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The renowned Liège-Rome rally, held every June, has a reputation for being far too tough for anything other than professional teams in works prepared cars. Robert Coucher dispelled the myth by making the trip in his everyday Porsche 356 C.
Photographs by the author.
Enthusiasm has got me into all sorts of trouble over the years. You know what it's like. You've had a couple of beers in the pub, all seems right with the world, and then someone suggests some lunatic scheme like driving a 35-year-old car 1600 miles in five days. And before you know quite what's happening you've heard your mouth saying: 'Yes, let's do it!'
It was in just such a burst of enthusiasm that I had signed up for the 1999 Liège-Rome marathon, but in the cold light of day I soon began to worry that this classically demanding event might be all too much for my beloved 356 C (and for me, too, come to that). Long telephone conversations with organisers Alain Defalle and Colin Francis (the latter a well-known former navigator himself) offered some encouragement, but still I felt more than a little apprehensive as the start date inexorably drew ever nearer.
The original Liège-Rome-Liège, organised by the Royal Motor Union of Liège, took place every year from 1930 until 1961 (with a break for the war between 1939 and 1950) and was respected as one of the hardest of the classic road races - and certainly one of the fastest.
And as an enthusiast I'm glad to say that Alain Defalle has managed to maintain much of this essential character with his retrospective Liège-Rome, ensuring that both the overall route and the individual roads on which the event runs remain just as challenging and demanding as they've always been.
The only real difference, of course, now that road racing as such is no longer permitted, is that he runs it as what amounts to a regularity trial with a maximum average speed of just 30mph. But that, as I was to find out, is only half the story...
With courage returning, I managed to persuade experienced navigator Rupert Bravery to join me on the adventure. He did well in the 1998 Liège and, being an idle sort who's not remotely interested in the black art of speed tables and clock watching, I knew that Rupert's obvious skills would prove invaluable.
Bravery accepted my 'invitation' and instructed me to ensure that both the car's tripmeter and speedometer were working, and that there was a stopwatch in the glove box. I duly gave the Porsche a full service, and then fitted a fresh set of Avon tyres and an auxiliary oil-cooler. I stashed a full set of tools and some selected spare parts in the front compartment, and with minimal luggage set off with Rupert for Dover.
Leaving home at the very last minute meant that we were the last car to board the P&O Stena ferry. It wasn't a good start: things are frantic already, and we've not even left the British Isles! I spend the hour-long crossing recovering a degree of composure in the ship's sumptuous Club Lounge, which is a great place to be - far more relaxing than burrowing your way beneath the Channel in a railway train.
After docking in Calais we set off for Liège, just a couple of hours' drive away in Belgium. The Porsche seems perfectly content cruising the autoroutes at 80mph with just under 3500rpm on the revcounter. The new oil-cooler is already at work keeping the engine running cool. Meanwhile Bravery is silently studying The Times crossword to limber up his mind, leaving me to wonder what the next few days will bring.
Arriving at the Post Hotel in Liège I am dismayed at the high standard of most of the participating cars. They all look very serious, indeed, with their stripes, rollcages, decals and extra lights. But at the same time I'm encouraged by the number of beautiful 356s lined up for scrutineering. If they can do it, I think, so can I. Bravery seems to know everyone, but I don't. I wander around like the new boy at school, disconsolately eyeing all the beautiful machinery we shall be up against. And with 145 cars entered there's a lot to look at - not least the 20 or so Porsches.
Nigel Gray comes to my rescue. He has entered his 356SC (a factory tweaked 356 C, basically) with his wife, Christine. To my relief their car looks what I would call normal, and Gray seems unconcerned by the other rally-prepped hardware. Then I meet up with George Niblett and Peter Brennan with their immaculate 356s, and soon begin to feel part of the gang.
With the scrutineering out of the way (in truth, this was little more than a cursory check of lights, wheel nuts, fire extinguisher and so on) we stick on the numbers and rally plates and collect our so called tulip roadbooks from the organisers. And that's not all we get: there are plenty of other assorted goodies that will make wonderful souvenirs, including polo shirts and caps, and not least a beautifully inscribed stopwatch. Let's just hope we can justify all this stuff!
Bravery drags me out of the almost carnival atmosphere to drive a measured distance over and over again so that he can work out the inevitable discrepancy between the car's tripmeter and the distances listed in the official roadbook.
With this done he uses the speed tables to calculate as accurately as possible the real speeds and distances we have to run in order to be on time - which, of course, is the very essence of these so called regularity trials. Thank goodness I brought him along!
Later that afternoon Colin Francis holds a drivers' briefing and I am again encouraged to see just how many entrants are total novices like me. Later still I have a quiet but firm word with myself. 'Pull yourself together, you wimp. This is going to be great fun, so stop being so wet!' On that note I retire to the bar and really start to enjoy myself. A wonderful supper follows, and while Bravery sets about plotting the route on his copious maps I drink rather too much good wine.
Early on Saturday morning the alarm clock cruelly shatters my dreams and I awake with no less of a hangover than I deserve. But there's no time to think about that. We dash downstairs for a quick breakfast, abandon our luggage in the foyer - it will be taken ahead to each hotel by a support van, a great idea which saves on weight and hassle - and then we zoom to the start at the beautiful Cour du Palais des Princes Evêques in the centre of Liège, from where the rally has traditionally started.
I know it's not a race, of course, but even so the tension becomes almost unbearable. Finally our number is called and I line up the Porsche beneath the yellow bunting and flags. 'Trip to zero!' yells Bravery - three words which would become our mantra - and we are on our way, through the Ardennes to Spa. We have to follow the tulip roadbook and ensure we make it to the time control on time. With a target average speed of just 30mph, and Bravery's eagle eye on the maps, it should be no problem at all. In fact, this should be a pushover...
Arriving early at the first control point we wait for our time to come up and have our card stamped. On this rally the times are recorded by an ingenious electronic chip on the special time card newly invented by organiser, Alain Defalle.
Now for our first regularity test. The section is exactly 6.7 miles long, and we have no idea where the time checkpoint is located. We have to stick to an average of exactly 30mph through all the twists and turns. The trick, it seems, is to accelerate hard in order to reach that target average speed as soon after the standing start as possible. Rupert checks our average speed against marked reference points such as signs and turn-offs while I concentrate on keeping the speed constant. Eventually the regularity control pops into sight around a blind corner and we seem to be on time.
Choose your weapon
Robert Coucher's 1963 Porsche 356 C is an ideal car for this sort of event. It's in fast rood trim, but without a roll~cage, spotlights or other rather unnecessary go-faster additions.
The car was Robert's father's everyday transport in Cape Town from 1966 until 1978 when Robert got his licence and wrestled the keys away from his generous dad (who then very sensibly bought a 911SC).
Having repainted the car in Cape Town, Robert moved to the UK. He couldn't live without the 356, though, so shipped it over here in 1994 and set about a full mechanical rebuild.
With help from the late Tony Standen the suspension, clutch and brakes were refurbished and Bob Garretson in the US (209 533-35663 rebuilt the gearbox with a lower third gear. This later proved ideal for mountain roads.
Barry Curtis (01923 260101) then rebuilt the engine, fitting l 720 cc aluminium Shasta pistons in rebored iron barrels, a Web cam, a counterbalanced SC crank and lightened flywheel, 40mm Weber carburettors, and an extractor exhaust. A full-flow oil system was plumbed in for additional protection.
Using the car as often as possible (still with six-volt electrics) Robert has ironed out all the usual old-car bugs, and with help from Andrew Prill (0181 674 3642) has continued making improvements. These include fitting a new 050 Bosch distributor, bigger carburettor choke tubes and jets, and not least an oil-cooler.
The 356 now produces around 115bhp and 112lb/ft of torque (the latter the more important figure, especially for rallying) but it's regular use in demanding London traffic that has added the most important attribute: reliability.
With renewed confidence we set off towards the next time control. Once again we arrive early, set the tripmeter back to zero, and start the next regularity. On this occasion everything goes swimmingly until Rupert suddenly becomes animated and shouts: 'What's the distance? What's the speed?' 'One and a half miles on the trip at 30mph, dead,' I stammer, wondering what on earth has gone wrong. Blast! We've missed a turning - or wrong-slotted, as the professionals call it.
Rupert's experience means that he spots the error almost immediately. I swing the Porsche around on its axis and pelt back to where we should have turned. He finds the junction: it's a narrow farm track. With him shouting 'Go! Go! Go!' I floor the throttle and hurtle down the track at what feels like an utterly insane speed. We have to make up the lost time, but here we are on a single track, gravel-strewn path more suitable for donkeys than fast cars.
Within a few minutes we come up behind a clearly lost Jaguar XK which takes up all the road as it ambles along, its crew trying to get their bearings. I hoot the horn, but there's no way past for a couple of hundred yards. With vital seconds ticking by, the Jag eventually pulls into a clearing and we scythe past him. All the while Rupert is shouting for more speed. I'm flat out, though, the Porsche's flat-four engine hitting the red-line.
We're late. Rupert is anguished, but I am elated. What a brilliant flat-out drive! Forget the lost couple of seconds - making a mistake is just what a driver needs to get the blood coursing.
The rest of the day's driving is through beautiful forests, following the sublime Moselle valley towards lunch. The roads are empty and the mountain scenery simply breathtaking. The other side of the valley is Germany, so to cheer himself up Rupert keeps his eyes peeled for naturists at the adjacent campsites. We eat a delicious seafood lunch on a beautiful veranda where the teams compare notes, triumphs and disappointments. What a wonderful way to spend your time!
That afternoon we have a couple more regularity sections, and do pretty well, all things considered, but we're well out of contention for the best-of-the-day award. We run with a Netherlands-registered 356GT into Strasbourg for a well deserved beer, another delicious supper and some wonderfully deep sleep.
On Sunday morning I check the engine oil and we set off through the picturesque German countryside en route to Bad Kohlgrub. On one of the regularity sections Rupert's experience pays off yet again. He smells the hot brakes of (non-competing) cars coming the other way and, deducing that the road ahead will be a steep climb, makes sure that I push the Porsche hard to build up time and maintain the 30mph average. I soon learn that even this seemingly modest speed is surprisingly difficult to achieve on demanding back roads.
During the day we have to deal with five regularity sections, and soon they start to blur. Rupert cheers me up by happily quipping the old adage that on rallies the driver sees everything but has no idea where he is, while the navigator knows exactly where he is but sees very little. Tell me about it.
Driving through the Black Forest is a joy, though, and arriving in Bad Kohlgrub we are amazed to see the locals really do wear lederhosen. The village oompah band celebrates our arrival with a great deal of noise, and the checkpoint is in a beer tent where we are all treated to a large glass of beer while the young girls put heart and soul into what seems to be a German version of Morris dancing.
Rupert and I are starting to work well together. Only occasionally having to warn me of the famous red mist before the eyes that's so familiar to anyone who's ever driven in a competitive event, he keeps me down to the 30mph average speed where required (and up to it in places, too!) and despite my misgivings the Porsche is proving absolutely ideal for the narrow, twisty roads.
Monday morning brings heavy rain and thick mist. The route takes us over even tighter roads and up seemingly huge gradients, but the 356 performs faultlessly, and again is well suited to these demanding conditions. The Avon tyres adhere to the rough roads like the proverbial, and the slightly lower-than-standard third gear helps get the grunt to the rear wheels. What a great little car!
Crossing into Italy we're all getting very excited about the impending Stelvio pass, but on arrival find that it's closed because of the bad weather. Depression is widespread until someone mentions the magic word: lunch. We round up as may Brits as we can find and head off to a restaurant for a long and languid afternoon. New friends are made, and the cars are spared for another day.
Some have not been quite so fortunate, though. A Dutch 356 team have their generator pulley shear in a remote village. A local knows of a Porsche enthusiast in another village and sets out to find a him. A replacement pulley is eventually found, buried in an attic, and the relieved team are soon able to rejoin the action. ! Where else but in an event like the Liege-Rome could that happen?
By now we've crossed from Germany into Austria and then Italy. We have had the good fortune of driving the fabulous Gavia pass, finally arriving at the night stop, high in the Dolomites at Madonna Di Campiglio. On the way I notice that the Porsche is a little down on power- probably because of the altitude - and some of the other hairy 356s with their peashooter exhausts are sounding more than a little asthmatic. So far the car has behaved impeccably, but Rome is still a long way off.
Joining in the fun
Officially, only cars built before 1960 are eligible to enter the Liege-Rome. In practice, though, post-1960 cars are allowed in, provided they're of a type that was available before this date.
The most important requirement is a reliable car -1600 miles in five days is a lot more than many classics cover in a year - and you obviously need to make sure it will pass the fairly basic pre-event scrutineering.
This means it should have good tyres and electrics (although there's no night driving), a fire extinguisher and effective brakes. It should be in good, roadworthy condition, in other words, and given a current MoT certificate (or its equivalent in your own country) you shouldn't have any real problems in this department.
A skilled navigator (and I was very fortunate indeed to have the services of Rupert Bravery; never was a man more aptly named) makes things easier, but novices soon learn the ropes with help from the organisers and old hands alike. There are a number of rally schools for keen newcomers, too, and you can get details from the organisers at the address below.
The only rally aids allowed are stopwatches and speed tables and the route is followed by using the so-called tulip roadbook (which in this instance was excellent). The organisers will advise what maps are relevant, but these are only really useful if you get horribly lost and can't get back on the rally route.
The entry fee for this year's five-day Liege-Rome was £2300. This included all
hotels, route books, lunches and dinners, as well as the final gala dinner and awards. For further information about next year's event call Alain Defalle on 0032 4 254 1950, or send him a fax on 0032 4 254 2540.
Tuesday dawns and our destination is Florence. Rally organisers traditionally like to make the penultimate day tough, and this would be no exception. Climbing up from Lake del Gara a bright-red, fully stripped and prepared German-entered 356 fills the rear-view mirror. Red-mist warnings from Rupert have no effect. The push from the Germans is all I need. My car races up and down the mountains, and the menacing red German fades into the distance. When push comes to shove all the time and effort (and money!) I have lavished on this car have finally paid off.
The day's lunch stop is in the very heart of Ferrari country - Maranello. We have a superb meal at the famous Cavallino restaurant opposite the Ferrari factory gates, where great racing drivers of the past discussed tactics over an espresso with Enzo.
Returning to the parc ferme we find the vanquished German Porsche team on their hands and knees inspecting the underside of our car. Very satisfying.
That afternoon the Tuscan roads prove to be even faster and more exciting. Exiting a village we come across Peter Brennan in his beautifully prepared black 356, and what for us will be the dice of the event is on. We charge through the deserted back roads, and poor old Rupert doesn't even bother with all the red-mist nonsense; instead he just hangs on in silence. And once again my little Porsche proves its mettle.
On the final day our destination is Rome. The competitors - and their cars - are getting tired, and the 356 has sprung a leak from the exhaust manifold, which makes it crackle and pop on the overrun like a real racer.
Meanwhile the Belgian team in the 356 Carrera has got lost on the way to lunch at the Villa Montegranelli and has asked one of the escorting police motorcyclists for help. He has no idea, so stops a car and instructs the driver to lead them the 10 miles to lunch. No, I can't imagine that happening in Britain, either.
Leaving Assisi that afternoon we catch up with a French-registered 356 Cabriolet. But the driver isn't one to be overtaken, and so we hammer along together for a fun couple of miles. Eventually, though, we come to a long, straight hill and power past, much to his obvious dismay. We then come up behind the Belgian Carrera, and all three of us swoop into Rome in tight convoy.
Once in the city we are picked up by the police motorcycle escort which leads us straight down the middle of the road, clearing aside the uncomplaining rush-hour traffic. As we cross the finishing fine and come to a halt our doors are flung open and we are sprayed from head to foot with champagne. I feel like one of the great Porsche rally drivers of years gone by: Strahle, Polensky, Hans-Joachim Walter.
Later, at the grand black-tie gala dinner, held at the first-class Cavalieri Hilton Roma, novices and experienced competitors alike celebrate the completion of a real motoring challenge. For sure the Liege-Rome is a great challenge for experienced rally drivers and navigators. But it's the rally virgins who seem the most exhilarated, and many are already making plans to be back next year.
As for me and Rupert: well, we've had a wonderful time, and the car has proved itself to be the perfect machine for an event such as this. As the good Dr Porsche himself used to say, 'Excellence is expected'. And that's precisely what the 1999 Liege-Rome rally - and my Porsche 356- delivered.
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