Land Speed Record
Lockhart took one of his tiny 91 cubic inch (1491 cc) supercharged, intercooled Millers out at the Muroc dry lake and set a land speed record of 160.01 mph (257.50 km/h) for a two-way average in the mile (1.6 km), with a peak speed of 171 mph (275 km/h).
Backed by Stutz Motor Company, Lockhart combined two supercharged 91 ci (1.5 L) DOHC Miller motors, producing about 380 hp (280 kW), the smallest-displacement car ever to make the attempt, to set a new land speed record in the 122-183 cubic inch (2-3 litre) class at Daytona Beach. On April 25, 1928, Lockhart's Stutz Black Hawk Special streamliner (named for the Indiana town that was home to Stutz's factory ) turned a warmup run of 198.29 mph (319.1 km/h), with his first official pass at 203.45 mph (327.40 km/h), well below the 207.552 mph (334.007 km/h) mark set earlier in the year by Ray Keech in his 81-litre (4178ci) Triplex Special. On Lockhart's return pass the Black Hawk Special cut a tire (probably on a seashell), went out of control and tumbled violently across the sand, throwing Lockhart from the car and killing him instantly.
Read more about this topic: Frank Lockhart
Famous quotes containing the words land, speed and/or record:
“The whole land seems aroused to discussion on the province of woman, and I am glad of it. We are willing to bear the brunt of the storm, if we can only be the means of making a break in that wall of public opinion which lies right in the way of woman’s rights, true dignity, honor and usefulness.”
—Angelina Grimké (1805–1879)
“The greatest felony in the news business today is to be behind, or to miss a big story. So speed and quantity substitute for thoroughness and quality, for accuracy and context. The pressure to compete, the fear somebody else will make the splash first, creates a frenzied environment in which a blizzard of information is presented and serious questions may not be raised.”
—Carl Bernstein (b. 1944)
“He will not idly dance at his work who has wood to cut and cord before nightfall in the short days of winter; but every stroke will be husbanded, and ring soberly through the wood; and so will the strokes of that scholar’s pen, which at evening record the story of the day, ring soberly, yet cheerily, on the ear of the reader, long after the echoes of his axe have died away.”
—Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862)