buick. We shared the driving; drove all day, partied all night.’
I do remember this story from our first date.
‘I just wanted you to know I’d done that…got it out of my system.’
Except for loving vintage cars, that is.