One tries not to fall into stereotype. To not spin about the lamp post, “Bellissima!” ringing from your lungs. One tries to avoid gesticulating unnecessarily, working your shoulders in such a way that prompts others to ask if you need to stretch. One tries not laugh in the same way that leads you to cry from the joy of the moment. Or to not fill one’s lungs only to sigh the blissful exhalation of overflowing contentment.
One tries.
But one fails.
On a warm summer Saturday, a friend and I had the privilege to travel in a 1970 Alfa Romeo Giulia Super Biscione. I had it in my head to incorporate this post with that morning’s visit to Canepa, or attempt to compare the Alfa to today’s sports sedans, but this car deserves a mention all its own.
Every shuffle of the wheel, every swing of the pedals, every sweep of the shifter takes you away from modern distractions and into the dream that is vintage motoring. Every touchpoint in the vehicle opens a dialogue in a language many have forgotten.
After you’ve learned the polite way to engage first gear, you find yourself marveling at the tactility of the gearbox. Shifting encourages a deliberate cadence, and after a while it feels like every component, from your shoulder to your finger tips, down to the shift-forks are one. Engagement of third gear is reminiscent of setting down a goblet of wine.
The draw through the solid wheel reminds you there were once people who cared about firm handshakes. The weight changes in linear response to what you ask of the front tires. Navigating switchbacks requires two hands. You’ll shuffle the unassisted wheel through the curves if only to feel the constant feedback.
By now you’ve realized this is not a car to be rushed, because there’s no reason to. You start leaving extra room in front of you so as to avoid using the brakes. Rather, you peel off the throttle, savoring the arc of the clutch pedal twice while guiding the shifter to a lower gear, before once again pouring the music of twin Webers into the cabin.
Che Bella!
If the situation called for it, one could pilot the Giulia Super with haste. After all, what better car to chase rapscallion Mini Coopers? Certainly none are more classy. But this is not a Point A to Point B vehicle. This kind is for the line between those two points. A curvaceous, passionate, flowing, rhythmic line. In the Alfa, the destination becomes irrelevant. It is but a rest, a stop, a finite thing that you needn’t hurtle toward.
Here, in this car, you’re reminded of the joy in the journey. You relax, you slow, you take things in. You’re not fumbling with the active cruise control, warring with the Bluetooth pairing, or vying for supremacy in the left lane.
You’re just touring the world, taking it all in through the amazing visibility. With four windows down and the quarter-lights tilted you remain part of the surroundings, not a triple-digit speeding nonmember trying to bend the space between borders. The burble of the twin cam, the firm controls, the supple suspension, and even the heat-defying, cloth bucket seats blend so lovely in a package that’s nearly impossible to walk away from.
To fall in love with a car is such a rare thing to do. Some mistake the lust for performance as the same thing. But much like the on-paper figures of today become the outmoded yawners of tomorrow, so too will any commitment based on numbers.
No, this is an emotional one. You can’t help but exclaim joyously as the motor builds revs, to smile as the wheel slowly unwinds in your hands exiting a bend, to breathe a sigh of serenity coming into top gear as you merge onto the motorway.
It was the gloomiest moment having to return the Alfa. That said, my friend and I are without the space to properly care for such a wonderful car, and I’d die before subjecting this beauty to the ruffians in my neighborhood. But should you find yourself yearning for such simple pleasures, reach out to the folks at Euro Classix, based in San Francisco. The Giulia here, and other Italian gems like it, are waiting to accompany you on that adventure you’re so badly needing. At the very least, you’ll get a break from today’s barrage of Supercars, and whet your appetite for a real Super…car.
Ciao!