Vittorio Caneva’s Rally Tales: A Journey Through the 80s
Welcome to Vittorio Caneva’s Rally Diary, where we dive into the incredible world of rallying through the eyes of Vittorio Caneva. In this section, Vittorio shares personal anecdotes from the golden era of rally, offering behind-the-scenes insights into the thrilling races, legendary drivers, and unforgettable moments that shaped his career. These stories bring the high-speed drama and camaraderie of rallying to life, providing a unique look at one of motorsport’s most exciting decades.
On the other end of the phone, Tiziano Siviero insisted, “No, Vittorio, it’s not for us—it’s for Markku. You come, and he, in fact, will assign you someone he trusts, a certain… Hannu… Hannu Valtaarju is an excellent driver, very experienced, and very reliable.”
I was quite hesitant at the thought of becoming a reconnaissance driver for none other than the great, in fact, the great Markku Alén at Monte Carlo. It was 1986, and I was about to begin my second year with Ford, but I was also courting the most beautiful and fastest car in the world—Lancia.
We gathered at Abarth in Turin, on Corso Marche, where we were handed the cars we’d use for our work: Delta HF volumetric, front-wheel drive, incredible little machines, 1600cc engines with a supercharger that was painful to hear.
The group was made up of great characters: Lele Pinto with Fabio Penariol, Bentivogli with Roggia, Pregliasco with Cianci, then Airikkala with Billstam, Stefano Fabbri with “Icio” Perissinot, Rayneri and Cassina, and others whose names escape me now, but all ready to dive into the fray to help Lancia win against the fierce competition—Audi, Peugeot, MG, Citroën.
When I got into the car with the Finn, I immediately realized that communication would be sparse. He gave me a nod of greeting, then gestured with his hand, “Go, go, we’re late.”
Late for where? I still don’t know.
After about five hours, he realized I spoke some English—perhaps not perfectly, but enough to start a dialogue about the usual banalities. I remembered him very well as a driver, because he crashed right in front of me during the Costa Smeralda Rally in 1980. He was driving an Escort Gr. 4, and at the Isuledda junction, he entered with three gears too many, leaving the car on the spot—not before demolishing an ancient Nuragic wall bordering the beautiful dirt road.
The reconnaissance of the first stages didn’t go too badly. Whenever I saw something wrong, I’d brake and shout, “Hannu! This is ice!” or, “Here, it’s better to stay on the right side.” He seriously checked, nodded, and wrote the correction in red, all without uttering a word.
At one point, he suddenly said, “ALT…STOP here!” I stopped, trying to figure out what I had missed. When the car stopped, he jumped out and disappeared into the woods. He returned shortly, zipping up his pants, and with his usual serious expression, said, “You can go on.”
At the first service stop, I timidly got out of the car and approached the three Delta S4s on their stands, surrounded by people. I felt small and intimidated. Suddenly, I saw Cesare Fiorio coming straight toward me.
“How are the stages?” he asked as if I were the most reliable person in the world. I froze for a moment, probably blushing like a child in front of Santa Claus, before recovering, saying, “There’s quite a bit of snow on the first stage… doctor. But the second one is almost dry.”
“Good, good,” he said. “We’ll put studs and narrow tires on the first one and…” He paused for a second before adding, “But there’s no humidity on the second, is there? Are you sure?”
“No,” I replied, “at most a little in the undergrowth.”
“How much… how many kilometers?” Damn, I hadn’t honestly checked how many kilometers of undergrowth there were. I wasn’t that sharp back then.
“Honestly, doctor,” I said, “I should ask my navigator how many kilometers of humidity there are, because while driving, I can’t tell how far I’ve gone, but he marks everything.”
“Good observation,” he said and then dashed off to the Finn, who was talking with Kikki. I swallowed and took a deep breath, feeling as if I had passed a university exam.
But here he came again, this time with Alén. “Goodbye,” I thought, “this time, they’re sending me home for sure.”
“Vittorio, Vittorio,” Markku started shouting, “What tire do I put on for stage two?”
Can you believe it? I, Vittorio Caneva, a mountain man from Asiago, used to running with wild types like J.Taylor, was advising the great Markku Alén on tire choices, and his performance on that special stage depended on my decision!
I think I nearly wet myself and stammered, “I think with soft slicks you won’t have any problems.”
Then Fiorio, with authority, said, “Good. You and Henry will go with slicks, and Miki will go with intermediate Monte Carlos.”
I stood frozen, unaware that in just a few seconds, I had been practically left alone in the square. Everyone had vanished in an instant. I must have stood there stunned for a few minutes because when I came to, Markku’s car was already starting, and the others were mounting their wheels.
I was terrified of the decision I had made. I could already picture the newspapers, “A reconnaissance driver’s wrong decision (name and surname) penalizes Lancia at Monte Carlo.”
Madonna!!!
Back then, newspapers put that kind of thing on the front page, and even the TV news reported it. It wasn’t a joke. OH MY GOD!!!!!
Instead, everything went fine. I think Miki won the first stage, helped by a higher starting number, and the second one was won by Henry… Henry Toivonen.
He was a rally legend, who left an indelible mark on those unforgettable years—the only one, they said, who could truly master the Delta S4.
Towards the end of the first leg (which lasted about three days), the radio started crackling: “My car is stopped… no engine… I can’t finish the stage.”
Markku’s Delta, which had been running poorly for several stages, had come to a stop, and his race was over. We were suddenly out of work.
A few minutes later, the radio blared again: “We’ve been hit… someone crashed into us… we’re stuck… a drunk driver hit us… major damage, the suspension is out of commission, we can’t move…”
It was the voice of Sergio Cresto, who, with Toivonen, was leading the rally at that moment.
They had been in a road accident with a car driven by an alleged drunk driver, which some said was orchestrated by the French from Peugeot to stop Lancia’s victorious run.
The situation was dire.
Discover More Stories from Rally’s Golden Era
If you enjoyed this glimpse into Vittorio Caneva’s incredible rally experiences, you won’t want to miss his book! Dive deeper into the thrilling world of 1980s rallying, filled with behind-the-scenes stories, legendary drivers, and the intense emotions that shaped an entire era of motorsport.
Get your copy of the Italian version of Vittorio Caneva’s book here: purchase on Amazon.
