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OK OK...this site really is a test bed for my business, but I have put few words in place over the last few years...

What So Proudly We Hailed
A son's lesson learned

This'll Teach Her to Ask...
AKA "On Loving a Younger Woman

Thursday Seems Like Monday When Your Days Are All The Same
There are days and then there are days.

The Stanguellini In Aunt Edith's Gift Shop
It is mid-July in Lime Rock. After almost 7 years in Arizona, I find the Connecticut humidity is odd, intense.

It's Just a Number

1954 Ferrari 250 Europa PF Coupe

1962 Porsche 356B S Roadster T-6 (Twin Grill)

Two New Sites for DLMWeb
A couple of interesting projects

Marshall Crenshaw - Live Webcast - Friday, October 23, 2009 12Noon EST
Keep listening to 98.1FM Red Hook, NY WKZE

Vodafone McClaren Mercedes Widget

Jack AND Squat
... if they can't take a joke (and the horse they rode in on)

WebcamMax - A Great Easy- to-use Tool
For once I have nothing but praise for a piece of software..

Livestream.com Fails to Make the Grade
How to screw up a good idea

1939 W 154 (W 163) Silver Arrow Mercedes-Benz Rudolf Caracciola - 1939 German Grand Prix

A Minor - UConn's Astounding A Capella Group Rip It UP at Project Troubador
Park your cynicism - It is never too late for an epiphany!

Pistolera - Project Troubador/June 27, 2009

Desperados - WITH EVERYBODY!!

Walking Man Henry Herbert Knibbs/ recited by Waddie Mitchell
If you would like me to, I'll tell my story, now.

Oklahoma Hills - Jimmy LaFave Live at WKZE 98.1
This is as good as it gets! Best music I have ever webcast and archived.

Professor Louie & the Crowmatix - a new DLMWeb Client
The site features several layers of media and information for both promoters and fans.

The Legend of Crazy Horse by J.D. Blackfoot
Hard to find...Extraordinary piece of work.

This Abundant Life March 8 2009 - Lizzie & Baba
A streaming audio of the 3_08 show

Ryan Arnold Wins Helsinki's First Song Search Contest
An extraordinary song, by a special and talented young man.

Dusty Chaps - Tucson's Lost Treasure - Heat Stroke & Honk Tonk Music
These guys were the greatest Little Band on the Planet in 1970's Tucson.

Lizzie & Baba Craft a Song We All Can Sing
East meets West? Well, Left meets Right and finds some common ground!

Stop Using BADWARE, do not post your music in Real Player format.
I have a number of clients and friends in the music industry. While I certainly understand their need to control and limit the free downloading of their music, using RealPlayer is NOT a satisfactory way to achieve that end.

Thursday Seems Like Monday When Your Days Are All The Same
There are days and then there are days.

Legend of the U.S.S. Titanic - Jaime Brockett
497 and a half feet of ROPE...

Rolex 24 Live Webcast shut down by SPEEDTV

Zero Net Energy - Verdae LLC is a new client
Welcome to DLMWeb

Felice Brothers Deliver The Goods - Helsinki's Top Ten for 2008
Simone Felice stands on stage night after night, as do all the boys, and delivers...

Had fun, see you soon, I hope
I promise, beloved algorithm, that I shall never attempt to spoof you.

Harry Carter winning the 1960 Vanderbuilt Cup!!

What is new in DLMWeb?
Feeds from DLMWeb powered websites

How Many Vice-presidents Became President During Their Terms of Office ???
Is there even a contest...really?

Ce n'est pas comedie
Tina Fey didn't write this shit... it is really what is inside Snowjob Square Glasses' head.

Fey as Palin - Best SNL impression since Dana Carvey's Bush
Timeless and perfect

Daniel Nocera describes new process for storing solar energy
Electricity-by-wire from a central source could be a thing of the past.

Mama HillyBeans WebCast

Why the Road?
Thanks to Autoextremist.com

Lightning Book - A book about lightning is the scariest read of the year!
Not the kind of out of the body experience I want to have!

ALMS and Formula BMW at Lime Rock Park's New Uphill and West Bend

Albert Hofmann
Remember April 19 - Bicycle Day

DLMWeb live cam
A test of the Ustream.tv

Kart Race at OVRP - 8hrs - June 21 2008

Random Motorsport and Car Related Videos
YouTube Ad Test

Juan Manuel Fangio Video
From the director of Chariots of Fire

Austin Healey Videos - THE BIG HEALEY
A video collection of these wonderful cars in action

Austin Healey 3000 Mk III - A Superb Restoration
THE Big Healey - 1967 BJ8

Lime Rock Connecticut - Map of Business District at End of

Ralph Stanley & The Clinch Mt. Boys - Answer The Call - Live at Helsinki October 13, 2007
An absolute high point in my 7+ years as Helsinki's webmaster

Pastrami on rye... and so far up the river!!
the wi-fi connecting too

Lime Rock Park Video - 2007 Vintage Festival - Sam Posey, Jim Haynes, John Bishop
40 minutes of wonderful conversation from the 2007 Vintage Festival

Bush Colonoscopy Finds His Brain!
It was only a case of recto-cranial inversion...

Northwest Corner Connecticut Real Estate Brokerage Becomes Latest DLMWeb Client
Helping another business to get found on the web!!

The Stanguellini In Aunt Edith's Gift Shop
It is mid-July in Lime Rock. After almost 7 years in Arizona, I find the Connecticut humidity is odd, intense.

OSCA MT4 Spider Morelli
A Maserati by any other name...is an OSCA.

Falwell Falls - Ugly Little Toad Croaks
Goodbye and Good Riddance

"Success is not no violence" - George W. Bush, The GODDAMNED 43rd President of the United States of America!!!!!!!!!
In ceremonies of the horsemen, even the pawn must hold a grudge

The Wellspring of Reality- R. Buckminster Fuller
An essay that has informed my thinking since I stumbled upon it in the Lenox Library in 1970

Lizzie West's "19 Miles To Baghdad"
Something Good Has Begun

At Last, Something Worth Reading from the Berkshire Eagle!
Eagle Droppings Narrowly Miss Young Mother, Hitting Instead Their IntendedTarget

A Psychiatrist's Perspective on George Bush - Yes, He IS sick
Speculation regarding GW's sanity.

Test of Podcast Creator
HTML for page placement

The Webbie's Helsinki Favorites
My cup runneth over! A brief rundown of some special artists and moments in 2006

Hal Ketchum Coming to Helsinki!
and here is some STREAMING VIDEO

A Special Treat for Visitors with HighSpeed Internet

Perl to kill MS BitDrool Eliminate MS Word Generated Curly Quotes, em Dashes, en Dashes, Elipsises, and Curly Single Apostrophes
A couple of tweaks to the Smart Quote filter

A Special Report - Spring 2007
Do you understand what your Web pages say?
About SEO

A Beautiful Example of Guitarmaking
Hot of the workbench of Jeremy Gage

Dylan's New Album Review - Rogovoy Scoops the World.
Using DLMWeb Content Mangement Tools make this a do-it -yourself project

A Second version of Smart Quote Filter
A regular expression and adding the utf-8 metatag

What So Proudly We Hailed
A son's lesson learned

This'll Teach Her to Ask...
Little did this glib goyim with a pisk (go look it up, if your Yiddish is a bit rusty) realize...

How I Spent My Winter
The bottle was dusty, but the liquor was clean

San Pedro River from Cascabel
A bit more about why...

Arizona!!??? What Were You Thinking?
Ahh, wilderness!

Cowboy Up
My step-grandfather, Remington Schuyler was one hell of an illustrator

Today the police cars are going crazy!!
Here is a test

David Minton, Berkshire Web Designer in Great Barrington Uses His Own Site to Demonstrate RSS
I'll bet that you don't really get it, but you should!

Horseback Rides in India
An amazingly good thing

Niagara Falls/Slowly I Turn
Bud and Lou?

Insanity Industry

A Reiterative Failure to Classify
An Eagle article gets Ol' Grumpy up on his high horse

Getting Found on The Web
Good design and Relevant Copy - The NO BS solution to Search Engine Optimization

Lola EX 257 / Lime Rock July 4 Weekend/Chris Dyson
Digital Photo and Image Manipulation by dlminton

Some Good News For a Change
The Starfish Difference makes a REAL difference in a hard land I know and love.

Monsoon Hangs Up Heat Builds Up
On seeing Arizona live up to its name

Rogovoy's DLMWEB powered Blog featured on Front Page of Eagle
A dlminton web service site gets some ink

Six Acres and a Deere
Hmm, thought a thought provoking way of looking at the situation.

June !5, 2005
Jeremy Wallace Becomes the latest DLMWeb Makeover
A supremely talented musician, a wonderful and inovative songwriter

June 6, 2005
A new bloom - for Margot
Photoshop Image by dlm

June 3, 2005
Eagle on the Grill as Seth Rogovoy Hits a Nerve
Some great colloquy at a dlmweb powered Web Journal

May 26, 2005
As close as a star to the moon.
Read Gatsby, and read it again and again

May 31, 2005
Oh, Now I Get It...An epiphany from the NYTimes
Been there, done that.

April 13, 2005,
Images/Helsinki 2005
Grupo Fantasma Image

The Auto Shop in Salisbury, CT Joins dlmweb's Family of Websites
More about this project as it is developed

97.7 FM is WBCR, Berkshire Community Radio

Safe Update for Helsinki
Automatic Backup

WBCR 97.7 Schedule
Support Community Radio

Conservative Thinking at its Best
Inimical to basic constitutional principles

How RSS Gets Your Message Delivered
Three different examples

Frank Zuback Productions - Music Services
Another dlminton web services powered blog hits the web

The Lantern House Motel Goes Online in Record Time
4 hours from purchase to online - Outstanding service from Outnet,.com and GoDaddy.com

Strong Visual Image Opens Start Racing Site
Using broadband effectively to entice your visitors to read your message

Latest Helsinki Opener
A dynamic page that is easily managed

Another reason to use Firefox
Some scary stuff from the folks who brought you the Blue Screen of Death

Turning Horse Feed into Mulch
A self explanatory mea culpa

A Feed from Pumpelly Racing
Updating Daytona via WiFi

And the journey goes on
The broken key is a pain.

It is beginning to get a bit interesting.
Bed time for DLM

Road Trip Tomorrow
Wiki this

About this RSS/Blog deal
Why this should matter to YOU

Two objectives today, chronical a personal experience and describe the functions of the programming I have been writing.

Pottery Barn Rule - You Break It You Own It
Pssssst...Wanna buy a couple of hot domain names?

August 7, 2005
A DLMWebCast
in fond remembrance: Avalon Ballroom, October 13, 1968
Distributing Your Music and Message on the Web
Getting the word...and the MUSIC out.

JS Code to put RSS on a web page
Nice stuff

Adding an RSS feed to MyYahoo
My feed shows up on MyYahoo...damn, that is cool.

A Gray Sleety Afternoon
as I explore this RSS deal

Next thing is to use this
Good night

Enough for Tonight
Very satisfying

Next Stop...The Aggregators
We shall see, but I believe we are getting there

That was too easy!!!
Got there

Almost Midnight
Getting there

Camille du Gast

You Learn Something New Every Day
I doubt it

Really Simple Syndication has a real name

Web definitions for Blog -- (weB LOG)
from: www.matisse.net/files/glossary.html

An Editoral Rewrite
Which puts it back on the journal opener

Paris-Madrid '03
The end of the era

A New Year
Uhh, '04? You sucked. Sorry, but that's the way it was.

from Get Fuzzy

Overwite Me!

PodCast Feed via JavaScript
One of many ways to use an RSS feed.

Helsinki Photos
Abby Lappen/Open Stage

1954 Ferrari 250 Europa PF Coupe

1962 Porsche 356B S Roadster T-6 (Twin Grill)

Getting Found on The Web
Good design and Relevant Copy - This is what Search Engine Optimization

The Log of the Starshit Enterprise
Wayyyyyyyy more than you need to know, unless you are an uninsured male aged 50 + who is trying to figure out how to get the health care you need.

And now for something different....
Parental guidance might be in order...don't click if you're uptight.

Custom Blogs and Sites that Get Found by Search Engines - DLMWeb Easy-to-Use Content Management

Paris-Madrid '03


By Charles Jarrott

PARIS-BORDEAUX! The very name conjures up old memories of struggles, grim and fierce, and thrilling fights amongst those whose names are now almost forgotten, but who, on the old Paris-Bordeaux road, struggled in years past for the title of 'King of the Road'.

It all began in the days before motors were thought of and when the cycle held its own as the most rapid form of road vehicle. Mills, Holbein, Huret, Lesna, Linton - great riders of their day - struggled hard to win the great road race of the year, Paris to Bordeaux. Later, De Knyff, Charron, Girardot, Farman, Fournier and others whose names are quite forgotten, fought the same battles over the same long, straight stretches. Their course was fleet and the pace was fierce, but it was all on the same old fascinating road, and, as a grand finale, Paris to Bordeaux was the first, and, as it eventually turned out, the last stage of the last great inter-country race, Paris to Madrid.

What do I remember of that race?

Long avenues of trees, top-heavy with foliage and gaunt in their very nakedness of trunk; a long, never-ending white ribbon, stretching away to the horizon; the holding of a bullet directed to that spot on the sky-line where earth and heaven met; fleeting glimpses of towns and dense masses of people - mad people, insane and reckless, holding themselves in front of the bullet to be ploughed and cut and maimed to extinction, evading the inevitable at the last moment in frantic haste; overpowering relief, as each mass was passed and each chance of catastrophe escaped; and beyond all, the horrible feeling of being hunted. Hundreds of cars behind, of all sizes and powers, and all of them at my heels, traveling over the same road, perhaps faster than I, and all striving to overtake me, pour dust on me, and leave me behind as they sped on to the distant goal of Bordeaux.

Even at the start, the remembrance of the gigantic line of vehicles at Versailles, all awaiting to receive the signal to dash after me, weighed me down and as we sped on and on and they came not, the strain became worse and worse. I have sympathy now with the hunted animal, for once in my life I was hunted; and of all the impressions of that wild rush to Bordeaux that awful feeling of being hunted was the vivid and lasting, and having experienced it, I do not wonder that Number One has seldom won a race.

Then that long lapse at Bordeaux after my arrival, and the ominous rumours that trickled through as the cars began to arrive. Stories of death and fearful accidents, drivers killed and spectators maimed. Then, as the confirmation of these rumours came along, the realization that the inevitable had at last happened; that the last chapter had been written of the great sport and that inter-country races could be held no more; the longing for news of friends in the race; anxiety at their non-arrival; grief at the realization that of the many sufferers one of my best friends was terribly injured! I live it all over again, and I think it impossible for anyone to have gone through in one day more varied sensations than I experienced on that eventful day when we started from Paris to go to Bordeaux.

Hundreds of cars of all sorts, shapes and sizes. Some un-safe, unsuitable and impossible. Some driven by men with every qualification as racing drivers; others with drivers having no qualifications-all let loose over that long, broad road to 'Get there!'

I went back over the road after the race and I marveled, not that several had been killed but that so many had escaped. Cars in fragments, cars in fields, some upside down, others with no wheels. The sufferers were not all in-experienced and two of the old brigade, Marcel Renault and Lorraine Barrow, handled the steering wheel for the last time, drove their last race and paid the extreme penalty.

'The Race to Death!'

It need not have been so, but by an unfortunate combination of circumstances the leveling up of the penalties payable for the risk of motor racing took place in one event. Before, and since, what escapes many drivers have had! The same terrible smashes were experienced but no penalty was exacted.

My old love had been forsaken. For the first time I was discarding the Panhard for the De Dietrich. Since my previous victory in the Circuit of the Ardennes I had started my own business in London and selected the De Dietrich firm as the most progressive of all the French manufacturers. I hoisted their colors and accepted the leading position in their team for the Paris-Madrid race in the year 1903.

De Dietrich et Cie had in the years gone by occupied a prominent position in the French industry and the racing cars they were building for the Paris-Madrid race were not the first vehicles of the kind made by them. The brains of Turcat and Méry, the well-known French engineers, had, however, been brought to the assistance of the De Dietrich house and although the racing programme was not new, the cars themselves were of a power and type entirely novel and I, as driving one of these cars, had to stand or fall by its capabilities and behavior in the actual race.

Peculiarly enough, the three big cars made by De Dietrich for the race were all to be driven by Englishmen - Stead, a sturdy Yorkshireman, acclimatized to France by many years of residence, one of the very oldest of the old racing crowd; Lorraine Barrow, an Englishman resident at Biarritz and one of the experts of the Continent; and myself. De Dietrich cars of smaller power were being driven by several other drivers, including Madame de Gast, but the real hopes of De Dietrich lay in one of the three big cars.

I have already explained that the racing cars were of a new type, and I realized this when for one long, long week before the start I watched my car being built and rebuilt. The first trouble that happened was that through a miscalculation the car was considerably over the 19.5 cwt. limit. Everything was done to bring the weight down, but unsuccessfully, and at the last moment an engine of considerably less horsepower had to be fitted. I may say that this new engine had been put through as a safeguard in the case of the car weighing too heavy. The additional advantages obtained here, however, were that much stronger axles and much stronger springs were fitted, as the weight saved through the use of the smaller motor was very considerable, and we decided that in view of the bad roads of Spain it might be better policy to build the carriage to stand the fearful roads it would have to travel over in Spain, than merely to construct it with a view to speed.

Innumerable troubles presented themselves one after the other and we almost despaired that the car would be ready in time for the race. As for it being properly tried prior to the start, this was an absolute impossibility. My one great consolation lay in the fact that Stead's and Barrow's machines were giving as much, or nearly as much, trouble as mine.

At last all was ready. The slipping clutch, which had been giving all the trouble, had been arranged with a long lever to which a strap was attached and I was informed that, if I had trouble with my clutch, I was to hang on to the strap and force it to hold. How I was to do this and drive a racing car at eighty miles an hour at the same time was not explained. However, the mechanics had been working on my car for three nights running, with the keenest possible enthusiasm, and for their sakes I determined at least to start and see how far I could get before disaster overtook me.

So off I dashed to Versailles for food and sleep and the last preparations for the race on the morrow.

Number One was my starting position on the following morning and, as I slipped over the ground out of Paris I thought that an appropriate place for me would have been at the end instead of the beginning of the procession. To my astonishment, however, the car was going well. Untried as it was, I nevertheless quickly realized that it was capable of traveling quite fast; but as for Madrid, why, of course it was an impossibility and this knowledge made my expression very gloomy as I walked into the Hotel des Reservoirs, at Versailles on my arrival.

At two o'clock on the following morning Barrow came into my bedroom and roused me from a very sound slumber. From some inexplicable cause, my car, which had taken an hour to start on the previous evening, started up immediately. Perhaps Bianchi, who was my mechanic and was accompanying me for the first time in a big race, had, during the night, coaxed it into a submissive mood. But try as we would, Barrow's car would not start. Eventually, with a shake of the hand, I had to leave him to his task as, being first, I had to be in my position early.

Never did I wish a friend good luck more sincerely than I did Lorraine Barrow on that eventful morning, and never did a wish go more awry. It was the last time I ever saw him, and the memory of that handgrip in the darkness, in the hotel yard at Versailles is one of my few sad recollections in connection with motor racing.

Picking my way carefully through the thousands of sightseers in Versailles, I arrived at the Park from which the start was to take place and got to the front of the long line already formed. The thousands assembled to see the start had availed themselves of every possible point of vantage, and a dense, living mass filled the road right through the Park. The rising of the curtain on the last great act of road racing of the old style was dramatic and inspiring, with a vast concourse, assembled to witness it, and unhappy as I was when I considered my own chance of winning the race, it was never the less a thrilling moment when taking my place, the very first car to start, with hundreds to follow me to Madrid.

De Knyff was Number Two and Louis Renault Number Three. Those of us in front decided that it was too dark at three-thirty - the time fixed for the start - and so a respite of a further fifteen minutes was granted before dispatching me.

I asked what would happen to the swaying mass of people blocking the road when I started and the only answer I received was a shrug of the shoulders and a reply that they would clear soon enough when once I got going. The soldiers intended for keeping the course clear were swallowed up in the huge concourse of spectators and disorder reigned supreme.

Three forty-five at last. On with the switch and away went the motor. A hundred handshakes and a mighty roar from the crowd and I was off. It seemed impossible that my swaying, bounding car could miss the reckless spectators. A wedge shaped space opened out in the crowd as I approached and so fine was the calculation made that at times it seemed impossible for the car not to overtake the apex of the human triangle and deal death and destruction. I tried slowing down, but quickly realized that the danger was as great at forty miles an hour as at eighty. It merely meant that the crowd waited a longer time on the road; and the remembrance of those hundreds of cars behind me and the realization that the hunt had commenced made me put on top speed and hope that Providence would be kind to the weak intellects which allowed their possessors to run such risks so callously.

Regarding that portion of the Paris-Bordeaux road to Chartres I was ignorant. After Chartres I remembered it well, but the first corner after leaving the Park at Versailles nearly led to my undoing. As a matter of instinct, in motor racing, when traveling over a strange road and being in doubt as to the direction, one always took the road on which most people happened to be congregated and on this occasion, coming to a fork, I decided to take the road to the right when, suddenly, as I arrived at the corner, I perceived the left-hand road was the correct one. Although traveling at eighty miles an hour I perceived that I could just make the turn and as we swung round we missed the curbstone by inches.

I previously mentioned that my engine had had no running on the road and now, as I began to press her, she began to clank in an ominous manner. It was obvious that she required very gentle handling and I slackened down a little while Bianchi slaved at the lubricating pump and poured oil into the base chamber.

My great trouble was with my clutch, which persisted in slipping. I had, however, the long metal lever and strap and by pulling on the strap we could do what the clutch spring refused to do, namely, make the clutch hold. Until Bianchi had to start pumping oil, he of course hung on to the strap and prevented the clutch slipping, but he required two hands pump and even then it was terribly hard work. Hence I had to hold on to the strap with one hand and steer with the other. And still we were pegging away on to Rambouillet, and Chartres.

It was not unexpected, however, when before Rambouillet was reached, Bianchi told me by gesticulations that De Knyff was just behind. We must have been traveling well in spite of my having reduced speed, for it took him some time before he got by and dropped us. And then Louis Renault came along very fast and was soon away, and immediately afterwards we reached Rambouillet control and found both cars there. De Knyff, however, was in trouble with his ignition and, he being delayed, I followed Louis Renault out of the control. Soon after, De Knyff came along again, but stopped immediately and this was the last time I saw him. Renault was traveling magnificently but, we also were going well and I had hopes that I should pull back the lead he had gained. I was delighted with the way in which my De Dietrich was behaving. Practically its first trial on the road and it was running like an old, well-tried car. And then, suddenly, with a sob, the motor stopped.

If there was one particular trouble in racing from which I suffered most, it was stoppages in the fuel pipe and this was the cause of my stoppage on this occasion. As I drew up on the grass on the right-hand side of the road I wondered how many cars would pass me before I got going again. We quickly located the trouble and started to disconnect the pipe from the tank and carburetor to clear it. The sensation I have mentioned of being hunted had overpowered me from the very start, and as we worked away it was almost with a sense of relief that I expected the other cars to come up and thus enable me to join in the chase instead of being chased myself.

It was a glorious morning, not then six o'clock, the sun shining and the air so clean and fresh; and after the roar and rush of the wind when the car had been traveling, everything seemed so still. Not a sound could be heard except our own labored breathing as we toiled on the car. In vain I listened for the well-known hum in the distance betokening the approach of another car. It seemed incredible. We appeared to have stopped hours and yet no cars had overtaken us. Where was De Knyff? Where were the go 90 h.p. Mercedes which were to have overwhelmed us at the very start? Where were the big Panhards? Had some terrible catastrophe happened and the road become blocked in some manner or other? It seemed impossible that we could have traveled at a speed sufficient to have gained so much time on all the rest. And then we finished our work, the motor started up again, Bianchi resumed his pumping and we were off en route for Tours.

It was almost with a sickening feeling that I realized I was still the goal which the struggling multitude behind were endeavoring to overtake. As a race of sheer enjoyment I only appreciated that portion after Tours. The worries of the engine and the clutch, and the dense masses of people at every town made the experience anything but pleasurable, keen as I was on the sport. In addition to this, in every control I was by myself. I might have been endeavoring to create a great record entirely alone, instead of being one of hundreds of cars rushing to Bordeaux, for I saw none of them. Louis Renault was in front but so far in front that he had left each control before I arrived.

And then, just before Tours, Werner, on one of the huge Mercedes racers, came along and after a tussle, was by and at last I had company. We had done so well that the fact that no other cars had caught us pleased me beyond measure, and as we trundled through Tours to the outward control, little Bianchi's face, greasy and oily, was one broad grin of approval; and whether I was having a good time or not, it was perfectly clear that he was glorying in his first experience of a big road-race. Never was any engineer keener over his engines than Bianchi was over any car which I was driving in any race, and even his lack of knowledge of the French language did not prevent him from capturing from under the noses of the guardian mechanics on the road - whether they belonged to De Dietrich or not - all and everything necessary for the good running and health of the car. I think his unadulterated enjoyment had something to do with the sheer abandon with which I drove the remainder of the race to Bordeaux.

On going back over the times, I find that all my time was lost over the first half of the journey and that from Tours on, our times were not touched by any other competitor.

While waiting at the outward control at Tours, another car rolled up and I was delighted to find it was Stead on his De Dietrich, starting Number Five. Halfway to Bordeaux and out of the first four cars two were Dietrich-this seemed a good record for the marquee. However, for some reason or other, Stead was very gloomy. He grumbled at his car and abused his mechanician for some fault or other in a splendid combination of English and French. I enquired for news of Lorraine Barrow, and learned that he had arrived at the start alright and, moreover, Stead had seen him at a control a distance back, when he was going very well. In the middle of my conversation with Stead, Werner's time expired and he was dispatched, and a gasp went out from the crowd as they saw the manner in which his car rushed up the winding road out of Tours.

One minute after, I was off and soon into his dust. Five kilometers farther on, with a wrench of the wheel, I just missed the fragments of his car in the road, smashed to bits, and in the same second I saw both Werner and his man standing by the car, obviously unhurt and the former sufficiently unconcerned as to be occupied in lighting a cigarette before even he could have known the cause of the accident. It appeared that his back axle had broken when traveling at top speed, and his escape must have been miraculous; but nothing could shake the phlegmatism, characteristic not only of the Fatherland, but also of most of the best drivers of racing cars. It does not do to have nerves if engaged in driving a racing car, but Werner's stolidity was out of the ordinary and his smash occurred so suddenly that he could have had no warning.

Louis Renault was thirty-five minutes ahead but we were now utilizing the full power of the motor and the car was traveling grandly. Corners did not exist. Hills disappeared and on the long, straight stretches it was merely a question of holding on.

Ruffec at last and here we were in trouble. More delay, in the changing of an ignition plate, red hot from the heat of the engine. How long it took us I know not. I remember a blazing hot sun, a crowd of spectators who crowded on us regardless of our warnings that other cars were coming along the road, and the handling of the red hot pieces of metal with our bare hands, not noticing in our feverish haste to be off again that every time we took hold of those fiery parts the touch blistered, white and hot.

A welcome glass of champagne and we were off and away once more, on to Angoulême. Talking of champagne reminds me of the manner and method of taking food on those road events. Of course, it was possible in the controls to obtain almost anything in the way of refreshments. I seldom arrived in a town without finding a friend ready with some form of food and drink, but the difficulty was that if trouble was being experienced it was seldom possible to eat or drink. I remember seeing Bianchi, suddenly attacked by hunger munching a roll of bread which had received in some unhappy manner a bath of lubricating oil, but, as he explained to me afterwards, so intent was he on our engine that he had not noticed what he was eating.

Faster and still faster, until we seemed to be merely skimming over the ground and a savage joy possessed me when I realized that we were holding our own with the hunters. The game was probably escaping; anyhow, we had not been caught. The reckless crowds, assembled in the road at the entrance to each village and town, now had no terror. We slackened for nothing. Bordeaux 120 kilometers away (75 miles) and we had not been caught and overwhelmed by that long line I had seen as I made my way to the start in the morning. Renault was in front but he was not in our class and we were now gaining even on him. Then, away in the distance, on the hill, Angoulême appeared in sight and another stage had been completed.

Here the inhabitants and spectators were frantic with excitement and congratulations; flowers and fruit were showered on us. Then an excited official at the control rushed up and said that Jenatzy, on a 90 Mercedes, had left the last control and was hard on my heels and he implored me, for the sake of La Belle France to beat the German car into Bordeaux. And I rose to the occasion and swore that, come what might, my De Dietrich would finish first before any German car should be allowed to enter Bordeaux. I was also informed that Renault was still thirty-five minutes ahead, so that any hope of beating him was gone unless he broke down before Bordeaux.

Just as we were off, Bianchi got down and gave a hurried look around the car to see if everything was all right for our last dash, and suddenly informed me with horror in his voice that our front wheels were coming to pieces, the spokes having loosened themselves in the hub. I think I should have got down and investigated the matter had it not been for the knowledge that Jenatzy was coming up just behind me and might arrive at any moment. The bystanders saw the trouble also and were terribly excited when I told Bianchi to jump up. If the wheels held up, a bucket of water on each at Bordeaux would put them right for the next stage and I could do nothing but take the risk.

The road after Angoulême is a series of twists and turns, corners and angles, and it was on this portion of the road that most of the unfortunate accidents in the race took place. It was here, however, that we made our biggest gain. At this time I was driving as for my life, Jenatzy behind, Renault in front, and as corner after corner was negotiated, and nearer and nearer we drew to the finish with the car going better than ever, I longed for another two hundred kilometers in which to make up our lost time before Tours. That our wheels might go at any moment had not entered my head after leaving Angoulême, and when, suddenly in the distance, a white flag stretched across the road appeared, it seemed almost incredible that we had arrived at Bordeaux, the ninety kilometers between Angoulême and Bordeaux had been covered so quickly. We averaged over sixty miles an hour over this stretch and gained twenty minutes on Louis Renault, finishing fifteen minutes behind him.

No one had expected that there was any possibility of my finishing in almost the same position as that in which I had started, but it is the unexpected which always happens in racing, and the De Dietrich car, regarding which little had been said prior to the event, had provided a sensation of the race.

I was surprised to see so many friends at the control in Bordeaux. English and French, they impressed upon me their gratification and satisfaction at my having got through so successfully. Then, with an official on my car, I made my way into the town to the closed park where the cars were locked up until the start of the second stage.

A long interval took place before any other cars arrived. I made my way to my hotel and afterwards back to the control to watch other arrivals. One or two cars arrived, but very little information was forthcoming from their drivers; they all seemed very vague as to what had happened to any cars other than their own.

Then, in an extraordinary manner it began to be whispered that terrible accidents had happened, but no one knew from whence these rumours had come, only everybody was uneasy and fearful. Presently the cars began to roll in thick and fast and the rumours were confirmed by the various drivers, but instead of being accurate in detail, everything was exaggerated. Every driver had a different story until it seemed at last as if the road of passage must have been bestrewed with dead and dying. Who was killed? Who was hurt? What had happened? A feeling of horror came over those of us assembled in the control that we had participated in a great carnage and the lack of reliable information made matters so much worse. Charron eventually arrived, having driven a touring car in the race with ladies as passengers, as he had not been able to get his racing car in time, and from him I learned more than from anyone else. There had undoubtedly been terrible accidents and I was horrified to learn that Lorraine Barrow and Stead, on their De Dietrichs, were smashed up and seriously injured and not expected to live, Barrow's mechanician having been killed on the spot. Stead had been cut down by another car and capsized at eighty miles an hour, while Barrow had struck a dog, deranged his steering and struck a tree end on at top speed. Marcel Renault had also smashed, and there had been dozens of other accidents en route. Charron said he had never seen anything like the scene the road presented.

Other cars came in and other stories were told. An English car driven by a novice had upset on a corner, and the unfortunate Englishman accompanying the driver had been pinned under the car, which caught fire and burned him to death. In Chatellerault, a child had dashed in front of one of the cars and a soldier had rushed to save it. The driver, endeavoring to avoid both, not only struck and killed them, but also dashed into the crowd which hemmed the course.

I need not recapitulate the list of deaths. The English papers of the 25th of May had the details of what they termed 'The Race to Death'.

Road racing was dead. Never again would it be possible to suggest a speed event over the open roads and the sport-which, while it was sport, was in my opinion the best of all sports-was finished. The peculiar thing about it all was that the outside world had not appreciated up to that moment that there was an element of danger in motor racing. One or two drivers had certainly been injured, but accidents were very rare; and then, suddenly, by one of those compensations which occur with all things in life, the toll was paid in one event, and so heavy was it that with a shudder and a gasp the world at large realized that motor racing might be really deadly.

The French Government decided the matter for every-body concerned. The race was stopped forthwith and all the racing cars taken possession of by the authorities. Special trains were secured and the cars were dragged to the railway station behind horses and returned to Paris; not even the motors were allowed to be started.

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