First off, for those of you who suffer through the Sport section of this magazine, this is not yet another fawning account by a journalist embedded in a multimillion-dollar team competing at that famous 24-hour race at the Circuit de La Sarthe in France. That's the 24 Hours of Le Mans. This is the 24 Hours of LeMons held at Altamont Motorsports Park in Tracy, California. We're talking lemon (noun): something defective or disappointing, especially a car that does not run properly.
Like the Gallic race it seeks to mock, the 24 Hours of LeMons is an endurance race for cars. Unlike the other race, this one is for cars that cost $500 or less, the notion being that when a car sinks to 500 bucks, it's a lemon. (We'd say beaters, but 24 Hours of Beaters sounds like it might draw onanists, and we already have enough of those in this office.)
Credit for this amusing idea goes to automotive journalist Jay Lamm. When Lamm got up his nerve to go looking for a racing venue, "most tracks laughed at the idea. Altamont laughed, but they called back."
This event also takes 24 hours, but just 13 hours of it is racing—from 4 p.m. to 10 p.m. on Saturday and from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Sunday. The car that completes the most laps wins. Clearly, it's a ruse to torture cars at the end of their lives to the delight of all. Who could resist?
The event ensures destruction. For one, teams vote for a most-reviled entry, the "People's Curse," and for their favorite, the "People's Choice." Win the first category and get your car destroyed. The favorite gets a $1000 prize, paid out in nickels.
So, what to enter? We kicked around the boffo idea of a Chevy Chevette, painted like the Le Mans class-winning Corvette C6.R—Vette wins Le Mans, Vette wins LeMons. The problem is that so few of the little turds survived into the 21st century that they now have achieved the same sick collector status as clown paintings by John Wayne Gacy. We nearly snagged one for $500 on eBay, but we were outbid by 10 bucks.
The “Best Dressed” award for car and team goes to the “Audi Motorsport” group led by Sports Car International editor-in chief Eric Gustafson. With matching coveralls, a rattle-can paint job mimicking Audi’s Le Mans–winning R10, and a yellow RS 4 parked in their pit, it almost looked as if Audi were after the prestigious racing title at Altamont. Well, not really. More like “not at all.” The painted car wasn’t even an Audi, but they came pretty close with a ’77 VW Rabbit diesel.
To prep the car for the track, the socalled Audi Motorsport team swapped in the “donated” suspension from an ’84 GTI. During qualifying, the Rabbit blew the right-rear brake line avoiding a baby carriage. Although the VW missed the start of the race, the problem was fixed with a screw in the broken line and only three functioning brakes for the rest of the race. Isn’t that how Audi dealt with brake problems at Le Mans? The 48-hp diesel chugged through the race mostly problem-free, overcoming a broken clutch cable early Sunday morning. In the waning hours, the Rabbit succumbed to air in the fuel lines and sat out the final laps, ultimately finishing 19th. —Jared Gall
We dealt with this task the same way we deal with deadlines. Why do something intelligent in advance when you can wait until the last minute and do something truly idiotic? With only four weeks until the race, an experienced 1995 Oldsmobile Aurora with 175,315 miles and crash damage turned up on eBay.
Still high from my victory in an Olds in the artfully crafted Battle of the Diesel Beaters; [C/D, April 2006], I felt a need to remain loyal to that international symbol of automotive competence. The '95 Aurora was up the road in Pontiac, Michigan, where we found that the suspension of the Copper Mist (purple brown) Aurora clunked like a Tijuana taxi (bad control-arm bushing), but the engine ran and the tranny still shifted.
Recall that the Aurora was designed to reverse the downward spiral of Oldsmobile. Built on the rigid G-platform, the Aurora had GM's most modern powertrain, a 250-hp, 4.0-liter version of Cadillac's Northstar DOHC V-8 with the heavy-duty 4T80-E four-speed automatic. It was the best GM had to offer in the mid-'90s. We hoped to find truth in this old maxim: GM cars run bad longer than most cars run at all.
Among the bevy of rusted-out, mangled, oil-puking entries, this 1963 Mercedes-Benz 190 sedan stood out like Jackie O. at a Star Trek convention. Purchased by a UC-Berkeley professor and used as a commuter for 40 years, Ed Adams nabbed it for $500.
Adams changed the fluids, replaced the radiator, added a race seat, and installed the mandatory roll bar. Otherwise, it’s bone stock, 43-year-old drum brakes and all. Tires? The rubber is more diversified than Kirk Kerkorian’s investment portfolio: 205/60R-13 BFGoodrich radials up front, a 175/SR-13 Goodyear C800 on the right rear, and a P185/70R-13 Big O
Euro SXP on the left. No spares. Knowing that he didn’t have the quickest ride, Adams’s strategy was simple: Only stop when you have to, and don’t hit anything. Those simple guidelines kept the Benz in the top five for more than half the race. But a swift punt from a 1986 BMW 535i punctured its radiator and required a time consuming repair.
The Mercedes didn’t win, but it did capture the “Organizer’s Choice” award and the $500 in nickels that came with it. Considering the modern cars it raced against, the 10th-place finish is a result even Dr. Z should be proud of.—Robin Warner
The $500-per-car ceiling notwithstanding, you could spend all you want on safety gear. Mandatory are a roll cage, a four-point racing harness, and a fire extinguisher. We sent our expense account and the Aurora off to Sky-Tek Engineering in Rochester Hills, Michigan, where the interior was gutted for a custom-made cage. Brakes, wheels, and tires are also considered safety equipment, so there's no spending cap there, either. With no suitable performance tires available in the Aurora's 235/60R-16 size, we order 18-inch wheels, the larger size working with sticky Goodyear Eagle F1 Supercar EMT 245/45WR-18 tires, chosen in the hope they'd wear longer than race tires. And these Eagles are run-flats, eliminating the chance of flats.
Only 10 days before the race, while I was bearing the fierce pressure of making a noon wake-up call for the Paris auto show, the Aurora was sent to our automotive friends at Washtenaw Community College back in Ann Arbor. Engine fluids were changed. (LeMons cars must run water in the radiator instead of coolant to avoid the slippery green stuff leaking onto the track.) The Olds also underwent a chassis makeover that included new brake pads and rotors, rebuilt calipers, new rear shocks, and a new control-arm bushing. A confession: The rear shocks and the control-arm bushing pushed us about $90 over budget, but we hid the newness of the shocks by spraying them with undercoating paint, and we didn't think there'd be a bushing exam—we were right. In went a five-point harness and the mandatory fire extinguisher; out went the power-window mechanisms and door glass.
Uh-oh. The race was little more than a week off, and having endured an exhausting battery of cognacs and terrines of fois gras in Northwest's business class on my return from Paris, I was in no mood to haul the Aurora across the country. Enter FedEx Custom Critical Passport Auto Transport, a branch of the big delivery company that ships cars coast to coast. Since fabulously expensive cars that compete at the Pebble Beach Concours d'Élégance have been shipped by FedEx, we felt comfortable handing over the keys to our Aurora. Plus, in return for this paltry plug, they ate the bill. After dripping oil in FedEx's pristine transporter for five days, the car arrived with two days to spare.
Day One
We watch the competition pile in: "Itchin' to Win," a 1981 Toyota Corona wagon "sponsored" by Vagisil; "Hell's Angels Security," a 1988 BMW 528e that makes comic reference to the deadly Rolling Stones concert of 1969 at the speedway; the "Frito Banditos Dos," a 1986 Alfa Milano with a rally-car-grade spoiler; the 1990 Buick Electra estate wagon of the "Sin City Lemons"; and the 1986 Toyota Tercel of the "Pirate Ninjas with Lasers."
In all, 33 teams are present for the noon driver's meeting. With four hours before the start, entrants must pass a serious tech inspection, a far less serious judging process, the "old-lady-mannequin slalom," and the "baby-carriage braking test."
We pass tech, but not before a pack of slack-jawed hecklers gripe loudly that it's highly unlikely that any Aurora sells for 500 bucks — the wheels and tires alone, they sneer, are worth that number. Our elegant C/D decal is already attracting ugly derision. We cruise through the slalom; instead of orange pylons marking the course, there are '70s-era mannequins in plastic chairs. In the braking test, three baby carriages are shoved into the path of the car by Lamm to test driver reaction. Hit a mannequin or a baby carriage, and it's a 10-lap penalty. With your narrator behind the wheel, we drive away unscathed.
Three men dressed in outfits approximating English barristers serve as examiners to the claim that the car cost no more than $500. They demand proof, or at least an amusing story. Not helping us is the fact that we are the "Car and Driver Junior Varsity Race Team." A judge reveals that he once sold Alfas and C/D reviews of the marque made his life hell. The judges also question our aftermarket wheels. Apparently, no one has read the rules. We offer a mealy-mouthed story about eBay and present a phony bill of sale that fools no one, yet we drive away without a penalty and will not have to threaten Lamm with a crushing review of his curious little event.
At 4 o'clock, a voice on the PA system informs us the race is starting. Since there is no qualifying round, starting position is on a first-come, first-served basis — just like Le Mans, where drivers once ran to their cars and drove off. C/D's first driver, Aaron Robinson, strolls to the Aurora and nonchalantly drives off.
The course turns out to be kidney-shaped and a third of a mile long. A competitive junker, going about 60 mph at best, covers the five-turn course in roughly 28 seconds. With 33 cars out there, the start looks like the Dan Ryan at rush hour, except no one stops to exchange information after a crash.
In the interest of keeping a modicum of civility on the track, grossly aggressive teams are black-flagged and brought into the pits to spin Lamm's "Wheel of Misfortune." The pointer comes to rest on such penalties as "Chin Music," in which an auto-reverse tape player is tie-wrapped into the car, out of reach of the driver, and blasts Mannheim Steamroller's Christmas, Billy Joel's Greatest Hits, or Shaun Cassidy's Born Late. Land on "Train in Vain" or "Stevie Wonder," and a training wheel, or a cane, is welded to a door. Get stuck on "The Barnyard," and a sheetmetal silhouette of a pig is welded to the roof. Our favorite is the "Grille of Damocles": A metal square with spikes aimed at the radiator is welded to the nose of the car, and any front-end contact results in a game-ending punctured radiator. The welder is the lovely, winged Christine Rotolo, a.k.a. the "Arc Angel."
The C/D crew spends the first few hours playing musical drivers, giving everyone a chance to be nauseous before dinner. We flirt with fourth place, but then the engine temperature soars to 250 degrees, and we back off the pace. Under Robinson's merciless foot, the mighty V-8 begins to miss. We discover it makes considerably less power as a V-7.
The first few hours pass without incident. After a turn at the wheel, I write the following prescient note: "Love the light-effort power steering." Minutes later, online assistant editor Jared Gall, while listening to Michael Bolton on his iPod, possibly with a tear glistening in an eye, tries an aggressive pass and launches the car over a tractor tire on the side of the track. Once the Aurora reenters the atmosphere, we discover the power steering is gone and that we miss it.
To fix the heat issue, we rip off the front bumper and hood, but the broken power-steering fitting is deemed unfixable, and the A/C won't shut off. Wrestling the unassisted Olds for an hour's stint proves exhausting. Wimps, you say? Get into your car, and without starting it, try sawing the steering wheel back and forth for an hour.
The pride of Oldsmobile soldiers on until our photographer, Morgan Segal, whom we inexplicably put in the driver's seat, hits a tractor tire. Segal limps back to the pits with the front suspension so far toed out that the tires squeal when the car travels in a straight line. We struggle through the last 30 minutes in 22nd place, only to find that we've won the uncoveted "People's Curse." We're to be crushed come morning.
Day Two
Lamm had planned to destroy the cursed car by dropping it from a crane or running over it with a tank. Neither proved feasible. In the end, three women with pickaxes, claw hammers, and sledgehammers savage the Aurora. Unsatisfied with the level of "destruction," the crowd rolls the Aurora onto its roof. Cheers erupt. Satisfied, the mob rolls the Aurora back onto its feet. Shocking the mob, the Olds starts right up. Oldsmobile, bitch, Oldsmobile.
And so the Aurora returns to the race. A front-end realignment undoes some of the toe out, and we run for a few hours until a broken tie rod flings Robinson into the tire wall. In the pits, Robinson, our "Mr. Goodwrench" Dave Ferguson, and the Arc Angel "repair" the tie rod. An hour later the tie rod snaps again. No one is ready to cry uncle, so we again have the Arc Angel weld every piece of scrap metal we can find to hold the damned thing together.
Aside from a brake-fluid leak, the last hours of the race are failure-free. Staying on the track is a good thing, we say to ourselves as a tractor tire terminates "Team Terminator's" 1996 Hyundai Accent.
Just minutes before 4 o'clock, the lead car, the '82 Toyota Corolla of "Team Corsa Uber-Fantastico/ Road & Track," comes to a halt on the track. Forced to downplay R&T's affiliation by their editor out of fear that their LeMons entry would sully the esteemed reputation of the magazine, they now find themselves in danger of losing the lead. Since they were kind enough to share their brake fluid, Robinson squares up the Olds and pushes the Corolla (it had a seized differential) for an entire lap to take the checkered flag and the $1500 first-place prize. As a thank-you, the winners toss a burlap sack of nickels ($250 worth) onto the Aurora's windshield, shattering it.
We end up 17th after completing 767 laps (422 laps out of first). Next year, Lamm tells us, the " C/D Junior Varsity Race Team" has the "Charm of Invincibility," which means we can't be crushed. We're hooked, we'll be back, and we're already looking for another Oldsmobile.
