Co-driving two WRC legends in one day

The day started with a missed call. No voicemail, but I thought I’d give myself two minutes to wake up and warm my voice up before returning the call.

It was Reinhard Kein – legendary World Rally Championship photographer, and a key person behind the Eifel Rallye Festival. I was waking up from a hotel a only few kilometers from the festival and its host town of Daun.

“Luke,” Reinhard said. “How would you like to co-drive for Stig Blomqvist in the Audi quattro?”

I’ll level with you: I’m more of a messaging guy than a caller, but I can make the odd exception…

“Errr…”

What else are you meant to say in this situation other than yes? The only problem was: “You have to be there by 9am.”

It was 8.20am, and I hadn’t even showered. But where there’s a will, there’s a way. Shower done, get changed, grab everything I need, run to the car, drive to Daun.

I reached Audi Tradition at 8.43am.

I’m quite proud of that turnaround, if I’m honest; all rather apt given the company I was about to spend the next hour of my life with.

After a small bit of confusion as to whether I was actually going to get this ridiculous opportunity to sit with the 1984 world champion in his 1983-84 Group B Audi, I got the nod and was quickly ushered towards a quiet corner to suit up and get myself ready.

Physically that is – I’m not sure how you mentally prepare for this sort of thing. Luckily for me on that score, it was all happening so fast. Forty-five minutes ago I was still asleep, now I was belting up into the seat that made Björn Cederberg world champion 42 years ago.

Then Stig arrived. The original one, of course. As cool as you like he opened the door, passed me his helmet to keep beneath my feet, fired the beast into life and we were on our way to the time control.

I’ll confess, I didn’t say an awful lot. My introverted side takes over in these mind-blowing situations. But the legend to my left wasn’t a big talker either – just like the other Stig, he just drives – so we were two peas in a pod… except for the 11 WRC wins and 60 years of driving experience that separates us.

Before I could foster any dreams of becoming Stig Blomqvist’s bonafide co-driver for the day, I was quickly shown just how unimportant I was in this equation by the Audi Tradition team picking us up like a safety car just as we exited the time control, showing us the way to the stage. I had been given a roadbook with full intention of following it, but I’d have done the same in their shoes!

The road section was an out-of-body experience. Examining the dashboard and all the buttons that populated it, I envisioned what would once have been seen on the other side of the windshield. The stages, the fans, the commitment – Group B is an era I’m aware I don’t fully understand as a 1990s baby, but I’d been handed a dream ticket to live it.

And then there was the noise. Few turbos flutter quite like a quattro, but to hear it chirp – and to be pressed back in my seat in the process – was magical.

Just like that, we’d arrived at the start of the stage, parked behind a Lancia Delta S4. As you do.

“OK,” Stig says, pulling his gloves and balaclava from the door pocket.

I waited patiently to hand him his helmet, then pulled on mine. At this precise moment, 9.49am in the morning, I was the luckiest man alive.

Ignition on, start button pressed, Ingolstadt’s finest five cylinders breathe into life and we trundle our way to the start-line. I still have no idea what to say, but my plan was to commentate my way through this experience for a video exclusive to Club DirtFish members.

But just as I went to pull the timecard from the door, disaster struck. The mic I had clipped to me – in one of those moments so perfectly imperfect you can scarcely believe it – fell directly down the hole in the seat where the seatbelt buckle goes.
Plan, literally, down the drain.

I had to improvise, instead just recording the experience with camera in-hand for a totally raw onboard video. Honestly, this probably made for better viewing anyway. Nobody wants to listen to me at the best of times, but particularly not when my competition was the song from an Audi Quattro A2. You can watch the run in-full very soon on the DirtFish Onboards channel.

But back to it.

In proper old-school rally style, the marshal counts us down from 10 using his hands over the windshield. It’s a nice touch – but I’ve no time to dwell on that because we’re off.
Immediately, I’m jolted back in my seat as Stig unleashes full fury. I’m fortunate enough to have sat alongside world champions in Rally1 cars before, but this was another level of savagery. The acceleration was so violent and addictive it should’ve been illegal.

Stig hasn’t seen this stage properly yet, and quite clearly has no assistance from me, but the commitment is extraordinary for a man who celebrates 80 years on this planet next week. Although I can’t see his face, I sense the smile from his inputs. Perhaps he’s rolling back the years, too.

In a matter of minutes, the show is over. I gesture to shake Stig’s hands, a small token of my appreciation, as we head to the stop control and out of the stage. I am on the roadbook for real this time as we make our way to the service park in Daun, and thankfully don’t mess things up – although I did need a hand from the man himself to double-check precisely where we were.

Out of the car, I never wanted to take my suit off as that would be admitting the dream was over. But somehow for me, the day had only just started.

Up next on the to-do list was a chat with Nicky Grist, here at the Eifel Rallye Festival with his Toyota Celica ST185 for the fourth year in a row. The idea was to shoot a video with him walking around his car and explaining his transition from professional co-driver to keen driver.

We did that, but being a blagger I’d sent some enquiries about possibly having a ride with Grist (before I knew about Stig!) and unlocked the chance to do it. But Nicky had his own plan: he thought it would be fun if I attmept to read him pacenotes. Emphasis on attempt!

So after a brief bit of laptop work, the suit was back on and off I drove to the end of the third stage, ready to jump into Nicky’s Celica and go for a run. Co-driver Robert van Teijlingen had given me a crash course earlier into Nicky’s system (the same as Colin McRae’s, so 1-6 with six being fastest) and what the symbols meant. I’d read pacenotes before but in a low-powered car alongside a novice driver, so the timing was what stressed me.

“Just enjoy it,” Nicky said, “I want you to enjoy it.”

That was always going to be the case, but I equally felt the pressure not to mess up. Nicky knew the stage having just driven it, and handily it was effectively a loop with three laps around – but this guy used to call pacenotes for McRae and Kankkunen. Now, he’d be listening to me!

I’m pleased to say the results weren’t awful. Room to improve, sure, but thankfully my chosen rallying profession doesn’t involve calling tight hairpin rights. So let’s agree to chalk it up as a success, shall we? You’ll have to watch the video on YouTube soon to see exactly how I did and judge for yourself. I’ll be hiding behind the cushions in embarrassment while you do.

Now back in the media center, the adrenalin is beginning to wear off as my thoughts turn to letting the actual experience sink in. What a wonderful sport we love with so many good people within it.

Thanks to both for having me in the car, and to Reinhard Klein and everyone at Eifel Rallye Festival for this ridiculous opportunity.

I’ll be sharing more thoughts on the event once I’m back home, but suffice to say today will go down as one of my very best days working as a rally journalist.