Liang Hongfu

One man's ode to a long-gone Alfa Romeo

By Hong Liang (China Daily)
Updated: 2007-02-06 07:58

One recent weekend, I drove my friend's car to Nanxiang, a county near Shanghai. In that hour-long drive to Nanxiang, I was amazed at how easy and comfortable it was to control a modern car. That was a particularly striking experience as I haven't driven a car for almost 10 years.

Cocooned in the sheer luxury of heated leather-upholstered seats, thick-piled carpets and shiny wood trim, and with the multi-speaker high-fi system playing Mozart's piano concertos with gusto, both driver and passengers were well isolated from road bumps and wind noise.

Engine noise never rose above a murmur, even under hard acceleration, and the automatic system shifted gears with such finesse that each change was smoothly accomplished. I couldn't help but asked myself: What more could you want from a car?

The answer is passion. I just didn't feel that I was driving because so much of the dynamics of the car was controlled by the built-in silicon chips. There was a sense of detachment which took the fun out of the driving experience.

I remembered the pre-owned Italian sports car which I bought shortly after I got married. It was a yellow Alfa Romeo 1600 GT Junior, built sometime in the early 1970s. The car looked absolutely gorgeous from a distance. But on closer inspection, it was easy to spot the dreadful bubbles in the paintwork and rust marks on the window and door ledges.

Climbing into the cockpit presented a challenge. The foot pedals were offset a little to the right in our right-hand drive car. It seemed to be designed for drivers with long arms, short legs and slightly slanted body frames.

All was forgiven once we learned to cope with the car's awkward driving position and started to do some serious driving. The clutch was light and bit surely and progressively when released. The short-throw gearshift was precise and buttery smooth. Braking was adequate and the throttle was responsive, although the car was no speed demon even in its day.

Thanks to its suspension firm and harsh by today's standards the Alfa was a blast to drive on Hong Kong's many narrow, twisting roads. Double-clutching to downshift in overtaking or negotiating tight corners at speed was a pleasure rather than a chore.

It was always noisy in the cockpit when the car was in motion. Every road bump was not only felt but also heard. Wind noise could be obtrusive even with the windows closed. But all these distractions paled into insignificance against the sonorous sound of the throaty carburetors and the growling exhaust pipes that sang together in harmony to excite and inspire the enthusiasts.

Like every true car guy in those days, I dutifully performed the Sunday ritual of fine-tuning the twin carburetors with near religious fervor.

While the engine and other moving parts were holding up pretty well, the body of the Alfa was starting to fall apart less than six months after I bought it. The first to go was an under-penal in the left fender. It was promptly welded back into place. Then the radiator had to be replaced after a leak was found.

One evening as I was getting out of the car, the door on the driver's side fell off. There was no way to fix it because the part of the frame on which it was bolted was too corroded. The mechanics at the garage did the only thing they could: welding the entire door to the body.

Despite the problems, it never occurred to either one of us that perhaps we should simply junk the Alfa. We sold it only because we had to move overseas for a new posting.

I have owned and driven numerous cars in many different countries since. But I still miss my perky and erratic Alfa. It was fun to drive.

In building better and safer cars, manufacturers seem to have computerized the fun factor out of driving. That's a pity.

(China Daily 02/06/2007 page10)