Testing the track | EWY ROSQVIST

IT IS LONG -

ENDLESSY LONG

Early in the morning of October 12th, we set off with two cars that had been placed at our disposal. So three of us go in each car.

That's us in the picture: Ursula and I (Ewy), Eugen Böhringer, Peter Lang, Hermann Kiihne and Manfred Schiek,

BEHIND US, THE HEAT GATHERS LIKE A CURTAIN

The first impressions of this foreign country glide past my eyes like scenes from a movie. We feel delighted when the bright facade of the Alvear Palace hotel appears against the shimmering blue sky. The hotel lobby is cool. Behind us, the heat gathers like a curtain. Even Karl Kling, who enjoys tropical heat, wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.

- Do what you want! I say once we have completed the check-in at the reception. No one is to disturb me for the next half hour. All I long for is cold water. Bye for now!

Ursula and I disappear in the elevator to the hotel's upper regions. Our rooms are large, elegantly decorated, and tidy. They are in semi-darkness, with the blinds blocking the hot, dazzling sun. Our bags arrive. We haven't brought much with us—two light summer dresses, a suit, a cocktail dress, a coat, and our "professional clothes," consisting of long washable trousers, a couple of blouses, and light cardigans.

But we also have two essential pieces of equipment that are always problematic for us when packing. These are our crash helmets, which unfortunately cannot be folded. During our travels, we mostly carry them as handbags on our arms with the chin straps fastened. We always wear them when we compete, but so far, they haven't had to prove their worth. One day, which will change. After a lukewarm bath with a cold shower to finish, we feel reborn. Our energy is returning. Buenos Aires! Just a couple of years ago, it would have been impossible to imagine that I would come to South America with Ursula Wirth.

- Today you don't need to drive yourselves, says Fangio.

- This temperature is unbearable, says Ursula.
- You'll get used to it soon, Fangio reassures, as our car rolls toward the center of Buenos Aires.

- Besides, it's not always this hot in the fall.

All are standard cars
The cars that we will use in the competition have arrived by sea and have of course been on the road longer than we have. They have been driven from Stuttgart to Hamburg and loaded onto a boat there under the supervision of two experts from Mercedes-Benz (mechanic Fischer and Kühne's navigator Manfred Schiek). They are Eugen Böhringer's 300 SE, Hermann Kühne's 220 SE and my 220 SE and then a 300 SE for Carlos Menditegui, the fourth in our group. They are all standard cars; they are not sports cars or touring cars of the SL (super light) class.

It is long - endlessly long

On October 12th, early in the morning, we set off in two cars that had been placed at our disposal. They are Eugen Böhringer, Peter Lang, Hermann Kühne, Manfred Schiek, Ursula and I. So there are three of us in each car. Two sit in the front seat and one in the middle of the back seat to be able to study the route in advance. The "co-pilots" now have the most difficult task. While we who are at the wheel are mainly testing how fast we can drive considering the condition of the road, the three map readers are constantly taking notes.

Ursula holds a pad in her lap and fills page after page with her quick, thin writing. We take our time to cover the distance and spend the night at the place we happen to arrive at while it is still light. In the evenings we sit together in hotels or simple overnight accommodations and discuss for hours the route we have taken during the day. It is long - endlessly long. The race course consists of six stages.

The fourth stage on October 31st will be the most difficult. Then we only have to drive 515 km, but what kilometres! When we return to Buenos Aires after ten days and look for our hotel rooms, Ursula has filled 251 pages of her large notebook. We are tired, dusty and longing to bathe and wash our hair.
- I wonder if it is because of the climate? Ursula says suddenly. I could sleep without stopping for three days.

The whole of Argentina laughs

The start will take place on October 25th early in the morning. Before that, we (Eugen Böhringer with navigator, Hermann Kiihne with navigator and I with Ursula) will drive the entire 4624 km long "VI Gran Premio Internacional Standard" race course.

During the race itself, we will not use as much time as we do now on our training tour, which will take about 10 days. Against the many Argentines who will start with us (286 cars are registered), we have a handicap, because we do not know the route at all.

In the hotel lobby we meet Kling and Fangio who are immersed in a lively conversation with Menditegui, Böhringer and Peter Lang. Everyone has changed and looks neat.

- Are you finally ready? Eugen Böhringer greets us. It is not necessary for you to take so long.
- Is it not necessary for us? Ursula exclaims, who is beautiful without any make-up.
- Now you'll hear, says Karl Kling. Thanks to you, our team is having a lot of fun.

What now? Ursula and I ask each other. All of Argentina laughs. At us?

Don't think too much

- They attach great importance to this competition, explains Fangio in his polite way. It's the first time that any ladies have started and that's why they say: "Why two girls? It's just a publicity stunt".
- And what will Argentina say if Ursula and I win?

Even the polite Fangio smiles and Kling, Böhringer and Hermann Kiihne laugh.
- That would be wonderful, says Fangio when they have calmed down. But to tell the truth, Mrs. Rosqvist...
- I'm used to being called Ewy, I interrupt.
- Thank you! To tell the truth, Argentina would be on its head. Don't you think too much?
- How would I know? I answer. We don't even know anything about the route.
- That's true, says Fangio. When the training ride is over, I'll give you some personal tips.

It's no joke and none of the other participants are beginners. The competition is tough, the competition is even tougher.

- We've already heard all that, says Ursula, who rarely takes anything too seriously.
- For all the world, don't compare this competition to a European rally! says Fangio. This is something completely different.
- That remains to be seen, says Ursula unconcerned. A little luck also plays a role. Or what?

You have nothing to do here!

Photographers and several reporters rush towards us and shower us with greetings and questions that we don't understand. One of them turns to me and he speaks English. I recognize his questions; I'm used to them from his European colleagues.

Everyone is bombarded with questions. Karl Kling, our leader, who is internationally known because he used to be a racing driver, then our team captain, Eugen Böhringer, with his navigator, Peter Lang (son of Hermann Lang, famous racing driver and European champion in 1939), Hermann Kühne whose "co-pilot" comes by boat, Schäfer, Wurz and finally Ursula Wirth, my neat navigator, and I.

"How come you, as a woman, are taking part in car races?

Do you think you have any chance?

Isn't it too strenuous for you?

Do you think you'll be able to do it?"

We already knew before we started our journey to South America that the "Gran Premio Internacional Standard" has never been driven by a female crew. But only now, when Ursula and I are being photographed from all sides and bombarded with questions, do I understand what a sensation it must be that I am going to start.

You have nothing to do here!
In the eyes of the Argentine newspapermen, I can read what I have known for many years: the contempt and superiority of men.

Put into words, it means: "Why don't you stay with your pots and pans and let the men have their sport? You have no business here."

But in the eyes of the Argentines you also encounter an expression that you are not used to in Europe, namely the enthusiastic admiration of the southerners. It warms both Ursula and me. Our sport means that most of the time we only encounter cold objectivity.

A few gentlemen from the Argentine Mercedes-Benz company welcome us in their language. Carlos Menditegui also comes up, he is going to start with us. Next to him is a man I recognize from many pictures:

Juan Manuel Fangio, two-time world champion with Mercedes-Benz in the mid-1950s. They both greet us so warmly as if we have been friends for many years.

The petrol was new and of the right kind

He repeatedly made test runs with different types of petrol, but was not satisfied. He tried to get aviation petrol. But it was not allowed to pump petrol at an official commercial airport. So he went to a private sports airport and got some petrol to test it. He was warned by previous experience and therefore sent the sample for examination to a laboratory belonging to the "Mercedes-Benz Argentina" testing department. The petrol had been stored for at least a year and only had an octane rating of around 76. Once again Karl turned to Y.P.F., which has the petrol monopoly in Argentina. Whereas in Europe a telephone call would have sufficed, here he had to make repeated visits. Fangio laughs when he hears the story.

- The Argentine is too polite to say no. That is something that Europeans do not understand. A "yes" or a "why not" in Argentina does not mean that you are promising anything. Every child here knows that.

- It can happen, Karl Kling replies. In any case, I didn't get any further.
Finally he had turned to Esso. He had learned that that company couldn't work independently either and had to order petrol from the Y.P.F. monopoly, but he hoped to reach his goal more quickly that way. Esso immediately promised to help him. Just a few hours later he received a telegram:

- Tomorrow a tanker truck with ten thousand litres will arrive on behalf of the airport. The day after tomorrow you can get as much as you need." It finally worked. The petrol was new and of the right kind.
- It's easy to tell, says Karl. But before Esso came to our aid I was close to despair.

Straight through the sheep?

- Just one more thing, children, says Fangio at last while we gather all our papers. This applies to everyone, but especially to our ladies. The most dangerous thing in the whole race is the sheep.

Karl Kling, who has driven the route twice himself in recent years, nods:
- That's right.
- The Persian sheep may not run in your way, Fangio continues. They are so precious that they are not allowed to roam around alone. But the other species, which have been crossed here and there with each other and sometimes almost look like goats, are often left without any supervision and can be dangerous to you. Suddenly they rush out from a bush, from a rock or from a curve and block the road. If you are then coming at 150, 160 or more, there is only one thing to do: hold the steering wheel tightly, keep on the gas and drive through.

- Straight through the sheep? Ursula asks.
- Little girl! Karl Kling interjects. In such a case, the law applies an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Either the sheep or you. A hard turn at that speed means the end for you. Trying to steer away is not possible at that speed. Moreover, the sheep usually spread out all over the road.

- You have to take this danger very seriously. It lurks behind every curve and every bush, Menditegui also warns.
I know it all too well. It's a real beast.
- I know, I say. It happened to me once in a rally, although it was only a gentle drizzle. It was pouring rain and after a while we were soaked.

A photographer immortalizes the "historic" moment. Ursula and I stand pale and with "hospital haircuts" next to our car, which has already been given the designation "711 - Gran Premio Internacional Standard". The car looks much fresher than we do. Our knees are shaking so much that we have to lean against the car to keep the picture from getting blurry.

My stomach hurts

- What now, do we have to go to hospital?
That evening something happened. Ursula can hardly stand up; she is emptying her stomach of its contents. She is terminally ill.
- What do we do if I get sick? she moans.
- First of all, you're already sick, I say. Second, I don't know what to do.
A moment later I'm lying in my room, as pitiful as Ursula is in hers. At half past six in the morning, I call Karl Kling.
- Will you please send a doctor here! We're sick.
- What now? Karl shouts in horror. Sick! Little girl, it's not going to happen!
- No, I say. It's not going to happen. But we're half dead anyway.
- Right away! he shouts into the phone.

I can easily imagine him rushing off to get hold of the best doctor in all of Buenos Aires. It doesn't take long before the doctor is with us. He examines us, takes our temperatures and checks our pulses. Then he goes to the phone. It goes so fast that I can only make out one word: hospital.

- What now, do we have to go to the hospital? I ask in English.
- Si, si, he replies. Immediately - immediately!

Good God! Ursula wails in the next room.

Then all hope is lost!

An hour later we are lying in a room with two beds in a private clinic that is sparkling clean and ultra-modernly furnished.

- It's good that we get to lie together, I say.
- Then we can at least comfort each other, Ursula groans wearily.
Later in the evening Karl Kling comes to see how we are.
- I wasn't allowed to come earlier; he says and places a colorful bouquet of flowers on a table. But what exactly are you doing?
- I don't know, I say. It feels like my whole body is a hole and it hurts.
- Do you think you can drive? Today is the nineteenth, in five and a half days it starts. What am I going to do if you can't start?
- I don't know, I say resignedly.
Our "stomach bug" has turned out to be food poisoning.

- You've actually been lucky, said the doctor when he examined us early in the morning. It could have been much worse.
On the training trip we might have ingested something that was fatal to our sensitive European stomachs. When we stopped at country eateries we couldn't always be so critical. Karl Kling runs out to talk to the doctor.
- The doctor is doing what he can. He thinks there's a chance, but then you yourself have to be good and not give in.
- We can't be more good than this, murmurs Ursula, who is lying there looking apathetic.

At the moment, everything is indifferent to me
- It's not just you guys who have been having problems; Karl says in despair. It's the "soup" too.
- Is there something wrong with it? I ask with a minimum of interest. At the moment, everything is indifferent to me. Even the petrol.
- Don't think about it until you turn grey, Ewy! It's none of your business. Just get well now, that's more important!
- The athletic, white-haired leader of our team closes the door to the sick bay. The day passes. Two days. Three days.
- What do you think? Will we be able to start? I say on the afternoon of the third day.
- Start! Ursula is no more hopeful than I am.
- Time and again we come to the same question. Can we start? On the morning of the fourth day, we feel a little better.
- I'm going to try, I say, and make my first excursion into the room barefoot and wearing a nightgown.

We walk back and forth but have to constantly lean on something. A few hours later that afternoon, October 22, the technical inspection of the cars takes place in the "Autodromo Municipal de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires".

We have to show our 220 SE which has the registration number S - JX 190 and is therefore written in Stuttgart.

Training trip in

ten days

The 4 626 km race course consists of six stages. Before the race starts, the entire route is driven so that the driver can “feel” the route and the co-driver can take notes.

October 25. Now the race begins. The engine roars, we push forward. I grab the knob on the short sports gear lever that sits between the front seats. Second - gas - third - gas - fourth - gas ... The speedometer keeps moving upwards: 100 - 120 - 140 - 160 - 170 - 180 ...

October 27. Immediately after the start, a very steep climb begins. After 61 km, we have climbed from "Pampa de Achala" at an altitude of 640 meters, to a peak that is 2,180 m above sea level.

October 29. At exactly 7:00 a.m. the starting flag falls for us. I notice that at first, against my will, I grip the steering wheel convulsively tightly. Ursula calmly gives me her instructions and within half an hour my tension is released.

Stage 4: Catamarca - Tucuman, 515 km

October 31. Now the "Cemetery of Hopes" is ahead. The air has become crystal clear. The engine is hot, but we are cold. Suddenly we have reached the highest point at 3,100 meters altitude. Anyone who has never experienced fear will experience it on this day's stage.

November 2. We're going across the Pampas. I ease off the gas, take the curves and accelerate again. Our 220 SE moves forward calmly. It runs like a tightrope. The road allows 150 km/h, sometimes a little less, sometimes a little more.

November 4. Today we have the flattest part of the six stages. The raindrops are beating against the windshield.
- Average speed at least 160 km/h says Ursula. You are driving fantastic today!

My average speed has been calculated at 126.872 km/h. In the evening newspapers everyone is competing to praise our stage and track record. Dead tired but happy, we finally go to bed. It is already the middle of the night.

Ewy was a good author. As professional as she was in the competition. Down to the smallest detail, how they reasoned, the dialogue in the car between Ewy and Ursula. The stresses that the 220 SE was subjected to. Joy and sadness.