Rally Quest

In the past I had flirted with the idea of getting involved in track motorsport. My (admittedly cursory) research indicated that you needed a vast reservoir of cash, expert knowledge of equipment and a semi-professional level of mechanical engineering. And that’s before you’ve even sat in a car. Due to having none of the above, nor having a clue how to obtain the above, I rapidly abandoned all hope. My early research into rally was no different. Like every self-respecting millennial, my first stop was to trawl through YouTube. The first few guides I stumbled across seemed pitched at people already competing in motorsport, with the financial means and technical knowledge to get started right away. The guys in those videos were experienced petrolheads, talking in a foreign language of limited-slip differentials and toe-angles. If I rocked up to one of their events, I would surely be exposed as an imposter within minutes, and strung up – an example to others to stay away. Right? It alm...

The year is 1998, and I am 11 years old. In my bedroom in Hampshire, England, I stare intently at a vast beige computer monitor, mesmerised. A pixelated, but beautifully curved backside dances around on the screen. It’s the Subaru Impreza S4 Rally . I grip my Logitech Steering Wheel with sweaty palms and tussle with this grunting blue beast. We are charging across the gravel tracks of New Zealand, crashing through muddy fields, over crests and into trees. I’m playing Codemasters ’ Magnum Opus: Colin McRae Rally and it’s the best thing ever. 1998 was the year rally barrelled off the road and smashed into my consciousness. The era of rally that accompanied my adolescence (‘95–’03) helped cement the sport in my imagination. It was a time of homegrown success with Colin McRae and Richard Burns , and exciting, hard fought campaigns. With the exception of Marcus Grönholm in 2002, each of the 1997–2003 seasons were won by an average margin of only three points. The 2001 seaso...