They say you never forget your first Mini....and how true it is. My first Mini was a used 1071 "S", and I'll never forget it.....and partularly my first trip in it, from Hartford, CT to Sebring, FL and back. Three Thousand Miles In A Mini.
This was back around '67 or '68...in addition to doing some racing, I was also an SCCA Flagman. Every year I used to take some vacation from work and drive down to Sebring to work the 12 hour Grand Prix of Endurance.
This particular year, I had just picked up a used '64 Morris Mini-Cooper 1071 "S" and thought that would make a grand little car for the trip.....oh, to be so young and stupid again!
Another flagging buddy of mine decided he'd like to come along, and we left a bit early so that we could take the "scenic route" down. So, the two of us 6+ footers squeezed 2 weeks worth camping gear into the back of the Mini, and off we went.
We took the Garden State Parkway down to the southern tip of "New Joisey" and camped overnight at a State Park near Cape May. In the morning we took the Cape May Ferry over to Delaware.....then trundled along the Delaware Coast, thru Maryland, into Virginia and crossed Chesapeake Bay on the Kiptopeke Ferry.
We decided to take the "real costal route" and drive down thru the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We camped overnight at Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. In the morning took the ferry to another island, then another ferry to the mainland. As I started the Mini up to drive off the ferry.....SMOKE! Lots of SMOKE! Drove off the ferry and popped the bonnet. The fan belt had self destructed.
Well, this was in early April, and the weather was pretty cool, so we soldiered on to the first available help. It was a small gas station/garage in absolutley the middle of nowhere! The "mechanic" discovered that the water pump had seized......solid! His southern accent was so strong we could barely understand him, but he said something like: "If'n this here thang is anythin' like the old Furds, mebbe I can squeeze some grease in there to free it up so's you can get a bit futher." Well he did....and it worked! He even found a fan belt (for a garden tractor, or something) that fit......sort of.
So......off we went, buzzin' right along down the coast of North Carolina, into South Carolina on two lane roads (the Interstates hadn't been built yet)....thru the rural south with it's billboards "Help Save America. Impeach Earl Warren. Join the John Burch Society"....and it's many small "Jesus Saves" signs (under which, one wag had scribbled "S&H Green Stamps" ).....until we got to Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina, just before Charleston.....the......SMOKE! Again! Well, we pulled into the nearest gas station and inquired as to where we might find a water pump for the Mini.
Now, mind you, the Deep South in the '60's was not exactly a hotbed of LBC activity.
The gas station owner (after the usual "We don't see many of them furrin' cars around hyar") allowed as how "Snarling Ed's Auto Parts" (or some such) over in Charleston would be the only place that "jest might" have some furrin' car parts.
Off we went, steaming, to see Snarling Ed. Well, of course Ed didn't have a water pump for a Mini 1071,......said he might be able to order one, but it would probably take a week or so to get here. But he said, "If'n you boys is in a hurry, you might try "Sneaky Sam's (or some such) Junkyard" about 10 miles south of town. He's got a few furrin' wrecks over there." He gave us directions, and off we went.
Sneaky Sam's was way out in the boonies, but after getting lost a few times, we finally got there.....after closing time. So, we camped outside the gates for the night.
In the morning, Sam showed up in a beat up old Ford pickup. "You boys need sumthin?" (S**t no, Sam. We like camping out at junkyards!)
Turns out that Sam was a really nice fellow. "Wal.....I've prob'ly got sumptin' at'll fit, and if not, we'll make it fit." We pulled the water pump from the Mini, and he pulled the water pumps off every BMC car he had in the yard (about 7 or 8) until we found one that looked pretty close. He even made us a new gasket out of some gasket cork he had. I put it on, found an old fan belt that fit, and when we were finished, asked him how much. "Walllllll.......would 5 dollars be too much?" Sneaky Sam, we love you!
Onward to bigger and better things. We had another taste of southern hospitality in Claxton, GA ("Fruitcake Capital Of The World...Home Of The Famous Claxton Fruitcakes"). We stopped at a State Campground for the night. There was nobody at the gate, so we went in and spent the night. As we came out in the morning there was a Ranger at the gate, so we stopped to pay. "Walllll.....I didn't catch ya comin' in, and ya couldn'ta taken up much room in somethin' that small......so I guess I didn't catch ya comin' out either. Have a nice trip." And added, "If you boys are goin' south, be careful goin' thru Ludowiki......they got some mean speed traps there."
Stopped for breakfast in Claxton, and on the way out, the girl at the cash register told us, "If you're goin' south, go real slow thru Ludowiki.....they run a speed trap there." And....as we were headed out of town, a cop that was directing traffic motioned us over, and told us the same thing. Nice town, Claxton, Georgia. If you ever need a fruitcake, make sure you buy one made in Claxton.
Well, we crawled thru Ludowiki (I think we got passed by an old lady using a walker) , resumed speed and continued southward toward Florida.....and got nabbed for speeding at some other flyspeck town. Fined 25 bucks on the spot, and off we went.....poorer, but wiser.
We finally made into Florida, and picked up the Sunshine State Parkway. The traffic consisted almost entirely of blue-haired old ladies in Cadillacs going 40 miles over the speed limit. We pulled off into a rest area for a stretch, and in came a beautiful BRG Ford GT-40 with Pennsylvania plates. We asked about the car and the man and his wife told us they had to stop every half-hour because of the heat. "Does the engine overheat?" "No, the engine's fine....but the **** cockpit gets so hot, we can't stand it".
Off we went again and came upon a shiny red MGA by the side of the road with it's bonnet up. Young guy and his wife...newlyweds on their honeymoon. "We just bought the car last week. It's been going just fine, and then it stopped." Got in and turned the key. Dreaded silence. "Have you got a jack and a knockoff hammer?"
"Yes", he had. I jacked up the right rear, took off the wire wheel, and gave the SU fuel pump a whack with the knockoff hammer. "Ticka....ticka....ticka....". Problem solved.
We continued south, playing leapfrog with the GT-40. We'd be cruising at about 80 and they'd give a little honk and a wave as they blew our doors off.....then at the next rest area, there they'd be, out of the car, parked with the doors open. We'd give a toodle on the horn and a wave......and a few minutes later, Zoooooom, there they'd go again.
We finally got to Sebring at about 9 in the evening and drove the Mini out to Highland Hammock State Park where we had camping reservations.
A large contingent of flaggers from New York and New England Regions of the SCCA usually went down to Sebring every year to work the race, and we all made reservations for the same area at the campground.
We entered the park, past the large "No Alcoholic Beverages Allowed" sign, and checked at the Park Ranger's Office. "Are you part of that group down from the Northeast?" I said we were. "Well, when you get over there, please tell those guys to keep the noise down....or we'll have to go over there and confiscate all that cheap wine they don't have."
As we pulled in, the annual "Great Armadillo Hunt" was underway. Since Duncan and I were sober, we were unanimously selected as scorekeepers. The game usually took place as the sun was going down, and the contestant's blood alcohol level was going up.
Now, for you who don't know what an armadillo is.....it's a small four legged critter with an armored hide (sort of like a miniature Sherman Tank) that, when frightened, rolls up tightly into a ball. The rules were thus: with a piece of chalk, mark out a bunch of squares on the top of a picnic table, and put a contestant's name in each square. Each contestant would then take a flashlight and go hunting their prey. When they found one, they'd rush back to the table and place the armadillo in their square and go search for another one. Of course, after a couple of minutes, the armadillo would poke his head out, see he was safe, uncoil, hop off the table, and trundle off into the night. When the tipsy contestant returned with another capture, he'd see his square empty and accuse all and sundry of having stolen his armadillo.
The night air was rent with song...."Praise the Lord, and pass the armadillo"...and saying..."An armadillo a day, keeps the doctor away!" Eventually, with enthusiasm and energy spent, the contestants would stumble off to their respective tents and pass out.
The next morning we went over to the course, registered, and were assigned our corners. We worked the three days of practice and the 12 hour race.
To tell you the truth, I don't remember that much about the race.....and the trip back to Connecticut was (relatively) uneventful.....but I'll never forget that trip down.
After all, getting there is half the fun....isn't it?