clio rs16 & renault 5 turbo 1
This should have been a party. The moment we could finally welcome the Clio RS16 as a production car (albeit a limited edition), proclaim it one of Renault Sport’s finest efforts and introduce it to its great, great, great grandfather. Instead it’s a bitter tale of what might have been.
When the notion of grafting the best bits of the Mégane 275 into a current Clio was first mooted, our hearts skipped a beat. Big fans of the RS Mégane, but frustrated by the patchy charms of little brother Clio, we couldn’t wait to experience the latter with the best bits of the former transplanted into it. Sure enough, when we first drove the RS16 concept back in evo 226, it seemed like a winner.
So when Renault invited us to pluck some of the most significant RS models from its incredible collection and have them dispatched to the UK, like kids in a sweet shop we grabbed armfuls of Clios and Méganes and the boss of all hot hatches, the ultra-cool Renault 5 Turbo 1. Plus, of course, the Clio RS16.
You’ve seen the others on the preceding pages, but for me it’s the big-ass 5 and the Frankenstein Clio that make the most fabulous and fascinating pair, for they bookend Renault’s unique ambition and ability. That which pushes the engineers and designers to create cars other manufacturers wouldn’t even consider, or would flirt with as a motor show concept but never go on to explore seriously.
In this respect Renault is and always has been different. In the ’80s, when the insane R5 Turbo was created, this independent spirit was fuelled by a hugely ambitious and highly successful motorsport programme that had already seen the French manufacturer win at Le Mans, in F1, and, in the case of the R5, on the stages of the World Rally Championship.
Working to the Group 3 and 4 rules of the day (those which predated Group B), Renault subjected its chic and super-successful shopping hatch to an astonishing transformation. One in which it turned from a front-engined, frontwheel-drive hatchback into a rear-mid-engined, rear-drive monster.
The plan was to build the minimum 400 road cars required by the rulebook, but, when the first R5 Turbo was shown at the Brussels motor show in 1980, requests flooded in. Renault responded by building more than 1800 midengined 5s, though fewer than 600 of these were Turbo 1s with all the trick homologation parts, which included lightweight aluminium roof and doors, plus strengthened bodyshells. The rest were Turbo 2s, built from 1983: more conventional (and therefore less costly) in construction, if no less wacky in concept.
Open one of the T1’s lightweight alloy doors and you gain access to possibly the wildest car interior ever to reach production: mad, modernist and minimalist in equal measure.
By today’s standards the T1’s mechanical spec is rather feeble; an old 1.4-litre pushrod four delivering 160bhp thanks to the added puff of a large, laggy turbocharger. A kerb weight of just 900kg helps make the most of that, and in a funny sort of way the lag that leaves you becalmed below 4500rpm seems to intensify the rush you get when the boost gauge begins to twitch and you hear the engine fill its lungs.
It takes a while to dial yourself into the T1, especially the power delivery and slightly knotty gearshift, but then you appreciate there’s a harmony to the way it goes about its business. The steering is slow by modern standards, but it’s in tune with the chassis, the rate of turn matched to the rate of roll so you don’t upset the balance as soon as you turn the wheel.
The comedically knobbly period Michelin TRX tyres offer modest grip, but the way they build lateral load and then allow it to bleed away suits the car well. You’re always aware of the mass sitting behind you – much like in an old 911 – but, unless you provoke it, the T1 remains pretty benign. This of course means you start to poke and prod until you get a response. In the case of the T1, a mid-corner lift of the throttle is enough to wag the tail. This would certainly temper your enjoyment (and commitment) on an unfamiliar road, but on a track it simply encourages further exploration.
The harder you try, the more the parallels with old 911s become apparent. If you want to go the full Ragnotti you have to lift on the way in, wait just long enough to allow the tail’s momentum to start it swinging, then open the throttle to get the rear wheels spinning and apply corrective lock to balance the ensuing slide. It sounds dicey, but feels delicious.
Of course, you always need to be mindful of the sting in the tail, but I’d love to experience the T1 on a great road. The driving experience is packed with quirks, but also with quality. Created by people who knew their stuff and understood how to get the best from a car, the Renault 5 Turbo 1 can truly be described as the genesis of Renault Sport’s hot hatch brilliance.
The RS16 is less outlandish, but no less an achievement. You don’t need to know what lies beneath its skin to appreciate that this is no ordinary RS Clio. But when you understand the lengths to which Renault Sport has gone to graft in the engine, gearbox and front suspension from the Mégane 275 Trophy-r, there’s no question your level of lust increases tenfold.
All of which makes the fact it has been canned all the harder to bear. Had the RS16 been the product of motorsport homologation requirements (like the R5 Turbo 1) it would undoubtedly have been a different story, but with genuine ties between road, race and rally cars long since severed, the super-clio needed to make sound financial sense. With attention and effort focused on gearing-up for
‘As soon as you turn into a corner you can feel that it’s a much keener, grippier and more agile car’
the forthcoming Alpine sports car, Renault’s bean-counters couldn’t risk the distraction or justify the effort required to hand-build such a specialised, low-volume hot hatch. It must have been as heartbreaking for the engineers involved as it is for the rest of us.
The RS16 is more desirable than arguably any previous RS Clio, but especially the current 200 Auto. The stance, the wider track, the lower ride height, the Akrapovic exhaust, the black badges… Everything about it feels and looks more authentic. The 220 Trophy has been a big step in the right direction, but this car signposts how far it still has to go.
Junking the rear seats immediately sends out an uncompromising message. Bucket seats up front with proper harnesses (plus regular inertia reels for practicality) underline that racer vibe. And because you sit lower, the driving position feels better.
With that void behind you and the rip of the Akrapovic exhaust, the RS16 is a firecracker, popping and cackling as you work up and down the manual gears. Though much of the important oily bits are from the Mégane, the RS16 still uses Clio power steering. Unfortunately this means it’s still a little bit numb, but as soon as you turn into a corner you can feel that it’s a much keener, grippier and more agile car, equally happy to be chucked in or placed with precision.
Simply having a gearstick makes a huge difference. It’d be fascinating to try a 220 Trophy with a manual ’box, for I’m sure it would be the missing piece of the puzzle for what remains Renault Sport’s nearly car.
If the stillborn RS16’S legacy could be to encourage a stick-shift Trophy that restored the RS Clio to the top of its class, that would be some consolation. Albeit tinged with the knowledge that a truly world-beating, heartpounding machine has been mothballed.