Ecstasy and Agony at the 1980 Nelson Ledges “Longest Day” 24-Hour

What a treat it was to be the fastest car on course. Slower cars (usually) moved out of my way, and even the quickest ones proved easy to catch and pass. With no one looming in my mirrors, I could concentrate fully on navigating slower traffic. The Porsche 924 was a joy to drive, hugging the bumpy asphalt of Nelson Ledges in fast turns, powering out of slower ones with commanding ease.

The other Porsche was leading, the Car and Driver Mazda running second, the Mustang third. In a distant fourth was the Saab, carrying a local TV personality in its passenger seat. It was hugely satisfying to know that each time I passed one of these cars, the ground our team had lost from earlier mechanical-issue pit stops was being regained.

Then a metallic rubbing sound began radiating from the left ­front wheel in right-hand turns. I pitted to have it checked, but the team found nothing. I suggested the sound might be the wheel bearing going bad. “You’re not used to showroom-stock cars,” lead driver Garth told me. “They always make strange noises.” And they sent me out for another hour.

The car was still handling and performing beautifully, but eventually the noise got so bad that I started worrying about losing the wheel. When I pitted to hand the car over to Carlos and have the sound checked again, the crew found its lug nuts loose (whew!). They tightened the nuts, checked for a loose bearing or any other problem, and sent Carlos out. By now, thanks to all this unplanned pit time, we were six laps down. There was nothing to do but keep pushing.

Ed’s stint brought more trouble: An exhaust-system “donut” at the catalytic converter worked loose and fell off. It didn’t hurt the performance of the car, so he kept going, but the noise inside the cockpit was too loud for him to hear the CB radio…or the left-front wheel-bearing starting to disintegrate. It failed catastrophically at about 11 p.m.

The “Longest Day”

Twelve years earlier, in 1968, the hard-working and slightly daft enthusiasts who ran this old 2.0-mile Nelson Ledges road course near Warren, Ohio, had a crazy idea: a 24-hour motorcycle race. It attracted just nine competitors that first year but soon grew into a huge success. They had another idea a few years later: bundling old tires together and stacking them in front of the track’s guardrails. It wasn’t long before the clever “tirewall” invented at Nelson Ledges was easing collisions, preventing injuries, and preserving sheetmetal and lives nationwide.

Then the staff of Nelson Ledges decided to launch a 24-hour enduro for SCCA unmodified “Showroom Stock” cars for endurance raceing on a budget. A few modifications to the car—driving lights, heavy-­duty brakes and shocks, a comfortable racing driver’s seat—were allowed, and the track’s piggy bank was busted for a token $2460 prize money. Quaker State Motor Oil kicked in another $9140 while Marchal, Cibie, Hella, Ford, and Mazda posted contingency funds (for use of their products). The first “Longest Day”—aptly named because the event happened on the weekend of the summer solstice—24-Hour race was on for 1980.

Just 21 cars showed for this inaugural event, but enthusiasm and car and driver quality were surprisingly high. Saab sent its premier SCCA pilots, Don Knowles and Bill Fishburne, in a 900 Turbo, ensured media coverage by installing Road & Track’s John Dinkel and Joe Rusz as co-drivers, and hired wily Preston Miller to run their show. Car and Driver technical editor Don Sherman prepared a factory-loaner Mazda RX-7 for himself, Pat Bedard, Rich Ceppos, and Larry Griffin and brought a crew of four auto engineers, including two Mazda mechanics. These two efforts appeared to be the ones to beat.

My ride was in Carlos Ramirez’s Herman+Miller 924 in the top class, Showroom Stock A (SSA). A second (semi-factory) 924 was there, backed by Porsche+Audi of Bedford, Ohio, and Starcraft RVs. It was driven by D.J. Fazekas, twice Showroom Stock A National Champion, C-Production Jaguar shoe Fred Baker, T. King Hedinger, Robert Harwood, and Peter Frey, from Motor Trend. A Trinity Racing team came from California with four RX-7s and Mazda support, a great ­looking “Bolus and Snopes” V-8 Mustang from Louisiana, and a lovely Alfa Spider from Colorado.

In the SSB class were a trio of VW Sciroccos, a Triumph TR7 and a Peugeot 604. Battling for SSC honors would be two VW Rabbits, a pair of Pintos, a Toyota Corolla, a Ford Fiesta, and one rusty old AMC Gremlin which its team dubbed “The People’s Choice.”

Nelson is a tougher and trickier track to drive than it looks on paper. At two miles in length, it’s relatively short compared to courses like Road America (just over four miles) or even Mid-Ohio (2.4 miles). But it’s fast, and a few spots can deceive drivers into making an unforced error.

The sweeping Turns 1, 2, and 3 flow together nearly seamlessly and have precious little curbing should you carry a little too much speed. They lead to a somewhat tighter left called Oak Tree, which has more camber on the inside lane than the outside, a fact that many racers discover right before finding themselves atop the tire wall at the corner’s exit. From there, a short chute leads to a seemingly endless right-hand “Carousel” that tightens up in its second half before opening to the long, fast back straight. There’s a fast right-hand “kink” most of the way down that can be a no-lift, flat-out thrill in a good car on the proper line. Then comes the track’s only other left turn, which leads to the second-gear Turn 13 right-hander onto the start/finish straight. All the while, you need to be mindful of the numerous unsettling bumps, divots, and even potholes in Nelson’s pavement.

Our troubles had begun back at the Herman+Miller shop, nearly 400 miles away in Parsippany, New Jersey. Carlos, manager of New York’s famous Red Ball Garage, plus chief mechanic Bill Genovese and crewmen Joe Genovese, Bruce Spector, Bryan Ball, and Larry DiCola (creator of its marvelous striping) were already weary from four days and nights of constructing the car from a burned­-out 924, a wreck, and one other junker. They dropped the car to the ground only to find that the suspension alignment was all wrong. Correcting the error cost them several more hours and any hope of sleep that night.

Bleary-eyed and exhausted, Carlos, Joe, and Byran arrived at Nelson Ledges with our car around noon Friday. Final preparations were made, we sailed through tech inspection, and Carlos took the car out to warm up and bed in the brakes. Things seemed okay. The next session would be timed qualifying. Our co-drivers were Ed and Garth Ullom, a father and son who were president and sales manager, respectively, of Cumberland Valley Motors in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania, long-time friends of Carlos, and competitors in B-Sedan and SSB BMWs.

Garth zoomed out first to qualify but returned two laps later with no power. The battery was near dead, and it couldn’t supply enough volts to the ignition. “It was fine yesterday,” Carlos moaned. The rest of the crew was due Saturday morning with a fresh battery, but that wouldn’t help us qualify today and practice that night. Sam Benarrosh of Bedford Porsche+Audi, the sponsor of the other 924, kindly lent us the battery from his backup street car, and we were back in business.

Lead-foot Garth installed us on the pole at 1:25.78—nearly two seconds better than the existing SSA record—and we all got down to very competitive times. The Car and Driver Mazda was gridded second at 1:29.15, the Mustang third at 1:29.48, and the Saab a close fourth at 1:29.50.

We mounted and aimed a pair of Marshall driving lights powerful enough to melt taillamp lenses at two car lengths and completed preparations for night practice. Suddenly, the car wouldn’t start. The fresh battery was dead! We put a charger on it for a few minutes, push-started the car, and sent me out at dusk to try to recharge on the fly. I ran without lights at first, then with street headlamps. The voltmeter held at 11 but wouldn’t improve. Visibility got worse. I tried the driving lights for three laps, but they soon dimmed, and the voltage dropped to 10. The charging system wasn’t working, and it was too late to do anything about it.

Fred Baker of the other Porsche team agreed to let us tap their street car again for an alternator and voltage regulator in the morning. We turned in for the night, delighted with our pole position but fretting about our electrical problems.

Saturday dawned bright and beautiful. The alternator and regulator were changed, our new battery had arrived with the rest of the crew, and we were in fine shape once again. We ran the warm-up session without trouble and checked, then double-checked everything in preparation for the 4:00 p.m. start. Carlos decided to have Garth start the race, with me second, himself third, and Ed batting clean-up. Our plan was to charge into the lead in the opening laps, then back off to save the car.

Garth led, per plan, for the first three laps, and pitted with no clutch. The cable had separated from its mounting. Bill did a quick fix and sent him back out, a lap and a half down. Garth spent the next hour charging back into third place, stopped for fuel, and handed the car over to me. We lost more time while the errant clutch cable was repaired for good. We were now three laps down, and my job was to make it up.

The Beginning of the End

After the left front wheel bearing had consumed itself at speed at 11 p.m., our Porsche was jacked up to receive replacement brake and suspension pieces. Our crew was working frantically while we drivers paced nervously, watching their work, watching other cars go by, wondering how long it would be before we would be trying again to make up lost time. 

The work was finally done. Garth scrambled into the car, pulling his helmet strap tight while I helped him buckle in. Crew chief Bill did a last-minute brake bleed at the left rear, then ordered the left side dropped and the right rear raised. He sprinted around the car, dropped to his knees, and shoved his wrench hand underneath, groping for the bleeder fitting while a young assistant tried to manage the jack. The car rose briefly, then fell. Bill screamed and yanked out his hand. A pool of thin, dark liquid began to form around the tire. The brake bleeder nipple had sheared clean off the cylinder.

Shaking off the pain from his damaged hand, he reported what had happened. Our pit was silent as the crushing realization sank in. We had no spare cylinder.

The Rest of the Story

By that point, it was 12:10 a.m. on Sunday, June 22, barely a third of the way through this 24-hour race. Behind the pits, it could have been Le Mans, Daytona, or Sebring—motorhomes, vans, trucks, and generators connected to vast cobwebs of cables leading to lights and power tools. Crewmen and women were timing, scoring, working, waiting, huddled in makeshift shelters, catnapping here and there, bundled against the midnight chill. Away from the pits, the crisp night air was disturbed only by the hush of muffled exhaust and the tortured screeching of street radial tires. 

Bill and his crew refused to give up. They tried to repair the cylinder, then scavenged one from the other team’s street 924. “Baker will only hit me once,” Carlos said wryly, “but I’ll get up.” 

We also had tire wear to worry about. Our Goodyears were degrading faster than anticipated, and there were no more in our size at the track. We might run out of tires before we finished—if we finished.

We were back in action about 1:30 a.m. Garth ran two hours with no new problems, and I drove until daybreak. The Saab and the C/D Mazda were in a serious struggle for the lead, running l:28s and 1:29s (at night) while we were reduced to 1:32s trying to hold the car together. The Mustang, the Fiesta, and one of the two Pintos found their way onto their tops during the night, and there were numerous spins and fender-benders. Drivers were tired, and many were unaccustomed to night racing. We trucked through mistake-free, but people kept going off and spinning in front of us. Later, some told us that our driving lights were so bright they were blinded when we came up from behind.

I turned it over to Carlos at dawn and checked the standings. Even after nearly five trouble-free hours at fairly quick speeds, we were running 17th, ahead of only the few crashed and broken cars. I tried to sleep for a couple of hours.

By 10:30 that morning, I was refreshed, dressed, and ready to take over from Garth. A half-hour later he was in with something badly wrong: the right-front ball joint had sheared off at the strut, separating that wheel from the steering, and there were no spares. We were done.

The other Porsche eventually lost a left-rear wheel bearing but had none of the front-bearing trouble that had plagued us. We had used up another left- and a right-side one after that first big failure. That left the amazing Saab Turbo and the C/D RX-7 to battle for the win, which the Saab finally took due to a fuel pickup problem in the Mazda that forced it to pit for gas nearly twice as often.

The first annual Quaker State/Nelson Ledges Longest Day was in the history books. The top two teams performed brilliantly, but everyone else—workers, track people and less fortunate competitors alike—worked equally hard, maybe harder. “Our perfect race was just not as good as their perfect race,” lamented C/D‘s Ceppos. “Our car was like a fungus,” said one driver of the last car still running, the “Peoples’ Choice” Gremlin, which was nursed to the finish after numerous problems. “It just wouldn’t die.”

Fourteen of the 21 starters finished while one Scirocco and a Rabbit fell out with engine troubles and the Alfa retired with rear-axle failure. Counting ours, that was just four mechanical retirements, plus three from accidents. Tom Schnieder and Joe Nonnamaker’s very quick Escort/Bilstein VW Rabbit finished an amazing fourth overall to win SSC, while the Scirocco of Cliff McCandless, J.F. Gonez, Jim O’Neil took eighth overall and honors in class B. Meanwhile, the third-finishing Bedford P+A 924 was disqualified for making a modification that had been okayed by one of the stewards on Saturday. Prize money was held up below second place pending the furious team’s appeal.

The next year’s Longest Day was already scheduled for June 20–21, 1981. Most of the first-year competitors said they would be back. As it would turn out, they would be joined by many who had sat out the 1980 race to see how it would go. The organizers were hoping to put this event on the map for many years to come as an annual festival of Showroom Stock racing that would soon receive its due in public, press, competitor, and sponsor attention. If the success of their 24-hour bike race was any indication, we thought, they should be able to pull it off.