Not guilty
35 years ago, the history of rallying would make a dramatic swerve. The tragedy in the 1986 Rally of Portugal wouldn’t be the last of that season, but it was the one leading to the demise of spectators and, ultimately, Group B. Who’s to blame, if anyone?
We hear the actors of that day and get behind the wheel of the exact same car at the ill-fated stage, in an attempt to make amends with the past.
These roads are unusually quiet today. An almost ceremonial tranquillity. As our team is somewhere ahead, choosing the perfect shooting spot, I stand alone, contemplating the RS 200, casually parked by the side of the road.
Every minute or two a car passes by and, in most cases, the driver stamps on the brakes in awe. They know exactly the meaning of what’s before their eyes, and that goes to show how deeply the 1986 episode is carved in the Portuguese collective memory.
From afar, I can hear the distinctive howl of a 911, and as a black Carrera GTS comes into view, the driver swerves and parks right next to me. His first words, with his eyes stuck on the rally car and a dense tone, were: “I was here that day, just a few meters back, and I’ve heard it all unfold. Is this really the same car?”
The answer to his question is indisputably documented: this is Ford’s RS 200 chassis #6, a car that was never supposed to turn a wheel on a timed rally stage, being a development unit. However, it ended up making history, and not exclusively for the wrong reasons.
(…) Many years after his retirement, Ari Vatanen said about Group B that “It was maybe unreasonable, but men have to do unreasonable things in life, in order to push boundaries.” The world of rallying had such a leap in performance and bravery, that fans felt an incontrollable desire to be part of the emotion. While at the wheel of this car, who am I to blame them?
The RS 200 shines over the following corners until the end of the stage and keeps working its magic faultlessly until the end of the day. Then, as the sun starts to drop, we must go back. However, another challenge awaits: it’s rush hour in the outskirts of Lisbon.
Traffic is now dense, so I merge with commuters with the subtleness of a wrecking ball. I’m ready to accept the angry looks of unwilling drivers when I look to the right and spot a young man performing some stunts on the back seat of a bike, to take what must have been a cool shot, while the rider cheers over-excitedly. I smile and look to the left just to watch a Dacia almost kissing the bumper of the car in front, as its driver is, of course, looking through his cell phone with the silliest grin. Then there’s drivers opening a gap in front of me and waving me in. Suddenly no one seems to be in a hurry.
I then enter a busy runabout where time seems to stop, as no one dares moving. There’s only smiles, waves, pointing fingers and thumbs up. Even the most extreme supercar would be invisible next to the wild RS 200. Absolutely nothing could steal the show like it does, and those who know what it is, seem genuinely happy to see it.
There’s no resentment, no blaming, no culprit. Only positive emotions.
There’s no guilt in moving forward respectfully, so we can celebrate the good old memories. Group B madness will never die.
This article was originally published in Tazio Magazine
Photos by Manuel Portugal
