DRAKENSBERG’S DRIVING DELIGHT

Nov 11

It is 16:35 on a Tuesday afternoon and I am en-route to collect a lower radiator hose from the Alfa Romeo supplier in Johannesburg. A small shear at the top of the silicone piping which connects the pipe to the thermostat has resulted in significant coolant loss; a warranted defect from a high-wear component on a 20 year old car. None of this optimistic rhetoric matters though, with long distance travel scheduled for day break, it is now or never. The tense, slow drive is enough to make anyone feel consumed by anxiety, with one eye constantly glued to the engine temperature gauge at the top left of the centre console. Upon arrival, the end of day haste sees me promptly examining the replacement part, covered in a dusty plastic film with the grey text of “ricambi originali” plastered diagonally across. Doubt begins to set into my mind. The diameter looks too small and the bend angles of the silicone look greatly accentuated in comparison to the existing pipe. I hurriedly open the bonnet of the car and remove the replacement hose from its packaging for a visual comparison. Avoiding the hot exhaust manifold, I slowly place the substitute hose next to the existing one. It looks like a direct fit and the feeling of relief soon overcomes any existing apprehension. The car is jacked up by my mechanic and we begin the straightforward installation. Salvation.

It is 05:19 and just before dawn as I get into the driver's seat of the 156, a habitual routine of mine for the past 8 years. The meagre items of luggage are safely secured in the boot and the final mechanical checks are completed. At last we commence with the pending 4 hour drive. The suburban roads are vacant with the exception of some morning fitness fanatics. The motor comes to optimal operating temperature as I merge onto the motorway. Happy to oblige, I stretch its legs for a brief moment before settling down in preparation for the next few hundred kilometers of monotonous road. The eventual motorway offramp which engages some secondary country roads marks the halfway point to the quaint destination of Clarens, in the Free State province. Flat and mildly hilly scenes summarize much of this portion of the journey, flanked by large expanses of agricultural land with the occasional roadside tree. The rolling hills with ochre coloured earth can place any driver in a frenzy of deja vu in what seemingly feels like a neverending horizon of rolling hills. The generally uneventful linear path is soon disrupted by some unforeseen and ill-advised roadworks. A long overdue, full road-resurfacing has completely removed any conventional paving and deviates all traffic onto an adjacent temporary detour path. This frustrating South African tendency of insufficient planning and warning sees me flanked by a steep ditch onto the abutting farmland on the left and a cordoned-off, elevated crusher stone surface on the right. Before I can turn around in search of an alternative route, I find myself already too far down the narrow path. The car’s low profile tyres and stiffened suspension requires a snail's pace along sections where protruding stones feel like sharpened knives. Anything faster than second gear renders the same driving anxiety of iminent mechanical failure from the day prior. The temporary dirt track continues periodically for approximately 60km until the words “end” and “thank you” eventually greet me.

A pitstop in the agricultural town of Bethlehem at 11:23 brings the 156 back to shimmer and shine with a brisk car wash, removing the grime and dust from the dirt road stretch. A prompt inspection to ensure no components had rattled loose also commences. The attendants at the wash bay, noticing my unconventional scrutiny of the car's concealed sections, openly admit in conversation that they have never seen a car adorned with the iconic Scudetto on its front. Their insights make this journey into a rural part of South Africa, dominated by bakkies (pickup trucks) and utilitarian vehicles, feel even more special.

Our entry into the final mountain pass at 12:03 sees our arrival at the foothills of the Maloti Mountains. This remote region bears many geographic similarities to the Alpine countryside, much as the original European settlers knew it. With near identical scenery and equally welcoming townsfolk, Clarens was aptly named after a small Swiss town. The locale would serve as our shelter from the impending afternoon thundershower and a getaway from the rat race, albeit for the night. A refreshing evening enjoying the aroma of nature after summer rain provides for a good reset.

A lazy morning start at 8:30 is spent further exploring the picturesque town and sampling the local flavors. The somewhat sequestered location is soon abuzz with the rambing thunder of motorcyclists in their dozens, passing through en-route to the renowned Golden Gate National Park, a popular destination for petrolheads and automotive clubs alike.

Featuring a central road at the plateau of the Drakensberg mountain range, which snakes its way along the periphery of the Lesothan border, it is an unequivocal drivers’ paradise. Similarly to Alpine passes, the domestic version of “little Switzerland'' does not disappoint. From the sculpted roads and breathtaking views, snow capped mountains are the only differentiating factor that I could fathom from personal experience. I pull over to appreciate the majesty of the surroundings, with mountain peaks reaching for the cotton wool clouds above and the carved sandstone cliffs stretching into the deep expanses below. As spectacular as the full periscope of scenery is, this is not the real reason behind this mid-week expedition. Vacant, scenic routes are devoid of any regular navigation my 156 normally encounters. Quality driving roads are scarce for many living in the interior of South Africa. I therefore continue further on, searching, as the path progressively gets more technical and the altitude increases. Before I know it, I inadvertently begin to merge into pure driving nirvana and excitedly justify this mid-week expedition.

As mountain peaks extending as high as 3000m become more prominent in the foreground, I can feel restricted air density compromise performance as the visceral, naturally-aspirated twin-cam struggles to generate rpm. Knowing the vague profile of the road ahead, I downshift to compensate for the lack of torque. Switching between second and third gears continues ceaselessly, attempting to retain as much momentum as possible through winding sections by persisting on the optimal line. Abundant peril all around, the sheer drops beyond the road balustrades and sharp, blind corners continue for more than 30 uninterrupted kilometers of bliss. The upgraded 305mm slotted front discs and GTA calipers are sufficient countermeasures to combat any concerns of the impending dangers, with their improved stopping power devoid of any brake-fade. The stiffened suspension and wider front track retain stability through tight sections of the meandering tarmac while the Pirelli tyres shriek on the extremity of grip. The limited-slip diff and short-ratio gearbox enable the powered front wheels to retain full traction at corner exit and reliably catapult me into the following road sequence. I glance at herds of zebras and wildebeest in the distant veld, the resonance and burbles of the throaty stainless steel exhaust system at prominent rpm garners their undivided attention as I make my way through their habitat. The car, fine tuned to my liking, may not be the fastest or most agile weapon around these roads, but years of blood, sweat and tears culminate in moments like these... unadulterated driving satisfaction. I cannot help but grin from ear to ear.

Before I know it, the road ahead begins to resemble a more linear path and the expedition over the mountain pass has come to a close. The next few kilometers are spent in silence, reflecting on the satisfaction of the preceding nirvana. I pull over at the next garage to ensure the spurt of abuse has not resulted in any mechanical issues - another quirk of driving an old car. With no cause for concern, it makes me believe that every Alfa Romeo created, regardless of its purpose, is built to be driven. Despite this 156 being set up to aggressively consume the road, I can’t help but think to myself: not bad for a 20 year old. It is now 11:48 and time to return home, although now with an insatiable taste for more of our domestic driving nirvana.