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The Importance of Being Lancia

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The truck driver glances at his greasy wing mirror and drifts into the outside lane of the autostrada, making ground on the dawdling transporter in front.

Elephant racing – as it is known in here in Italy.

A blue flash to his left causes him to jump in his seat as a blur skims past below. His startled eyes catch up with the car as it careers at full lock, half in the dirt, half on the tarmac. All stability leaves the passing shape and it spins wildly as a shroud of dust and smoke falls over the scene.

The truck driver exits his cab, the icy chill of shock melting into an inferno of rage as he approaches a figure slumped over the wood rimmed steering wheel – “Who do you think you are? Fangio?” Through the open door he hears a groggy response. “I am Fangio.” The truck drivers face drops – ‘I’ve killed The King!’ he thinks, kneeling to help the legend to his feet.

The 1957 Italian Grand Prix is over and, until the truck appeared, the World Champion was gaining on Modena at a rate of over 100 mph. It was only his lightening reflexes and the superb handling of his car that saved the legend’s life. Fangio sustained a damaged wrist, however the Lancia Aurelia B20 GT he was driving escaped virtually unscathed.

During the golden era that wafted from the post war dawn of the fifties through to the end of the sixties, Lancia was the marque of choice for anyone with a discerning disposition. Born at the start of the century the company produced road going cars built on a pure race heritage; a philosophy distilled into creations that oozed passion, married with an air of sophistication.

Lann-chia, here was a manufacturer that represented the epitome of style.

Standing in the car park out side the casino in Saint-Tropez one might have seen a Ferrari 250 SWB, Maserati 3500GT or Lamborghini Islero, but these highly strung and temperamental brutes were the steeds of the prima donnas; loud, red and garish.

After all, who wants to arrive at a cocktail party full of directors, actresses and models with the aroma of oil and petrol clinging to their dupioni silk suit?

But the Lancia Flaminia Supersport, in metallic silver or deep azure, now here was a car that would elicit a subtle nod of appreciation from a fellow member in the parking lot. Here was a car any self respecting Riviera playboy would chose to crash in.

Lancia’s driving motive was always innovation. It is a brand built on a Grand Prix winning pedigree.

The Lancia D50 was a genuine Formula One masterpiece, a car coveted by Enzo Ferrari. When the team ran into financial troubles Ferrari bought the D50 and rebadged it to win the 1956 world title in the hands of one Juan Manuel Fangio.

However away from the track the Turin marque pushed the design envelope into a new realm. Lancia were the first to launch a production V6, with a rear mounted transaxel gearbox for better weight distribution and inboard rear brakes to reduce unsprung weight, plus all round independent suspension – all this in 1951.

Yet you could have this package in a four door family saloon. But the most important thing is it worked. It drove like nothing else, a willing free revving engine and forgiving chassis as much at home on the Monte Carlo Rally as the winding commute into Milan.

The base model Aurelia was an aspirational saloon from which the chassis was given over to the industry’s most cutting edge coachbuilders to weave their magic.

Like all great Italian marques, Lancia worked with Carrozzeria who clothed their products in designs that were both achingly beautiful as well as dynamic. The best minds at Touring, Vignale, Pininfarina and Zagato worked up exotic coupes and spiders that were hand built along side the Ferraris and Maseratis bound for the Shah of Iran or some Persian Prince.

The Aurelia, Appia, Flaminia, Flavia and Fulvia ranges all got tailored suits for their supermodel bodies. It really was a golden era for those who appreciated the very finest in automotive engineering.

What of Lancia in the modern world? Today it languishes like a fallen heavy weight boxing champion reduced to sparring with bums at a village carnival.

You feel depressed by the spectacle, but can’t help but stand and stare.

The current range makes Kias look pretty. As a brand it has drifted to the point where it resembles a rickety raft, to which Tom Hanks clings, talking to a sun-faded basket ball. “Why Wilson? Why are we re-badging Chryslers with our once illustrious name?”

They even make people carriers. People carriers?

Fangio would turn in his grave. But then truly great Lancias are still out there, skulking around the web, the stuff of myth or misinformation.

Look through the mist and for the price of a substandard Mk1 Escort RS, you could revel in the true magic of a Fulvia HF Coupe – rally winning heritage wrapped up in probably the prettiest coupe of the era.

And you’ll be safe in the knowledge that not only are you driving one of the greatest cars of motoring’s greatest era, but while you are out enjoying it, you’ll probably never see another. Exclusive, elusive and ethereal.

Lancia’s Lucky Seven

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Lambda (1927)

The Lambda was groundbreaking and radical. There was unitary construction when most other cars were ladder-framed with a coach built body. It had independent front suspension and all-round brakes – as well as a highly sophisticated V4 engine. A milestone in automotive engineering.

Aprilia (1938)

The Aprilia was the ultimate small car of the pre-war period. Its pillarless, teardrop shape was honed in a wind tunnel giving it a drag co-efficient of 0:47 - with five people seated comfortably. This was an incomparable benchmark in refinement and stylish spec.

Aurelia B20 GT (1951)

This was a car that changed perceptions; truly beautiful design from Boana, highIm end build quality by Pininfarina and the first production V6. A GT as at home in the paddock as on the piazza. Only bested by a sole Ferrari in the ’51 Mille Miglia, 1-2-3 finish at the ’52 Targa Florio and class wins everywhere from the Panamerica to Le Mans.

Lancia Flaminia Touring GT 3c (1958)

With an alloy V6 engine and lightweight Superleggera coachwork by Touring, this car has the same build style, and was a contemporary of, the Aston Martin DB4 GT. Stylish and swift, the choice of the young Riviera jet set in the early sixties, yet is the tenth of the price of a DB4 today.

Lancia Fulvia Sport Zagato Competizione

Take the already exquisite Fulvia Coupe and clothe it in lightweight, aerodynamically sculpted alloy from the mind of Zagato design genius Ercole Spada and then add lightness by honeycombing everything. Targa Florio, Daytona and Sebring regulars these 1.3 firebrands were a potent force on the Italian road race scene. The standard road car is an undervalued entry ticket into the world of hand-built Zagato exotica.

Lancia Stratos 1972

1972 – 74. Ferrari engined, short wheel base rally car that looks as good as it goes. Gandini styled wedge that perfectly married form and function, with three consecutive World Rally titles. Iconic in Alitalia green, white and red.

Lancia 037 Stradale (1982)

The car the Montecarlo should have been. This homologation model was available in any colour, as long as it was red. Just over 200 of these Pininfarina styled, mid-engined rockets were produced, 0-60 in under 6 seconds, the road going version of the insane 037 rally beast.

Images: Lancia Press

Stratos: Elusive Passion

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My uncle used to own a Lancia Stratos. Except he didn’t.

For years I bragged in countless schoolyard corners that my uncle owned what was at the time undoubtedly one of a handful of coolest cars in the world. This was the same mother’s brother that had owned a getaway Jag Mk2 in White (with red leather interior), a Jenson CV8 in lime green, and a midnight blue Lambo Espada. This trio is an admirable clutch of the stylishly exotic for sure – and I can bear absolute witness that he owned these cars. But there’s no way he could have owned a Stratos. Could he?

Thing is as happens in families, my uncle’s life has been mythologised over the years, with countless layers of legend piling upon legend. Needless to say, the uncle in question was one of those men of the 1970s who not only seemed to survive with no visible means of support – but positively thrived on a diet of extravagantly burned Four Star and Long Life. This blog has mentioned elsewhere what a rare and beautiful possibility this was in that magical decade. I’ve never truly got to the bottom of how he managed to drive so many brilliant cars – or how I came to imagine and profess his ownership of the Stratos. But I can guess.

Somewhere in my pre-teen imagination I must have projected everything cool and exotic onto my uncle. And in that Top Trump schooled way that kids of the seventies imbibed, I must have equated the outrageous Gandini penned design to all the things that he represented. My uncle had never shrugged off the double denim he had worn in the fitites whilst aping James Dean – he never conformed, never settled down. He dedicated his life to adventures. In my memory he will reek into eternity of Old Spice, Rothmans and Teachers whisky. Unsurprisingly perhaps he met an early death before Thatcher had even left her throne.

My uncle might have been an aficionado of rare and beautiful cars but it’s impossible that he ever owned a genuine Stratos. The pure bred rally, dedicated Stratos – the one imagined from the ground up with its short, wide stance, period wedge profile, snarling Dino V6 and bugger all rear visibility - was a harbinger of rolling exotica in design, purpose and execution that very few people had the privilege to own.

It’s thought that less than 500 Dino engined examples were ever constructed for homologation – between ‘73-and ’76. Once you managed to get behind the wheel of one of these beasts it would have been a ridiculously bonkers experience. Even though the rally car was successful all through the mid seventies, the internal politics of the Fiat corp was such that it gradually ebbed out of favour. We all loved the three box classic that was the Fiat 132 – especially in the Abarth garb - but surely the fibreglass bodied, outrageously aggressive stance should have been enough to convince the sharp suited corporate Italians that they should stick with the Stratos as their sports car flagship.

Ever since the Stratos Zero concept was unveiled at the Turin Salon of 1970 the world had expected something uncompromising and prophetic of a time when anything was possible. If Whitey was reaching out to the moon, then it was eminently possible to build a race car for the road with little compromise. Wasn’t it?

But no. The Stratos was too pure, too real, too focussed on adolescent, revheaded dreams to endure into middle age. The Fiat corporation must have sought to court the mass of everyman motoring in rallying- mass produced cars given the race treatment in order to sell more mediocre cars to the general public. The fact that Groub B swept this nonsense aside in the early eighties proved the men in suits wrong.

Despite the fact that a host of plucky privateers was able to push this bonkers piece of inpisration to many a victory deep into the eighties – the iconic Stratos profile faded to memory to all intents and purposes.

Until recently of course, when a new $500K version was announced. Hardly accessible to anyone who doesn't own a Veyron.

The thing is, as with all re-issues of iconic automotive models – that the very essence of all things Stratos is its ridiculous brevity; it’s shockingly audacious styling, its midships mounted Dino powerhouse and ludicrously crumple-zone free fibreglass shell – were more than a mere marketable set of specs to be dallied with.

The Stratos was, in other words, a legend in its very being. It was built from the rubber up to be without compromise and replication ; built with nothing but point-and-squirt, short wheelbased flair. It was built to set light to passions that were destined to lie dormant by generations of surgically marketed aspiration.

My uncle never actually owned a Stratos. But he should have done. He was Stratos.

Own it: Lancia Fulvia Coupé

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Affordable classic is a term of which we’ve always been a little skeptical. It’s a bit of a cliché. If a car is truly a classic, in the objective measure of the term, then surely it will command a suitably ‘classic’ price tag?

This may be true for many of the more conventionally blue chipped brands - but when it comes to a marque like Lancia, whose waxing and waning fortunes have led to huge swings and roundabout in the allure of their cars, there are, we think, still amazing bargains to be had.

Enter this brilliant little example of a Series 2 Fulvia Coupe 1.3 Rallye. If this isn’t a classic then we don’t know what is.

The Fulvia came in a variety of body shapes and engine sizes – from boxy, four doored Berliner to the angular Zagato Sport. But as one of the mainstays of the Lancia range from the early sixties to the late seventies, the broad Fulvia church accounted for a large proportion of Lancias out there on the road.

For us, the Rally-specced version of the pert-rumped coupé is the one to get our hearts beating fastest.

The HF tag (meaning High Fidelity) and adorned with inexplicable elephant icons, denoted the most out and out sport-specced version; featuring for 1972 a rebored 1300 engine, plexiglass side-windows, as well as a lightweight hood and race-style callipers to hold it in place. The white alloys, the punchy rosso paintjob and a stripped out, cross hatched aluminium interior trim completes a look that is purposeful in a typically Italian style.

This example is nice and clean and mechanically sound – and the body and interior remarkably clean for a car approaching its fifth decade. Currently in residence with Thornfalcon Classics in Somerset, the story goes that the Irish number plate echoes pleasingly a Torino original: lending it that regional and period authenticity loved by the burgeoning constituency of historic rally followers.

With a little tuning we think this could be a very pleasing weekend toy: and at an asking proce of £8,500, with a bit of love and care it should pay you back in fun as well as pound notes.

Images Influx/Michael Fordham

www.thornfalconclassics.com

Lancia: The Death of a Marque?

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Car companies die. Like the great lost cities and civilizations of antiquity, what once seemed vast, vibrant and permanent can soon end up as ruins. While I don’t mean to compare Lancia to ancient Rome, I think they’re going the same way.

Why does it happen? Usually because the brand loses its mojo; the cars aren’t as exciting as they once were, quality slips, investment drops. We buy fewer of them, the investment falls further, and soon a famous badge is in a fast, fatal, vicious cycle.

It’s not unusual. The recent recession did for Hummer, Pontiac and Saturn, and very nearly killed Saab and Chrysler, among others. The list of famous British marques that went to the wall is too long to recount. Disappointed enthusiasts blame everyone from the management (often with justification) to the press (are we supposed to advise you to buy a bad car?). But the car-buying public is the guiltiest. We’re fickle. If something better comes along, we’ll buy it. And if we don’t buy the marque we love, its parent company can’t keep making it.

But sometimes, a car company needs to be allowed to die. Lancia is owned by Fiat. Fiat was on its death-bed until the Canadian-Italian business guru Sergio Marchionne took over. Now it makes a healthy profit. But Marchionne thinks that a car group needs to make six million cars a year to get decent economies of scale, and have a future. Fiat makes just over two million. So when the US giant Chrysler went into bankruptcy protection in 2009, Marchionne took a stake in it. It didn’t cost him anything; he just provided the small car and small engine tech that Fiat does so well and Chrysler needs so desperately to satisfy US buyers with a newfound interest in fuel economy.

Marchionne makes no secret of the fact that he’d like to merge Fiat and Chrysler, but he’s already working hard to rationalize the weirdly diverse range of cars he’s wound up with. Some of the cars on the edges of his new empire are so distinctive that they won’t be compromised; small Fiats, Jeeps, the big Dodge pick-up trucks.

But Lancia, stuck in the middle, its sales slow and its distinctiveness long lost, is suffering. There will be a new Ypsilon supermini, but the other three cars in the range will all be rebadged Chryslers, built in the US or Canada. One will be the Mondeo-sized Chrysler 200C, recently introduced but based on the old Chrysler Sebring and Dodge Avenger, the very definition of dull-driving automotive white goods, and the kind of unimaginative fodder that got the US car industry into such strife in the first place.

Next up is a Lancia-badged version of the new Chrysler 300C. This was a great car when it first went on sale in 2004; it probably saved Chrysler. But even then it borrowed some of its underpinnings from a 1996 Mercedes, and it’s unclear just how new the ‘all-new’ 300 Chrysler showed at this year’s Detroit motor show actually is. It’s certainly a lot more insipid-looking than the original.

And lastly, there will be a Lancia version of the Voyager people carrier, which is quite good as people carriers go. But what do any of these cars have to do with Italy, or Lancia’s storied past? Nothing, other than the badge stuck on the nose. Nobody who loves Lancia will buy them. You might suffer one as a rental car at Turin airport, or buy one if you just don’t care about cars and a dealer makes it so cheap you can’t refuse; even in 2008, desperate dealers were offering a buy one, get one free deal on the Dodge on which the mid-size Lancia will be based.

Nobody is fooled by cheap, cynical rebadging. This kind of farce has produced some of the worst cars in history. Like the ‘Saabaru’, officially the Saab 9-2X, a weird-looking mash-up of a Subaru Impreza with a Saab nose that US buyers didn’t suffer for long. Or the Alfa Arna of the mid-eighties, a car that famously attempted to marry Italian passion to Japanese reliability, but got it the wrong way round to the lasting shame of all concerned.

I’d actually rather see Lancia put into suspended animation than suffer this. It could always be resurrected when Marchionne’s plans for world domination have worked out and he has the cash to develop a real Lancia. At least we won’t have to look at them on UK roads, where Chryslers will stay Chryslers. But elsewhere, I worry the damage to Lancia’s image will be terminal, and ruins will be all that remain.