A110 1800 Gr. IV "Safari Rally 1975"

Jürgen Clauss
May 1, 2022
12 min read

Updated: 2 days ago

CLIENT COMPETITION

HISTORY

AFRICAN QUEEN

Originally designed as a nimble asphalt racer, the Alpine A110 evolved to master dust, heat and relentless toughness. And so it found its way to the very heart where rally legends are born — the wild soul of Africa.

Robert "ROB" Glen, a Scotsman living in Kenya with petrol running through his veins, ordered this Alpine A110 1800 straight from the factory — equipped with every option available to take on the world’s toughest rally adventure - the legendary Safari Rally.

Delivered from the factory in metallic blue, the Berlinette was repainted after just two years —

yet its true patina was woven from dust, mud and the unforgiving African sun.

Experts immediately recognize this Berlinette is no ordinary car. Its technical layout with swing axle and three-hole wheels still recalls the 1600S, but its body tells a different story — that of a 1600SC. Door pushers instead of handles, a smooth air intake at the front, vents above the rear hatch and a removable tail section mark it as a rare transitional form.

Its badges say 1600VD — yet look closely and you’ll see it’s truly one of the extremely rare 1800VA versions, built in tiny numbers and almost lost in the shadow of more famous models.

I found her — weathered by sun, time and the merciless vastness of East Africa.

And I brought her home. With respect, devotion and love for every detail, she was restored.

Today, she lives again — not as a museum piece, but as a rolling tribute to a man with vision and an Alpine that survived the wilderness.

The African Queen is back!

ROBERT "ROB" GLEN RECOUNTS

“I bought the car new from the factory, specially prepared for the Safari Rally.

Every bolt, every detail was built for toughness, heat, and speed.

Then I flew the Alpine to Kenya — my home, the land of red earth and endless horizons.

There I drove her for two years through rain, dust, mud and hundreds of kilometers of merciless tracks. And believe me, she was fantastic. A weapon on wheels, light, direct, alive.

She didn’t just feel the road, she challenged it.”

MEMORIES OF THE SAFARI RALLY 1975

“The 1975 Safari was… interesting,” Robert Glen says with a smile that wavers between pride and pain. His eyes light up as he recalls those days — dust, heat and the ruthless Kenyan wilds.

But his voice reveals it was more than just a race. It was a fight for survival.

“We didn’t make it to the finish,” he begins.“

We had to give up near Mazeras, close to Mombasa. But before that — my God — everything was in it.” During the infamous Taita Hills section, a 75-kilometer trial of rocks, dust, and scorching sun, the brakes went first, then the clutch.

“In the middle of nowhere, no chance for help. But giving up wasn’t an option.

So I kept going — no brakes, no clutch, all the way to Malindi, then Mombasa and finally to the checkpoint at Mazeras.”

There the engine failed, blown head gasket, game over. Yet it wasn’t defeat.

“We hadn’t lost any time until then, despite everything. The Alpine fought. I fought. We were a team.”

The noise in the cockpit was deafening, he continues. “That’s why we had an intercom system in the helmets. Without it, I couldn’t have heard Ian, my navigator —

a brilliant guy, an aircraft engineer, one of the best I ever raced with.” Then his voice lowers, sharing a particular pain, one burned into his memory. “The oil line from the front radiator ran right past the accelerator pedal.

After 300 kilometers, my right foot started to burn, really burn. My service team kept pouring water on it, but it barely helped. It was hell. I couldn’t feel the pedal anymore, but I listened to the engine revs. I drove by sound.”

These memories are not mere stories, they are scars with a soul. The 1975 Safari Rally was no defeat for Robert Glen.

It was a trial by fire. And it made him — and his Alpine — immortal.

SEARCH AND RESCUE

WORLD TRIP

JANUARY 2001

NAIROBI - DOVER - STUTTGART

How I found Rob Glen’s Safari Alpine

In January 2001, the first trace arrived, a fleeting whisper on the wind.

A competition Alpine, fresh from Africa, was said to be for sale somewhere in England. It sounded too good to ignore.

I contacted the seller, an African living in Birmingham. Soon after, I received a few scant photos by email. Blurry pixels, few details, but enough to spark my curiosity.

His asking price? Astronomical. And that despite the “restoration,” as he called it, being nearly complete by African standards.

Despite doubts, the thought wouldn’t leave me — maybe a pearl lay buried in the dirt.

I packed my bags and flew to Birmingham. What I found was... shattering.

The wreck lay literally in the dirt. Buried in the backyard of a dreary terraced house estate, forgotten between

trash bins and damp concrete. The sight was worse than I ever imagined.

Rusted, drained, stripped. And yet, there was something, a sparkle beneath all the grime.

The body details, ventilation openings, the removable rear section, rally-specific modifications —

all told the story: this Alpine was born for competition.

At least a client-competition model, maybe even a genuine usine car.

During tough price negotiations, I learned I wasn’t the first to discover this ruin. None other than ex-Formula 1 driver

and Alpine enthusiast Érik Comas had been there days before me.

Why he didn’t buy it? I don’t know. Perhaps he too was put off by the inflated price that soared into six-figure illusions.

I left too — disappointed, angry, but also relieved. The matter was settled, or so I thought.

Nearly a year passed, then another message from the seller. The wreck was still there.

Unchanged. Unsold.

This time I was ready. Negotiations dragged on, endless haggling, a nerve-wracking dance of calls and emails.

Then finally — a deal. Days later, we met for the handover in Dover. On a windy coastal parking lot,

I took possession of what others saw as scrap metal, but to me was a sunken jewel.

What I didn’t know then, how much strength, patience and passion this project would demand.

But the decision was made. The journey of the African Queen had begun a new chapter.

And this time, it wasn’t bound for the dust of Kenya, but the workshop of my heart, in Stuttgart.

BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS

GREAT THINGS NEVER COME FROM COMFORT ZONES

PROTECT ME FROM WHAT I WANT

Originally, this phrase was emblazoned on the legendary BMW V12 LMR Art Car — bold, provocative, true. In our family, over the years, it became a kind of running gag. A mantra always quoted whenever I got hooked on a project that common sense should have warned me against.

Yet: I just couldn’t help myself.

Time and again, vehicles found their way to me and I couldn’t escape them. Ruins, rust, battered dreams, wrecks with history. And they all had one thing in common — after the initial thrill of discovery came the bitter reality. The condition was catastrophic, the to-do list endless and the euphoria quickly gave way to a quiet premonition of what lay ahead.

What at first seemed like a solvable challenge often turned into a nerve-racking nightmare.

And so I spent many nights in the workshop, surrounded by parts, plans and doubts — exhausted, dirty, overwhelmed — asking myself: “Why didn’t anyone stop me?”The answer never came from outside. But deep inside, I already knew it. Because these projects aren’t born out of reason — but out of passion.

Because great things never come from comfort zones. And sometimes, we need exactly what we are not protected from.

DISASSEMBLY

FEBRUARY 2011

From the first bolt I loosened, I sensed this would be no ordinary project.

No sooner had I opened the first panels than fine, red desert sand began to pour out — African dust trapped in every nook and hollow of a car that once raced across Kenya’s tracks. It was as if history itself seeped from the pores.

But the romance quickly faded.

What was revealed next was the true face of an “African restoration.”

And the humor I had initially found in the sand would be the last for a long time.

I had long been puzzled by the strange surface of the paint but had drastically underestimated it.

A fatal mistake. Because what lay on the outer skin was no ordinary paint. It was a tough, nearly impenetrable epoxy layer up to a millimeter thick, a resin armor. Even the angle grinder struggled to remove the sticky, resilient material.

And as expected, the bodywork became a nightmare.

But giving up was no option. I didn’t want the easy way — no new body, no quick fix. I wanted to save what could be saved. The original substance, the heart that made this Alpine the African Queen.

So there was only one way: surgical precision. What couldn’t be saved was cut out. With trembling hands and a

sweat-drenched brow, replaced piece by piece with new parts. But not everything was hopeless.

The chassis — a time capsule full of surprises. Reinforcements on the frame, quick jack mounts at the rear, drilled hubs and steering knuckles from the 1600SC. Reinforced MAROC-type wishbones, fiberglass underbody protection, a sturdy aluminum skid plate — all signs this car was once built for bigger things. Every bolt, every discovery was a mixture of curse and fascination. A fight. But also a vow: I will bring you back to life.

BODY WORK

JANUARY 2012

SHAPING

It was the moment when a wreck was to become a Berlinette again. No more theory, no more planning — now it was about substance, form, line. And the passion that can’t be measured, only felt.

Some areas of the body were simply beyond saving — corroded, cracked, marked by African sun and rally dust. So I cut out what could no longer be healed and replaced it with fresh, honest structure. No compromises. Only consistency.

The dashboard, once mutilated by careless drillings, was closed — every hole a silent scream now finally silenced.

New plywood sheets were laminated into the floor with steady hands, just as the A110 originally demanded, when Dieppe still built with feeling.

The iconic “Ailes Bulles” — those curved rally fenders shaped by wind — were adjusted, bolted, positioned.

Only temporary, but already a promise of what was to come.

The roof — a construction of two fiberglass shells — was also beyond saving. The inner one had to be replaced.

A sweat-inducing operation.

For the headliner with its typical rice-grain texture, I searched for months, asked in dark corners of the Citroën world, bargained, hoped — until finally, with luck and persistence, I tracked down the original foamed material.

The hardcore rally-typical underbody protection with raised fiberglass rocker panels, rough, utilitarian, uncompromising — was no longer available anywhere. So I built it myself.

The original, corroded part served as a template. I shaped, laminated, sanded — layer by layer — until the part was back — raw, honest, ready for anything. The aluminum fuel tank, a tried and trusted companion, finally disappeared into its original place behind custom-made fiberglass molds. Perfectly fitted. Perfectly hidden.

Some purists might object — no flexible aircraft tank like the original, no nitromethane-filled myth. But this car will race no more. No mud, no dust, no gravel seas. So I chose a solution that’s not only safer but also more durable.

Because sometimes authenticity doesn’t mean blindly copying, but carrying the spirit of the original into the future.

POWERTRAIN

MAY 2012

THE WEDDING

It was one of those magical moments when time holds its breath for an instant.

The day heart and body reunited, the moment the engine was hoisted back into the body.

The wedding.

From the outside, the motor might look unassuming, almost stock. But a closer look reveals traces of lived history, details that tell stories. Reinforcement plates, roughly and resolutely welded onto the axle crossmember, where Kenyan tracks once pushed every shock absorber to its limits.

No beauty, but pure necessity. Authentic. Real.

The coolant lines also betray, here was work done, adaptations made, survival lived — they don’t follow the geometry of a production car but the logic of rally survival.

At its heart now beats a newly rebuilt 1796 cc racing engine. Not wild screaming, but pure, disciplined power. Nearly 175 hp — handpicked, hand-refined. The jewel beneath, a welded Mignotet oil pan with cooling fins, a relic from golden factory days, a greeting from the era when Alpine challenged the big players.

The transmission — a Type 364 — resists the power with strong universal joints and massive axle shafts. The Monte Carlo gear ratio? Mandatory. No discussion.

But it went further. A light aluminum flywheel, a biting sintered metal clutch — upgrades that give the engine the lightness that makes it sing, when it spins, when it lives, when it flies.

The technology: upgraded.

The character: preserved.

The soul: untouchable.

That day, not just an engine was installed. That day, life returned.

PAINTWORK

JUNE 2012

BLUE MAGIC

Sometimes no long explanations are needed.

Sometimes just one glance — at this paint, this blue, this shimmer — says it all.

Alpine Metallic Blue. Not just any shade. Not just any blue. But a promise. A legend.

Just as red belongs to Ferrari, this blue is the soul of the Berlinette — radiant, lively, electrifying.

The paint flows over the body lines like liquid light. It embraces every curve, every contour — not loud, not gaudy,

but with the quiet elegance only true classics possess.

Even the dashboard, always a tricky matter, now shines in a matte, deep black. It was a battle against dust, temperature and material — and it was won. Flawlessly.

The fenders were painted individually, piece by piece, to later be riveted to the body like armor with countless blind rivets. Technology meets poetry.

And then there’s that look.

Under the headlights, black rings — rough, determined, full of character.

A bit dark, a bit wicked — Alice Cooper would have loved them.

She is not just beautiful.

She is dangerously beautiful.

And she proudly carries her name: African Queen.

REASSEMBLY

AUGUST 2012

DETAILS MAKE THE DIFFERENCE

Slowly but surely, the Safari A110 takes shape again. But what now becomes visible is more than just a body,

more than a restored car. These are the special genes that make this Berlinette so unique.

The searchlight, prominently mounted on the right front passenger side, is not just a source of light — it’s a symbol of the adventures this machine has lived through.

A testament to courage and perseverance on the toughest rally stages of Africa.

The special jack mounts on the rear door sill tell of a construction designed for quick, rugged use.

The riveted “Ailes Bulles” fenders, expressive and unmistakable, give her the strength and presence of a true fighter.

Grab handles from the R8, a sturdy step at the rear, reinforced hubs and steering knuckles up front — every single detail shouts: This Berlinette was not built for the road.

It was made for hard use, rough terrain, the impossible.

This is no story of standard. It’s a story of passion, of challenge, and of the unshakable will to keep history alive. This Safari A110 is more than a car — it is a myth reborn.

BACK ON TRACK

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

OCTOBER 2012

With the former racing number 54, proudly adorned in the legendary Safari Rally 1975 livery,

the once presumed-dead Safari A110 of Rob Glen comes back to life.

Her muscular wheel arches stand like powerful bulges radiating strength and determination without losing an ounce of her incomparable elegance.

The Alpine Blue caresses her contours, shimmering seductively in the warm light of the low autumn sun, a play of colors that captivates the eye and touches the soul.

One gets lost in the countless small details that make this Berlinette a true one-off, a living testimony of bygone times, carried by history and passion.

And suddenly, all those sweat-drenched hours, the arduous setbacks, and the long restoration journey seem erased — overwhelmed by this breathtaking, vibrant sight.

Mission accomplished.

A dream has become reality.

The Safari A110 lives — stronger and more beautiful than ever.

GET OUT AND DRIVE

SPRING AWAKENING

MAY 2013

MAY MAKES ALL THINGS NEW

The merry month of May — a celebration of life, a nature awakening. It stands for departure,

for new beginnings, for the pulsating promise that everything will bloom again.

At last, the time has come. After long winter months spent curing some childhood illnesses,

the Safari Queen feels asphalt beneath her tires again.

The blooming nature embraces her, the sky shines in deepest blue, the sun gives her warm light —

a perfect stage for her grand appearance before the camera.

With every meter she travels, her spirit comes alive, filled with freedom and untamed passion.

Bonne route, Queen of the Safari — the journey has only just begun.

CAR IN DETAIL

CLOSE UP

MAY 2013

From a distance, details blur — they almost get lost in the big picture, become nearly insignificant. Just like the memories of the countless hours, the exhausting, nerve-wracking bodywork that once loomed like a mountain before me.

But let us come closer, feel the surface, dare a closer look.

Thoughts wander back, linger on the completed work, bring the whole journey to life again —

all the challenges, setbacks, the long road full of effort and doubt.

No doubt it was this Berlinette that challenged me more than any other — a masterpiece that pushed me to the limits of endurance and ability, and at the same time fueled my indomitable will.

REUNION - MAN & MACHINE

MAY 2013

Rob Glen, former owner and brave driver of the Safari Queen, embarked in May 2013 on the long journey from Tanzania to stand once more before his legendary rally car.

A reunion full of emotion, the driver who knew the heart of the engine and the machine that shared countless adventures with him.

He brought stories, lively anecdotes from the golden era of rally sport, memories of dust, adrenaline, and unwavering fighting spirit.

A moment where past and present merge, man and machine united by passion and time.