Ascot Eulogy

Ascot eulogy

UP FRONT

David Edwards

IT WAS EIGHT YEARS AGO THAT I FIRST laid eyes on Ascot Park, there to cover my first dirt-track national as a fledgling reporter for Cycle News. And was I ever disappointed.

Not in the race. Jay Springsteen won going away, his 34th career victory, riding so hard, banking over so far, I remember, that he was damn near dragging his muffler-mounted, left-side numberplate in the clay. And I still can recall second-place finisher Randy Goss’ comments about Springsteen that night. "1 was hoping he’d slow down so I could get a shot at him.” Goss said. "But there’s not much that slows the Springer down.” Good stuff.

What was disappointing, though, was Ascot, the place. It’s been called a dump, and, indeed, it was built on top of what was once a landfill. Situated in the town of Gardena next to three of Southern California’s busiest freeways, surrounded by the sprawling ugliness that is greater Los Angeles, the Ascot Park that greeted me in 1983 was time-worn and battleweary, with a scraggly parking lot, peeling, patched-up buildings and grandstands that were not grand at all. and barely standing. Not a verv pretty place.

It seems that Ascot never was beautiful, not even in 1957 when it was built. "Ascot was only pretty at nighttime, when the grandstands were full, the lights were on and there was a good field of riders on the track.” says Chris Agajanian, son of the late J.C. Agajanian, the wellknown promoter who put on the Ascot races. Chris grew up at Ascot, selling programs, working the parking lot and cooking hot dogs, then moving on to track preparation and front-office work before taking over for his father after J.C.'s death in 1983.

But, as of last Thanksgiving, the younger Agajanian had no more Ascot to promote. That’s when the last midget-car race was held at the facility—the last race of any kind—as the Agajanian’s long-term lease on the property had run out. For years, the family had tried to buy the land outright. offering "big. big dollars.” says Chris. But someone else offered

more, and the landlord sold out to a developer who'll eventually add another office building, mini-mall or industrial complex to the architectural blight of metropolitan L.A. "We wish the track could keep going, but there’s no chance.” sighs Agajanian. "And the developer doesn't even have a tenant yet. He'll just mow it down, scrape it, and let it sit vacant for a couple of years. That’s progress.”

It’s doubtful that future tenants of whatever structure is erected on the 37 acres at the corner of Vermont Avenue and 182nd Street will know the heritage of the place. By the 1 960s, Ascot Park had become a phenomenon, as every Friday night from April through October, 7000 to 9000 race fans packed the bleachers to cheer their favorite steel-shoe artist into battle on the half-mile oval. There was no other track quite like Ascot, either. It’s unusually tacky surface allowed a variety of lines; riders could hug the inside chalk or go equally as fast by clicking off the outside crash wall. It was a place where the locals—the Friday-night regulars—could show up the stars of the national circuit. More than one established factory rider shut off for Ascot’s sticky turns only to be passed by guys he'd never heard of on bikes that had been lashed together af terhours in basement workshops.

But it was a perilous place. No one’s really kept count of the riders killed at Ascot, but during the track’s heyday, it claimed about two a year.

Riders rarely slid-out at Ascot. Because of the traction available, highsides were more likely, and a wooden retaining wall backed by earthen banks is an unforgiving enemy.

Despite the dangers, the riders came to this day crucible, came to make a name and maybe a career. Do well at Ascot and the whole industry, notablv the manufacturers and the

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press, both based nearby, knew about it. In the early '60s, the fearsomely fast BSA Gold Stars of Al Gunter, Neil Keen and Sammy "The Flyin' Flea” Tanner held sway, but Triumphs, Harleys, Yamahas. Hondas and a lone Norton all notched national wins there. A heap of history was made at the Ascot Half Mile.

It was the once-a-year, Sunday-afternoon national TTs, though, that gave Ascot fame outside the industry, thanks to television coverage. Millions of Americans knew of Ascot Park by way of the flickering images beamed into their homes by the American Broadcasting Company. ABC’s “Wide World of Sports” was in its infancy in the Sixties, and the Ascot TT was a regular feature. As a youngster in New Jersey. I remember staring at my parent’s black-andwhite Westinghouse and listening to the commentary of a crew-cut Keith Jackson as riders like Skip Van Leeuwen and Eddie Mulder powered around corners and over the big jump. Three thousand miles away, with its two duck ponds and it.s palm trees. Ascot Park seemed to me as exotic as Istanbul.

Last September 29th. 1 went to the final Ascot Half Mile National, not as a member of the press but as a paying spectator. A friend and I. beer and pretzels in hand, sat in the weathered stands along with a record 1 1.000 fans there to say farewell to the 33-year-old facility and the memories that were manufactured there.

“Yeah, it's over, but it was quite a stint,” Chris Agajanian told me later, and offered hope for the future. "Look, there were three Ascot racetracks before Gardena. We hope that this is just goodbye to Gardena, not goodbye to Ascot.”

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 0