Can‑Am Retro: '67‑'69 – Clockwork Oranges

Its vivid new challenger’s riveted/bonded monocoque of aluminium and magnesium, dammed by steel bulkheads, was conceived by an Oxbridge whizz-kid with no motorsport ‘previous’ but an insider’s knowledge of Concorde.

Ironically, chief designer Robin Herd would shelve its prototype fixed rear wing. Though he did begin to tap into downforce created by the negative pressure generated beneath these wide-bodied vehicles.

M6A’s wedge-shaped outline reflected Bruce McLaren’s experience of Ford’s experimental J-car, aimed at Le Mans. Its suspension shunned complicated anti-dive and anti-squat geometry. And it retained a small-block Chevrolet V8, its parts sourced from LA’s hot rod community.

Most importantly, it managed more than two productive months of testing before shipment – cue The Bruce and Denny Show.

They started all bar one race from pole position and newcomer Denny Hulme, replacement for fellow New Zealander Chris Amon, won the first three rounds, only to retire from the remainder – two of which Bruce won to become champion by three points.

Hulme would have to make do with winning that season’s Formula 1 world title in a Brabham.

He turned the Can-Am tables in 1968 when, now full-time with McLaren, he won thrice to Bruce’s once – and McLarens won all six rounds thanks to Penske’s Mark Donohue and, aboard a two-year-old model cleaving through pouring rain at Laguna Seca on Firestone inters, English-born Canadian John Cannon.

McLaren had by now joined rivals in its use of the 7-litre big-block, worth an extra 100bhp, but still its wing lay in the wings.

M8A’s chassis, a joint effort by Gordon Coppuck and Jo Marquart following Herd’s departure to Cosworth, was simplified by chopping it directly behind the driver, but steel bulkheads were retained for durability.

Its ‘rat motor’ V8, sitting lower due to a dry sump, was hung from the rearmost of them. Its Hewland gearbox was reduced to four speeds on account of the increased torque, as well as the rolling starts, and was stronger and lighter as a result. And its body shape was more angular in the search of more downforce.

Longer and wider, it was no heavier than its predecessor.

When finally it did sprout a high wing – a fixed one befitting of the team’s inherent wariness – McLaren was unstoppable during an extended 1969 series that began in June rather than September.

These unwieldy and spindly aero devices mounted directly to the rear hubs had been banned summarily from F1 in May after several ’plane crash-type accidents caused by their sudden collapse. But they were deemed okay in 'anything-goes' Can-Am.

After all, hadn’t McLaren evaluated theirs by attaching it to a Minivan and driving down the road to Staines?

M8B, thoroughly tested, started every race from pole – Denny set six to Bruce’s five – and filled the front row at all bar the last round. Champion Bruce scored six wins to Denny’s five and between them they registered eight 1-2s in the first nine rounds.

By the time it reached Bridgehampton in mid-September the team was so confident that it went waterskiing rather than undertake final practice.

Even when things didn’t go to plan, its mix of American, British and New Zealand engineers and mechanics proved serenely capable. When a bag tank sprang a leak at Mosport in 1967, for instance, it was drained and replaced within 45 minutes – usually it took twice as long – so that Bruce might start just 45 seconds late.

He finished second, to Hulme. What of the rest?

Well, Lola won once – when both McLarens blew up.

Jim Hall’s Chaparral, meanwhile, continued to push the envelope. But when in 1969 it plunged into a forest of high wings with an outlandish and narrow – to make more use of the road – low-drag car, one began to wonder.

It also rejected independent rear suspension in favour of a new take on an old-fashioned de Dion tube arrangement – complete with hydraulic ‘load levelers’ that foretold of active suspension – and positioned most of its instruments at 90 degrees to the driver’s line of sight.

Chaparral had missed the post.

Already delayed by a year because of a fundamental problem, 2H’s cause wasn’t helped by Hall’s crash at Las Vegas in 1968, which broke his jaw and legs and ended his career.

Replacement John Surtees hated the car when finally it appeared in butchered form. The original intention was to seat the driver within its fibreglass carapace and have him peer through a Perspex nose cone. The Englishman rebelled, however, and insisted that he jut through a hole cut in the roof.

It was never going to work: neither car nor partnership.

And what of the rest of the rest?

Mario Andretti’s Honker II honked despite its lavender livery. Carroll Shelby’s King Cobra abdicated after barely a handful of laps. And Dan Gurney’s McLeagle was nimbler than its name but a little too lightweight.

The above trio was indicative of Ford’s perennial Can-Am woe, as was its decision to sell its over-hyped and underwhelming G7A to privateers for $1.

The Caldwell D7 was a ‘poor man’s Chaparral’, with its modern take on beam axles. Aussie Frank Matich’s contender was neat but outgunned. And Gene Crowe’s 4WD two-speed auto, powered by a turbocharged Oldsmobile V8, squawked ineffectually but briefly.

But they were in famous company at least.

Neither Ferrari nor Porsche could match McLaren. Their 12 cylinders added tingling top notes to Can-Am’s V8 basso beat but were underpowered and overweight.

Amon was regularly frustrated by his new employer’s haphazard campaigns, despite North America supposedly being Ferrari’s most important market, but by 1969 his 612P was Can-Am’s second-fastest car – but could do no better than one second place.

Porsche was more methodical and a consistent Jo Siffert finished fourth in that year’s standings at the wheel a roadster version of its 917.

Chilled, McLaren wasn’t yet at yellow – never mind orange – alert.

Images courtesy of LAT