Moffat’s Mover   Barry Lake - 1984    Used with permission of Barry Lake – as appeared in Modern Motor 1984       If the sinking feeling in my stomach as the Ansett Boeing 767 pierced rain clouds on its decent to Melbourne’s Tullamarine Airport was bad, how must Allan Moffat’s stomach have felt that bitterly cold Melbourne morning? He hadn’t so much as sat in a race car since his Peter Stuyvesant Mazda RX7 had been punted off the streaming wet Surfers Paradise race circuit back in May. And here I was, living with the burden not only of having persuaded him to let me drive his sole-surviving right-hand-drive Mazda RX7 racer – on a wet track it now seemed certain – but also of talking him into driving the car as well.       It was the week before the date doctors had set for Allan to make a return to the wheel. His fingers, broken when his hands – still holding the rim of the steering wheel – were smashed into the Mazda’s dash panel on impact with that small but solid Surfers tree, were still stiff and sore. And his chest still hurt where the sternum had been cracked – either by the pressure exerted by his safety harness on impact, or by being thumped against the steering column.       But there was no turning back. We had originally planned the drive of the RX7 racer for the week after Surfers and the crash had caused some hurried reshuffling of stories for our August issue. Modern Motor’s deadlines were far from Moffat’s thoughts as he charged across the wet grass and up the bank towards that tree. The anxiety of that moment made me forget my own problems as well. It wasn’t until some time later the realisation dawned that our story might well have been lost forever.       While Moffat nursed his thankfully minor injuries, I left for a planned trip to Europe – a drive to North Cape in Volvos and a visit to the Le Mans 24-Hour race. Plans had been set for the Mazda test to take place on my return. And now here we were: photographer Kent Mears and I on a Corolla hire car ex-Tullamarine; Peter McKay in a new RX7 road car heading from the St Kilda Travelodge; the racing RX7 being trailered from the Moffat workshop by three of the Moffat racing team’s full-time staff of five; and Moffat himself enroute from his office in his own red Mazda RX7 road car – all converging on a cold, wet and windy Calder circuit.       Andrew Cowcher, Steve Gude and Peter Apidopoulos had brought a set of heavily-grooved wet weather tyres with them, but the RX7, on this cold, wet and grey Friday morning, sat on slicks.       Mercifully the rain clouds cleared briefly while we prepared for the run and the wind dried much of the circuit – though there were still a few puddles.       Moffat, rugged up against the cold and not at all confident that his return to racing wasn’t to be further delayed by an onset of pneumonia from that freezing Bass Straight-inspired wind, took the car around for three warm-up laps. Stopping to adjust the rear shock absorbers to reduce some of the oversteer, he did two more laps.       “OK. It’s all yours,” he said. “But be careful. It’s so cold the slicks just don’t want to warm up at all, and the track’s very slippery between the left-hander and the right-hander back into the main straight.”       I had earlier had a “dry run” with the latest five-speed gearbox – which had that theoretically ideal but hard-to-get-used-to pattern of first over to the left and back, with 2-3-4-5 in the H-pattern.       So I squeezed into the tight-fitting glass fibre seat and buckled up. The seat wraps right around the body and hugs you tightly, while larger pads on the transmission tunnel and on the driver’s door keep the knees from straying and taking the feet away from the pedals. There is a sturdy footrest for the left foot. Otherwise, the pedal placement is much as in the standard car.       This long-distance racer has more instruments than cars intended only for sprint racing. A large central tachometer is calibrated to 10,000 rpm and there is no redline. But there is a tell-tale needle that is carried up by the normal needle and stays at whatever maximum it reaches. To the left of this are three temperature gauges for engine water, engine oil and gearbox oil. To the right are three more: fuel pressure, oil pressure and differential oil temperature gauges.       Over in the centre of the car a row of switches operates electric fuel pumps, differential oil cooler pump, gearbox oil cooler pump, and closest to the driver – the ignition switch. The master battery switch is over on the left hand side of the transmission tunnel.       The fuel system, incidentally, is clearly visible through the rear glass hatch of the car. It is shielded from the interior by a plexiglass panel through which the driver views the world behind him via the rear-vision mirror. Allan Moffat wouldn’t let us photograph this fuel system, with all of its pumps, lines and filters.       Last year he wouldn’t let us photograph the engine. Now, in this car at least, there were no restrictions on engine shots and we were able to photograph the remarkably clean and simple-looking 12A twin-rotor engine with its Weber 48 IDA carburettor. The latest 13B engine with fuel injection which was in the crashed car is still taboo, however.       Moffat claims the slight increase in capacity of the 13B and its injection system add little in power to the car and that someone not experienced with the cars would be hard-pressed to tell from a brief drive which powerplant was under the bonnet of the RX7.       Certainly there is no real impression of brute power with the racing RX7. Like the road car (only more so) it has a steady surge of power and a willingness to rev that could see it easily taken off the clock in a moment of inattention.       “Keep the revs down to 8000 at first until you’re used to it, then you can go to 8500,” said Allan as I prepared to drive off. “What do you use when you’re racing?” I asked. “Oh, nine-five, ten, whatever I think I need,” he said with a smile as he pointed in the direction of the stop at the 10,000 rpm mark. Indeed, the rotary is unencumbered by having to brake pistons and connecting rods from high speeds to a stop and then accelerate them back to full speed again twice every time the engine revolves. Nor does it have poppet valves to drop into the works when they’ve had enough of high-speed running. Only the damage caused to rotor seals and rotor shaft bearings by too-high speeds has to be considered. In terms of actually blowing to pieces the rotary is remarkably reliable.       Some further advice from Moffat: “Power comes in around 6000rpmand the engine gets a bit cranky below that. If it starts to surge, that will be the carburettor loading it up with fuel. If that happens, just declutch and give it a rev to clear it. Don’t let it stammer along as this can be hard on the transmission.”       OK. Not too slow and not too fast; cold slicks on a cold track making for ice-like traction – even without the added drama of puddles. And that ultra slippery patch down in the esses; don’t let the revs get too low, don’t run them too high; try to remember that gear pattern; use third gear for the corners, fourth and fifth on the straights…       He forgot to say watch out for those motorcycles. Yes, motorcycles; hordes of them. They had a race meeting on that weekend so hey had priority for practising. We were, more or less, their guests.       I wondered if they knew how much trouble they were in, passing and being passed by a driver still trying to learn where everything was in a strange, very fast car. There were times when it would have been nice to grab a quick glance down at the gear lever to check that it was really headed for the right slot – but who’s taking their eyes off the action when trying to pass a gaggle of bikes bent on driving past one another, or when the rear-vision mirror shows a multi-cylindered, two-wheeled Japanese production racer diving deep into the sheltered area behind the car, the rider lying as flat as possible on the tank to stay down under the air stream tumbling off the turret, prior to swooping out and around on full acceleration? Judging rake distances at 8000 rpm in fifth at the end of the main straight on cold slicks and puddles was enough to keep me occupied without checking to see that no bikie was going to do a loop over the top of me in the process.       In a race, Moffat said he would be using second gear through the bends at each end of the short Calder track, then climbing through third fourth and fifth on each of the straights. With my slow progress through the sodden bottom corner I was coming into the back straight more slowly and found that I was just running out of fourth gear at my 8500 limit when I wanted to brake for the next right-hander.       But down the main straight I was getting 8500 in fourth just past the end of the pits and grabbing fifth gear for the last couple of hundred metres before the braking area.       It was interesting to check the mid-range acceleration of the RX7 against the Superbikes. From a standstill those bikes are quick because of their high power to weight ratios. Once underway, the advantage is not so great. But eh quicker ones had the legs on me down the first third of the main straight, pulling a few lengths advantage before the odds would even out again.       The Mazda’s acceleration is not kick-in-the-tail style. There’s not enough torque to get the adrenalin glands over-excited, but there is a strong, steady surge of power that seems destined never to stop. Gear changes are made according to the boss’s instructions rather than when the engine begins to protest or run out of breath – which it never does.       This lack of torque, characteristic of the rotary powerplant, makes the car much easier to drive than a cammy, torquey V8 racer. Powering out of corners there is far less chance of sudden rear end break away when transmitted torque adds to lateral forces to exceed the tyres’ grip. The RX7 is basically an oversteering car, and the technique is to flick it into the corners just enough to get some tail-out attitude, then balance it on the throttle.       But, unlike many thinly-disguised production car-based racing touring cars, the Peter Stuyvesant Mazda RX7 is surprisingly close to the road car in character. The handling characteristics are basically the same; it just does it all at a much higher speed. And the pedals feel so much like the standard car. The brake pedal pressure is high enough to offer good feel but low enough not to sap the energy of a log-distance driver. The clutch pedal, unlike many that have to operate competition clutches beefed up to take heaps of torque, is amazingly light and easy to use.       Even the exhaust note sounds remarkably tame, by comparison with racing V8s. It’s not that it doesn’t sound good, more that it’s different. The sound waves echo of the sides of the large diameter exhaust with a sort of two-stroke sound, punctuated by loud, deep-throated explosions just below the driver’s right cheek and burst of flame from the tailpipe as the throttle is lifted on approach to corners. There’s no sneaking a slight lift-off before fast bends without being noticed in this car.       At first my gearchanges were a little ragged; the engine drops right off in revs and power if you pussy-foot around. With time and confidence, faster, more positive changes and less of a lift-off keep the engine on song and the changes smooth out nicely. Likewise, I was darting left and right when braking and changing down at the end of the straights. But, with time, this too smoothed out and the car tracked straight and true with a more relaxed grip on the wheel.       I was running down through the gears: fifth to fourth, fourth to third, as I was braking though fully aware of the more common style of braking while in top, then selecting the appropriate gear at the entrance of the corner, but I was being careful not to over-rev the engine. Taking it down one gear at a time minimised the risk of mis-judging the speed and consequently the revs required. It’s much easier to take the engine beyond its limit that way than it is while running up through the gears.       In fact, I did exactly that on my fourth or fifth lap. I was too quick to go back to fourth gear and shoved the tell-tale tacho needle, thus far accurately placed exactly on my maximum of 8500, to 9000. A lap later, with Nomex fingers wrapped in double-layer Nomex fire-proof gloves finding a lack of sensitivity in placing the otherwise delightful gearchange, I momentarily slipped the lever from third to second instead of third to fourth acceleralting along the back straight. I had the clutch pedal almost out before I realised what I’d done and up the needle went again – to 9200rpm. Thankfully that was still below the safe maximum but confirms the rationale of beginning with a lower target in an unfamiliar car.       After a dozen laps, I was beginning to feel at home in the car, although still cautious about getting it out of line on the corners. Some tail-out attitude under acceleration out of the turns was no worry, but I wasn’t getting into it al the way through the corners. Consequently I was getting my elbow movement restricted by the wrap around sides of the seat in the tight right-hander before the main straight. The racing method would be to flick the car into the turn, let the tail slide out slightly and then balance it with throttle. I was simply steering through the first part of the turn, needing more lock than Allan would ever use.       But this reconfirmed the light steering of this car. A big V8 driven that way would have a very heavy wheel movement; the Mazda was still light and comfortable to steer.       But then a rude awakening. A shower of rain. The windscreen covered in water, wipers on, the track is damp and soooo slippery. Cold slick on a dry track are one thing; in the wet…       The bikies abandoned. I was alone on the track. The clear road at last was tempting… But thoughts of even a minor lose and, say, wiping off the front spoiler in a drain were too much for me. A nice little thump into a concrete wall? Would you like to explain that to Allan Moffat, still smarting from his race injuries and not at all enjoying standing in the biting wind at cold Calder Park? No, neither would I. I lulled into the pit row and parked it.       Now we had to wait for the rain to pass again. At least the strong Antarctic-like wind was blowing the rain clouds swiftly across the sky and another blue patch could soon be seen. While we waited for the next chance to complete our photography, Peter McKay interviewed Allan, and I took to the track in the standard RX7.       Now I felt better. Heavily channelled Bridgestone Potenza tyres drained away the water, the smooth, low-torque response of the rotary engine, and the light and quick steering made light of the conditions. I developed from gentle oversteer to full-blooded, adrenalin-pumping slides, and late-braking that required feather-footed use of the pedal to unlock brakes as the aquaplaned over puddles in the braking areas.       This was fun; real fun. I felt as though I could do anything with this car. Fantasies of owning such a car, and your own race circuit just so you could go out and have a ball every time it rained ran through my head. Why not install a sprinkler system to wet the track when ti doesn’t rain? It can be tough racing in the rain. Lack of vision and being surrounded by semi-out-of-control madmen wanting nothing other than to get ahead of you at any cost can get to be noisy, expensive – even painful. But, on your own out there, you’re king…       The appearance on the circuit of a turbocharged Mazda 323 with photographer Kent Mears projecting through the sun-roof, followed by Moffat in the RX7 racer brought me down to earth after who-knows how many laps. The clouds had cleared (temporarily) once again, and we were back at work…       I could have done more laps in the racer, but time was running out, the rain wasn’t going to stay away for long and, apart from personal enjoyment and the satisfaction of becoming more smooth and faster in the car, there wasn’t any real point. We had our story and Moffat still had his car.       As we loaded the car and its gear I said to Moffat: “The race car is so much like the road car in character, it must be real fun to drive it hard, you’d be able to do almost anything with it.”       “Fun?” said Allan punctuating with one of his characteristically long pauses, “I don’t think driving any of these top touring cars flat out is fun. It’s hard work.”       I wasn’t’ intending to belittle the efforts of anyone who could drive one of these touring cars at top speed for long periods, but I’m sure I’ve seen people like Colin Bond, Peter Brock and Jim Richards laughing from the sheer exhilaration of it all.