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My Indy Back to Life
My love for Maserati dates back many years ago, to the middle of the Eighties. Growing up in Modena made it much easier, the factory was a landmark for virtually everything: for directions we used to say “at the Maserati roundabout” or “at the Maserati bridge”, to convey the idea of power “it runs like a Maserati”, to get the idea of beauty simply say “like a Maserati”.
Maserati touched my heart in every respect when I was a child. I remember seeing Biturbos and Quattroporte IIIs driving around, and a Ghibli next door to us, a blue one: a sight of haunting beauty that made me hold my breath for countless times. A close family friend had a very early car, it looked so big at that time, but so tiny today. At one point my father suggested it was time to change the family car and I didn’t wait a second, it had to be a Maserati Quattroporte IV. I was really that close to accomplish my dream but fate held me away once more from the Trident: Mercedes had a more solid and reliable reputation, though immensely boring. But that was it. I was to wait several more years.
I matured among classic cars, mainly Fiats, Alfas and 1970s Rolls which I absolutely adored in the two-door versions. I felt, however,I was missing something. The Rolls coupe were impressive pieces of engineering, but inside the driver’s door I couldn’t feel the human passion for car design. They looked so beautiful, aseptically beautiful. Times were mature to see if that childhood feeling was still there. At the time I didn’t know much of Maserati, mainly Biturbos because they were so common. My first choice was a Sebring Series 2, silver with blue interiors, but I didn’t have the budget. I tried to negotiate a 1967 Quattroporte, a one-family owner car. Willing to spend all my savings, I engaged in a passionate face-to-face negotiation but eventually a dealer came along, and some more euros made all the difference. I had to deploy all of my fire power: after selling all the Rolls I got back to the market place and got a Mexico 4.7, the last but one ever delivered. The story behind the car was amazing and so charming, nothing like that would have ever happened to a Rolls’s owner. I soon realised that you don’t decide to buy a Maserati, when the time is right a Maserati finds you. Looking deep into the car you can almost hear its past. Staring at the odometer I got the feeling of its 32,000 kms spent between Terni and Rome before the death of its old gentleman owner. After him neglect arrived and for my silver Mexico the doors of time were suddenly closed. The mechanical restoration was long and very demanding, but its first meters after the engine was rebuilt moved me to tears. I was finally able to properly take her back to the roads she knew. My first trip was to Acquasparta, to her first and so far only home, driving through the little alleys, listening to the roaring V8 was the best reward I could have ever longed for.
Like my Iso Rivolta needed a Lele to share the garage with, my Mexico needed a….Indy. I looked for a nice example for restoration. It wasn’t easy: some were incredibly expensive, some too difficult to save, I was almost discouraged from my purpose. But I don’t give up easily. Searching websites, magazines, ads and social networks was my hobby. The Indy had to be somewhere there, I knew she was and was ready to grab her, although she didn’t seem to be in a hurry!
Then a friend was looking for spare parts and I helped him find them on a website with some cars for sale as well. That must have been my lucky day, there was an Indy sitting in the cyberspace, only a handful of kilometres away from me. The first visit was astonishing. The Indy’s brightness faded for a few seconds. She sat among my childhood car posters: Miura, 275GTB, 288GTO, Countach were all there in flesh and bones. Wait a minute, what am I here for? Where am I? It was slightly confusing, I stand in the most beautiful toy store on earth. I had to take a few seconds to collect myself and get back to earth. A green cover hid the Indy, but its feline shape was about to take the leap. I looked beneath the cover and she winked. After checking her out, the first impression wasn’t overwhelming, grey over black isn’t really the best colour combo. When I see a classic super car I usually find myself lost in it, looking for hints that can shed light into its life. For this one there were many which got me to the conclusion that she had happy life but time had come for a complete restoration. The leather showed the classic signs of wear, the chromes were begging for attention, its 70,000 kms seemed just about right; steering wheel, pedals and carpets were just what I would expect from a car with that mileage. The Indy sat there, door to door to a Dino 246, ready to take the leap and I was determined to make it possible.
Indy, my German Shepard, was about 5 months old when she passed the threshold of her new home on the trailer. He still barked at her, a four-wheeled Indy was something to be jealous of!
I spent hours and hours looking at her trying to decide whether I should change the colour or leave it silver. Once you restore a car, I believe you should always try to “restore” it to as close to the factory standards as possible. It would never be better than that, it would be a car that never existed, sharing only the chassis number but not its soul.
I called my friend Fabio at Maserati Classiche asking what was the original colour for this Indy. I honestly hoped that this was not silver, back in 1969 I couldn’t believe that the man who ordered it new chose grey over black. Fabio answered:“oro metallizzato”. It was the right colour! Those two words made me happy, I started looking at it as if it were gold already. It was a really wonderful colour, I even bought the original Glidden Salchi colour cans in case my painter was unable to find the correct mix.
Before beginning a total restoration I strongly believe it’s advisable to source parts in advance. The D-Day arrived and I started the hard work of dismantling the interiors, seats, carpets, dashboard, gauges. The last thing I took off was the steering wheel, a car with no steering is pointless so it had to be the very last part to leave the cockpit.
It was then time for the engine, gearbox, rear axles, suspensions until an empty (though beautiful) shell was left.
I followed closely the operations at the body shop, nothing had to be left unexplained or unspoken. Compared to my previous restoration of a De Tomaso Deauville, the Indy was as smooth as I expected it to be. Windshield gaskets, bumpers, doors, pop up lights, boot lid, they all easily found their way back into the car. I must admit that the Indy, even when naked and stripped to bare metal, has possibly some of the most charming lines ever designed to host a Trident engine. Virtually perfect proportions, sinuous curves, sharp details, subtle and elegant chrome parts. Simply charming.
The interior was completely restored to its former glory preserving the original leather, with a great deal of attention to make sure the feeling inside stayed as it was meant to be since the beginning of its days.
Now the mechanics are all back in the car, new brakes, shock absorbers, Ansa exhaust, tires, carburettors waiting to pull the Indy to the centre stage and cruise through the roads of passion and glory.
Restoring an Italian sixties and seventies supercar is a trip through the unknown, anything could happen and that’s the unbeatable thrilling side of it. In the restoration process of my Lambos, Maseratis, Isos the best thing was to make them the way I wanted, the way I wanted them to be. Once it’s done, it lives on its own wheels, and the road is longing to see her flashing by.
Words by Manuel Bordini
Photo by Marius Hanin
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