ALLEGGERITA MODIFICATA

Far from the curbs and the stopwatches, the Monzeglio stands as one of the last bastions of a world that is steadily fading away. It recalls an era when the seemingly impossible became reality through the unwavering determination and total dedication of individuals who dared to challenge the giants, confronting them with the fruits of their own hard work, often crafted in small, humble workshops.

Words and Photos by Alessandro Marrone

There is something inexplicable about the constant pursuit of something we can never truly possess. Goals rather than destinations. It is ambition, desire, the dreams we spend a lifetime chasing. Yet the very moment we achieve that long-awaited sense of fulfillment, we barely have time to savour it before the flame that had burned so fiercely only an instant earlier has already leapt toward the next impossible dream. It is a feeling that never grants us peace, an ancient torment etched deep into our bones—so deeply, in fact, that we eventually accept it can never be defeated. And so the cycle begins again, until we realise that what truly matters is not the destination itself, but everything that lies between. Just as with any journey, it is the road to that place we have idealised so completely that it begins to feel like a hidden fragment of the astral plane (if you’re into that sort of thing, you’ll know exactly what I mean).

The same is true of cars, of course. Who am I to say otherwise—in 2026, after more than a century of mankind dedicating itself to perfecting mobility? Faster, safer, more efficient—I completely agree. But where do emotions fit into the equation? Those seem to have been left behind quite some time ago, and not just by a few years. No, I have no intention of sounding like the stereotypical nostalgic who wishes he’d lived through the glorious 1960s and ’70s while dismissing the engineering masterpieces that now propel us to extraordinary speeds with little more effort than the “trained monkeys” famously mentioned by Niki Lauda when describing modern Formula 1 cars. Even so, allow me the benefit of the doubt when I say that I believe a true sports car should be defined by more than adrenaline and outright speed. It should also deliver that thrilling sense of uncertainty—behaviour that can sometimes be unpredictable, yet is always unmistakably mechanical.

We have become orphans of cars that assault you with noises coming from the chassis, cars that make you sweat even in the middle of winter, cars that refuse to forgive mistakes and demand your respect unless you want your drive to end in a ditch. That hint of fear makes us feel alive, but above all it reminds us that we are never entirely in control of the machine beneath us—let alone when it is not merely a sporting road car, but a machine conceived and built for racing. This is serious business. The readings on my internal automotive ecstasy meter shoot off the scale the moment I find myself standing before a 1971 Giulia GTAm.

Not just any GTAm, either. This very car has been an obsession of mine for the past decade, ever since Paolo and Matteo brought it to one of the earliest editions of our Classic Run (back when it was still called the Gentlemen’s Run, editor’s note). The bright sunshine of that day has given way to the timid light of a late winter afternoon, yet everything unfolds exactly as I had imagined. First comes the unmistakable roar of the 1,985cc engine, and only then does that unmistakable yellow silhouette emerge. It is outrageously wide, impossibly low—so much so that it almost seems out of place on a public road. A moment later it crackles on the overrun and burbles away until Paolo switches off the engine, leaving nothing but the hum of the cooling fan and the metallic ticking of the exhaust as it settles into silence.

I first met Paolo ten years ago, shortly after he had completed his Giulia GTAm—a painstakingly faithful recreation inspired by the colours and spirit of Scuderia Monzeglio. Although far less famous than Alfa Romeo’s official racing arm, Autodelta, the Monzeglio name earned remarkable success on the Italian racing scene, claiming numerous victories including the CSAI Group 4 Cup with the GTA 1600, the Group 2 2000-class title with the GTAm, and even the Italian Group 2 Championship with the GTA 1300. As fate would have it, Renato Monzeglio was born in Vignale Monferrato in 1921, just a couple of kilometres from where we find ourselves today—and from where Paolo still lives. After moving to Milan at a young age, he qualified as an engine technician and, following the Second World War, opened his own workshop, which quickly became a point of reference for anyone involved in the world of motorsport.

Throughout the 1960s his business continued to grow, initially working on cars such as the Lancia Aurelia before moving on to the Fulvia Coupé, with which he achieved impressive results in prestigious events including the Targa Florio. His relationship with Alfa Romeo became official in 1967, when his workshop was appointed an authorised dealership. From that moment onward, Monzeglio focused more and more of his attention on the Alfa GTA. His operation expanded to the point where it evolved into a fully-fledged racing team, complete with an engine dyno room and an ever-growing staff. The results spoke for themselves, earning him a reputation as the “small tuner” capable of frightening the factory-backed teams.

As technology advanced and motorsport became increasingly sophisticated, Monzeglio eventually chose to retire during the 1980s, closing his workshop and returning to his hometown. Among enthusiasts, he is remembered for his overwhelming passion, technical ingenuity and extraordinary ability to achieve outstanding results despite limited resources. There is another curious detail, too: one of Renato Monzeglio’s granddaughters is the cousin of Paolo’s wife, making Paolo’s bond with this yellow GTAm something even more personal than the affection he feels for the many other cars in his remarkable collection.

At last, the silence of the hills is broken. The Giulia has come back to life. The four-cylinder idles with the precision of a Swiss watch, and the slightest touch of the throttle sends the rev counter needle soaring as though fired from a slingshot. Weighing in at just around 940 kilograms, the GTAm is astonishingly light, yet its Toyo Proxes R888 semi-slick tyres cling to the tarmac like suction cups, making low-speed manoeuvres require noticeably more effort than expected. Every bit of that effort is instantly rewarded the moment the Giulia reaches the open road, where it seems to paint each corner with the steady hand of an experienced artist. Firmly planted to the ground and equipped, in this case, with a suspension setup expertly developed by Alfaholics, it is certainly not one of those elderly classics that need to be handled with kid gloves—at least not the touring kind.

Climbing into the GTAm leaves no room for doubt. The floor mats are there purely to preserve the car, nothing more. Everything else is as raw and uncompromising as you would expect from a racing machine. Yet the roughly 7,000 kilometres covered since its completion have done absolutely nothing to disturb its monochromatic cockpit, interrupted only by the black Fusina bucket seats fitted with four-point harnesses. Bluetooth? Voice commands? You’ll survive without them. After all, this is one of those rare cars capable of reaching deep into your soul, and I challenge anyone to name a modern sports car that can deliver the same level of involvement behind the wheel. It is, after all, an absolute featherweight, paired with a sublime race-derived suspension that is about as forgiving as a sandpaper pillow, while its razor-sharp steering ensures that every second spent behind the wheel makes you want to let the four-cylinder climb relentlessly towards the red line.

Naturally, the GTAms prepared by Monzeglio shared the displacement increase introduced on the factory GTAm. The original 1.75-litre engine was enlarged to two litres, producing anywhere between 210 and 240 horsepower depending on specification. The 7,500-rpm red line arrived far sooner than seemed physically possible, forcing you to dance constantly with the long, angled gear lever and reminding you of an analogue pleasure that has become almost completely foreign to today’s motorists. The steel exhaust headers have taken on an almost violet hue over time, and together they create a soundtrack that leaves you completely absorbed, allowing you to perceive every few hundred revolutions as the engine climbs through the rev range. There is no room here for anything other than the purest, most uncompromising expression of driving. Exactly as Monzeglio intended when he painted his cars bright yellow, making them instantly recognisable from afar—as though he wanted that colour to become the defining signature of an era in touring car racing. The mechanic from Monferrato who dared to challenge—and defeat—the factory giants.

Stories like this only deepen the emotional value of a car, making Paolo the custodian of a lost world that deserves never to be forgotten. Despite owning an enviable collection composed mainly of Alfa Romeos and Lancias, he tells us that the Monzeglio GTAm remains one of his absolute favourites because it perfectly bridges the gap between a classic car and an uncompromising competition machine. Unsurprisingly, he never misses the opportunity to take it onto a race circuit, where the two-litre twin-cam—producing around 180 horsepower in its current specification—can fully test the traction of the rear axle. It possesses all the composure expected of a racing car, yet remains so raw and demanding that the satisfaction only grows as you edge closer to its mechanical limits. Many modern performance cars make you feel like a driving hero, when in reality electronics are doing seventy per cent of the work. The GTAm simply gives you the tools. What happens next is entirely up to you.

Far from racetracks and stopwatches, “the Monzeglio” stands as one of the last bastions of a world that is steadily fading into history. It belongs to an era when extraordinary achievements were made possible by unwavering determination and absolute dedication—by people like Renato Monzeglio, men who challenged the giants by confronting them with the fruits of their own labour, forged in small, humble workshops. Personally, separating the objective significance of an object that has left a lasting mark on automotive history from the subjective beauty of a car whose legacy has been celebrated through the latest-generation Giulia GTA and GTAm allows me to understand the roots of something truly special. Having driven the Giulia Quadrifoglio—and having found it to be one of the finest driving experiences of my life—I look at the 1972 GTAm as the beginning of something extraordinary, something destined to endure long after the last sporting Giulia has sadly disappeared.

Because time changes things. Time changes people. Time changes everything, and it waits for no one. We can remember moments and preserve them, but what matters most is living them while we can. Chasing our dreams, turning them into goals, and transforming them into the next great adventure of our lives. Whether that dream is a Giulia GTAm or something entirely different, we must turn it into emotion. Because that fleeting breath of life we once believed to be so ephemeral is, in reality, the one thing that remains—with us, and with those who will carry our dreams forward. Exactly as Paolo reminds us every single time he opens the garage door and grips the steering wheel of his yellow GTAm. In that moment, nothing else matters. In that moment, everything makes perfect sense.