We raced against Jim in most of those 1966 races. In fact, I or we won 3 of the East Coast races that Jim didn't race in. He was a smart, conniving sonofa*****. In the St. Pete 'Hurricane Classic' in December '66, we went though the cut at 7am, into northwest 30 knot winds. There was no "small craft warning rule" in those days. If it was too rough for you, don't go. The temperature was 34 degrees! Only 200 miles to go! I was racing the 'Broadjumper', a 28' heavyduty Donzi w/427 Holman Moodys. Dick Genth has a 28' stretch Formula. Wynne had 'Ghost Rider' w turbo Daytonas Aronow and Odell Lewis had Banana boats (not Charlies. Those skinny things that Aronow built), very bad choice for the day. The entire Merc team was there, but they all had small, fast boats. When the flag dropped, we filled the ballast tank (no trim tabs) and put it in the corner. Wynne and I left the field standing, and by Cedar Key light, the northern checkpoint, the two of us had a 10 mile lead on the fleet. Broadjumper looked like a bomb had hit it! The entire structure over the engines had caved in, and smashed some of the velocity stacks on the 427 Holman Moody engines. The seas were easier going south, and we dumped some ballast kept it as close to WFO as we could. About the time we met the rest of the fleet still going north, Wynne stopped, and raised the engine hatch. They all dove into the engine room. We slowed down to see if they were all OK. Jim pointed to the engines, made a sign like a stick breaking, and popped us a snappy salute! Was I relieved! When we reached Sarasota, the southern checkpoint, I looked over to the local navigator for the location of the checkpoint, but discovered him on the floor, kayoed! I slowed a bit, and my riding mechanic, Mark "Big Dirty" Raymond picked him up and slapped him a few times, to no avail. We looked in earnest for the checkboat, and after 20 minutes, we found it. They held up two fingers! Who the hell could possibly be ahead of us. The held up 2,3,6. Wynne's number! Turns out, the reason they stopped was the fact that the owner, Hugh Doyle, was injured. They put him off on a spectator boat, and went straight to checkpoint, passing us while we were searching. To top it off, I ran out of fuel (from searching) at the finish line. Genth passed me. Big Dirty and I did a dance on the tops of the fuel tanks and smashed them down enough to wet the pickups. I never carried a local navigator before or since.