They say you aren’t a true car enthusiast until you’ve owned an Alfa Romeo. Last year, I finally validated my vehicular passion when I bought my dream Alfa. The story starts as I was driving through Cape Town lamenting the loss of my dodgy 996 Turbo, which you can read about here, when I spotted this glorious 1988 Alfa Romeo 75 Milano sitting outside a dealership.
Some of my earliest childhood memories are of the Alfa 75 Quadrifoglio Verde my uncle imported from Denver to South Africa when he moved back home from the States roughly 25 years ago. The car was always parked outside my family’s holiday home in Knysna, hidden under a car cover to protect it from the local bird population’s bombing runs. However, even under a tarpaulin, there’s no mistaking Ermanno Cressoni’s boxy styling, and while I didn’t learn about the actual model until much later, that effortlessly stylish Italian brick of a saloon was always in the back of my mind.
Spotting that shockingly familiar silhouette decades later immediately stopped me in my tracks. I parked up and photographed the tax disc to share with my uncle, and after comparing the VIN numbers with his records, we discovered that it was the exact car he had sold 20 years ago, despite sporting the incorrect gold four leaf clover badge at the rear. It looked absolutely spectacular both inside and out: the steering wheel had been retrimmed in alcantara and it seemed as though it had just been treated to a high quality respray. In fact, it looked even better than my rose-tinted memories would have led me to believe. There was no ‘For Sale’ sign or price, but I begged the dealership to put me in touch with car’s custodian, who turned out to be the owner of the dealership itself.
Needless to say, a deal was soon struck, and not long after, I was finally savouring the bittersweet taste of the stereotypical Alfa ownership experience. In the following month, it overheated and broke down no less than four times, often on the first post-repair outing, much to the amusement of my friends and family. This experience opened my eyes to an essential element of Alfa ownership: locating and establishing a good relationship with the best Alfa specialist you can find. In my case, this was a senior mechanic by the name of Giuseppe, who naturally had a live rooster roaming his workshop, which also housed a reassuringly competitive looking 105-series Alfa Romeo GTV race car.
However, despite Giuseppe’s best efforts, the overheating issues persisted, and I was learning the hard way that Alfa’s enduring reputation of being hilariously unreliable was turning out to be rooted in truth. Despite this, the moments between break downs more than made up for the anguish of repeated trips to the mechanic. The 75’s low polygon count styling looked better with every glance, and I’ve never seen such excitement from other road users. Plus, the 3.0-litre Busso V6 and the 75’s delightful chassis — which it shares with the amazing SZ — made for some of the most satisfying miles I’ve ever covered. Sure, there’s some understeer thanks to the weight of that V6, but nobody expects to set a blistering lap time in a 1988 Alfa Romeo — it’s all about working with the car and enjoying every RPM. Which brings me to the noise; I would wager nothing short of 12 cylinders makes a better sound.
After a dodgy fan relay had finally been identified as the source of all the overheating woes, my girlfriend and I set off on a 500 km journey from Cape Town to Knysna for the annual Simola Hillclimb. Spirits were high and the Alfa was running like a dream… until one quarter of the way through the trip, when disaster struck. My uncle had warned me that when he owned the car there was a slightly worrying vibration that occurred at highway speeds — something I had yet to encounter and therefore assumed had long since been fixed. However, as we rounded a bend near a small town by the name of Caledon, the bolt connecting the upper control arm to the steering knuckle sheered, sending us off the road at 110 km/h, through a sizeable street sign, and into a ditch.
The iced americanos we had just picked up exploded all over the interior along with the farm stall pie my girlfriend was in the process of eating, but somehow we both escaped with nothing more than whiplash and some nasty bruises. Without our seatbelts, it could have been so much worse — while I also suspect that my 75, being a US-market car with better crash protection, may have contributed to our relatively miraculous escape.
The Alfa, however, was totally written-off, bringing my Italian dream to an unceremonious end after only five weeks. It’s never fun to see a classic taken out of commission. It’s even worse when it’s the sole example of that specific model in the entire country, in addition to being the most beloved car of the man responsible for introducing you to the hobby. I doubt I’ll ever own a cooler or better sounding car than my Alfa 75 QV — maybe someday I’ll buy another and immediately fully rebuild the suspension — but the sting of regret is eased considerably by the Alfa’s replacement: a Forest Green 1999 Porsche 911 Carrera 4. Remember kids: always wear your seatbelts!
Photos by Mikey Snelgar
