Word: mosse
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...spent his life trying to paint the smile of Mona Lisa, finally gets it right with a single flick of his brush, and says to the rest of the world, "There, you bastards, match that!" There are not many who can even come close to Britain's Stirling Moss as a racing driver. Pint-sized and profane, he is on his way to becoming a legend in his own lifetime-pursued by women, fawned over by royalty, idolized by fans the world over. At 32, he has won more races (194) than any man alive, more world championship Grand...
Warm Seats & Melted Silver. In Chichester last week for the 100-mile Goodwood International Grand Prix, Moss played himself to the hilt. Supercharged and sassy, he played croquet, guzzled fruit juice at a cocktail party thrown by the Duke of Richmond and Gordon (whom he irreverently called "Your Gryce" in a broad Cockney accent), stayed up twisting at a country dancehall until 2 a.m. On race morning, while other drivers, taut and nervous, brooded over seltzer and coffee, he happily downed a huge breakfast, described the novel furnishings he was planning for his bachelor digs in London: a heated toilet...
...Moss had hoped for rain ("I do better in the wet"), but a bright sun warmed the crowd of 72,000. Settling into the cockpit of his low-slung, pale green Lotus, Moss joshed Rival Graham Hill, who was piloting a faster BRM: "Don't try too hard, Graham, or you'll blow it up." He screwed in his earplugs, snapped his helmet strap and adjusted his goggles. "Hey," he yelled to Mechanic Tony Robinson. "Where's my chewing gum?" Robinson handed him a stick. Moss waved. "Here goes," he said. Then, exhaust crackling fiercely, he roared...
17th & Last. The race was only eight laps old when Moss, brakes squealing, pulled into the pits. His throttle linkage was fouled; his gearbox was jammed tightly in fourth. By the time the pit crew, working furiously, had repaired the car, Moss's position was hopeless: he was 17th and last, more than three laps behind the leader, Hill. "What are you going to do?" asked a friend. Said Moss, with a wicked grin: "Have a bloody...
...Mechanic Robinson in the pits. "Stirling is driving incredibly," reported the track announcer from his vantage point in a tower. "He's taking the corners faster than ever before." In a Lola, Britain's John Surtees sped to a new lap record of 1 min. 23.6 sec. Moss cut it to 1 min. 23.4 sec., then to 1 min. 23 sec., then 1 min. 22.6 sec., then 1 min. 22.4 sec.-each split second pushing him closer to the limit of adhesion. In Moss's pit, dockers exchanged glances, and tension killed conversation. Murmured a mechanic...