"The thing I'll never forget is the sheer anger I felt that we did not have the helicopter to be able to go and help them, as we'd had in the past," says Ninni Russo, Lancia team manager at the time. "But that year, President Balestre at the FIA had decided that we weren't allowed to fly over the cars to provide assistance, because he thought this would give the factory cars too much of an advantage over the privateers. As if a private car could have challenged for the top six anyway! I was furious: I wanted to find Balestre straight after the accident to shout at him about his stupid decision. Everyone sensibly stopped me from doing that; in the end it was [sporting director] Cesare Fiorio who went to meet him at the Campo dell'Oro hotel in Ajaccio that evening. From that conversation, the Group A concept was born which replaced Group B in 1987."
It's hard to know if the Lancia helicopter would have been able to help Toivonen and Cresto, but Russo's raw frustration stems from the fact that he wasn't even able to try. Alen was the second person on the scene, having started the stage behind the Peugeot 205 T16 of Bruno Saby (which would go on to win the rally). An hour or so earlier, Alen had left the Lancia motorhome parked in Corte where he and Toivonen had both grabbed some sleep, a commodity that was generally lacking in world rallying throughout the '80s. "I said to Henri before we went out, 'You've got three minutes in your pocket, there's no need to push now,— recounts Markku. "But Henri was always pushing. It's just how he was. On that day, there was nothing different about him."
As soon as Alen saw the black oil smoke, even before he got to the corner, he knew that there was little to be done. He stopped straight away, just as he had done the day before when his Peugeot rival Timo Salonen went off, luckily without consequence. Alen's co-driver Ilka Kivimaki tried to scramble down the valley to where the car had landed but was beaten back by the gradient and the heat. Alen — who would go on to become World Champion for just 11 days later that year, before the results from the Sanremo Rally were scrubbed — says he actually remembers very little about the immeasurable time that he was wandering helplessly by the side of the road: the human mind's natural defence mechanism against traumatic events. "It was terrible, I recall just feeling that," he remembers. "We had maybe 70 kilograms of fuel on board and magnesium wheels: there was no chance. All the cars were like bombs back then. We'll never know what happened to Henri and Sergio and even if we did it doesn't change anything. We all lost two friends as well as an amazing driver that day."
Russo, too, was one of the last people to see Toivonen and Cresto alive. "I find it hard to put into words," he says. "But most of all I remember them both being happy and serene at the start of the stage. And this is how I want to remember them, with that last image I have." It's the image that the photo on the memorial until recently depicted: Henri smiling at the camera after one of his many successes, Sergio relaxed and at ease. The snapshot may be fading, but the memories endure. That corner on the D18 has become an established place of pilgrimage, but one person who has not been so far is Harri Toivonen. "I have not felt ready yet, but I want to go and I will do," says Harri. "As long as people keep remembering him, it means that Henri will never really die."