A Little Therapy

The antidote to the state of things is – for me – going for a drive in my Orange Barchetta (riffing here on the Rush anthem about that better, vanished time). It salves my nerves pump the gas pedal – does anyone remember? –  and to turn the key, rather than push a button – and hear the Orange Barchetta’s four hundred fifty-five cubic inch (it feels good saying it this way) V8 fire to life. After about a minute, the engine has warmed up enough for me to stab the gas pedal quickly to release the choke. Does anyone remember? The big – the huge – V8 settles into a nice lopey idle. The kind of idle nothing made for the past 40 years at least, has.

I depress the clutch pedal – which has a direct and real feel that’s been absent from cars for the past 40 years, at least – because since that time cars with manuals have been fitted with hydraulically assisted clutch pedals. This makes pushing down on the clutch physically easier but it also eliminates the direct and real feel that attends a purely mechanical apparatus.

The shifter for the Super T10 four speed vibrates charmingly in my right hand. I ease the clutch out, engaging the motive force of the 455. The shaker scoop torques a little to the left as the Barchetta moves out. It snaps back to center in between each gear change, the flapper door opening and gulping air as if the thing is alive, which it very much seems to be. It is such a contrast to the dead things I must drive each week and find something about them to write about.

I doubt I could muster the energy if I didn’t get some recharge time – some therapy – behind the airbag-free Formula wheel of the Orange Barchetta!

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