Before becoming enthralled by Bob's mastery of racing, let's not forget that, at last count, he put EVERY ONE of his race cars on its roof at Lime Rock...and lived to tell the story of each event (of course, he DID end up an inch shorter after the last escapade)!
Bob was never a "fancy" guy and you didn't need "fancy" words to describe him: he was simply a good guy and will be missed.
You can't remember Bob without a couple of short stories:
Bob's nickname of "The Animal" had nothing to do with an evil personality. In fact, quite the opposite. It stems from his desire at one of the Shelby Club's open track events to "bring his per-lap cost below that of the Malibu Grand Prix cars from the last convention". And he did. While most convention goers drove their vintage Shelby Mustangs for 10 or so laps at Pocono Speedway, Bob put better than 80 on his '66 GT350H. That's not 80 MILES...that's 80 LAPS!
Those old convention open track events allowed a passenger to be strapped into the right seat while the driver circulated the track at speeds not much lower than Richard Petty. I remember a ride with Bob at Charlotte in like around 1985. Can you say "hang on for dear life"? As we screamed down the back straight a mere inched from a very hard retaining wall (which routed the exhaust directly into my ears), there was an ever-so-slight (practically imperceptible) change in the exhaust note. Instantly, Bob aimed for the pits, screeching to a halt, as we both exited the vehicle. I pilled the hood retaining pin on my side, Bob did so on his and together, we lifted the hood. Instantly, my face turned to sheer terror while Bobs showed an ear-to-ear grin. The bottom of the hood was literally dripping with oil as Bob reached down, pushed a plug wire onto a spark plug, and we slammed the hood shut. Hopping back in, we were already rolling as I hastily buckled up and hung on for the rest of the session. After it was all over, I asked Bob about all that oil. His response? "It always does that". His cars were never show queens, but boy, did they RUN!
Greg and Carol
Bob was never a "fancy" guy and you didn't need "fancy" words to describe him: he was simply a good guy and will be missed.
You can't remember Bob without a couple of short stories:
Bob's nickname of "The Animal" had nothing to do with an evil personality. In fact, quite the opposite. It stems from his desire at one of the Shelby Club's open track events to "bring his per-lap cost below that of the Malibu Grand Prix cars from the last convention". And he did. While most convention goers drove their vintage Shelby Mustangs for 10 or so laps at Pocono Speedway, Bob put better than 80 on his '66 GT350H. That's not 80 MILES...that's 80 LAPS!
Those old convention open track events allowed a passenger to be strapped into the right seat while the driver circulated the track at speeds not much lower than Richard Petty. I remember a ride with Bob at Charlotte in like around 1985. Can you say "hang on for dear life"? As we screamed down the back straight a mere inched from a very hard retaining wall (which routed the exhaust directly into my ears), there was an ever-so-slight (practically imperceptible) change in the exhaust note. Instantly, Bob aimed for the pits, screeching to a halt, as we both exited the vehicle. I pilled the hood retaining pin on my side, Bob did so on his and together, we lifted the hood. Instantly, my face turned to sheer terror while Bobs showed an ear-to-ear grin. The bottom of the hood was literally dripping with oil as Bob reached down, pushed a plug wire onto a spark plug, and we slammed the hood shut. Hopping back in, we were already rolling as I hastily buckled up and hung on for the rest of the session. After it was all over, I asked Bob about all that oil. His response? "It always does that". His cars were never show queens, but boy, did they RUN!
Greg and Carol