I had just been discharged from the Army and was pursuing my education with the help of the GI Bill. My Uncle Phil, who had just bought a new Austin Healey 100, invited me to go with him to a sports car race at Palm Springs. I didn’t know what a sports car race was about or, for that matter, any race since I had never seen one.
On March 22, 1953, we set off with the top down. I was impressed with the difference between Uncle Phil’s car and my daily driver, a 1948 Buick Roadmaster convertible that I had acquired from my cousin with my mustering-out pay. There is a long straight stretch of slightly downhill highway before the Palm Springs turnoff. Uncle Phil announced he was going to see what his new car could do. With foot flat on the floor, the speedometer finally read 110. Wow, I thought, this is really something. But then an XK120 breezed by, taking some of the wind out of our sails.
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