Alfa’s classic combination of an all-alloy V6 mated to a de Dion transaxle produced one of the best-handling coupés of the ’80s – Allan checks out a mint survivor

The first thing you notice when you climb aboard one of these ’80s Alfa coupés is the driving position – usually referred to as the ‘Italian ape’ position. If your body is normally proportioned, that means that if you move the driver’s seat too far backwards you’ll barely reach the steering wheel and will need to use the tips of your toes to operate the foot pedals.

Move the seat too far forward and, while you’ll be able to operate the foot pedals properly, the steering wheel will be in your chest. In the end, you accept a compromise and simply find a position that allows you to steer the car adequately without having your knees up around your ears.

It sounds awkward but, a few kilometres down the road you get used to it and, fortunately, the Alfa’s rack-and-pinion steering is light enough at speed to make up for the fact that you can’t quite get into the right position to apply manly leverage to the steering wheel.

However, everything gets a little heavier when it comes to slow speed manoeuvring and parking – you just have to put that down as an exercise in character-building.

Once on the move, though, you’ll quickly notice two disparate but closely linked elements – the sounds of Alfa’s all-alloy V6 and the quality of the gear-change. It was the latter that held itself up for my initial attention.

I once put a lot of kilometres under the belt of a GTV6, so getting reacquainted with our test car’s twin-plate clutch and five-speed gearbox was a little like meeting up with a long lost friend. And, even if I’ve changed over the intervening years, my friend hasn’t – the GTV6’s gear-change still feels odd and rubbery.

It’s not quite in the BMC ‘wooden-spoon-in-a-bowl-of-cold-porridge’ category but, after the first few changes, it certainly leans in that direction.

Fortunately, once I’d got more used to it, things brightened up markedly. It’s not that the GTV6’s gear-change lacks precision, it’s just the combination of floppy gear-lever and narrow gate which catches you out.

Some of this is undoubtedly down to the location of the actual gearbox which is, of course, mounted in unison with the car’s rear axle.

Playing tunes

It may seem less than ideal, but this is one gearbox that repays mastery as it is the driver’s vital link to the other, aforementioned element – the sound of the engine.

And, oddly enough, there’s even a bit of an enigma when you’re discussing Alfa’s 2.5-litre V6.

It was first introduced in the unloved Alfa Six saloon. Contemporary road-testers roundly slated both the car and its V6 engine, as its lack-lustre performance was not felt to conform to Alfa’s sporting traditions.

However, when Alfa Romeo elected to drop the same V6 into a revised Alfetta coupé body, everyone’s opinion changed and admiration for the 2.5-litre V6 was widely expressed. So, how did Alfa effect this volte-face?

A lot was down to the liberating affect of simply shedding weight – the Alfa Six weighed in at 1470kg, 260kg more than the GTV6 – but much was also due to the addition of Bosch L-Jetronic fuel injection and, for its day, a relatively sophisticated engine management system. By comparison, the Alfa Six had sucked petrol through a battery of six Dell’orto carburettors – a system that proved fickle and unreliable. Alfa Romeo was on the cusp of a more modern motoring age and, shorn of the Alfa Six’s accoutrements, the V6 was allowed to shine.

Make no bones about it, this aluminium beauty really sings in the GTV6 and is, without doubt, the heart and soul of this car. That, of course, is why mastering the GTV6’s gear-change is such a important factor. Get it wrong and you’ll only get the consolation prize of gnashing gear-teeth. If mastery eludes you, it is possible to employ the ample supply of torque from the V6 to cut down on cog-swapping – but then you’ll miss out on the full reward of hearing one of the best sounding engines ever produced. Essentially, you’re the conductor, the gear-lever is your baton and that lovely V6 is the symphony orchestra. Time it all properly and you can play some wonderful tunes.

If that all seems a little far-fetched, here’s a line from a letter that famed conductor and self-confessed car enthusiast, Herbert von Karajan, once wrote to Enzo Ferrari – “When I hear your 12 cylinders, I hear a burst of harmony no conductor could ever recreate.” He could just have easily been talking about Alfa’s V6.

This article is from Classic Car issue 214. Click here to check it out.

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