330 GT Registry
Fearing she might someday he put in a nursing home against her will, my mother armed herself with the ultimate protection — a box of my old report cards. Quietly reading the latest issue of the Jack Russell Journal on mother’s front porch about a year ago, I realized my two college aged kids had somehow gotten their hands on the secret cache when I heard one read, “Little Alan is a pleasant child, but is easily influenced by others:” “Get this’ the other chimed in,”.. . could use help in how to use his time more wisely.” They had possession of state secrets, documents which cast doubt on the “official” version of my youth which I’d carefully modeled on John Adams and Descartes. Thank God the phone rang...
Tim Gallagher (a.k.a. “G-man”) was calling from Asheville, North Carolina. We’d met at the 1991 Cavallino Classic when I pulled into the parking lot killing every mosquito in Palm Beach county with that good old blue magic bug fog spewing out of the four pipes at the back of my 330. Tim was impressed since his 330 burned more headlights but less oil. Together we managed to clear out some the the poseurs in attendance: they scurried off to the safety of the Breakers tea room while we tore out the entire steering column and dash of his car in an attempt to keep the blinkers from activating the overdrive.
Gallagher was calling with an idea. “You’ve got my undivided attention, G-man: proceed with your thoughts, my brother."
“Look, Wilson, here’s the deal. There’s a race in Mexico, a reenactment of the Carrera Panamericana that Phil Hill and all the boys ran back in the Fifties. The thing is next October sometime and will take about three weeks of your time. You’ll get your car completely rebuilt, you’ll put up most of the money, and you’ll take your car down there. I’ll fly in by plane and meet you near the Guatemalan border. From there we’ll race to Laredo, Texas together.”
“Sounds good to me, G-man, let’s do it,” I answered. Now, some 18 months later, we’re leaving for Tuxtla, Mexico and I’m
still trying to defend myself against charges from my kids that I’m susceptible to the influence of others and don’t always use my time wisely. Come on, now... people can change, can’t they?
Look for our report in the next issue.
Prancing Horse #141
Copyright © 2001, Ferrari Club of America Inc.
Reprinted with permission of Ferrari Club of America