Group B rallying's demise left a vacuum that Lancia duly filled with the Group A Deltas, trouncing all comers for years. We drive the ultimate road-going version of the iconic Integrale.
Fever
There's a faint whirring noise emanating from in front of you, a beautifully mechanical tone. From the rear, a slightly offbeat thrum, not as gruff as a Subaru's flat-four growl, but characterful nonetheless. Compared to the industrial drone of most turbocharged four-cylinder petrol engines, this is very different.
The vents at the rear of the bonnet emit a shimmering heat haze, as the hot air in the engine bay finds a vertical escape. Ensconced in a supremely supportive Recaro seat, a yellow 12 o'clock marker on the suede steering wheel acts like a gunsight targeting the road ahead. You glimpse a hint of just how wide the box-flared wheel arches are, but the car still feels so small that it wraps around you. The view out is unobstructed by thick pillars. On your left is a rock face, on your right the cold, unwelcoming expanse of water that is the Atlantic Ocean. Squint a little, palm the sculpted gear knob with your right hand and suddenly you're Didier Auriol psyching yourself up on the start line of the Col de Turini, or Juha Kankunnen staring down the first few hundred metres of Rezzo. Turn your knees into universal joints to reach the offset pedals, clutch down, engage first gear. Build the revs, hear the turbo spool up, listen to the imaginary marshal in your head shout a countdown in excitable Italian; “CINQUE, QUATTRO, TRE, DUE, UNO, VIA!”.
If you've somehow managed to skim over both the title and pictures, the car in question is a Lancia Delta Integrale, and this is what it does to your mind. Fever was a phrase coined to explain the range of emotions that motorsport can induce on normally-sane human beings, and this little world-beating hatchback gives you the strongest dose imaginable. This machine is rallying royalty, make no mistake. Spending a few hours with one is akin to going for a kick about and a pint with Maradona; with comparable levels of Latin temperament and only slightly less substance ingestion... Thankfully in the Lancia's case, that substance is petrol, but you'll want to drive it so much that buying a small share in a fuel tanker would make a sound financial decision. When you're not driving it, you'll want to look at it and take in every millimetre. This is a truly special vehicle, conceived with one aim: to dominate world rallying.
Win at all costs
How can a mere road car have such a soul-stirring effect? The truth is, this isn't a road car in the traditional sense of the word. You'll note that a lot of these features refer to motorsport's Group A period, and this pocket rocket is yet another product of that particular era. As usual, regulations dictated that a few thousand road-eligible versions of a competition car had to be produced in order to homologate it for war on the racetracks and rally stages. These rules were intended to keep a lid on development costs and outright pace after the wild years of Group B, but as usual the manufacturers just diverted the cash into stretching and subverting those rules as much as they could. Group A is therefore responsible for some of the most exciting road cars ever made, a purple patch in performance car history that is unlikely ever to be repeated. I first saw an Integrale in the flesh about 15 years ago and it's been near the top of my list of cars to drive ever since, so today is going to be A Good Day.
This Delta Integrale Evoluzione II is the final iteration of a car that debuted at the Monte Carlo Rally in January 1987, although the catalysed 1993-on cars never actually saw true competition after the Martini Racing team's withdrawal in 1992. The basic Giugiaro-penned Delta shape had been around since the late 1970s, but by its swansong the Integrale had grown so muscular and aggressive in its appearance it was barely recognisable from its humble origins. It's like meeting someone who used to be scrawny in school, to find out that they've spent the last 15 years eating raw steak and lifting truck gearboxes for fun. The Delta is still so small in comparison with anything on the road today though, a legacy of the laissez-faire attitude toward occupant and pedestrian safety that prevailed back then. This isn't just showy gym muscle though; function most definitely dictates form here. The bulging arches are there to cover an ever-widening track, the vents feed and aerate the 2.0-litre engine crammed in under the bonnet and the infamous adjustable rear spoiler aids with high-speed stability. Cars left the showroom with the spoiler in its retracted position, but for the full Martini Racing effect it must stand proud. Owner Mark is of the same opinion, and his Rosso Monza car looks just incredible in the early morning County Clare sunlight.
Pulling in to a gravelly lay-by for some static photos gives an opportunity to have a detailed look at the diminutive fighter. Nothing on the car is superfluous, and it's amazing to discover the lengths that the Abarth engineers went to in the design phase. The rear doors are made from a single pressing, which, when you consider the sheer size of the blistered wheel arch that melds into them, is no mean feat. The front strut towers were raised up in order to give more suspension travel, which necessitated a thick brace spanning aft of the sharply forward-raked engine. One thing that strikes you is how forward that engine sits, and just how busy the whole bay is. There are coolers and piping and ancillaries everywhere, but the knowledge that their presence is (mostly) due to competition requirements is rather appealing in a nerdy way. By the time the Evo II arrived, the 2.0-litre four-cylinder engine had four valves per cylinder, and around 215hp with 315Nm of torque. Nothing to shout about today of course, but the power delivery was typically old-school, arriving as one great wave that carried you from around 4,000rpm all the way to the redline in a flurry of hissing turbo boost.
The suspension was quite advanced for the time with as much of that aforementioned travel as could be physically achieved within the old body shell, and the all-wheel drive transmission featured a torque split that was slightly rear-biased, aided by a Torsen differential out back. The wheels were 16-inch items that aped those fitted to the flame-spitting works rally cars and hid bigger brakes that squeal like racing items even as standard (I like that in a car). Inside, the Delta really shows its age, and there isn't a curve to be seen on any surface. You won't get too hung up on that though, because your eyes will be locked on one of the coolest dashboards to ever see the light of day. At first glance, it seems like somebody loaded up a gun with a selection of yellow-fonted gauges and fired them in the general direction of the area beyond the steering wheel, but the important info is all there. A boost gauge takes pride of place in the middle, and the rev counter's sweep is slightly alien as it appears for all the world to have been fitted upside down. This means you spend more time deciphering the gauges than you usually might, but who cares when they look this good?
The original tarmac terrorist
It's prudent to keep your eyes on the road though, especially since Mark has reiterated the current value of both the car and certain components, the front wings being particularly rare and therefore mind-meltingly expensive. Any fears of the Integrale being a scary steer are quickly allayed once underway though. The feedback through the aftermarket Sparco steering wheel (one of very few modifications to this car) is just perfect, and the smallest of inputs are met with immediate and positive direction changes. It stops short of being twitchy or nervous, but you can really sense the front Yokohama Advans keying into the tarmac. Placing the Integrale on the road is simple despite it being left-hand drive (no right-hand drive Integrales were officially produced) and the only real issue is the typical banging of left elbow against door card as you forget what side of the car you're on. The dash squeaks and rattles like a good 'un, again betraying its roots in the seventies, but that's easy to ignore when the car drives this well.
Loading up the front end on tightening corners does provoke some gentle understeer, but picking up the throttle early allows the differentials to straighten the car and provide almost ethereal grip on exit. The power delivery takes a little getting used to, but once kept in its sweet spot the Abarth motor just pulls and pulls. The brakes are full of feel and the Bosch anti-lock brake system doesn't get troubled once, although on a drying road and in a car weighing less than 1,300kg that's no real surprise. Mark has fitted some Nürburgring-developed Intrax coilovers, and while the ride is very stiff at low speeds, the bump and rebound settings are perfect for carrying pace over undulating roads. Lots of pace.
The car feels pretty unflappable, and like all the most successful competition cars it gives you huge confidence from the moment you set off. It's on your side, allowing you to concentrate on getting from A to B as quickly as possible without any real hindrances. Thanks to the differential settings and nose-heavy weight distribution, it is a little more susceptible to understeer in comparison with the likes of an Evo or an Impreza, but the upshot of that is a heightened feeling of stability and security when on the limit. The sense of involvement is still huge, and it's one of those machines that makes you want to drive and drive and drive until the needle on the fuel gauge bends itself around the empty stop. Told you that a fuel tanker would come in handy...
The records speak for themselves, with Lancia winning every WRC manufacturer's championship between 1987 and 1992, along with four driver's titles along the way. The Delta was only truly outclassed by the arrival of Toyota's ST185 Celica GT-Four, in a period when the TTE-run cars weren't known for sticking to the rulebook. The Italians were no saints themselves of course, but when Celicas were spotted behind bushes being refuelled by men in what looked like radiation suits, controversy abounded. It took until 1995 and the illegal turbo scandal before Toyota was properly caught, by which time Lancia had long departed the world rallying scene. Abarth realised the shortcomings of the aging Delta shell, and knew that it couldn't compete with the upcoming Subarus and Mitsubishis, weight distribution being a particular bugbear.
The Audi Quattro may have been rallying's all-wheel drive pioneer, but Lancia was the first to really exploit the Group A regulations on the stages. It influenced the next generation of homologation specials from WRX to Cosworth and Evo, and in doing so kick-started an era that gave us some of the most memorable and enthralling performance cars ever seen. If you see a Delta Integrale on the road, flag the owner down and spend some time educating yourself in a piece of mobile motorsport history. What a machine.
Thanks to Mark for providing the car, and Cian Donnellan (Instagram: @ciandon) for the photography.