Bob Moore

Southern Cross Rally from Bob Moore.

(Author’s note: the following article was originally printed in the November 1980 issue of “Spokes”, the monthly magazine of the Brindabella Motor Sport Club in the ACT.  It has been edited slightly, to overcome contemporary readers’ lack of “background knowledge” expected of their predecessors 23 years ago.)

1. Choosing a car. In 1974 we acquired a 1969 Toyota Sprinter, following our move from Sydney to Canberra.  The Sprinter replaced a very unloved Bathurst Torana XU-1, whose rally career lasted only 4 months, including the first “Don Capasco” Rally (which ultimately metamorphosed into today’s Rally of Canberra, a round of the Asia-Pacific Rally Championship.)

The Torana achieved very little, other than providing me with a special insight into the meaning of terror (i.e. pig-understeer, occasionally followed by an absence of road under the wheels.)  After the A-pillars cracked through in the “Don Capasco”, we traded it in (!!) on a new Celica (author’s note: almost 30 years later, I now rally a “historic” Celica of the same vintage!)

We chose a Sprinter rather than the equivalent (and cheaper!) Corolla sedan because of the eligibility rules for the Southern Cross Rally.  Under those rules it was not allowable to change drum brakes for disc brakes unless they had been homologated*.  Disc brakes weren’t homologated for any early-model Corolla sedans sold in Australia, whereas the “up-market” Sprinter GT in Australia was sold with disc brakes.

Certainly you could buy in Japan a Corolla sedan equivalent of the Sprinter GT, with twin carburettors, extractor exhaust and disc brakes.  In fact, the previous year my Assistant Director from the Bega Valley Rally, Peter Berriman, competed in the ‘Cross in his Corolla sedan modified to GT specifications.  He did, however, need to “selectively modify**” a set of homologation papers to make his car appear legal ….

Being more conservative (less adventurous) than Peter, we cheated less: we bought an ordinary (non-GT) Sprinter, and converted it to GT specifications.  This was fairly cheap: $5 for three “GT” badges, plus $75 for a set of discs and callipers.  Now we were ready to start serious rally preparation.

* ”homologation” is the process that factories go through to have specific models of cars officially recognised for competition.  It covers not only the basic specification of the car, but also optional parts that have been sold in sufficient numbers to qualify as legitimate for the required level of competition.

** the modifications consisted of strategically placed ink spots on the photographs in the homologation papers, to hide the “GT” badges that Peter declined to waste money on.  In all other respects, particularly mechanical, his car complied with the homologation papers.

Preparing the car for rallies was very straightforward.  We fitted a full roll cage (very innovative in 1974 for a clubman-level car), Recaro seats, three “Super Oscar” driving lights, Castrol GTX in the front struts (you couldn’t buy gas inserts in those days) and some cut-down (!!) front springs off a later model Corolla.  The back springs remained standard, but the shock absorbers were replaced with Datsun 1600 competition gas. 

The wheels remained standard (steel, 12” x  4”), and we found two sets of the skinniest SP44 rally tyres (145 x 12) that Dunlop ever made when they closed down their Birkenhead Point factory in Sydney.  The only modifications to the motor (a whole 1166cc!) were twin SU’s and the Sprinter GT extractors.  No cam, no big alternator, none of that stuff that gives you hassles ……….

In late 1974 and 1975 my brother Roger (co-driver) and I competed mainly in the ACT “Gold Cup” rally series.  We rarely placed outside the first ten positions outright, and half the time we were in the first five.  We have a photo of the Sprinter crossing the notorious “Pierces Humps” with all four wheels in the air (we didn’t realise that it had been flying until we saw the photos – I just noticed that the steering had got remarkably light on the crests!!)

The Sprinter was a very competitive car in the ACT at that time, being very quick downhill (!!) and over the rough where it was virtually unbeatable.  It used to go down the top part of Blue Range Road (now no longer used for ACT rallies) like a rat down a drainpipe, and to this day (1980) my navigator/brother Roger doesn’t believe that our subsequent 1600cc Lancers and 1700cc Galants have been as fast on that stretch of road.  Then again, I have been getting older …..(Author’s note: I am amazed that I was so preoccupied with my age 32 years ago!)

2. The Southern Cross. October 1975 saw the Southern Cross Rally, the adventure of the year.  Four days (mainly nights) and over two thousand kilometres long.  The chance for privateers to line up against the might of the factory Mitsubishis and Datsuns.

This was Roger’s first opportunity to navigate in a Southern Cross.  His 18 months’ rally experience to that point had been exclusively in route-charted rallies in the ACT Gold Cup Series.  For the first time he was exposed to maps (“what’s a map?”)  Fortunately my service crew, managed by wife Cathy, included two very proficient navigators – the afore-mentioned Peter Berriman, and Geoff Sykes, director of several ACT rallies including the Castrol Rally (the successor to the “Don Capasco”.)  The service crew subsequently grew to include virtually every member of the ACT rally community “holidaying” in Port Macquarie.

First half of the rally. The first two days of the rally were fairly straightforward as we worked our way up from a starting position of 42 (in a field of about 70) to nearly 20th outright.  Our only problem to this point was that we were wearing out rear shock absorbers.  The faithful Datsun 1600 gas shock absorbers had been installed 12 months earlier, then subjected to a solid season of competition on the notoriously rough ACT forest roads.  They had finally died on the rally just before the ‘Cross, and Gerry Ball Tuning - the famous local Datsun specialist that spawned Peter Lang, Greg Carr and a host of other talented drivers – had run out of spares!

In panic, we had turned to our local Toyota dealer, as the early ‘70s Celicas had gas shocks fitted as standard, and these also fitted early Corollas/Sprinters.  As the shock absorbers were standard rather than rally setting, we bought three sets.  This turned out to be a fortunate number, as we destroyed one set each night, usually after five or six competitive stages.  Unable to cope with the phenomenal performance of a Corolla, the Celica shock absorbers responded by seizing.  Oddly, the car seemed to handle better after this happened.  However, little did we know what effect “solid” suspension was having on the body shell ……………

Third night …..Late on the third night – well, actually a couple of hours before dawn – we pulled in to a service halt, with nothing out of the ordinary needing to be done to the car.  Oil topped up, tyres checked, lights and windscreen cleaned – all that typical rally stuff.  Because we had time to spare, we put the car up on ramps and checked underneath.  And discovered that the front eye of the left rear spring had almost ripped out of the floorpan.  Under the stress of the solid suspension, the floorpan had torn around three sides of the spring hanger, and “peeled” down from the front.  Disaster!

However, no-one retires from the ‘Cross while their car is still mobile.  I learnt that from the famous Captain Peter Janson, whom I once encountered facing me in a competitive stage, travelling quite quickly backwards in his XU-1 Torana – reverse being the only gear he had at his disposal!  It was also an era when few competitors had limited slip differentials, and consequently many (including us) carried Tirfor hand winches for de-bogging themselves.  So, we set up our winch beside the navigator’s seat in the mortally wounded Sprinter, hooked it up to the front leg of the roll cage, strung the cable back out through the gaping hole in the floor, wound the hook around the errant spring eye, and tensioned it all up nicely.  Off to the next competitive stage!

While I was outwardly proud of my “never say die” attitude, deep down I knew we were effectively out of the rally.  So I gave the car heaps over the last few stages that night.  Every few kilometres, Roger would tighten the winch cable a couple of notches.  And on the last stage, we overtook a Japanese-crewed Mitsubishi Lancer with a motor one-third bigger than ours.  We were going out in glory!

Back to Port Macquarie, off to bed (dawn was breaking), too tired for the despair to register that we were now out of the event.

Fourth night. However, service crew members Geoff Sykes and Peter Berriman were not blessed with my perception.  They couldn’t appreciate the finality of the situation.  While most of us slept, they went off the local car wreckers, and returned with a 30cm square section of Corolla floor pan – the section that held the pickup point for the rear spring!

Southern Cross rules forbade working on the car during rest breaks, so we had to wait until we had restarted the fourth night before we could try to repair the damaged floorpan.  Once we started, we drove straight to a friendly service station – forewarned of our arrival – and Sykes and Berriman commenced working their magic.  They chiselled out the offending piece of floor, and bolted in the “new” piece they had found at the wreckers’ – with 14 bolts, just to be confident!  They re-fitted the rear spring, and the car was mobile.  However we had used up 77 of our 150 minutes precious “late time” (once you exceeded this, you were automatically out of the running.)  But, in the circumstances, when the service crew says “go! Cover yourself with glory!”, then you go – with a big smile (or else!)

Obviously, short-cutting the course was to be the order of the day.  In the ’75 ‘Cross, each day you had to complete 75% of the competitive course – within late time -  to qualify as a “finisher”.  Sykes and Berriman had realised that navigator Roger actually couldn’t navigate off maps, and wouldn’t be able to work out how or where to shortcut.  So they worked it all out for us – prior to repairing the damaged floor.  They collected our set of official route instructions, transferred them to our maps, worked out the best places to shortcut, then  - for Roger’s benefit - wrote out a special route chart that explained the shortcuts we were to take.

That was a rather special night.  At one stage we found ourselves well ahead of Andrew Cowan, who was leading the rally, so we had to pull over so that our dust didn’t slow him down.  We were the sixth car into the service break at Armidale and the local radio station – seeing the lowly “42” on our doors – thought we were heroes.  And told the world (well, the world within radio reception of Armidale!) 

At the start of the final stage of the event – maybe around 7-8 am -  we were scheduled to start just before Doug Stewart, captain of the Mitsubishi factory team.  Doug was being navigated that year by the late John Dawson-Damer, who went slightly apoplectic at the thought of having to follow a “non-serious” competitor into the stage.  I vividly recall Peter Berriman (who was, by this stage, doing a “mother hen” job in following us from stage to stage) poking Dawson-Damer in the chest, and shouting “if your driver can catch my driver over fifteen kilometres, I’ll bare my bum in Pitt Street!”  I’m not sure whom was embarrassed more – Doug or me.  So we separated the sleep-deprived protagonists, I offered to let Doug go ahead of me, and he – ever the gentleman - graciously declined.

That final stage was the longest fifteen kilometres in my life.  Unknown to Berriman (and I didn’t want to mention this publicly, for obvious reasons) the oil seals in our rear axle had failed, so the brakes were covered in oil, and effectively didn’t work.  And driving a rally car on gravel with only front brakes is rather hazardous – up to a point they work, and when you brake too hard they lock up – and you can no longer steer!  Also, we had used up almost all of our 150 minutes late time.  However, Doug didn’t catch us in the stage – but he roared into the final control only 15 seconds after us.

So we had completed the magic 75% of the competitive course that night.  But what about time – had we exceeded our late time?  When we checked the clock at the end of the stage, we discovered that we were only one minute inside our late time allowance.  So we had qualified as finishers – by one minute, in an event that was timed to the minute.

Party time!

Postscript. It would be nice to be able to say that the Sprinter finished its days at stud.  Unfortunately, it didn’t happen.  I sold the Sprinter to a mate of Roger’s, a talented track driver who was keen to try rallying.  After a series of progressively closer “near misses”, Roger’s mate discovered a corner in a rally near Oberon where, at the critical moment, his ambition exceeded his talent.  RIP Sprinter.

Even later Postscript:

32 years later, Roger is back in the left hand seat of our current car, a PRC Stanza.

Bob Moore