Day three features our longest drive of the whole trip – 700kms to complete in the day. We study the route on the morning of departure and decide we need a break along the way so pick a trajectory which enables an easy stop-over at Ingolstadt to visit the Audi museum. Yes, another bloody museum. Still, whatever it takes to stop somewhere nice for lunch, you understand.
The route is long and not blessed with stunning scenery throughout. In fact I’m struggling to take in much of this section of the drive at all. Maybe my brain is suffering some kind of malaise resulting from over-stimulation in Speyer. Early on we pass the Technik Museum Sinsheim; the sight of its Concorde and Concordski perched atop the roof remains beguiling and bizarre.
As we plunge further into Bavaria, things pick up and there are vast swathes of coniferous forest providing that trademark Bavarian aesthetic. We head east towards Nuremberg (which we both desperately wish to visit…maybe next time) before dropping due south towards Ingolstadt on the A9. This is the fastest section of our entire trip. A chunk of the route follows parallel to the railway line and it’s a surprise to find ourselves out-dragging the trains. The road surface is mill pond smooth, with speeds high. The old chap touches 142mph which feels brisk enough in midday traffic. It’s easy to see why modern Audis are so capable at daft three-figure speeds if this is the company’s proving ground.
Ingolstadt is visually uninspiring – at least the section we encounter – and the traffic is heavy. It’s hard to generate much enthusiasm for the place so we’re both relieved to find ourselves at the gates of the mammoth Audi corporate machine. We end up in a subterranean car park, filled with VAG products, mostly Audis. RS6s are commonplace and there’s even a British-registered Bentley Continental next to us. In spite of flying the wrong brand flag, we receive a thumbs-up from a couple of chaps in suits as we drove in so assume the guys here possess reasonably broad tastes.
Audi Forum is similar in principle to BMW Welt, not far away in Munich. It’s an enormous complex and the entire place exudes that clinical, precise feel you infer from Audi’s current product range. It’s design-led, airy, actually slightly relaxed but very smart. This applies to the exterior spaces, the architecture and even the people themselves. The cafeteria, a simple staff canteen in principle, is neat, orderly and beautifully wrought. I’m not one to dress up for anything except weddings and funerals but here my camo shorts and tattoos feel scruffy in the extreme.
By sheer good fortune, there’s an event of some kind on today which has no bearing on our visit other than permitting free entry to the museum. We can’t argue with that – thank you, Audi.
The museum is extremely corporate; I suppose promoting the brand is its function so it’s hardly surprising. It’s lighter and easier to navigate than the BMW equivalent but less ‘arty’ for want of a better word. It’s more architecturally restrained, but still dramatic when judged by UK standards. It’s hard to imagine MG ever being in the position to promote itself with such unerring confidence.
Buy into the mindset that created it and this is a really superb museum. It eschews child-orientated exhibits and gives each piece room to breathe – actually a welcome departure from the craziness of Speyer. You work chronologically from the top, with the story of the company told in gentle circles as you work your way around the levels.
I confess that Auto Union, to me, has always been a race car manufacturer more than a road car OEM. It unified in the wake of the Wall Street crash, which ravaged every western economy, Germany in particular. The union took place in 1932 between Horch, Wanderer, DKW and Audi, who all occupied different ends of the motor spectrum. Where Horch produced very high-end motorcars, DKW was really a motor cycle manufacturer which also produced humble, two-stroke cars. The parallels between Auto Union and British Leyland aren’t hard to spot, though separated by a couple of decades.
After the war and to my surprise, for my knowledge of the brand outside racing is scant, Auto Union was purchased by Daimler-Benz. It seems hard to countenance in today’s market and the marriage was short, with VW buying the company a short time later. Audi narrowly escaped losing its identity and started producing a small range of cars – some its of own design and others based on VW offerings – during the 1960s, when it was paired with NSU in yet another acquisition / merger.
The rest, as they say, is history and Audi quickly grew to become the automotive powerhouse we know today. This story is told, rather better and in rather more detail, as you traverse the museum. The top floor is dedicated to the pre-war period and that means Auto Union race cars – the absolute highlight of the trip. One thing I like about Germany – and Austria for that matter – is that the people are, in spite of their reputation, extremely liberal. The smoking ban hasn’t yet reached Austria, Germany permits unlimited speeds on its motorway network and you are generally treated like autonomous adults who are expected to behave with a degree of responsibility and civility.
The manifestation of this at Audi being that its magnificent Auto Union race cars aren’t shielded behind Perspex or miles away guarded by droopy rope. You can walk right up to the exhibits, smell them and get a sense of their aura. In the case of the special Type C-D Bergrennwagen, that aura is one of sheer fear. It’s among the ultimate examples from one of the greatest periods of motor racing history.
The Bergrennwagen is a hybrid of C-Type V16 engine and D-Type chassis and competed in hillclimb events through 1938. Today it exists as the most original remaining Auto Union race car and it is truly, truly wonderful. After the war, all the Auto Unions were captured by the Russians and were lost behind the Iron Curtain. The Bergrennwagen turned up, mostly intact, at a motor museum in Riga, Latvia. In a deal which one can only conclude must have secured the future of the Riga Motor Museum for eternity, Audi swapped the Bergrennwagen for a perfect replica created by Crossthwaite and Gardiner in the UK. The replica is now the prized exhibit in Riga; the real deal the prized exhibit in Ingolstadt. That the car exists at all is almost a miracle so it’s impossible not to get goosebumps in its presence.
Recounting the unlikely tale of the Bergrennwagen to my father, I notice I have attracted the attention of an Audi attendant. Presuming I’m erroneously reporting an aspect of the unlikely story, I quiz him on my accuracy. It transpires he’s only been half-listening but instead is struck by my tattooed legs. We are soon conversing in colloquial English; our new friend is actually a greaser. His immaculate grey suit and salt n pepper around the temples hide a secret love for hot rods and old board track racing motor cycles.
He shows us around the top floor of the museum, infusing us with his enthusiasm for certain exhibits we’d otherwise have walked past without a second glance. It’s so refreshing to learn that, behind the corporate veneer, Audi isn’t staffed by robots and that even aging moshers are welcomed in Ingolstadt.
The rest of the museum can’t possibly live up to the mighty Bergrennwagen but there’s a fine blend of road and race cars. The multi-storey vehicle lift turns slowly on one side, as dramatic a visual spectacle as the museum permits itself. Its hypnotic rotation displays a wide selection of NSUs from the ages, including many I’d never heard of before, let alone seen.
With time pressing and several hundred more kilometres still to pass under our wheels before our next overnight stop, we pause for a light lunch before firing up the Aston and pointing the long nose south once more. Our next destination is Austria. And of course I bought an Auto Union mug. How could I not?
Leaving Audi, we dive head-first into a traffic jam resulting from road works in a nondescript corner of a fairly uninspiring town. Losing 20 minutes when we have so many miles to cover is a little soul-destroying but one of the keys to a road trip on this scale is simply to keep you energy and enthusiasm levels high. And there’s always the motivation that what lies ahead is a new country; it’s not like gridlock on the commute to the office.
We are fortunate that there’s a nice section cross-country from Ingolstadt and, once we clear the town itself, we enjoy picturesque countryside for half an hour or so. This is probably the highlight of the day from a motoring perspective. More fast, sweeping, smooth and – crucially – well-sighted roads make decent progress a total pleasure. We pass through rural villages and open farmland, including large, distinctive frames, which look to be facilitating fruit growing though that remains pure speculation as their true purpose is never revealed. They are sufficiently redolent of the area to feature on road signs though.
Passing through one village, it’s something of a surprise to find a Lamborghini Diablo VT rumbling towards us. An unusual sight at a supercar meeting, we certainly hadn’t anticipated encountering one in rural Bavaria. I scramble for my camera while simultaneously exchanging thumbs-up with the driver. The results are, predictably, disastrous on both fronts.
Having crossed the border into Austria, the drama of the vistas increases considerably. Tall, snow-capped peaks loom into view on the horizon. While on the autobahn we find ourselves diving through long tunnels, rather than looping over any obstructive mountains. With the old chap having put in a solid stint behind the wheel, we pause at a service area for sustenance and a driver change. It’s here where I feel the only slight awkwardness or wariness of our trip. We are now a very long way from home and it’s notable that German registrations have given way to Czech, Croatian, Latvian, Slovenian and Slovakian plates – as reflects our geography.
Our chosen service area possesses a slightly less carefree vibe than many we’ve encountered and, for some intuitive but inexplicable reason, I feel slightly ill-at-ease. It’s impossible to drive something as visible as an Aston Martin without feeling a significant degree of social conscience about it. Here, as we head towards areas where such indulgence is less commonplace, I’m aware that we are perhaps making a bolder statement about ourselves than my personality is totally comfortable with.
With all that said, I’m a chap who needs no excuse to experience severe social awkwardness and we rub along just fine with the locals, though my German still struggles with anything more advanced than ordering sausage and a beer. We strap in for the final push to Vital Hotel Styria, our home for three nights over the Rechbergrennen weekend.
Daylight’s now fading fast so we have to deploy headlamps. Thankfully, the fault which blighted the Vantage earlier in our trip is not repeating itself and we approach Rechberg under cover of darkness. There’s a frisson of excitement as we pass signs for Spielberg and the Red Bull Ring, but we still have 40 minutes of cross-country motoring before we can rest.
We finally hit Rechbergstraße – part of which forms the famous hillclimb. The road writhes and twists through trees. It’s totally dark either side of the road so we’re driving on the lights. It’s a clear night but it looks like there’s a big drop off to the right-hand side. It’s fun to blast between the hairpins but I decide discretion is the better part of valour under the circumstances and exercise a good degree of restraint. So much restraint, in fact, that I’m soon overtaken by a C63 AMG Mercredes which blasts past in flatulent defiance.
I begin to recognise a few landmarks on the course from my hours watching on-board footage on YouTube and it’s apparent that we are now tackling the hillclimb in reverse – and at something less than racing speed. Things start to plateau out eventually and we arrive upon a bustling oasis of light and action. Suddenly there are boozy folk wandering the streets and racing cars everywhere. Quite literally – I very nearly drive into an awning which somebody has constructed half-way onto the road. Soon enough one entire lane is lost to make-shift pit garages which are now occupying the road. There’s a smell of barbecue in the air and groups of people milling about or huddling round fires, beers in hand. What looks like a Group C car is parked up next to the road. This is bizarre.
We fight the urge to join in as it’s late and we’re getting hungry – the cars will still be there tomorrow. We head a little way past Tullwitz (the heart of the event) and up the hill, through into Fladnitz Teichalm. It’s pitch black now and we’ve no idea what our surroundings look like but our hotel is lovely. The pilsner is tasty and the food is traditional Austrian fare and perfect for sating the weary traveller. We’ve survived our 700km day but I think we’re both grateful not to have to drive anywhere tomorrow. I can’t believe I’m really here – the legendary Rechbergrennen kicks off tomorrow.