In France, Renault isn’t just a car manufacturer—it’s part of the national fabric. Where Americans might tell tales of Mustang summers or GT40 glory, the French reminisce about Gordinis, Alpines, and the audacious R5 Turbo. Of them all, the Renault Maxi 5 stands out as perhaps the wildest embodiment of Renault’s racing spirit: a Group B demon, both revered and rare.
So when my friend Arnaud, a lifelong collector of mechanical marvels, called me up with a whisper of a legend buried in the Bordeaux countryside, I didn’t hesitate. Four cars. One of them a bona fide Maxi 5. The others—replicas, yes, but not mere imitations. One in particular, the work of a man named Christian Poumeri, promised something extraordinary.
I jumped into my Porsche 944 and made my way south.
The Firestarter
Christian’s car wasn’t just restored. It was reborn. Reimagined. Rebuilt from scratch. The first time he tried to start it, it literally went up in flames. Not metaphorically—actual flames. Fire extinguishers. Chaos. Many would’ve walked away. But Christian didn’t. He picked up the pieces, quite literally, and began again.
That’s who he is. Former rally driver. Detail fanatic. Sharp-tongued and sharp-minded. A man of the old school who once hurled through rally stages with his wife Annick calling pace notes from the passenger seat. Now, decades later, he had poured his soul into recreating the icon of his youth—not to copy it, but to honor it.
I arrived to sunshine and a gleam of nostalgia. The first car I saw: a pristine Turbo 1 in a radiant blue, its red interior flawless. Then came the real unicorn—a Maxi 5 still on the lift, bearing the livery of the 1985 Rallye des Cévennes, number 8, driven by Touren and Neyron. This was no replica. This was history on wheels, untouched by time.
And then, the masterpiece: Christian’s replica. Though replica is a word that barely does it justice.
The DNA of a Legend
To understand the Maxi 5 is to travel back to 1980, when Renault launched “Project 822.” The goal? Turn the humble R5—called “Le Car” in America—into a mid-engined, turbocharged monster. Four-wheel drive was considered but dismissed as too expensive. Instead, they shoved the engine behind the front seats, gave it fat fenders and wild colors, and called it done.
Well, not quite.
The 1.4-liter Cléon Fonte engine from the R5 Alpine got a turbocharger and a second life. Designers like Marc Deschamps and Marcello Gandini injected sci-fi flair inside and out. François Castaing, who’d later help design the Dodge Viper, had a hand in the engineering. By the time the Turbo 2 rolled around in 1983, Renault had created something truly unhinged. And then came the Maxi in 1985: more power, more grip, more madness.
With 350 horsepower squeezed from a 1.6-liter engine, Formula 1-derived turbo management, a six-light grille, and tires that looked borrowed from an aircraft, the Maxi 5 was the final form of Renault’s Group B dreams. Only 15 were ever completed—true unicorns, never meant for the street. Jean Ragnotti’s victory at the 1985 Tour de Corse cemented its legacy.
This year marks that win’s 40th anniversary. The 2025 Tour de Corse Historique is set to celebrate it in full. And fittingly, Christian’s car might just be there, howling in tribute.
A Rally Brotherhood
Christian’s build wasn’t solitary. He had help from two key figures: coachbuilder Christian Chaminade, and former World Rally Championship co-driver Patrick Pivato.
Patrick’s résumé is steeped in rally folklore. He called his first pace notes at age 12. Raced his first rally in an Opel Kadett GTE at 18. Eventually, he made it all the way to the WRC. “The racing was stressful,” he told me. “But the recces? That’s when we really drove fast.” He remembers hiding notes in plastic bags tied to roadside guardrails. Planning tire logistics. Writing stagebooks like screenplays.
In 2008, it nearly ended. A crash during Rally Japan left him gravely injured. He walked away, barely. But with Christian, he found a new calling.
The Resurrection
Christian began with a Turbo 1 shell, chosen specifically for its aluminum roof. Matter France installed a full roll cage and structural reinforcements. The engine—a blend of Turbo 1 origins with Maxi-level upgrades—was tuned to perfection. The gearbox? Dog engagement. Custom gears. Electronically controlled injection and ignition hid beneath period-correct aesthetics.
The body was crafted in Kevlar and carbon fiber. Each panel hand-molded, sanded, waxed, cast, and polished. Six times over. A labor of love, sweat, and obsession. Annick helped throughout, adding a tender touch to this mechanical symphony.
And then—the fire.
A faulty injector seal turned their years of effort into a smoldering disaster. Worse, the fire extinguisher’s powder was corrosive. Within hours, the engine bay was rusting. Patrick remembers the despair. Christian nearly gave up.
But he didn’t.
They tore it down. Cleaned. Repainted. Rewired. Rebuilt. What emerged isn’t a clone. It isn’t a museum piece. It’s a living, breathing rally beast. One that might not have left the Dieppe factory, but could’ve.
The Dream Realized
Now the car is finished. Carlos Sainz’s 1986 Spanish livery gleams under the sun. The engine snarls with purpose. Every line, every bolt, every panel speaks to the passion of men who refused to let history fade.
Christian, Patrick, and Christian Chaminade—each brought something irreplaceable. Together, they didn’t just build a car. They built a story. One made of fire, faith, and forty years of rally bloodline.
And now, the dream is ready to roar.
