Our Warmest Wishes to You All!

ANOTHER NEW BOOK, another new calendar, lots of other work projects, a little more travel than before leading to welcome visits to family and friends Back East, joining a regular workout program and, sadly, the passing of one of our kitties … and one of our dearest friends. That’s been our year here at Big Bear Lyons.

Pumpkin and Spooky at a place in the sun

Let’s tell you about Spooky first. She sure made full use of her allotted 9 lives! Along with her “sister” Pumpkin (they weren’t actually related) she came home with Lorna at Halloween 1992. Spooky was Pete’s mom’s cat during the time Gerry lived with us. Adventures there in Mom’s apartment included climbing into and behind a kitchen drawer while it was open. Mom, unable to see well, shut the drawer. The kitten never made a sound. Hours later an anxious search discovered her hanging by her elbows from the back of the drawer. She was comfortably asleep.

When she was still young and agile Spooky delighted in climbing all through the ficus tree we used to have in the living room. Strangely, though, neither she nor Pumpkin ever picked up the knack of climbing real trees outside. Pete once tried putting her on a low-hanging branch, thinking she’d pick up the idea. All she did was crouch and howl.

But she was a real escape artist the night she came home from the vet with a rear leg swathed in stiff bandages after surgery on her kneecap. To keep her from moving around the house, possibly injuring the leg, we put her in a pen made in the corner of the living room with tall, foldable dog fencing. That’ll keep her safe, right?

By pure luck, around midnight Pete woke up and went into the living room to check on her. He was JUST in time to run across the floor and pluck the cat from the very top of the wire fence before she dropped.

Spooky was a riot. We all miss her. Even Pumpkin, we think.

Pat Rowe

Mickey, we all called her, and she was very dear to us. A master teacher — mentor and friend to Lorna during her own time in that profession here at Big Bear High School — she also was a journalist and photographer, a gemologist, a private pilot and a world traveler with her husband, Kieth. Bright, quick, always cheery and unfailingly interested in what everyone was up to, Mickey was a soulmate to Lorna especially. Dinners at the Rowe house (a dome constructed by Kieth himself) brimmed with enthralling conversation and never lasted long enough.

Four years ago a nagging pain in her abdomen proved to be cancer. She fought it hard, freely undergoing advanced experimental chemo and drastic surgeries. After three and a half years we all thought she had it beat. But at last Christmastime it turned the wrong way, and she succumbed in February.

It’s hard without our Mickey.

Visit to Virgil

August brought a sponsored trip to central New York state for Pete to give a talk and slide presentation at Watkins Glen, 20-year home of the Formula 1 Grand Prix of the U.S. (1961-1980). That went well …

Show 'n' Tell at the Motor Racing Research Center, Watkins Glen

… and then we drove to the Cortland area to spend a few days with Lorna’s people. Brother Jimmy and Donna have now left the old Fitts family farm at Homer to live in a beautiful new, hilltop home outside the village of Virgil.

With them are daughter Melinda and her baby, Jackson James, who was a vigorously precocious 19 months at the time. “Jackson, what’s your name? Is it Jackson? Are you Jackson James? How do you want us to call you?” His response was firm: “JJ!”

The Rt. Hon. James Jackson Higgins, aka "JJ"

JJ’s favorite thing in his whole young, bright world is Grampa Jimmy’s New Holland tractor. “Tractor!” he bellows and points at it every time he passes by. We reckon that come spring he’ll be driving the thing by himself.

As well as Great Aunt Lorna and Great Uncle Pete, JJ’s house also accommodated Great Aunt Dottie and Great Uncle Jack, visiting from North Carolina. Great Uncle Larry came down from Syracuse one day,  as well as Larry’s son’s family, Brian and Lauren and kids Matt and Drew. Larry’s son Michael joined the crowd from Denver via Skype. JJ had a fine time with such houseful of folks. He went around addressing people as “Great ‘Orna” or “Great Dot.” Melinda had warned JJ that the “Greats” were coming!

The Greats: Larry, Dotty, Melinda with JJ, Jimmy and Lorna

The morning after we all left, we hear, JJ bounced out of bed and went prowling the house. It was too quiet. His little brow began to wrinkle. “Greats?” he plaintively asked his mother. “Greats?”

Greats come West

 G.A. Dot and G.U. Jack, aka The Irelands, made a cross-country trip of their own this year, driving — yes, driving! — their Sienna minivan from the Outer Banks of NC clear out to the San Bernardinos of CA to visit us. We were kind of hoping the drive back would daunt them into staying permanently, but oh well, we enjoyed the week we got with them. Good talk, good meals and (the sisters being flower freaks and Jack and Pete having new cameras to play with) a fine day-trip to Carlsbad to wander the Flower Fields. Spectacular!

A treat at the end of the Flower Fields!

Projects

 We’re still doing much the same work-wise. Lorna’s once again into the meat of her year, editing content and selling ads for the upcoming 2012 Membership Roster & Media Guide for the Motor Press Guild (aka MPG). It’s a huge, intricate, detail-intense job and this is not a good time to distract her!

Next week, as we write, is MPG’s annual Dean Batchelor Award gala banquet at the Petersen Automotive Museum down in L.A. That’s the award Pete won last year for “Can-Am Cars in Detail,” with photos by Peter Harholdt and published by David Bull. Without an entry this year Pete volunteered to be one of the judges. So we know who won, but we’re not telling, not ‘til all is revealed next Tuesday evening! Lorna and Pete both will be shooting pictures there, too.

Providing the blizzard predicted to strike our mountains over the next 48 hours lets us get Down the Hill …

Pete continues as editor of the MPG MilePost newsletter (next time you’re surfing check out www.motorpressguild.org) and also is pleased to keep on writing his monthly “Fast Lines” columns for Vintage Racecar magazine (www.vintageracecar.com).

That last gig has now resulted in Pete’s latest book: a compilation of 55 of those columns in a 6×9 paperback titled, what else, “FAST LINES.” It’s published by Octane Press of Austin, TX, on a “print-on-demand” basis, which is interesting. The unit printing cost is relatively higher than the traditional “print thousands at once” model, but then the up-front outlay is vastly less. You only have to print more copies as you need them (and can pay for them).

Octane also is our partner on the new “CAN-AM 2012” calendar. Last year Pete did his own art direction and production, but this one is professional all the way. It’s gorgeous! We’ve just gotten our stock and were busy fulfilling orders all last week (details at www.petelyons.com).

There’s a lot more material lurking in the Lyons files and we’re planning more such books and calendars this coming year.

A year we hope brings good health and happiness to everyone! Our best wishes to you all,

— Lorna and Pete Lyons, and Pumpkin too

Holiday Greetings to one and all!

Under 5 ft of snow…Big Bear’s “January Juggernaut” of 2010

For us as for many, we know, it’s been another tight-belt year. But thanks to ongoing work for loyal clients Motor Press Guild, Vintage Racecar and Road & Track, plus Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca, the Amelia Concours, websites sportscardigest.com, racefanstv.com and MMRsite.com, as well as Pete’s new book “CAN-AM CARS IN DETAIL” — now an award winner! — published by David Bull, Pete’s venture into self-publishing with his own 2011 calendar, continued photo and book sales through petelyons.com and, most of all, Lorna’s brilliant management skills have combined to let us hold our own.

Lyons Holiday Letter 2009
Posted on 2009/12/24 by pete
Happy Holidays from the Big Bear Lyons…

Clearing the way to a better year…?  (Lorna Lyons photo)

Say, have you had a challenging 2009 too? Well, who hasn’t? At least we’re still here to swap our war stories, right?

Ours concern another loss of a beloved pet, health issues (now resolved) and — this won’t come as unfamiliar news for a lot of you — a testing time pulling in enough income.

— 30 NOV 2011, added “CanAm 1971” to Gallery Folder “Can-Am”;

— 26 NOV 2011, added “Sebring 1955” to Gallery Folder “Sebring”;

—  23 NOV 2011, revised “Sizes and Prices“

Holiday Greetings to one and all!

Under 5 ft of snow...Big Bear's "January Juggernaut" of 2010

For us as for many, we know, it’s been another tight-belt year. But thanks to ongoing work for loyal clients Motor Press Guild, Vintage Racecar and Road & Track, plus Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca, the Amelia Concours, websites sportscardigest.com, racefanstv.com and MMRsite.com, as well as Pete’s new book “CAN-AM CARS IN DETAIL” — now an award winner! — published by David Bull, Pete’s venture into self-publishing with his own 2011 calendar, continued photo and book sales through petelyons.com and, most of all, Lorna’s brilliant management skills have combined to let us hold our own.

For the most part health remains good for all four of us, counting cats Pumpkin and Spooky, and we bipeds cheer successful eyelid surgery that has allowed Lorna to fully close her right eye for the first time in her life.

Lorna and the snowblower fight the January Juggernaut...

...while Pete wearies himself the old-fashioned way.

Meanwhile, the kitties remain sensible about the whole blizzard thing.

Sadly, two of Pete’s three sisters lost their husbands this year. Susan’s Jim apparently suffered a pulmonary embolism following a harrowing nine hours of spinal surgery. Pat’s Jack passed away of pancreas failure just before Christmas. Besides that, our longtime friend and Pete’s former editor at Vintage Motorsport, Art Eastman, died this year. All were great guys and we will remember happier times with them.

But this was also a year of new beginnings. Jackson James Higgins came into the world, the bouncing baby son to Lorna’s niece, Melinda (daughter to her brother, Jim, and his wife, Donna) in Homer, NY.

Jack, All Star!

UPDATE: Jackson, the old soul, sends us his own Christmas greeting from his very own recliner...!

And in Charlotte, NC, Pete’s goddaughter Hayley Ella Ireland (daughter of Lorna’s nephew, Jeff, and his wife, Laura) celebrated turning 8 with her first doggie. Avatar is 4, and seems to be an Akita mix, although the shelter where they found him knows nothing of his background, not even his former name. But he is one happy (and very well behaved) puppy who has fallen into tall clover! Everybody is absolutely delighted with one another.

Avatar with his new bud, Hayley

The Girl with the Golden Eye

Let’s detail Lorna’s eyelid adventure. As some of you might recall, she suffered facial nerve damage at birth, when forceps were employed too carelessly. That caused partial paralysis which has always kept her from closing or even blinking the right eye properly, thus causing lifelong chronic problems with “dry eye.”

Two prior surgeries over the years helped a little (though one was an agonizing failure in itself), as did keeping that eye closed at night with an adhesive patch, but this past summer she was having more and more trouble keeping it properly moist. Frustratingly, the problem manifested itself in unrelenting release of tears as the poor irritated eye tried desperately to lubricate itself. That, of course, made actually seeing with that eye practically impossible. You try working at your computer or reading from paper while seemingly crying all the time!

Consulting our local Big Bear Lake vision specialist, we learned of a relatively new procedure: inserting a very thin gold weight inside the upper eyelid to help gravity close it.

Gold is used because it doesn’t react with body tissue. (For people with a rare allergy to gold, platinum can be substituted. The things you learn when medical problems crop up…)

Lorna was referred to a specialist surgeon “down the mountain” near the Loma Linda medical complex. Dr. Vidor is a bright young man who does this procedure and nothing else; “I’ve done hundreds of them,” he said, explaining that candidates include not only people with paralysis for various reasons but also injury victims. We were surprised to hear so many people are afflicted with this problem.

During our first visit, the doctor opened a box of small test weights (made of iron, not gold) and unhesitatingly selected one weighing 1.6 grams. “This should be right,” he said, and proceeded to gently tape it in place on Lorna’s right upper eyelid. “Ok,” he instructed her, “close your eye.”

She sqwunched up her face and — presto! BOTH EYES CLOSED.

“Ok,” said the doctor, “open it again.”

No response.

“You can open now.”

The eye remained closed.

“Lorna, why aren’t you opening your eye?”

“Hey, Doc, it’s taken me 60 years to close it, why would I open it?”

Lorna waited out the month to the scheduled surgery date with extremely well disguised impatience. Back in Dr. Vidor’s office — he judged hospital facilities weren’t required in this case, as he’d use only local anesthesia — he explained that the actual procedure would take about 10 minutes, although prep and closing would stretch her stay in the chair to about an hour.

After an hour and a quarter her husband in the waiting room was getting a little edgy.

Finally! Here came the doctor to reassure the poor hubby that all had gone well, but that he’d taken extra time to “clean up” old scar tissue left inside the eyelid from her disastrously failed Lid Spring Operation 20 years ago.

Lorna duly appeared, a nurse ready at her side but walking on her own. Surprisingly to us both, her only bandage was a small one that left most of the lid itself exposed, red and swollen shut of course and with sutures visible. But she was feeling fine, she said. No real pain. Wasn’t it time for lunch?

Day by day the redness faded to normal color, the swelling went down, and her eye opened more and more. Now, two months later, you can’t tell by looking that anything was done to her eyelid, except that … IT LOOKS AND WORKS JUST LIKE THE OTHER!

We took Lorna in to show off to our local eye doctor, Anna Bedrossian, who actually got misty with happiness. Softly she said, “This is life-changing.” It is.

Award-winning Book

Publisher David Bull, left, with Lorna and Pete. Named for the late Dean Batchelor, seen in the background, the MPG award is a stylized representation of the streamliner that Dean designed, help build and drove to speed records at Bonneville in 1949. (Albert Wong photo)

Second-best news of our year was Pete winning the Dean Batchelor Award for “CAN-AM CARS IN DETAIL.”

The DBA, as we call it for short, is presented annually by the Motor Press Guild (MPG for short), the nation’s largest organization — 700-plus members — for automotive journalists and PR professionals. In memory of one of our founding members, the Award recognizes “the journalist judged to have produced the single piece of work which best represents the professional standards and excellence demanded by Dean Batchelor during his life as an editor, writer, and chronicler of the automotive industry.”

This year’s winning book is a words-and-pictures study of 22 surviving machines from the famous “no rules” racing series of 1966-1974. It features modern studio photography by Peter Harholdt, was designed by Tom Morgan, and is published by David Bull.

This is Pete’s second overall DBA, following his 1996 honor; he also captured Best Article in 2006. (Learn more at www.motorpressguild.org)

Travels

Actually, this was another year of limited long-distance travel. Our biggest trip (400 miles each way) was to Monterey, CA, for the annual historic auto races, where we take a booth in vendor row to sell our photos, books, DVDs and, now, calendars.

Lorna and "CAN-AM CARS IN DETAIL" in our booth at the 2010 Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion, Mazda Raceway.

Given the economy we felt this year’s trip was a gamble, but to our surprise and delight, we had our most profitable week ever. A lot of that was due to David Bull’s launching the new Can-Am book there. It generated a lot of interest (and sales!) and kept both Pete and photographer Peter Harholdt busy signing, signing, signing.

Duty at the signing table for, from left, Pete, the 1972 Can-Am champion George Follmer, photographer Peter Harholdt, Shadow constructor Don Nichols and Porsche star Hurley Haywood.

Home from Monterey, our faithful Sienna loaded to the gunn'ls with booth supplies.

Other travel destinations this year included two events at the Riverside International Automotive Museum, where we again had good sales and Pete put further polish on his public speaking skills. Much polish is still needed.

Also, an assignment came from Road & Track to do a story at the Long Beach Grand Prix, and Pete seized the opportunity to spend an extra day on personal safari in the mean streets with boots and camera. Hunting the wild race car is still a joy after all these years.

Both of us also enjoyed a non-working few days in San Diego at the time of Pete’s birthday in May. What did he most want to do? Lorna wanted to know. Go on a Tall Ship was not an answer she expected. But having devoured C.S. Forester’s Hornblower stories in his youth, Pete was pleased finally to step aboard a square-rigger for the first time. Those narrow quarters, those towering masts, those millions of miles of rope…

Our Woodland Trail

When we had dogs, nearly every weekend, both days, year round, we took them for a hike around this 1.5-mile forest loop we helped build. No longer having our beloved Midnight, Tessa and Dakota makes self-motivation harder, but we did get out several times this spring, summer and fall. Here are some scenes from the Trail:

Our warmest, best wishes to everyone,

Lorna and Pete

…and Spooky and Pumpkin too!

Thank you, Akismet!

Happy Holidays from the Big Bear Lyons…

Clearing the way to a better year…?  (Lorna Lyons photo)

Say, have you had a challenging 2009 too? Well, who hasn’t? At least we’re still here to swap our war stories, right?

Ours concern another loss of a beloved pet, health issues (now resolved) and — this won’t come as unfamiliar news for a lot of you — a testing time pulling in enough income.

Sadness dominated the beginning of the year, when we lost our Samoyed dog Dakota in January, only a couple of weeks after Christmas. He was coming up on his 14th birthday and it was pretty obvious he was feeling it.
Yet he was still a happy guy, still able to enjoy his walks — well, slow ambles — around the neighborhood twice a day. Indeed, sometimes he’d muster a trot, and every so often at the top of a downhill the spirit of a canter would seize him. That was a joyous sight to behold.
Incredibly, one evening with Lorna at the leash Dakota broke into a hard gallop! He seemed inspired. His trademark Sammy grin splitting his mischievous face, he proceeded to tear around the entire walk at full charge, even on the uphills, Lorna flying along behind. It was the good old Dakota we used to know and a happy thing to remember him by.
Two days later he was gone.

Dakota was our third dog to pass on. It was two years earlier that our wonderful German Shepherd, Tessa, left us. And of course even after 15 years we still deeply miss Midnight, our marvelous black Keeshond.
Everyone asks, are we getting another dog. The answer is no, at least not now. For one thing, honestly, we don’t want to go through the loss and grieving again. It’s too raw right now.

Cats of an earlier time, Poindexter and Victoria, are still in our hearts, too.
Our current kitties, Pumpkin and Spooky, the pair of pampered princesses, are both aging fairly well. They’re 16 now.

Here is “Spooks”

and “the Pumpkin-colored cat”

The shot with Lorna (always appropriately attired) was taken on Halloween day, the anniversary of the cats coming to us and — as you must have figured out — the genesis of their names. Spooky has once-daily shots of insulin, and both get a regimen of liquid oral meds twice a day for various old-age ailments involving heart, thyroid and arthritis. They still live for the quiet hours of the evening, after mom’s work day is done, when they can clamber onto her toasty warm lap to help her watch HGTV.

Mom kind of likes that part of the day, too.

This summer we enjoyed the company of Diva, a “deer head” Chihuahua, while her Significant Person, our friend Willow, found a new house. Diva is incredibly bright and trained as a Service Dog to do things that make your jaw drop. She’s also drop-dead adorable:

Diva dancing

Late addition: Here by popular demand are Diva’s buds, whom we dubbed “The Boys.”

Bun-Bun is the one on the left, with the droopy ears. Pete wanted to rename him “Bugs,” but couldn’t sell it. Bun-Bun is very sweet and mild-mannered, but not much of a conversationalist. Pig-Pig, tho, is a very assertive little guy. Whenever he heard someone approaching he would whistle piercingly, come rushing out of the little birdfeeder he had adopted as his very own and stand up on his hind legs, pawing at the pen wire. He figured he was in for a baby carrot or leaf of lettuce. He was usually right.

They, Diva and Willow are now in their new house, a really nice place with ample room for Willow’s garden. The Boys are especially pleased.

Lorna’s work day continues to revolve mostly around her duties for MPG, aka the Motor Press Guild. She operates their website, a daily all-day task, and in her spare time (cue derisive laughter) works on the following year’s annual Membership Roster and Media Guide. For that, she’s responsible for the accuracy of data about members and services and also for selling the ads that pay for the book.
She’s really got a gift for ad sales. Astoundingly in this economy, she’s already sold most of her target of ad pages for next year’s Roster — a month ahead of deadline.
Her work is so appreciated by MPG that they’ve given her a raise — again an astounding thing in this year of hardship in the auto industry.

Pete also was rewarded with a raise this year for his work as editor of MPG’s monthly newsletter, MilePost.
That came in handy when, in March, we abruptly got cost-cut by one of our biggest and longest-standing magazine clients. They’ve been struggling, all magazines have, so it was understandable. But it was sudden. Chop! A two-minute phone call and 40 percent of our income axed.
Kindly, that magazine’s editor has managed to send a few jobs our way regardless. Even better, Pete’s column continues in the first-rate monthly Vintage Racecar. We were also very glad to have some assignments from Road & Track, a premier publication to which Pete has been contributing off and on for over 35 years.
Also ongoing is work on two books, one a biography, the other a third Can-Am book. Both should be done in the new year.

Freelancing may have its pay challenges, but against that one has to factor in experiences like Pete enjoyed at Long Beach in April. Among other great things, he scored a couple of hot laps in a Porsche GT3 RSR driven by ALMS and Grand-Am star Darren Law. Rides in race cars…Priceless!

(Larry Mason photo)

One of the R&T assignments mentioned above was a major honor: a Lyons calendar. Every year they put out a high-quality, fine-art B&W calendar with a historic racing theme, and for 2010 they chose the photography of Ozzie and Pete Lyons.
Pete wrote the captions, too, striving — this is a personal grumble of his — to make them informative, pertinent and generally worth reading. His fee was a small stock of product to sell through our website and sales have been going fairly well.
If you will forgive us a shameless plug, we still have some autographed and numbered 2010 calendars available through our recently revamped site, www.petelyons.com

Let’s see, what else about this year… In March we took part in a film festival at the new Riverside Automotive Museum, where Pete presented the first film to be shown, the Duke DVD “Can-Am Thunder,” in which Pete and his pictures play a prominent part.

(Lorna Lyons photo)

The same month took us to two vintage car shows, the first devoted to Porsches and the other to British marques. At both venues we enjoyed good photo and DVD sales. In June we had similar success at an historic race at the speedway in Fontana.
But an experimental visit to a different kind of show, which featured street rods and classic American cars, gave us an economic beating. Lesson learned, this is not our clientele.
In November the Petersen Automotive Museum generously let us set up a vending table (photo below) during a fundraising gala called “Tribute to Trans-Am.” This was our crowd and we went home happy. So did the museum director. Pete donated two prints for the auction, and the combined benefit to the museum came to $2700.
Maybe we are undervaluing our pictures on our website!

No overseas trips in 2009, for the first year in many. In fact, not many business trips at all. Our clients just don’t have the money. Nor do we.
However, thanks to thoughtful friends who passed along a time-share condo reservation they couldn’t take up themselves, we have just enjoyed a week on the beach at Dana Point. Sun, sea and skies free of snow. Sweet!

December brought Lorna her 60th birthday. We had two special celebrations. The day itself coincided with MPG’s annual banquet, where 120 of Lorna’s closest friends sang Happy Birthday to her. On a moment’s notice the caterer whipped up a “cake” — two cookies, a mountain of whipped cream and a handful of berries. Hard to eat, but very nice.

(Larkin Hill photo)

To celebrate more formally, Lorna sat for a neighborhood friend who is launching his own portrait business. He did a superb job. Here is Pete’s favorite image of his honey:

(Jim McClune photo •  www.jimmcclune.com)

What will 2010 bring? If we can stay as generally healthy and happy as we have been, we’ll count it a winner.
May each of you be able to say the same. Meanwhile, warmest of holiday wishes to all!

Lorna and Pete Lyons

…and Pumpkin and Spooky too!

“Ya,” replied the reigning world champion, and he stopped in his headlong rush and stood there with us, talking. He told us about the 44-mile mountain road circuit and the Ferrari sports racer and how his throttle had stuck and he went over the edge into “a bean field,” as I remember he called it.

The reigning world F1 freakin’ champion chatting amiably with two utter strangers, just fans, on a spring evening on a sidewalk in Sicily.

That was the first time I’d spoken to him, but not the first time I’d seen him in person. That happened probably two years earlier at Sebring. Midway through a hot Florida afternoon he finished a driving stint, climbed out drenched in sweat and went to a corner of the pit stall, where he slumped to the ground, back against cinder blocks, and lifted a half-gallon glass jug of orange juice.

At that instant a man with a microphone bustled in, thrust it out and asked one of those dumb man-with-a-microphone questions.

I was close enough to see Phil’s eye measure him up and down. Then he tilted his head back and drained the jug, drained it in one long, throat-pulsing swallow, taking his sweet time, draining it of every orange drop. Finally he wiped his sweaty face with the sleeve of his pale blue driving suit. Then, only then, he began his response to the question.

First things first. I admired Phil Hill for that, and for many other things. No nonsense. No pretense. A straightforward man who raced because he was a racer, just that, and thereby kept the whole thing straight in my mind.

Straightforward, but not simple. Others knew him better than I and have written eloquently about his complexity, but I was able at least to experience some of his independence of thought. One time, long after his racing days, my wife and I went to interview him at Hill and Vaughn, his highly regarded classic car restoration shop.

Leaning back in his classic old desk chair, trying to look at ease but fidgeting continually, swinging back and forth, waving his arms, talking a torrent, he told us many things, but one stands out now in my mind.

Kids today, he said with consternation, are so darn safety-minded. Why, when he takes young people for a ride in some wonderful old car, they look around and complain there aren’t any seat belts! He was genuinely puzzled.

I understood perfectly. I watched this man racing when racing was not all about depending on technology for survival, but yourself. Yes, drivers worried about injury and death—so did we passionate onlookers—but the defense measure was to race with intelligence and vigilance and care. Just like flying and motorcycling and shooting, other activities I enjoy precisely because the self-reliance factor is so high.

On another occasion, Phil went on a press trip to Mexico and he brought a knife. A group of us journos were walking along with him through a crowded city street when conversation turned to his record-breaking speed on a particular leg of the old Carrera Panamericana. He stopped, unzipped a bag and pulled out the prize he’d been given for that: a  huge Bowie knife. Unsheathed, it glinted wickedly in the sunlight. Proudly, he showed us the engraved inscription.

I couldn’t help but imagine his trying to explain self-reliance and personal responsibility and treasured history to some airline baggage checker who happened to find such a weapon.

Later on that trip each of us got to ride along with Phil along sections of the old Carrera route. Honestly, it was hard to relate. The car he was driving was very modern, very high-tech, very smooth and quiet and its road manners were unflawed. Nor was he driving very hard, just a pleasant touring pace. I kept trying to strip away all the luxury and weight and safety measures from my mind, trying to imagine what it had been like to drive these relentlessly rugged roads at racing speed in the sketchy, brutal beasts of half a century before.

I couldn’t. The only point at which I caught glimpses was at corner entries. Phil would wait until the last meter before he nailed the brakes. That must have been ancient sense-memory I was witnessing. I hoped so.

Everyone who remembers Phil Hill mentions what a fine person he was. A time I saw that side of him was after I’d asked his help with a book on Chaparrals, and had thanked him in the forward. Fully a year after publication I was in Monaco for the GP, and came across Phil also watching the action. Over the screams of engines he made a particular point of expressing his appreciation for mentioning him.

I thought, it isn’t often in this business that you get sincere thanks from a racing driver. Mostly, their self-absorbed minds just don’t work that way.

And then there was the last time I saw him, at a gala awards function in Los Angeles earlier this year. Phil arrived in a wheelchair, his frailty a shock to anyone who remembered the vigorous athlete he’d been all his life.

He couldn’t speak loudly enough to be heard over the noise of the party, but his eyes were still sharp and alert. He was wholly aware of his situation. At one point, as his loyal friend John Lamm wheeled him by where I was, Phil’s glance met mine. He smiled, and his eyebrows went up and the look on his face was young and bright. What I believe his expression was saying is, “Isn’t this the darndest thing!”

It was work for him to be there, but he came. It was work to stand when acknowledged from the stage, but he stood. It was extremely hard, slow, labored work to sign autographs, but he did it, resolutely, painstakingly, completely. People wanted it, so he obliged.

A gentleman as well as a champion.

(From Pete’s regular monthly column, FAST LINES, in Vintage Racecar magazine, 2008)

Ozzie Lyons, my dad, began capturing the magic of motor racing in the late 1930s with a Speed Graphic, a “view camera” whose design dated to 1912. Belying its branding, and notwithstanding its popularity with mid-century newsmen, that big, boxy contraption was anything but speedy.

Ozzie and his Speed Graphic, circa 1952

(photo by Geraldine Lyons — my mom)

First, it was heavy and bulky enough that just lugging the thing was a chore. Once the right shot came along, that’s all you got—one shot. As I recall the sequence, before making a second photograph you had to:

1. slide a thin metal plate into the removable, two-sided film holder on the back of the camera, and also remember to turn two little security latches, all to protect the 4-inch by 5-inch sheet of naked film from further exposure;

2. pull out the wooden film holder, flip it back-to-front, and shove it in again;

3. remove the second protective metal plate and stow it…somewhere.

Oh, and don’t forget to reach around to the front of the instrument and manually re-cock the shutter mechanism alongside the lens. While you’re at it, better check that the iris aperture, shutter-timing and focus settings—all strictly manual—are correct for the conditions of the moment.

Ok, you’re finally ready for your next shot. Say, is the race still going on?

Looking back, it reminds me of the elaborate rituals early motorists had to perform to start their cars. Some days the trip must not have seemed worth it.

Up close and personal at Andrews AFB

(photographer unknown)

Like his professional fellows of the day, Ozzie put up with all this awkwardness for the sake of image quality. At the time, the results that could be obtained in the 4×5 format were simply superior to anything smaller.

Of course that changed as technology progressed in both film emulsions and lens optics. By the late 1950s even my die-hard dad was an enthusiastic convert to 35 mm cameras. These marvelous minis were so much smaller, lighter and handier that you could easily carry two or more, and they used roll-film. That’s right, you could take as many as 36 photos as rapidly as you could twist the advance-knob on a Contax. Just think of the opportunities that opened up around the track.

When Ozzie upgraded to Nikons, wow—there was a thumb-lever to advance the film, letting you keep the camera to your eye! These beauties seemed made for racing!

To put it in automotive terms, it must have been like the advent of electric starting and synchromesh. Whether driving or taking pictures or doing anything else, such improvements change the very way you go about it—even the way you think about it.

Ozzie is the man with the mini-cam, between the guy looking down into his Rollei with flash attachment and the one still hefting a bulky Speed Graphic; Watkins Glen 1955 (photo by someone named “Sully”)

Thirty-five mm cameras were so small that an ambitious photojournalist could carry more than one. At Sebring in 1960, engineer Ozzie tried a home-made bracket mounting one camera loaded with color film, the other with monochrome. (He and I had just ridden the blimp; note how as it reared into its next takeoff, I reflexively tilted my own camera.)

Fast-forward to this century. I’m a gleeful convert to the Digital Revolution—the term is apt—and, once again, I notice my own approach to, attitude about and practice of photography have changed greatly. Especially, my enjoyment level is higher.

I used to fret about what film to load and which filter to screw on to suit the situation. Was the sky going to stay bright, or turn cloudy? Did I plan to keep shooting through sunset into nightfall? Would I be working inside a home (with reddish tungsten lighting) or a race shop (greenish fluorescents)? All that techno stuff is no worry any more; I can let my cybernetic Canon figure it out.

Another fret was the cost of the film and processing. I used to calculate I was out about 50 cents every time I pressed the shutter. It became hard to press that shutter! But doing the math made it easy to justify the price of going digital. In my case, at the time, I reckoned shot number 4411 put me ahead.

Oh, the freedom to fire at will! With my current setup, I can record better than 375 exposures on one memory card. That’s like shooting more than 10 rolls of film without reloading. And it’s all free.

The confidence you gain from being able to check what you just shot on the camera’s review screen is priceless. Did I get the whole car in the frame? Did somebody blink? Could I improve my composition? Going digital leads you to make many more photographs and, if you learn from them, your photography improves.

After the shoot, instead of sloshing around in chemical baths inside a dank darkroom, fretting about what developer, fixer and paper to use, back aching, today’s imagecrafter sits in ergonomic, air-conditioned comfort before a crisp, brilliant screen displaying his or her work in glorious color. Any aspect of the photo can be massaged until it’s just right.

Darn it, digital is just plain fun.

I do respect the accomplishments of photography’s Old Timers, back in the Analog Era. Like racing drivers then, they had to spend more of their mental capital on managing the process. Having to think about films and exposures while you’re working the race track is exactly analogous to staying mindful of not fading your brakes or damaging your dog-rings in cars without discs and electronically-managed transmissions.

Masters like Lartigue, Klementaski, Alexander and, yes, my father managed to do stunning work with equipment that looks archaic to us now—just as the Nuvolaris, Fangios, Mosses and Clarks did. To work their magic, all those people had to bring cerebral powers to bear that frankly awe me today.

In fact, given what I’ve recently learned about photography thanks to modern technology, I think I’d like to go back now and try my hand again with the old tools. Current race drivers enjoy sampling vintage machinery; I’ll bet a racing safari with dad’s old Speed Graphic would be fun.

(photographer unknown)

(Text written for a “GUEST SPEAKER” column in Classic Motorsports magazine, 2006)

Now that history can be witnessed first-hand, I have ventured back to November 3, 2007. Yes, the date recognized by every schoolchild: the single day nearing the end of the Age of Risk when our Age of Automation truly began.

As everyone knows, the DARPA Urban Challenge was conducted at Victorville, California, north of what used to be Los Angeles. Now part of Greater Las Vegas, the site was then a desert (a place deficient in natural water) and ample room was found to hold the competition through the empty streets—imagine!—of a former military base.

Despite my special crash course in non-autonomous driving, I found getting to the venue absolutely terrifying. Though traffic was sparse by our standards, every one of the hurtling vehicles had a human hand on the controls! Let me tell you, risk is one thing when studied, quite another when experienced. I was enormously relieved to arrive alive and reenter the modern era.

Not that the Bots looked very modern to my eye. Robotics required much added equipment back then, so each of the 11 competitors (culled from 35 early hopefuls) in the final competition was a standard production vehicle festooned with primitive multi-emitter Lidar scanners operating in the infrared, plus old-fashioned optical cameras and GPS receivers. Inertial navigation contraptions and several of the astonishingly bulky computer units of the era occupied interiors. Most teams made use of control actuators already on the market for handicapped drivers.

The driver’s position remained open for a human to take over if necessary—as sometimes proved to be the case—but no one was aboard during the competition. My fellow spectators seemed to find that remarkable.

It was the simulated urban environment that distinguished this Challenge from its predecessors, the 2004 and 2005 tests across the open countryside which still existed in those days. Today’s task was to safely and accurately negotiate courses adding up to nearly 100 kilometers of streets and roads, complete with lane delineations, curbs and stop signs, plus merging, overtaking and self-parking exercises, all while observing California traffic rules. The trial was made enormously more complex by the simultaneous presence of rival Bots and also a fleet of human-driven automobiles, each following prescribed courses of their own. The time limit was six hours, although onlookers were cautioned that “we could run into dark.”

According to Dr. Tony Tether, legendary Director of the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), this was the first time multiple robotic vehicles had interacted in such a way, and before the event he frankly said he was “scared.” To forestall collisions, each competing Bot was trailed by a Control Vehicle fitted with a roll cage and driven by a helmeted human who could transmit a shut-off signal.

Funded by DARPA and numerous sponsors, the goal was to meet a U.S. Congressional mandate to have one-third of battlefield vehicles operating autonomously by 2015. The government’s stated motive was to save soldiers’ lives; many of the university students and industry personnel involved meant to extend the benefit to the public at large.

However, most with whom I spoke did not expect to see full automation of the world’s highways, “at least in our lifetimes.” They were merely looking to systems that would aid the human driver, extending the reach of Adaptive Cruise Control, Lane Departure Warning and similar functions that already existed. Of course we know what really happened, but we must not blame the good folk of the 21st for their short foresight, it’s a human characteristic. That’s why we have robots.

Although I wondered if we would, for a moment. The call to “Launch the Bots!” came at about 7:50 am, but it was 8:07 before one moved. And it wasn’t the designated first starter. That one, so honored because of its performance in qualifying rounds, was “Boss,” a modified Chevrolet Tahoe entered by Tartan Racing, aka General Motors in cooperation with Carnegie Mellon University. Why did it remain stationary?

Because its GPS navigation system had been scrambled by radio frequency emissions from a large television display nearby! The screen had to be switched off and the Bot rebooted while jokes went around that “Boss” had become fixated watching itself on TV. I rather doubt it; this was too early in robot evolution.

Meanwhile, others started at two-minute intervals, each following its assigned route, sounding various distinctive alarms and trailed by their Control Vehicles. Having studied my transportation history, I was put in mind of the famous “man with a red flag” that by law had to walk ahead of motor vehicles in Olde England. I must go back there some time.

When all was well the competitors moved along briskly, but very often one Bot or another found itself blocked or confused and abruptly stopped. Comedy would ensue, as the poor thing cast about with its whirling sensors and struggled to match what it “saw” with the Mission Definition File loaded into its little electronic mind. There would be much turning of front wheels this way and that, shifts into reverse, false starts and nose-diving halts until finally, to cheers from the crowd, progress would resume. Briefly.

One entry named “Knight Rider,” a Subaru from the University of Central Florida, spent a very long time utterly puzzled by a stop sign. It finally figured that out, only to veer off its route into a driveway, where it was terminated just short of the house. “Oshkosh,” a giant truck formerly known as “TerraMax,” took itself out by charging a storefront. Two other competitors had a face-off at an intersection, neither backing down until officials forced one to retire. Another clipped a curb.

“Talos,” a Ford from MIT, appeared to have the most trouble with a rugged dirt road segment of the route, although it haltingly soldiered through. But at one point it collided with “Skynet,” a Chevy from Cornell, which forced the whole event to pause for 20 minutes. Both Bots did continue to the finish.

Of the 11 starters, five were out by the end of the first of the day’s three “missions.” The remaining six went all the way to the end. As they began rolling under the checkered flag, event officials became more and more elated. This result exceeded their most optimistic expectations.

First across the finish line, some 5 1/2 hours after it started (including the race pause and pit stops between missions) was “Junior,” a diesel-powered VW Passat entered by Stanford, winning team of the 2005 Challenge. Averaging some 13 miles per hour, “Junior” was a standout for its smooth, confident-looking progress around the course.

But “Boss,” the Tahoe in trouble at the start, was going even better, averaging 14, steadily making up time, and when DARPA tallied up judging notes from more than 100 human observers this fastest of the robots had also made the cleanest run and Tartan Racing was declared the winner. The prize: two million dollars. That’s quite a lot of money back here and now.

Stanford’s “Junior” came second, earning $1 million. Third at $500,000 was “Victor Tango” from Virginia Tech. “Little Ben,” a first-year effort by a two-college team from Pennsylvania, was fourth. “Talos” and “Skynet” also finished the course, although outside the six-hour limit.

“A fantastic accomplishment,” declared Dr. Tether. For me, the fantasy was witnessing the very beginnings of the wonderfully safe and sane world we know today, when human driving is forbidden except in our few remaining Performance Preserves. I will return to my own time with new appreciation for our Brother Bots, and I must say I look with more favor on their desire to be Unionized.

As my Comm Implant is inoperable in this era, I must compose this report manually with something called a keyboard, an irksomely archaic method, and transmit it via the ancient Internet—which itself sprang from another DARPA initiative—for retrieval a century from today.

Of course the old Internet’s notorious insecurity means I am risking interception and premature publication, leading to incalculable Temporal Paradox.

I can only hope that doesn’t happen. But then, this is the Age of Risk.

(Prematurely published in November 2007 by autoweek.com)

]]> http://petelyons.com/blog/?feed=rss2&p=292 0 http://petelyons.com/blog/?p=148 http://petelyons.com/blog/?p=148#comments Sun, 13 Sep 2009 22:56:10 +0000 pete http://petelyons.com/blog/?p=148 Continue reading →]]> Student of Speed that I strive to be, I’ve had the luck to log innumerable laps of track instruction alongside many superb wheelmen. Bob Bondurant, Danny McKeever, Jacques Couture, David Murry, Al Unser Sr., Parnelli Jones, Peter Gregg…I’ve learned much by revealing my ineptitude to people fully qualified to criticize me.

But the toughest passenger I’ve had is Hurley Haywood.

The man brooks no fault. See, unlike commercial schoolmasters, who tend toward tolerance, Hurley wastes no concern on nurturing repeat business. He works for Porsche, a hard bunch anyway, and feels no need for soft soap. Drive around with Mr. Haywood and you hear precisely what he thinks of your driving.

HH has the credentials, for sure. Think of all those wins at Daytona, Sebring, Le Mans. I think of Road Atlanta and riding as his passenger in a race-prepped Nissan 300ZX. “I’ve never driven one of these,” he remarked cheerfully as we blasted away from the pits. By Turn 5 he was its master.

I’ll admit our scholastic relationship got off on the wrong foot. The first time I strapped in to his left, some years ago in a 996-type 911 at Willow Springs, out of habit I used our warm-up lap through the long, long Turn 2 to see what this model did if I lifted the throttle.

You’d think I’d kicked his dog.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING???” he inquired conversationally. “YOU NEVER, EVER DO THAT!!!” he offered helpfully.

Sensing there was no point in attempting to explain myself, I shut up and planted my foot. Driven like that it was quite a nice car. Hurley kept on muttering, but didn’t actually yell at me again.

Next time we met over a gear lever was at California Speedway’s infield course in Fontana. I’d never so much as seen a map of the lap, and the car was an evilly-glinting new Carrera GT. Priced at $440,000. Packing 605 hp.

“BE CAREFUL!!!” were his first words of counsel.

That outburst was provoked by my getting on the gas in the wrong place. Even 302.5 hp was too much, and the silvery serpent let us know it. Viciously.

A couple of corners later, the Haywood hand appeared atop the steering wheel and yanked us onto the correct line.

We proceeded on around our five allotted laps. Long laps. He might have spoken gently to me once or twice more, I don’t know, my brain was all froze up.

The good news was, Porsche’s program for the day paired us up five more times in five more cars. A great day of driving great machines under the guidance of one of the greatest, most accomplished drivers in the history of sports car racing.

I kept fancying he hid a wince every time he recognized me sliding in beside him.

Tough love does work. Like a horse under the lash, I knew I had to step up. I tried to raise my line-learning pace, tighten my apexes, widen my perceptions. During our second five-lap session, in a 997 Coupe, I think, a third fist only appeared under my nose once, and I only detected a couple of angry shouts.

By my third run, Mr. Haywood was confining his guidance to hand signals.

Our fourth car was a Boxster S (it was my favorite), and at one glorious moment, as I finished throwing us through a sequence, the corner of my eye caught a subtle nod of approval.

And all around all five laps of our very last session, Hurley’s hands remained in his lap and he didn’t utter a sound until we stopped and I was climbing out of a very fine 911 Cabriolet. Then I distinctly heard him say, “Good job.”

I wear those words like a medal on my puffed-out chest. Coming from Mr. Haywood, they carry worth.

Story and all photos © by Pete Lyons

(From a story first published in 2007 on the AutoWeek magazine website, www.autoweek.com)