Managing Director – Bridge Classic Cars
Between our times on the stand, each of us would venture out into the paddocks and to various points on the circuit to soak up as much as we could. Not only of the light evening drizzle, but of this wonderful event.
As the evening light grew dimmer, the paddocks once more played host to the ushering crowds. The magic hour held up to its name. The low light shone brightly on the historic cars giving them even more of a glow in the eyes of the feverish fans.
Everything imaginable was within arms reach. These priceless works of automotive art with very little supervision. But, with the machines comes healthy respect.
The still of that evening was soon to be broken.
A race track in the evening is a strange beast. The air around it grows still but the general calm is broken by the sounds of competition. This was the 2nd chance for the big V8 cars. The American monsters took the early autumn in the English countryside by the scruff of the neck.
As these vast machines would take a corner, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the brakes. Straining and screaming for mercy but only to be drowned out by the combined cubic acres of the howling engines.
The track by this point was now dry after the earlier showers in the day. With this, the cars could now entirely stretch their legs… Lap after lap, the iron gladiators would attack the same sequence of corners but with growing confidence and vigour. Even from standing at one point, you could see each of the cars getting quicker. You could feel the lap times tumbling and you could hear the cars straining to beat the marshalls’ stopwatch.
It could only be Goodwood.
