So You Want to Go 600 M.P.H.? ...scale speed that is!

It's the hottest table-top sport since billiards invaded Grandpa's game room. Played with equal verve by eight-year-olds and octogenarians, model racing offers the thrill of a Grand Prix in the parlor-and brings in a whopping $100 million a year.

Most popular are these four model-racing scales, shown full-size. HO car is 1:87 the size of its prototype.

Drawings and Text by Henry B. Comstock

Giant among full-scale track and road drivers, Stirling Moss is the chief steward of the annual Ford-Aurora Grand National - a countrywide racing classic for youngsters piloting the fleetest buggies in HO.

The old political pledge of "two automobiles in every garage" now sounds like far-to-the-right conservatism. For today every member of the family can barrel his own Ferrari or Lotus-Ford around the rumpus room. This miniature racing-car craze has turned coffee tables into California Freeways, and focused parlor conversation on such subjects as diamond treads versus slicks.

Contributing to the contests and debates are 80 manufacturers of items ranging from a night-lighted Le Mans track to a tiny vial of castor oil guaranteed to make a dragster smell authentic when you rub a drop on its warmed-up motor. Most of the producers have long been associated with toys and models. But there are a number of new success stories. One outfit that pioneered the smallest American commercial scale (HO) had only 4,000 square feet of floor space four years ago. Today it has two plants totaling 200,000 feet, employs 850 people, and estimates its 1964 sales will top $20 million.

This kind of Horatio Algerism couldn't happen without a glittering basic product. And table-top racing has many bright facets. Consider:

Escapism. Where else can a frustrated commuter or holiday driver floor his throttle and scream through a chute at 600 miles an hour? Scale miles, that is.
Modest cost. You can't blow a fortune on the hobby. The most elaborate sets take less of a nick out of a Christmas Club check than one finely detailed model locomotive.
Competitive appeal. Consider your layout an investment in junior's education. It's surprising how fast the little fellow learns. When you block his car at a corner by fantailing craftily onto his lane, he'll probably cut his power momentarily. This will shoot an added bit of juice into your motor-just enough to send you spinning out of the groove and into a plastic grandstand. Then he'll tell you that racing clubs-there are more than 40 of them scattered around the country-don't go for rough stuff. Very soon he'll be out of your class, and probably competing in a regional race, for a crack at HO-scale's most famous event - the (3rd Annual) televised Ford-Aurora Grand National. First prize this year: a full-size Mustang.

Name your favorite dragster, or modern, or vintage racer-and you'll find it faithfully reproduced in one or more scales. The same goes for stock cars and hot rods. More than 20 American and overseas manufacturers offer these racing models, both in kits and ready-for-competition form. Sophisticates build their own models, either from scratch or from custom parts. One mail-order house devoted to the hobbv stocks more than 5,000 different chassis and body components, plus a variety of wheels.

Which to choose? Recommending the best scale for model racing is foolhardy. But in general, the smallest cars find favor in the home, and the largest where clubs provide grandiose circuits. An in-between size (1:32) does well for itself by straddling both fields. Whichever you choose, it's a fair bet that you'll graduate from a packaged trackand-car set to construction kits. You won't save much by buttoning together a prefab chassis and applying the decor to a clear plastic body. But the fun dividends are great.

Depending upon your preference for a slick racer or a hot rod, you can buy little spray-paint cans hearing such impressive labels as Authentic British Racing Green, Golden Pearl, Hairy Canary Yellow, or Horrible Orchid.

Chassis designs are limitless. But drives fall into the three types shown. Since the only way to squeeze a big conventional motor into a small car is to point the armature shaft fore and aft, most 1:32 scale models use this inline chassis setup. For larger jobs, a side-winder chassis is best, because the speed-reducing transmission can be a pair of simple spur gears. These absorb less power than gears meshing at right angles, whether pinion-and-crown, bevel, or worm type. An ingenious HO chassis recently developed by Aurora shrugs off transmission losses by revving up tiger muscles in a pancake motor that's no bigger than three stacked dimes.

Car numerals and racing emblems come correctly, scaled on decal sheets. And whisker-thin adhesive tape takes the jitters out of striping. About the only brushwork calling for a steady hand is a facial job on the tiny plastic driver supplied with opencockpit models. To guide you, one kit model's dope sheet says: "Don't fail to paint that Royal Air Force moustache of Graham Hill's dark brown."

Prime source of juice for most model racing is a power pack (left), which converts the stuff in your baseboard receptacles into a usable 12 to 18 DC volts. From this pack, a pair of wires runs to each driver's controller, and onto a lane in your "brickyard.' Below: a typical track section-fine for storage; also, a flexible aid to help you build a permanent track.

Incidentally, a set of racing rules widely adopted by clubs competing with one another stipulates that a carefully detailed driver must be at the wheel of every open car. If this sounds tongue-in-cheek, consider the accompanying explanation: "Unless a person spends time and effort making a model as realistic as possible, he usually conducts himself in a manner that literally forces the better builders off the track."

The veterans point out another virtue of a driver. In somersaults the little guy with the styrene head acts as a roll-over bar, amiably protecting less-expendable automotive parts. Look, Mom: magnesium wheels! Assembling an operating kit brings out the Smokey Yunick in many racing fans. There comes an urge to replace the body of one of these cars with the super-detailed shell of a mantelpiece model. Unfortunately, the working chassis rarely fits. But manufacturers are ready with all sorts of extras. Motors, gear trains, and adjustable frames and mounts. Swiveling front axles, and steering units controlled by the weavings of the pickup guide.

There are even independent rear-suspension assemblies, fitted with incredibly small ball joints and sporting tunable coil springs.

As a final touch, you can apply carefully balanced wire-, artillery-, or disk-type wheels. The last are offered in magnesium, for the man who cares.

Exclusively yours. An elite segment of the fraternity frowns upon this bolting together of commercial bits and pieces, and restricts itself to "scratch" building. The infinite care they devote to shaping a hardwood pattern, forming a latex mold, and then casting a fiberglass body, is matched only by their zest for constructing a complex chassis.

Curiously, these enthusiasts of the hardboard track discuss the pros and cons of subtle design features less assuredly than custom-model builders. Most of them concede that their wonderfully intricate machines rarely crank out better performance than a simple, rigid-axle job. They also know that races are primarily won by racing savvy. But they find vast satisfaction in watching their creations soak up road shocks and the torture of tight corners exactly like the big ones thundering down the stretches and turns at Le Mans, Monza, and Monaco.

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