July, 31st 1955

6:57pm, Kitsap County Airport

ASCC Championship, 2000cc Class

Jack Martin lifted off the throttle and began to brake. The Ace was a very different machine than his Porsche, and he could feel the weight as the car leaned over into the first corner. Still holding the brake pedal, his heel blipped the throttle. The motor revved smoothly, effortlessly up to 7000 RPM, and he selected second gear. Turns one, two, three, and four at Seafair was known collectively as “The Complex.” Drivers trail braked through a decreasing radius turn one onto the main runway and a half mile straight. Shifting to third, he flowed the car out to the right before cranking the wheel left for a 90 degree turn off the runway and onto the infield. A nasty bump at the edge of the runway threatened to upset the car, but Martin kept it under control as it powered down the ⅛th mile straight to turn three. Again, turning left, 90 degrees onto the secondary, eastern runway. Another half mile led to turn four, a nasty, slow, first gear hairpin, and out onto the mile long back straight. Martin took the opportunity to check his mirrors, and coming up behind him fast was a speeding silver bullet. A Mercedes 300SL, and a chasing Jaguar C type tore past on their way to 150 MPH. Both would be racing in the Over 2000cc class, colloquially known as the “Big Bore” class. Here in practice, their drivers sized each other up on the 3.9 mile long course, both capable of running near 170 MPH at LeMans.

Tailing the faster machines, Martin plunged into a high speed chicane, taken almost flat out. That led to the dangerous “Mile Long Corner,” Seafair’s widowmaker. Turns Five thru Nine covered roughly a mile as the name would suggest, and cut through the woods on the south side of the Airport. It created a series of narrow, high speed, obtuse corners with short straights in between where momentum was key. Many terrible crashes have happened here in the past, as trees lined the road, mere feet from the passing cars. In the actual race, it wasn't uncommon for an animal to run out in front of a pack of charging race cars, causing a massive fiery accident. Just before turn ten, the drivers came into a clearing. They would brake from top speed down to about 50 MPH, as they entered the main runway. One final chicane led them onto the start-finish straight, completing the 3.9 mile long course. During the race, this would all happen in the dark.

Martin pulled the Ace into the pit lane, where the car’s owner and normal driver Stephanie McClaire along with a team of mechanic’s awaited. Bringing the car to a stop, the crew leapt the wall and practiced fueling up the car. During the 25 lap event, a single pit stop would be required for fuel. Martin walked over and sat on a stack of tires.

“Those big bore cars are flying around here!” he yelled over the roar of passing engines. McClaire nodded, and showed him one of the two stop watches she was holding. Three minutes dead, an average speed of 78 MPH.

“You can do better.” She hissed. Miss McClaire was all business on race day, no wonder everyone missed her at Put-in-Bay.

“I’m still getting used to the car. I know it’s your baby, but it’s a lot heavier than my Porsche! It wallow’s around and it’s kinda scary” Martin protested.

Meanwhile, Charles Schmidt in his MG was pounding around the course. He had teamed up with Fred Edsel for tonight’s race, as they were relatively close in the championship points standings, and they both wanted to catch Martin. Moreover, Edsel was a master car builder and a specialist of all things MG. If they wanted to beat Martin and McClaire, they needed every advantage they could pull. Edsel had tuned the supercharger on the trip to Seattle, the engine was now making notably more power and the car was lapping at about the same pace as the Ace. The last of the competitors arriving from Put-in-Bay was Bob Lewis. He was acting as a relay in the big bore class, for pilot Steve Jones and his Aston Martin DB3s, who happened to be a fellow colored race driver and the team’s owner. However, mechanical issues were plaguing the car, and they would miss practice as their teams worked on the stick machine.

The hours seemed to move fast, and soon the sun was beginning to set on the horizon. It was just past 8:30pm now, and practice was over. The teams made last minute repairs to their cars, and slowly the 60 car field assembled on the front straightaway, their backs to the pit lane. Endurance races were a little different from Road Races like Put-in-Bay. Both major classes would race at the same time. This made for a very interesting dynamic for the fans, watching as the faster cars negotiated the moving obstacles that were the slower cars. For context, the big bore cars were lapping at an average speed of 95 MPH, while the under 2000cc class could barely manage an average of 70 MPH. The Ace had qualified in 3rd position in class, 32nd overall. Schmidt and Edsel’s MG started 5th, and Bob Lewis and company would start dead last, not posting an average speed in practice. Many believed they wouldn’t make the race. Another wrench in the works was the LeMans style start. Drivers would line up across the runway from their cars, and would have to sprint to them at the start of the race. Martin volunteered to take the first shift, not wanting the beautiful Miss McClaire becoming a hood ornament of a passing vehicle.

Soon 9:00pm rolled around, it was dark now, and only the lights illuminating the runways could be seen, minus the flood lights in the pits. The track was a silent monster, laying in wait for its prey. 9:28pm, press and fans were shooed away from the grid, as the mayor of Seattle, Allan Pomeroy walked into the middle of the track with a pistol. At exactly 9:30pm he would fire the gun into the air, and the race would start. The championship drivers in the big bore class stared Pomeroy down, their eyes looking like they were about to rip the gun from his hands and kill someone. $12,000 was on the line in the over 2000cc class, and for many that would make or break their whole season. Further back, the small bore drivers watched as well, more relaxed and composed. $5,000 was still a grand prize for them, but racing was more a lifestyle than a career for them. Still, everyone had their reasons for racing, and Martin couldn’t help but think about his Grandmother. She was probably listening to this with her nurse on the radio. Pomeroy lifted his arm into the air, the drivers took a sprinter's stance on the side of the road, and with the sound of a gunshot cracking through the air, the race began!

Martin sprinted to the Ace, leaping over the door and into the seat. He turned the key, located left of the steering wheel, and jammed the car into gear. The straight six fired to life, and in a fury of noise and smoke, he joined the stream of heavy metal heading for The Complex. Fred Edsel was also on the move, in the number 72 MG. Getting a bad start, he pulled out accelerating, as a small round white car called an Abarth wheeled out in front of him and stalled. Edsel wheeled the antique MG right, swerving to avoid the Italian machine, but the car directly behind him wasn’t so lucky. A black Triumph smashed into the back of the Abarth sending both cars skidding out of control and the Abarth veered back towards the pits. Pit crews ran for their lives as the car plowed through a toolbox of the Chevrolet team. Further back, a sputtering, flame belching Aston Martin, piloted by Bob Lewis was desperately trying to clear its throat as it accelerated past the slower 2000cc cars. It was the first time the car had been started all weekend, and Bob was giving it hell trying to catch up to his class. Sometimes that’s just what a car needs, and soon the Aston’s engine was coming on song as it entered the complex. It tucked behind the familiar looking Ace, and squeezed passed accelerating to the second corner.

Martin with a blistering start was leading the way for the 2000cc class, while behind him, a pair of MG’s smacked fenders. One lost control spinning into the grass over the bump. Ahead, Lewis’ Aston tangled with a big bore Porsche, but they were steadily pulling away. A misplaced runway light sat broken in the middle of the road, and all the cars routed around it as they flowed through the third corner. Now that things were starting to sort themselves out, The Ace clearly had the lead of the slower class, as a Jaguar battled the brand new Corvette for the overall lead. Through turn four, they rocked down the back straight, dancing through the chicane and into the Mile Long Corner. Martin checked his mirrors, Edsel was right behind with a accompaniment of other vehicles. Together, their headlights scared away the dark, as they plunged into the woods.

On the outside of the track, a stricken Mercedes 300 with a flat tire limped along at walking pace. Martin, Edsel, and the rest of the field acknowledged the obstacle and kept their distance, hugging the inside of the track as they passed. Moment’s later another car with a flat tire, this time a Jaguar, flashed into view. He too stayed outside, and the small bore leaders passed by safely. Martin checked his mirror again, Edsel was gaining on him, and as they exploded out of the woods and began braking for turn ten, Edsel oddly dove for the outside lane. Both the Ace and the MG spit flames out the exhaust, motors barking as they downshifted, but the cars came out onto the runway door to door, and the MG now had the inside line for the chicane. Martin backed off, not wanting to play chicken on the first lap. As they streamed past the pitlane, some cars came to the pit lane for repairs but for everyone else, Lap 1 complete, 24 to go.

In endurance racing, the first lap is always chaotic, as it’s the best opportunity to make up positions while the cars are packed close together. After that, the drivers settle into their mounts and crack off laps as fast as they can safely, and progressively that gets harder and harder. As fuel burns off, the cars get faster and faster. Simultaneously, the more the brakes fade and you lose the ability to stop. This was amplified by the long, repeated, high speed braking zones of the Seafair track. The heavier and faster your car was, the more this became an issue. Most well prepared teams fitted their cars with bigger brakes, as street units can only last a few laps. However, after 5 laps, some cars were already experiencing major brake fade.

For the big bore cars, brake fade was a matter of life and death. On lap 7, yellow flags waved into the first chicane, a Maserati Special had blown it ramping the concrete barrier, and landing on its side. As marshals scrambled out onto the track to pick up debris, the driver stood, lucky to be alive as he watched his wreck smolder. Bob Lewis’ Aston was another car being affected, He had climbed to 19th position, and had narrowly missed getting collected by the Maserati as it crashed. However, into turn ten on the same lap, trying to out brake a Ferrari, his pedal went to the floor as the brake fluid boiled. Unable to stop, he ran wide into the grass on the outside of turn ten. He completely skipped the front stretch chicane and rejoined the track on his way to the pits.

Barely able to bring the Aston to a screeching halt in his pitstall, Lewis and his stocky frame climbed out to discuss what happened with his copilot. Steve Jones was inexperienced in the world of race driving, this only being his third race. Taking over his family's business was more his dream but he saw race car driving as an opportunity to promote him, his family’s restaurant, and his Race. That’s why, when he was given the opportunity, Jones hired an all black staff for his team, including most of his family, and Bob Lewis as his co-driver. This made waves in the American Sports car scene, especially south of the Mason Dixson line. Some of the largest sports car races in America were held in Florida and Georgia, and amongst some circles, there was a lot of talk about “The team made entirely of antique farm equipment.” Bob Lewis had dealt with racists all his life. Most of them, he punched in the face. He got so good at it he went pro and became the super middleweight champion of North America. Somewhere along the line, he detoured into Britain to get married but ended up falling in love with small British sports cars, and race car driving became a weekend hobby. Now he spent more time behind the wheel than fighting, and he dreamed of becoming the first black driver to win sports car racing’s Triple crown, Daytona, Sebring, and Lemans, considering lemans survived 1955 that is. Soon the Aston’s brakes were cooled, the tank was filled, and a couple laps down, Jones took to the track. He would not be alone though, as many of the big bore cars were suffering with fading brakes.

It was here the stalwarts of Sports Car racing started to appear, as a trio of bright red machines with screaming twelve cylinder engines powered to the front of the field. Their song sounded angelic and demonic all at the same time, and as they howled like animals in the forest, Martin in the Ace could sense their lights growing close in the mirror. Scuderia Ferrari had brought a squad of Italy’s finest machines, all piloted by top American sports car talents. Names like Shelby, Hill, and Miles adorned the entry list, and nearing the halfway point of the race they took the lead with the intention of keeping it. Lap 10 fell to the record books at record pace...