In 1923, the French town of Le Mans staged a twenty-four-hour auto race on a country road network nearby. The 24 Hours of Le Mans soon became a world-renowned annual race, valued by motor manufacturers for the publicity value of a victory there. Bentley made their reputation with several wins in the late 1920s. Ferrari and Porsche did the same in the ’50s and ’60s. In recent years, Audi has been the star.
Bay Area motoring journalist and irreverent car buff Jay Lamm has been fascinated with ideas for the productive use of cheap cars. His “noodling” led to the idea for a 24 Hours of Lemons. In 2007, at the tatty, and now defunct, Altamont Speedway near Livermore, the first “Lemons” was held. Nearly a hundred entrants had found cars they could buy for five hundred dollars or less (a requirement), then added required safety equipment and appeared on the starting line. Some teams decorated their cars, and often themselves, following a wacky theme. Race organizers invented a series of off-the-wall penalties for bad race conduct, including:
Al Gore Memorial Carbon-Neutral Penalty: You have to plant a tree while the crowd throws tofu at you.
Marcel Marceau: You must don white face paint, French sailor’s shirt, and a beret and “mime your crime,” without words, to describe your infraction and how you’ll avoid a repeat.
Three-Legged Race: If two drivers collide, they are called in, their legs are taped together, and they must walk to a concession stand and buy the organizer a hot dog.
The people's curse
They also solicited votes for “People’s Curse,” the most disliked entry, which would then be crushed about halfway through the race. Participants loved it, the automotive press publicized it, and additional events were scheduled nationwide. At first, some of the better racetracks thought Lemons was beneath them, but now, with twenty-one events scheduled this year and no lack of enthusiastic participants, even Sonoma’s Sears Point Infineon Raceway has welcomed the 24 Hours of Lemons. Amazingly, the French Automobile Club de l’Ouest, organizers of the genuine 24 Hours of Le Mans, have never been heard from.
Recently, 151 junkers descended on Sears Point. Unlike the race that inspired it, Lemons doesn’t run around the clock; drivers take a break during nighttime hours. Still, over two days, they race for about fifteen hours. Cars break down, but the young enthusiasts are extremely resourceful in implementing cheap, imaginative repairs to keep the old crocks going. In an odd way, the existence of this race is testimony to how well the cars made today are. Most $500 cars are fifteen to twenty-five years old, probably having near 200,000 miles or so, yet there’s enough life in them to survive one or more Lemons races.
Marin-Sonoma Concours d’Elegance
At the other end of the social scale, this event—in only its second year on the national scene —will be held at the Marin Civic Center on May 16. A unique feature of this show is that it honors three forms of motorization: land, sea, and air. In addition to the cars, there will be some classic wooden boats in the Center’s lagoon. And antique planes from Schellville and South Ranch Airport will fly overhead.
Intended Deceit
In 1986, television’s 60 Minutes trashed Audi with accusations of “unintended acceleration.” Audi trustingly let two of its engineers be interviewed. When those professionals stated that their cars couldn’t do what was alleged, and stated that drivers were stepping on the wrong pedal, they were laughed at. 60 Minutes used a fake video to show an out-of-control Audi. Other media picked up the sensational story. Locally, public garages refused to park Audis because unidentified mysterious forces might make them uncontrollable. Audi sales plummeted. Investigations continued. Finally, it was concluded that there was no mechanical fault, that drivers had simply been confused and hit the wrong pedal. The United States government apologized to Audi, somewhat tardily.
Now, similar allegations are being directed at Toyota. A Rhonda Smith from Sevierville, Tennessee, recently testified (tearfully) to the U.S. Congress that her Toyota unaccountably accelerated out of control as she entered a freeway. Rhonda must be a helluva good driver because, as the car accelerated to over 100-miles-per-hour, she not only guided it through the traffic, she also phoned her husband to tell him “goodbye,” and prayed. She said this continued for six minutes (about 10 miles at 100 mph), and that the Lord’s intervention caused the car to stop!
An associate professor at the University of Southern Illinois, David Gilbert, testified that he could cause Toyotas to accelerate. His method was to invade the car’s electronics, cut and splice wires (in a manner that the car’s system itself could not do), and cause the car to accelerate. Brian Ross on ABC News used a faked video to demonstrate Gilbert’s contention. ABC didn’t disclose the fakery; they were exposed by Gawker.com. Toyota engineers replicated Gilbert’s machinations on several other cars, including a Honda and a BMW. They demonstrated that they could create exactly the same effect.
Unfortunately, with grandstanding congressmen conducting hearings, and deceitful media “reporting,” it’s harder to know the truth. My bet is that this Toyota exposé will end somewhat like the Audi situation ended . . . driver error.
(Disclaimer: I was a Toyota dealer for almost twenty years—and have held franchises from most of the major car companies. Toyota always manufactured the best cars and employed the best business practices. I do not own any contemporary Toyotas, but obviously I admire the company.)
Martin Swig is a former San Francisco new-car dealer who now presents the internationally-celebrated California Mille and other historic car events. As a free service to Gazette readers, he’ll offer suggestions on how to dispose of a cherished car. Call him at 415-479-9950.
