Before I sold my Corvair a couple of weeks ago, I took my Dad out for one last ride in it. We’re only about 10 minutes from a country area with some nice river valleys and twisty bits and I’d never run the Corvair through them. It was a great drive and a nice farewell and it also reminded me precisely why I was selling the car, because ramming it ‘round a narrow, twisty country road with endless blind corners and lots of oncoming traffic was really kind of unnerving.

I went back the other day with the SPG. Hit the same road with a little more authority and it was just exhilarating. The little Saab bit into the corners, roared up the inclines, said “I can do this just as fast as you want to. I’m faster, I’m safer, you can drive me anywhere, anytime!”

And then I came home and started looking for Corvairs online.

I dunno. The Saab is a better car in every possible respect except perhaps for that magic bit where the feels come from.

The biggest problem I have with a 60s car here is that to get anywhere, the roads I need to take look like this:

I sold the Corvair I had because to tackle those roads with any sort of comfort, the seats need to be upgraded to something with a headrest, a shoulder belt is a must, the brakes need to be better (dual-circuit, at least) and really, something needs to be done with the spearchucker steering column. I don’t really have time for that. Not yet.

Advertisement

But cripes, if I can find a good one, I think I may have to bite on it. I miss it too much.

(The red car is the donor for my grungy-looking Monza. Hiding under that lovely red paint was an absolute disaster of a body job. There was almost nothing holding it together. I pulled out all the interesting bits and sold the body to someone who needed parts.)