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Round eight- The Audi Sport rally - Mid Wales

This is it!  We arrived in Shrewsbury for the final round, I was putting on a brave face but inside me was the niggling doubt that this was no easy task ahead. I began to calculate the results from the rest of the series and realised just how tight things had been. On my best days we had only won by a few seconds, we had won, but the margins were ridiculously slight. If Andrew had not dropped that second to Ken’s time on the Quip, it could have been different, it was all going down to seconds and the odd point. I was feeling nervous and assured at the same time, and then I saw that Andrew’s GM team had brought the big gun!  They swapped the Manta for their very latest Group S car, the Astra 4S. The Group S cars were even faster and had less restrictions than Group B.   Marvellous!  It was the kind of thing I had got used to, life at full tilt was full of plans, ambitions, and challenge. Should I have expected anything less? 



So, GM  Dealer Sport clearly wanted the title and would pull out all the stops to get it.  Alistair Sutherland wanted this too, otherwise he would starve!  My whole future was based on winning, as if the stakes were not high enough.  Alistair had resigned from E.T.Sutherland as it was clear I had to decide whether I was a rally driver or a Food manufacturer. I had been put under a huge amount of pressure by the company to make my mind up,  So I did, this was a very difficult decision, not least because I felt I was deserting the people I was working with, they too were under pressure because our profits were down and our share price! I had worked with the very special people who made up the workforce and I knew every one of them. I had worked in the factory and had visited all our customers over the years. We had a great business, but this "Going public" had changed the nature of the family dynamics. ‘They', my peers considered rallying to be a silly expensive hobby and I must become a responsible director carrying out his duties in a proper manner, not risking his life driving rally cars..... However I was not impetuous, and I analysed this decision very carefully over some weeks.....  It was simple really, the final round was October 10th, and I was getting married on October the 26th!

As far as my fiancée was concerned I had a job for life, I was never quite sure what that meant to her. It would seem that it was time to be serious!  Not a concept I relished, but this had to be resolved before the final round. When I walked into home on the eve of the day I quit, and explained to my fiancé why I had made that decision I could see the disbelief that I could do such a thing. I felt free of the chains of E.T.Sutherland, not that I minded them, I would miss them dreadfully and the great people I worked with, and not least the reliability of some income. I was swopping them for ‘Rally Chains’ which offered uncertainty on every aspect!  So seeing as I was now jobless, there was only one result I was prepared to settle for - CBC first, GM second.

 
Hmm, I thought, Andrew great driver, Astra 4S, one hell of a quick rally car, could I possibly win? A tall order? Maybe. Maybe not. I went In search of my very own Merlin.  "Wattsy, it’s true then” I looked at my trusted wizard for guidance against this new foe and his fire breathing Astra. “They mean business Peter, no doubt about that then.”  I shut my eyes, but when I opened them my wish that it really was just a cruel apparition was not granted. Wattsy’s spell had not worked. The Astra 4S sat their gleaming, menacingly.  “Bugger” I thought. “Good evening boys” I threw a greeting to the GM team in general, but the gauntlet was cast from my eyes to Andrew’s; the challenge had been made.  "Nice motor Andrew, but surely you didn't have to build a brand-new car to beat us, did you? Then again, maybe we should be flattered?"  I waited for the response – none came. 

I prodded with my words, searching for a soft spot in his armour. I prepared my lance-like tongue and thrust again.

"It's going to be a bit unnerving to drive a strange car tomorrow, especially with those savage drops, at the edge of those very fast sections don’t you think?”  He didn’t flinch.  "No problem Al", Andrew retorted,  "Testing has shown she's faster than your pile of Kevlar and handles superbly on the fast, long straights. She is VERY fast Alistair, much faster than the Manta, so you’ll not see us for dust!”  He was speaking hypothetically, "you will not see us for dust" but in reality that was nearer the truth, for the conditions looked dry, and we were seeded behind Andrew. I did not want to be choked in his dust, as we were with Dai Llewellin on the Port Talbot rally.  That would be a major problem.

 

So far, in the morning table competition, it was Alistair two, breakfast nil, how would the final round go?   The plate’s contents looked up at me hopeful of victory by disappearance. I stared back at the bacon and egg. It looked OK, there seemed nothing wrong with it, but my stomach had other ideas. Alistair three, breakfast nil – game, set and match to the hungry driver.  My breakfast felt more like a last supper as a I sat drinking tea with the boys. They could sense my jangled nerves and apprehension. I ran my finger around my tea mug and my tactics round my head. Let Andrew go ahead, give him the thought that I was beaten. Then, in the long stage before lunch, mount our attack and defeat the Black Knight astride his dragon.   Cleggy looked at me. "Al, you can do this, we never thought we would win this year, but you've played it cool, earned the points, the pressure is on Andrew, just bring her home in one piece" 

No pressure then, as we prepared to leave Shrewsbury for the run out to the first group of stages. I reached forward and pressed the starter. The straight through exhaust, the larger lift camshaft, the dog gearbox, all competed to be the noisiest – but the engine won hands down, it always did. Wattsy, shouting “slow down you mad Englishman!” I was like a man in a trance, eager for the battle ahead to commence as we charged along the road section far too fast. I knew that once we started, this feeling of dread that had existed since breakfast time would pass –   I needed to be in the fight.



The first stage start, Andrew the car in front of us Car 5, we were Car 6.  I just glared at the Astra and fortified my thoughts. “Wattsy good luck today, whatever happens it has been great fun, but what the hell, let’s try to beat him anyway!”  The first few stages went as planned. Andrew’s confidence must have grown with every stage as he put extra seconds between him and us, but we had our plan and we would stick with it.  "30 seconds" the Marshall exclaimed.  Our helmets were fastened, the engine was shuddering. Muscle, mind and machine in unison, taut and ready.   "10 secs," I checked we were in first gear for the fourth time, I raised the clutch slightly, more throttle. PRP roared like a hungry lion ready for the kill.   3, 2, 1 "GO" The Marshall moved his arm upwards. I released the clutch fully, throttle pedal planted to the floor, we flew like a bullet from a rifle out and into the slippery muddy stage. 

This was our moment to turn the books. We attacked from the start. Every second was now precious as I tried to balance accuracy, neatness and some insane speed down the narrow, jarring and twisted forest tracks. My concentration level registered intense, fear was not a factor.  Wattsy was at the top of his game. He read the stage off the Ordnance Survey map as if it was a 3D model. I did exactly what he said no matter what. Two men, two minds, one job to do. Flat blind crests were taken flat! No lifting, full commitment, no matter the danger. We started to see the dust trail of the car in front; we were catching Andrew maybe, it meant the time was fast, very fast, as now I was further egged on by the thought of catching him. Through the dust I could make out his occasional braking. I smiled inside out at the thought of catching him. “Your ass is mine Black Knight”. 
I charged on, wringing the last ounce of performance from PRP with whatever talent I could muster. We flew by delighted crowds, our onlookers and well-wishers, as the engine screamed complaints every time the rev limiter went red. I was enthralled by this chase, throwing any residue of  caution to the wind as we stormed into our own Valley of Death, down the stage we rampaged, along the edge of the ravine, faster and faster, the angles ever crazier. 




BANG! Dear God, what was that?  I immediately felt the pull as we turned in to a sharp hairpin. The blown tyre dragging me off of my line.  "CAREFUL NOW" screamed a fully titling Welshman, "keep the tyre on the rim, there’s only three miles to go." 
I could hear a piece of the tyre flapping against the bodywork, I willed it to stay on the wheel, as we drove the final three miles fast but cautious. As we passed the finish the tyre finally gave up the ghost, departing its metal coil in tatters and shreds. We pulled into the finish control, and picked up our time 16 minutes 54 seconds, it was not enough, Andrew was faster.  I jumped out of the car and kicked the last vestige of the tyre in  frustration, cursing it and its cruel twist of fate. We had him in our grasp, and now I felt empty, a spent force, my big attack was ruined I thought, as I kicked the wheel rim this time. "Stop it Sutherland, just change the wheel, it's not over yet".  Wattsy’s tone brought me up straight, he was right, we had a whole team to consider, and being a prat trying to beat up a tyre was not going to help – and he’d used my Sunday name, time to take notice. Andrew had only beaten us by one second. It could have been much worse, but he now led by eight seconds overall!  It seemed like a lifetime in front of me. In the main service area there was only one topic of conversation – the duel between the two contenders for the championship. The atmosphere was charged, electric, it felt like words had their own static force. When asked, I stuck to my story that we were just taking it steady.  I was testing the speed of Andrew and his new toy. I was definitely being selective with the truth. So far, we had given everything, we’d taken risk after risk, and Wattsy surely had no more spells to conjure up from his magic OS map – did he?



I sat in the van whilst the boys checked everything, refuelled, remeasured the tracking and anything else which they thought might settle their Knight down for the next round of jousting and jostling for position.  They knew the next stages would be the deciding ones, whoever took these would win the golden chalice and find the holy grail waiting for them at the finish line. The battle for the vital seconds in the middle stages went like this:  Stage Four; We beat Andrew by two seconds. PRP was taking a beating as the “cuts” got more reckless, and the rev limiter seemed to be engaged all the time. We arrived to get our time feeling we should have done better but Andrew was not letting go.  Stage Five: A short stage, Andrew gained one second! Now he was five seconds ahead,   Stage six: We had him by six seconds. Very happy with that we were! Wattsy described that stage as extremely ragged as I was overdriving the car and we lost the smooth flow, but six seconds we desperately wanted came to us. We led by one second. Now there were two 15-mile stages to go and a run round the park at the finish. We had the absolute minimum lead, we’d fought hard for it all day, it was a lead but only in name in such a race, but then, the whole season had been like it on virtually every rally. It seemed that Andrew and I liked it this way. “So, it's down to the wire, gird your loins, hang onto to your hats, the devil takes the hindmost,” my inner-voice was clutching at every cliché straw it could lay its hands on. Inside I was shaking, so much now depended on me keeping cool and driving the car even faster than I had done to date, no punctures, and no excursions.  A large crowd had gathered on stages seven and eight as the news of the battle ran through the spectators like a virus. They packed the stage starts as if fevered and manic, fans of both sides wishing us good luck via upwardly pointed thumbs. I was hit by a combination of fear, apprehension, and the desire to drive at the ultimate speed possible, make no mistakes, none. It’s a rare feeling for sure.  If we were going to do this, Peter Watts was the man to do it with, I looked across at Peter, all I could see was a glint in his eye, as he prepared to cast spells on the maps, his head was down rehearsing the stage in his head. ‘Listen to me , SUTHERLAND!’  

I ground my back teeth as PRP soothed me with her glorious growl. "20 seconds" Wattsy shouted through the intercom into my helmet. Adjust helmet, gloves on snug, check belts are extremely tight.  

This was it, this is moment when you must deliver Alistair. We left the line with four small trench marks in the gravel and thanked the spectators for their support with a shower of stones.   We were in fifth gear in the blink of an eye, the acceleration on gravel always was unbelievable to watch and experience. It literally took your breath away, ramping the heart rate up tenfold.  Watch it!" exclaimed Wattsy, "You nearly had us off there, tidy it up Sutherland."  There was that Sunday name again, take note Alistair, the Wizard has spoken. I had misjudged the braking point and arrived far too fast at the bend, we had a double spin, I peered over the edge. I was shaking but Wattsy had sharpened my focus for me again. That one slip had gifted Andrew four seconds, he now led by three! Damn that Black Knight!  I was cross at myself for that small error, it could be costly, but I did not want to end this year telling folk we could have been the champions, if Sutherland had not spun. Maybe Marlon Brando “could have been a contender” - I was not settling for second best!  So, we were three seconds behind. It was ridiculous to think that after eight rallies, covering about 800 competitive miles it was now down to "one, two, Three seconds." And yet, these are the margins that separate champions from contenders.  Andrew was fully aware of his narrow lead. The accursed, 4 seconds my fault. We kept well back from him as he powered of the line, his attempt at pitching stones all over us thwarted by our forward thinking – your failed at that then.  I hated to admit a sense of admiration, but good God the Astra was quick. Andrew and it soon disappeared from view. Moisture took a vacation from my mouth while my heartbeat tuned into Motorhead, we lined up waiting for our signal.   “20 seconds" shouted the Marshal.  "Wattsy” I shouted over the  clatter of those camshafts, and the dog gears chattering.

"Now we’ve got to go another level, Andrew will be giving it everything, we have to dig deep. Call it, and I will do exactly what you say, no matter what" I heard myself say as I verbalized my thoughts.  There was one last chance for my mind to torment me;   "Four seconds to heaven, three seconds to hell!”  Thank you so much, no really, thank you!  “Five seconds” screamed the marshal. First gear engaged, the noise reached a crescendo as the revs mounted, the pistons, the cams, the valves all competing to be the noisiest. This time the engine lost as my heart and Filthy Phil Taylor out-drummed them all.  I dropped the clutch, we roared from the start with every ounce of speed to the first bend. We drove or at least Wattsy co-drove and some demented outrageous fool in the driving seat shifted gear hundreds of times, took every risk, kept up a gear when a much lower gear would have allowed more control. He didn’t seem to care, he was possessed. ‘Rally fever’ was in control, the madness, the impossible to achieve, dangerous, thrilling, the thirst for the win.  Just a few of the feelings that pulse through your body.  Braking points were left ridiculously late, we drove the stage like it was our backyard, but it was new to us. There was only one thought, maximum speed for as long as I dare. That day I dared the fates to let me do it without repercussions.  By the time the flying finish came into view Wattsy was spurring me on lest I relax for the second that might be crucial, we saw Mike Nicholson, Andrew's co -driver, looking at his watch in the distance. As we powered across the timing beam his face revealed it all - He lent into the car to show Andrew the time, we were the most deliciously sweet nine seconds faster. We were back in the lead for only the third time in the rally and all that was left was the small stage in the park.  I remember Mike waiting to congratulate us while Andrew sat in the car. He was visibly shaken, his face betraying his disbelief at our time. “Mike" I said "It's not over until the fat lady sings", let’s leave congratulations to after the last stage, shall we?"  I was a wreck, sweat poured out of every pore, and I was shaking like I was shaking a cocktail, I had let the madness fully out of the box, unleashed onto the stage, no reserve, nothing held back as Brian had said, I had saved it for this momemt. I was sure the devil will be looking for my soul now.




There was a small service on the road section, where I observed Cleggy peering into the monster’s cave closely examining something. "What's up Alan" I enquired. “Nothing Al, just making sure everything is ok."  The short stage around the park in Shrewsbury was harmless enough on a normal day, but there was nothing normal about this day. It is so easy to make one silly but extremely costly mistake when your lead is only six seconds.   To let the thief known as over-confidence in at that stage so it could sneak off with my prize would have been gutting. Before the off, the whole crew came to a huddle, we looked at each other, they all looked at me – I said nothing, I measured every foot of that route with laser-beam eyes as we approached them, studious, with absolute concentration. It almost felt like an outer-body experience.   It was a determined pair who drove round the park, determined to make no mistakes, Wattsy hardly spoke unless he had to, I could feel the stillness in him. We took bends mathematically, shaving micro-seconds off of anticipated times.  I knew I had a cushion, but was it enough, would Andrew’s fire-breathing Astra finally take flight and burn up our lead?   Surely not, that could not be possible could it? But then, he must have thought that about me over the last couple of stages. The MP for Doubting Thomas sat quietly on his bench, the Minister for Positive Thinking calmly glancing at him from the other side of the Chamber; neither uttered a word. There in the distance stood the final finishing line of the season, there was the one chequered flag that really mattered. Nothing could stop me   now – could it?  We flew past the Marshalls, the registered our time, we had taken another two seconds off Andrew!  Victory was ours by the immense margin of eight seconds.  Fair play, it was Mike and Andrew who were the first to congratulate us, then the wonderful team of CBC, Cleggy, Brian, John, Fitzie, Boyde, Bill and Martin. Then my family and friends who’d come along for support, came to congratulate us. Then, before we could pull away from the finish line Cleggy opened the door, "Al, be really careful, don't rev the engine too much, and keep her running, get through the official finish control as soon as, we will follow you." 




I looked him dead in the eye. I saw dismay there, dreading what he wanted to tell me, I drove towards the main control area filled with concern. What was the problem, why are we not jumping for joy, surely my tempting fate has not been accepted so cruelly?  I drove slowly over the five torturous miles, we pulled into the control and got our official finish time for the last stage. Cleggy reached in and turned the Autoloc Dead key, silencing PRP’s clattering engine. Then he gave me the smile to end all smiles. 
"Sutherland" he gleamed from ear to ear, "you are a very, very lucky, man, come let me show you." He opened the hatch and leaned into the monster’s lair. Silent now, this was the ear-shattering core of the racket that had been our companion for the last rally of the season. Cleggy pointed at the rubber toothed cambelt on the left bank of cylinders - it was shredded and looked like it would give way anytime.  "Al, they never shred and not break, we noticed it starting at first service, but could not tell you, we hadn't the time to change it."  Apparently, they were the Achilles heel of the 6R4. Cambelt failure meant curtains for the motor and a very expensive repair.  As I joined Wattsy on the roof for the ceremonial spraying of the old Moet, I tried to calculate the odds you would have given on us winning this championship by eight seconds, and then a tie break. In which case we would have been champions as we were the first to win a rally. I couldn’t imagine the figures, but we were atop the car and the table all thanks to a cambelt that did not want to let us down!   There were a lot of cameras clicking away, people wanting comments, but I just looked at Cleggy and John. The men who gave me the chance of a lifetime. I had no words to describe how I felt about those two guys, the team at CBC, and Wattsy.  I just savoured the satisfaction of knowing the team had the finishing result they richly deserved. I also felt extremely proud that I had not being found wanting.  I reached into my soul for the extra grit and skill, and it was there in abundance.

The Madness won the day. 

Co-Driver’s thoughts: Peter Watts  

Over my career, I rarely get nervous to the degree that I can’t sleep. But I remember the night before the Audi Sport, having a couple of beers just to calm me. I normally prepare all the service schedules during the week prior to the event. Tyres, when and where, how much fuel to keep weight and balance to the optimum, but on that Friday evening I kept going through the schedule, looking at my maps of the stages almost driving them in my mind. Where to go fast and sensible and where to really push where I knew the maps like notes.  It was a mixed day a bit misty in the morning when we arrived at the first run through Dynast. Almost 20 miles and Stig Blomquist set the pace in his work’s Ford RS 200, Grundle second in a similar car and us third. Not a bad start, I said to Al ignore the works guys as they are obviously not registered and will be in a Rally of their own as a shake down to the Rally GB the following month.  Andrew took a little while to get used to the Supercharged Astra 4S but then started challenging. Consequently when we got to the Dovey complex, I said to Al, I know these quite well they are tricky but I know the bad bits. We had an amazing run through Dovey 1 and split the 2 work’s Fords and more to the point 6 seconds faster than Andrew.  On Dovey 2 almost a disaster, we were flying through one of my favourite mid-Wales forests when just 3 miles from the finish we picked up a puncture on the rear.  I would not let Al slow the beast down and in the confusion of keeping him on the road, I only quickly wrote my time down on the bottom of my map and did not enter it on my Stage check sheet. We changed the wheel just after the finish control as there was a fair run to Machynlleth.  The GM guys asked me for my time as we exited the forest but I did not have it readily available as I would have normally. So I just said we have had a puncture and will worry about the stage time when we get to service.   To this day I really believe they thought I was deliberately keeping it from them.  Amazingly the puncture had not really cost us that much time, or we must have been flying through the previous 17 miles before we picked it up.     Andrew was thus unaware that we were still in front of him at half way. It was nip and tuck between us for the next 2 runs through Dovey in reverse direction 

Checking the times, we had to be fastest through Dyfnant 2 by at least 4 seconds to win the championship.   Pressure……..what    pressure. Grundle had punctured on Dovey 4 so we were amazingly  second overall in a mixture of world rally drivers.  I remember telling Al to listen carefully on the downhill section  towards the end as many drivers back off on the fast sweeping downhill bends and seconds are lost to the brave.   He drove magnificently, ditch hooking a few times and subsequently receiving a bollocking from me, but nevertheless we exited another few seconds to the good and on to victory (well second overall).  Alistair Sutherland and Peter Watts had won the Marlboro British National Championship. Could this really be true? It was !!   On the run in to Shrewsbury, we were out of drink and suddenly I was famished.   I told Al to pull into this Shell Garage (it had to be Shell) where I quickly leapt out of my seat and purchased some Lucozade and Mars Bars, the best meal of our lives.  After the Champagne on the finish ramp, I will never forget my son David on my lap and Alistair doing doughnuts around the Shirehall monument!! 



First among equals: 

Alistair Sutherland and Andrew Wood have made the 1986 Marlboro AUTOSPORT National Rally Championship one of the most absorbing contests ever. Throughout the season they have battled for seconds and it was a shame that, on Saturday’s Audi Sport Rally, one of them would lose the title race. Even then, the pair battled to the end, just 8secs apart, Sutherland holding the advantage when it mattered. They finished the  season equal on points and it took a tie break to decide that Sutherland was the latest in a long line of worthy champions.  

While these two battled for the crown, Stig Blomquist calmly demolished the opposition to win at a canter with his works Ford RS200 while team-mate, Kalle Grundel, took third after a troubled day. The third Ford, that of Mark Lovell, finished in the trees but not before the new British Champion had shown his colleagues a clean pair of heels ... 

At the start of the season, you would not have found many to predict that Alistair Sutherland, the clown prince of National rallying, would be in to take the Marlboro/Autosport Championship. In the past he has been his own worst enemy, seemingly unable to string together any sort of consistency, even though he was undeniably quick. But here was the fellow at scrutineering on Friday evening, taking careful stock of the opposition as he faced his sternest test to date. Andrew Wood had led the series almost from the start and would take the title unless Sutherland could score his third set of maximum championship points. The odds were stacked high against him. and it was Wood who was the centre of attention for, after a  successful secret test session the previous week, the GM Dealersport  committee had taken the bold step of wheeling out their Astra 4S, the four-wheel drive, supercharged car that would have been their Group S contender had FISA not sent their plans down the drain earlier this season. The car was quick (over 4secs per mile quicker than the Manta 400 with  virtually no test mileage behind it) and it would at least give Wood an even chance of fighting off the CBC Motorsport Metro 6R4 where the Manta would be slithering in its wake. The team also wanted to know if they had got their sums right before the project was mothballed! 

Keith Oswin : Autosport 

A truly remarkable year had come to an end………or had it…….tune-in to the next and final blog in the "Chance of a lifetime" series; an emotional roller coaster of a journey that moulded my life, career and friendships.

For a number of years I have progressively been suffering from Parkinson's which has the ability to rob people of their abiity to do some of the most mundane tasks but their are ways to making life with Parkinson's easier... exercise, healthy eating, a positive mental attitude and friends...

Here's a quote I like to challenge people with 😀

"Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself... it has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival"

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