INSIDE RÖHRL’S GARAGE

WORDS SUSANNE HOFBAUER PHOTOGRAPHY JÜRGEN SKARWAN

The story begins with a sunset on the Mediterranean Sea. Walter Röhrl sits at a dinner table on a hotel terrace; in the background, the scenery vies for a nomination of the Wonders of Nature Award: a flaming horizon, orange-pink clouds and a purple sky – and as it happens in moments like this, Walter says something very deep: “Sometimes something has to be gone before you know that you want it back.”

Of course, he is not referring to the sun that just disappeared behind the horizon. Our conversation revolves around cars.

None of the cars standing in Walter’s garage at home in the Bavarian Forest have been in his possession for long. In a life overflowing with great cars, he sees vehicles come and go continuously. New discoveries, the resulting lack of space, the occasional change of mind and clearing-out phases form a continuous cycle. In the late 1990s, he threw a complete fit, as he didn’t have the time to drive all his cars regularly. “I don’t want them anymore; they only stand around and break,” he said one day, and sold everything.

All the more remarkable then that, despite this sweeping blow, there are two cars in his garage today which he used to own previously: two Porsches, which he started missing after they were gone for so many years. You could almost say, Walter bought them back: a 356 Coupé and a 3.3 Turbo.

In the Bavarian Forest, at Walter Röhrl’s home, nothing evokes memories of the sunset at sea. The relentlesslyforming November fog by the nearby river Danube is so dense that it swallows the entire neighbourhood. The steepness of the street leading to Walter’s house suggests that there are mountains, but any eyes that search for them get stuck after only a few metres in the cold mist. “The day before yesterday, you could see all the way to the Alps,” says Walter, his facial expression apologising for the unfriendly manner that the Bavarian Forest is presenting itself to his guests.

Evidence of perfectionist Röhrl’s meticulousness – he keeps track of every kilometre driven. Walter has a knack for story telling, mostly while grasping an imaginary steering wheel. Second garage houses a red tractor, a forklift truck and a Unimog which Walter uses to go into the forest

Walter’s garage is behind the house. He moved from Regensburg with his wife into the newly built domicile on the hillside about fifteen years ago. We walk through the hall, down a staircase, out into the garden and across a neatly-paved courtyard, passing a granite cat sitting in the grass. The real Lisa, which became famous thanks to Helmut Deimel’s film Röhrls Katze (Röhrl’s cat), chooses to stay inside and stretch on the warm bench by the fireplace.

Walter opens the roll-up door of the garage. No kettle drum roll, no fanfare: The layout is airy and very tidy and, as if to gently prepare the viewer, the cars are only vaguely perceptible under the soft fabric. With the same gentle gesture that is always present in Walter’s actions, he removes the material from the first car, which stands alongside the wall close to the door, and reveals a red 356 Coupé.

Two years before, Walter was actually looking for a Roadster. Close to Perugia, he had found an open, white 356 at a Porsche restorer’s, and bought it. He used a dinner hosted at the garage there for clients and friends as an opportunity to personally take the car home from Italy. Between the first and second starter, Walter discovered the red car in the corner of the garage while sitting at the table. It was in good condition and he immediately fell in love with it. Consequently, the following conversation took place:

Walter said to everyone around: “I think I will take this one, too.” The company at the table, all Italians, smiled doubtfully. One asked: “Have you asked your wife?”

Walter went to make a phone call and when he came back, everyone wanted to know what Monika had said. “Well, she said she is going to pay for it,” replied Walter. Now standing in his garage and looking back, he adds that unfortunately his Monika hardly ever made him see reason when he wanted to buy a car. Most of the time she said: “If you are having fun, go and buy it.”

It has always been like that. In 1980, for example, Walter fancied a Mercedes 220 convertible (“A completely unsuitable car for me, but really great, I like the shape.”). A friend restored the Mercedes and Walter drove it for five years, but perceived it more and more as unsporting and exchanged it for a 356 Speedster. Unfortunately, instead of the original engine, it had a T4-motor with a two-litre displacement. Over time he became annoyed with having this weakness pointed out to him again and again. Subsequently he bought an Austin Healey, a dream from his youth (“At that time, the Healey was the embodiment of masculinity for me.”), and things continued this way until the day of the radical purge. After that, no vintage car would stand in Walter’s garage for almost ten years.

And today, a 356 Coupé stands there. That was his very first car; the story is legendary. He scrimped and saved for it at a time when, as a 20-year old, he was driving the senior administration director, Zenglein, through Bavaria in the service of the Church. “When I drive my 356 today, it is like time-travelling. Then I think back to when a friend of mine bought a farm house about 20km from here. We helped him renovate it and often drove along country roads from Regensburg to the Bavarian Forest.

“The great thing about these old cars is that you don’t need to have a guilty conscience if you want to enjoy driving along the roads. You feel more, you reach the physical limits much earlier; driving at 130km/h you start skidding, whereas if you drove a modern car, you’d maybe need 180km/h to achieve this.”

The second Porsche that once stood in Walter’s garage and is now back, is the 3.3 Turbo. In 1978, he bought one (second-hand, with 6 000 kilometres on the clock) for his wedding, but it slipped away again years later. But after the years of abstinence, Walter knew: “I need a car that allows me to use my talent,” and for him that was the 930, with which the Turbo chapter of the Porsche history started.

When talking to his trusted mechanic, he mentioned his wish to own such a Turbo again. Amazingly, the mechanic said: “Walter, I know a guy.” The boss of the garage had one in silver, from 1983, first owner, 50 000 km. After suffering a stroke, he was no longer able to drive the car. Walter went to the old-age home and the gentleman must have been very moved by the visit, because in the end he sold the car to Walter – a car that he hadn’t wanted to entrust to anyone.

As a purist, Röhrl fought internally somewhat with the extra parts, which had been added to the Turbo at great expense. The air inlets at the rear wheel wells were not original, but they improved the air supply to the engine considerably. Walter didn’t really like the swells, but they prevented the body getting sandblasted by the dirt from the road.

How does it feel to meet again after so many years, we asked. “Back in the day, the cars were less reliable and the driver played an important role. In this way, it was easier for a good driver to break away at the front. And the same is true for a vintage car that I drive on the road: I am the one who turns it into a good vehicle, not technology.”

During test drives for Porsche on the Nordschleife (Nürburgring, Germany), Walter still puts other drivers, some of whom are 30 years or more his junior, in their place with his times. Now 70 years old, naturally the question arises, where on his body he feels his age. “I have no problems with my eyes or my reactions, because I am still driving. But I can feel it when it comes to the motivation –the motivation to feel the kick. Sometime I have to force myself,” says Walter. We spoke a lot about losing and finding cars again, during a sunset in Mallorca and in the foggy Bavarian Forest.

One last question, Walter: “What happened to the white 356 Roadster from Perugia?” It was just standing around until Walter finally found the time this year in June for a first drive. And it was the last one, too. On driving with an old convertible that shakes like a leaf whenever it drives over so much as a sewer cover: “I can’t bear it because I’m constantly thinking that something will break.” So he sold it, there and then, after only four days of driving it. It appears Walter’s perfectionism can sometimes be helpful in terms of keeping his car collection in check.

As handy with an axe as he is with a 911’s throttle pedal, though Rohrl’s favourite pose is applying a bit of opposite lock