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Classic Cars | Roots
Words by Carlo Brema / Photo by Giorgia Rossi
Everything is different with a vintage car. It almost feels like entering a parallel dimension where sounds become noises, smells turn to fragrances and sensations are transformed into emotions. Just from that small metallic key in your hand, you can predict you won’t have to fiddle with thousands of buttons in front of a hyper-technological screen ready to satisfy even the slightest entertainment habit. You bought a branded keychain and without even realizing it you also wear a baseball cap with the logo of the car, almost as if to emphasize how much attachment a more important relationship than usual needs. No choice is random here. Once you open the garage door, she’s there. It almost seemed like she was waiting for you, but nothing is granted here, you don’t even know if within a few minutes you will be on the road running around freely – first you have to start it.
And it is precisely here that a vintage car shows you how it is better to use them often, rather than to be tucked away collecting dust, thinking that to cover it with an expensive anti-dust towel will be enough in order to show how much you love it. When the engine comes to life you’re assaulted by a noise without any kind of filter, a little smoke comes out of the exhaust, but it is standard procedure. You have to keep the revs up at least until you think you can exclude the starter and while you close the garage door behind you, you can hear it muttering, almost for the excitement waiting for this ride together. How many times you look at those lines so far from modern cars, all those chrome profiles that represent torture and delight of every enthusiast, as much as that internal combustion jewel that leaves a few drops of oil along the road, as if they were breadcrumbs ready to mark today’s journey. And it is precisely here that the beauty comes, that is the possibility of driving without the need to go for a specific destination, the pleasure of leaving and enjoy that fateful journey, perhaps with the window down so as to amplify the roar of the engine – yes, because even if you deal with a modest four-cylinder, it will stand out quite a bit, in spite of all the filters and the mechanical boundaries we have to face today.
The steering wheel is delicate but pretty hard to maneuver, especially when stationary and while the keychain intermittently hits the dashboard, you are focused on engaging the gears through the long and thin gear lever, playing decisively with the three pedals and trying to get out from the city traffic so to loosen the reins as the road opens and in front of you there is the necessary space to make the engine scream as it should. You will also have your hands dirty with grease and oil (almost certainly), petrol consumption has increased tenfold compared to a contemporary engine of similar dimensions, but do you really care? The beauty lies in the mechanical relationship between man and machine, in that continuous dialogue between trembling needles that hint to give you precise indications, but you’ve got used to it and you’ve learned to recognize every noise, every smell, a bit like that of petrol that inevitably vents from the engine bay and enters into the cockpit. It is not enough to be simple enthusiasts, the relationship with a historic car is often conflicting and sometimes can bring you very close to the breaking point, but you know very well that everything that breaks can be repaired and is often much easier than you think.
There’s some road to travel ahead, so you decide to stop a couple of times and meanwhile the sun begins to weaken and crouch behind the horizon. The lights illuminate up to a few meters in front of you, but the nightfall seems to further amplify the mumbling of the engine, catapulting you to the center of a deserted road that belongs to the most uncontaminated desire for freedom. Once again everything went fine, you only had to open the hood once and for a routine check, just because these old ladies are spoiled and continuously ask for attention. Once you get home, you maneuver and reach the main entrance, destination garage. Not an evil garage though, but one of those that serve to keep it safe, far from the monotony of certain working weeks and waiting for another drive able to lighten your soul. You linger a moment before turning the engine off, almost as if you were still snorting the last few grunts, then you turn the key and stay a few more minutes in a silence broken by those typical ticking that mark the end of another extraordinary day. Close the door, which is light and always not very accurate in aligning with the other panels and after a few useful hours for cooling down exhaust and bonnet, you come back in the garage to put the cover on and say good night to the lovely old lady. Everything, absolutely everything is different with a vintage car. Everything is much more special.
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