Greg Rickes: How It All Started

In this special Tales from the Tower, iconic track announcer Greg Rickes details his first trip to Lime Rock Park. Photos via Greg Rickes unless otherwise noted.

When you’re 14 years old who even thinks about what life will be like in 60 years? And yet here I am at 74, still embracing a place that’s like a second home, and still savoring this amazing adventure.
Though I came from a family with no apparent interest in automobiles as anything other than transportation, my interest in cars seems to trace back to my earliest days

By the time I was a  teenager  I dreamed about the days when I would get my drivers license and set off on grand adventures. Lacking in any apparent mechanical aptitude I was drawn to the narratives of Road & Track, Car and Driver, and Sports Car Graphic more than the  how-to pages of Hot Rod and Car Craft.

My father indulged me by taking me to a few races at the local stock car track, but the defining moment came in 1964. The father of my best friend got the urge for a road trip and planned a visit to a place I had only read, and dreamed, about, Lime Rock Park.  Though it’s a journey I’ve made untold times over the years  in those days it was no small undertaking to navigate from the Albany area to northwest Connecticut.

So on Saturday October 17 1964 we set off, with high hopes.  Our optimism was dampened by a cold October rain.  In  those day The Connecticut State Police, with more experience overseeing local stock car oval tracks, decreed “no racing in the rain”, so after a soggy stroll around the paddock we glumly headed back home.  Good fortune smiled on us in a way, we had our rain checks, and a commitment from our adult patron that even though it was Halloween  our treat wouldn’t be  a trick and we’d return to The Road Racing Center Of The East.  And we did.

October 31 was brisk but clear, and the distinct aroma of Castrol R racing oil hung in the air as we made our early morning arrival and found a spot with a panoramic view on the infield hillside.

The infrastructure was far from what we take for granted today.  The B Paddock didn’t exist, it was nothing but wilderness. The main paddock was gravel, dirt, and grass.  It was  sequestered by a simple wire fence, and a gap in the fencing served as the entrance gate.  Access to the paddock in those days was almost sacred ground, with signs warning of the risks and dangers of a restricted area.

The statute of limitations has probably passed so I can now share my adventure. I was standing along the paddock fence , trying to take some photos with my  primitive Kodak Brownie box camera ( with its fixed focal lens and single aperture and shutter speed). A woman who had been tending to one of the formula cars came over to the fence, and asked if I wanted to come in?  There was no mention of  formalities,  such as exactly how old I might be. Just “do you want to come in?”  Physically and socially awkward as only a tall-for-his-age 14 year old boy can be I managed to nod, and mumble “sure”.  With that she slipped off the wrist-band that was  the magic talisman, the key to the kingdom,  and passed it through the fence.  I glanced surreptitiously  to make sure no one saw this exchange. Contorting my hand as small as possible I managed to slip the band onto my wrist.  Now the critical part of the escapade would unfold.

Befitting its exclusive access there was a uniformed guard at the paddock’s only entry portal. He was stern and imposing.  Summoning a confident nonchalance while my heart was pounding. I waited for a crowd to form, then did my best to extend my full stature and  blend in.  The sentry, perhaps bored with his duty, barely gave me a glance.  And just like that I was in an enchanted place. I exhaled, and moved into the beehive activity of the paddock before any figure of authority could give me a second glance.

The incomparable Art Peck, the original “Voice of Lime Rock Park”, conveyed the day’s activities with informed commentary.  I wandered among the cars, consulting my entry list for “must see” attractions among the great variety of cars that contested SCCA National races in those days. I’d saved up enough money from my newspaper delivery route to buy two rolls of color film. That meant I had  all of 24 frames to capture the occasion for posterity.  Here’s a glimpse at my scrapbook from that landmark day.

Even then TWO Ferraris, one of them a 250 LM similar to the LeMans winner, was a rare sight.

Memories from that day are indelible. This was the era of standing starts, and it was a choregraphed  ritual. The cars would roll out of the paddock into their assigned starting position  in a 3-2-3 formation , and come to a halt. When all the cars were in line the starter, standing at trackside, would raise his hand. Each driver, indicating they were ready would also raise their hand, all the while blipping their throttle.  The starter would lower his hand, and then  the drivers would lower their hand and grip the steering wheel. With a flourish  the green flag would wave and the cars would spin their tires as they accelerated in unison toward Big Bend.

The day flashed by in a kaleidoscope of colors and a cornucopia of sounds.  In spite of the chilly temperature  Peter Sachs, driving a Brabham BT5 “D Modified” (now we’d call it a Sports/Racer or Prototype)  set a new absolute lap record at 1:01.8

Eventually the day drew to a close, but the chill in the air  couldn’t cool  my burning enthusiasm. It would be several years before I’d be able to drive on my own and return to Lime Rock Park, but such was the magnitude of that inaugural visit that I knew I’d be back, even if I couldn’t see  60 years down the road.

MiataCon 2024,  60 years almost to the exact day  😊  (Tom Hill photo)