Patrese: more sinned against than sinning?
The handsome middle-aged man playing with his train set was once the scourge of grand prix motor racing, the sport’s wild man, the new kid on the grid who, said…
COMMENTARY on the LONDON—LAND’S END RUN—continued.
to the fog and darkness and partly due to fatigue. After explaining to the Marshal at the finishing point that we were merely pleasure seekers, and not competitors, we adjourned to the hotel for a meal, then started back for the homeward trek.
By taking turns at driving and sleeping we arrived at Plymouth in time for an early breakfast, a clean-up, and a replenishment for the car. As it was a fine morning we lazed away a couple of hours on the Hoe, had lunch, and at 1.15 started back for a non-stop to town. But for a stone striking the undershield and forcing part of the shield against the flywheel we would have succeeded in our attempt, but the removal of the offending shield and a rem of petrol at Salisbury accounted for the only stops on the 220 mile
run to the south-west of London, our destination being reached at 9.5 p.m. on the same evening, thus averaging approximately 28 m.p.h.
Except for a slight impact with a stone wall when Jim fell asleep before reaching Plymouth, with a resulting dent on the front hub and the rear wing, there was no further damage from the strenuous trip, but before proceeding to Brooklands on Easter Monday we had to fit a new clutch lining as the old one had broken completely away from the rivets and refused to allow the cone to disengage. Thus the final part of our Easter adventure consisted in dismantling the clutch and fitting the new lining in order to carry out our intention of being present at Brooklands for the first B.A.R.C. meeting of the year.