he 1965 Armstrong 500 was a race I would rather forget. Actually, there's not all that much to remember considering that I didn't even get to start the damn race! Yes, it was a woeful weekend folks, so let's jump in our time machine and fire up that poxy flux capacitor to relive the pain of my one and only shot at glory on the 'mountain'.

Fifteen hundred quid got you a brand spankers GT 500 Cortina in 1965, which was a fair whack, let me tell you! But it appeared to be money well spent. The all red rocket arrived in late September from Mr. Firth's workshop (actually, I had to go pick it up myself) and was pulled to bits the instant it arrived home. The rules back then allowed minimal modifications, strictly series production stuff, but there were some fairly crafty ideas floating about the noggin.

The 1500 was put on the dyno for a peek at its potential. One hundred horsepower spat out at the flywheel, so it was time to play. I worked my magic on the now famous Kent mill, all within the rules of course (well most of them!), to ensure that the engine was as precise and strong as possible. Along with tedious balancing and blueprinting, I made the valvetrain as light as possible, all of which was legal to the naked eye. The compression was also raised slightly and the ignition advance curve tweaked. So, after careful reassembly, the engine was plonked back on the dyno for a comparison. One hundred and twenty two horsepower bought a quick grin to the face, so back it went into the 500.

Along with the usual preparation that goes into a motor race there were other things to consider. The biggest one was that I needed a co-driver. I contacted some local hotshots with the offer, but most of them had committed to other deals. This is what happens when everything is left to the last minute! There was one man, however, who seemed keen to jump in the car. He went by the name of Stuart Fraser and was a Kiwi chap whom I'd met at Nimrod's. He club raced an Anglia which I'd built an engine for. After a brief test drive through some back streets, I was convinced that Stuart could manage the task. He'd have to anyway, as no one better was available and he was willing to do it for free! I organised a crew of local lads who seemed to have half a clue, and headed off to the Mount.

From the time we entered NSW, things went up the poop. The EH wagon tow car dropped a valve just out of Albury, so it was left on the side of the road. The five of us clambered into the Cortina and the spares were picked up by another team's crew who stumbled upon us. It wasn't the ideal way to lead up to a race, but we managed to get there for scrutineering on Friday morning. The car passed through without incident, and we set up our pits and got ready for practice. Some of the drivers gave me some rather friendly advice about getting around the place at a fair whack, which seemed odd, considering we were all here to win.

My first impressions of Mt. Panorama were those of a splendid place. Up and across that mountain for the first time was a real treat, as was Conrod Straight. The 500 hit nearly 120 mph along the famous stretch. My early times were in the mid-three minute range, off the pace, but I was just cruising around playing with lines and finding a groove. Stuart then had a go and I soon knew the race was going to be tough. He was about ten seconds slower than me at this stage, and that just wouldn't cut it around this place.

We made some adjustments to the set up before qualifying, and it was time to pull the finger out. Stuart said he didn't think he'd go much faster, so it was up to me to set a quick time. Bob Jane and the Geoghegan brothers were the lads to beat at around 3 min 10 secs. I went out on a mission and came up trumps. I put in a screamer early in the piece at 3.11 flat. I was rather delighted with this, having no experience around the place, in a privately entered car. That time was good enough for third on the grid and I knew I could go quicker.

But it was not to be. The next lap I could feel something was wrong in the front of the car. The right front tyre was deflating so I headed back to the pits to get it changed. This took some time, so I decided to give Stuart a few more miles before race day. It was on his third lap out there that my shot at Bathurst glory ended in tears. The car failed to come back around for lap four, and after five minutes I began to worry. Soon after an official came up to me and gave me the dreaded news. Stuart had come unstuck across the top going around the outside of a slower car, hit the 'marbles', and barrel rolled away my hope at glory.

I felt devastated, I couldn't believe my luck. Stuart arrived on the scene shortly after and as you can imagine, I gave him a mouthful of abuse (and a kick in the knackers!) before heading off to survey the aftermath. It didn't look real flash, not like a one month old GT 500 should anyway!

Bo Seton won that year in a 500, and I can only ponder what might have been. I came back to Melbourne, the 500 went to the tip, and that silly @#$% Stuart went back to New Zealand. Then and there I ended my motor racing career. I'd had enough. Apart from some developmental work for private Escort racers in the early seventies, yours truly turned his back on the racetrack. I go back these days as a spectator, the hilarity of Appendix J racing too much to resist.

So that's my history lesson boys and girls. I hope you found it both entertaining and informative. In future installments I hope to discuss things relating to Mk.1 Cortinas in the early '90s and beyond. So stay tuned and don't listen to those 'experts'.