After it was all over with, I stood in front of everybody connected with the first annual Targa Newfound-land and accepted the ninth- (and last-) place medal for our performance in the Trials class. By this measure, my navigator, Distractible Dave Menzies, and I had failed. The "time, speed, and distance" (TSD) stuff of the leisurely navigational rally proved elusive; our glistening Porsche 911 Targa had been bested by the likes of a 1965 Morris Mini and a 1959 MGA.
Yet we were two of the most exhilarated barnacles clinging to this island (half the size of Great Britain with but one-hundredth the population). We'd collected abundant penalties in the first two days of the five-day rally, so we hewed to the spirit of a Newfoundland expression: "It is as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb." (Newfoundlanders keep alive a great many old words and sayings.) The fully race-prepared cars in the Targa division had been going all-out. In the final three legs, we would entertain ourselves by trying to match their times.
By our going all-out, justice would be served. The 911 Targa had been creating a sensation. Newfoundlanders are somewhat innocent where cars are concerned; the nearest Porsche dealer is off in Qubec City, well more than 1000 miles by road and a minimum of seven hours on the Nova Scotia ferry.... Read full article