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My Yellow Saab | Roamers
Words by Marco Mancino
There are cars with which you have been through a lot and then there is that one car with which you have lived unforgettable moments. It is not necessarily the first love, but the most intense. So much so that it can be forgiven for the extra time spent in the workshop. The fact is that when you were driving it and with your hair in the wind you could have forgiven it anything. For me this is the case of my Saab 9-3 Aero Convertible, a 2009 model that was as yellow as yellow could be. Years so apparently distant, yet so anagraphically close. Everything was different, no social media and those cell phones that were able to take pictures, did it so badly that you wouldn’t have even tried. To immortalize a trip out of town you would have had to bring your good old camera – why not – maybe still with its classy film. After all, even the Kodak boxes were yellow, exactly like the bomber jacket that I loved so much and that melted with the body of the car with the roof open as I was heading towards the mountains even in the middle of winter. Stryper or Kiss at full volume and life was good, damn good for me.
And then she, the Saab, did just what was needed to make a weekend away something that would insinuate itself into my head for the entire following week, making me count days and hours until I could jump on board again and set off for a new destination. And I say “jump on board” precisely because more than ever I wanted to impress my laziest friends by literally launching myself into the cockpit, a sort of Duke of Hazzard of the Tangenziale Ovest. The 9-3, recently updated, then had a fresh line, cutting-edge solutions that made you regret the disappearance of the Swedish brand, a powerful 2.8-liter V6 and the beauty of 255 horsepower. It wasn’t exactly a rocket due to a rather significant overall weight, but it was still capable of making you smile from ear to ear.
She liked to drink, oh how she liked it. When you stepped on the gas more decisively it almost seemed like she wanted to drain all the fuel pumps along the road, but it was also true that it was worth it. Manual transmission of course, left arm that dangled only in moments of more relaxed driving and stereo that should have increased the volume in direct proportion to the rev counter needle that climbed towards the red line. My yellow Saab, I will never forget it.
Every time I think about it – and this happens very often – it is inevitable that I remember that evening when an old Alfa 145 lost control and crashed right into my 9-3 parked in front of a dear friend’s cafè. Luckily the damage was not irreparable and after a few weeks it returned to the garage as if nothing had happened. The only real flaw was the front-wheel drive, or rather the reason why the fun of driving had a sort of imposed mechanical limit. The faster you went, the more you realized that the understeer and the inability to manage traction in the tightest corners made you prefer a more relaxed pace, as many would give to a convertible, especially if it was comfortable and well-finished like the 9-3.
When I think about it, I shed a tear because I should have done everything to keep it with me. Unfortunately, we fully appreciate things only when we no longer have them and this is yet another example. I sold it for a few bucks, just to make room in the garage for a car that in all the years of living with it, never gave me a shred of the emotions experienced behind the wheel of the Aero, despite its clear superiority in every single aspect (I’m talking about a Porsche Cayenne GTS). Needless to say, I even lost track of it. But hope dies hard and when I lose track of time surfing the internet looking for a new-old purchase, I keep looking for it in the hope that one day it will pop up and finally come back to me, back home.
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