All you need is LOVE!
Motorway entrance Kirchberg BE, A1, direction Zurich. Well, I know this thing, I’ve been driving it often several times a week for 20 years, I know pretty much what’s possible and where the limits are. My limits and those of my vehicle. I always stay within the lines marking the boundaries; you could tighten the racing line even more, but even so, virtually everyone is left with no chance here. Two metres behind me, at the most, and already annoyed, the M4 is glued to the road because, after all, it’s a hero. The stupid little thing in front of it will only get in the way when accelerating out of it. But: after the bend, it is over 100 metres behind. Of course, he hadn’t reckoned on it, but he should have realised by the time I took the bend quite differently from him, braking much later and pulling my vehicle in a very clean line exactly on the boundary line through the second half of the bend. But he didn’t notice any of that. And I also came out in front of the four lorries; he just didn’t stop, despite having about 460 horsepower more under the bonnet. When he was finally able to rush past me about two kilometres further ahead, he was totally annoyed and way beyond all the limits that apply in Switzerland. Unfortunately, the speed camera wasn’t where it usually is; there would have been one less leasing idiot on the road for the next few months.
Sure, that David-versus-Goliath feeling. Yes, that annoyance at the straight-ahead freaks. But these are side issues. For me, it’s much more about the fact that I can have a lot of driving fun with a small car that is over 40 years old and has only 48 horsepower. Maybe even more than with a modern supercar, because with the Autobianchi, every winding country road can be a challenge – and at speeds that our friends and helpers still consider acceptable. You are constantly driving at the limit, if you want to. On a mountain road, up to the Susten, for example, it is a constant struggle, wildly changing gears, almost work, downshifting with double declension, no servo in the steering. If I were 20 kilos lighter, it would noticeably improve the power-to-weight ratio. Of course, I would also like more power when I have to overtake the Dutch caravan, but patience brings roses – and you can use the brake artfully. Anything is possible downhill, the steering is wonderfully heavy, but that’s why it’s so precise: you set it to the apex, then you see what happens. Usually not much, it goes a bit over the front wheels if you are too fast, but too fast, as written, is very relative. Let’s be clear: 675 kilos of unladen weight, that’s what the ID card says. The laws of physics remain much more understandable than with a 2-tonne showpiece of steel.
What’s more, everything is so wonderfully analogue. I can’t even charge my smartphone, there’s no giant tablet above the centre console – in front of me is a speedometer, fuel gauge, water temperature, nothing more. The ventilation consists of two thin levers, cold or warm, although that actually only means that it is very warm in summer and sometimes freezing cold in winter. Nothing distracts me when I want to drive an Autobianchi, that’s all I do. I easily keep in my own lane, thanks to the big round thing that Autobianchi has built in in front of the driver (the road seems huge when you are only 1.48 metres wide), the cruise control works like the distance warning system using the interplay of the right foot (accelerator, brake) and the eyes; I only use the windscreen wiper when it rains (and not otherwise). As a classic Italian, it is always on (it goes off when you switch off the ignition), I switch the headlights on when I need them, I switch them off when there is oncoming traffic. ESP was not available at the time, which would not have been necessary with the relatively modest power, nor was ABS. Airbags: zero. All things that can’t break. Ever. The vehicle doesn’t speak (or beep), and it doesn’t know the way either. At the back, it stops where it stops (incidentally, the same at the front). So nothing warns me when parking, but hey, the A112 is 3.23 metres long, so it fits. Anywhere.
Just four gears, the stick close to the seat, reverse way out on the right. When I drive the bundle of joy, it sometimes takes seven litres, but it’s usually satisfied with five. In the morning, I still have to pull the choke, not all the way out, it doesn’t like that, but you develop a feel for it over time. And when it’s had enough, too. But I listen to the Italian, I hear every noise that’s different, I’m always fully there, alert, vigilant, attentive – which is also an important part of the joy of driving. I always keep an eye on the water temperature, he doesn’t like city traffic that much. Me neither, so we save ourselves the trouble. My problem is more like this: I constantly take detours. Twice through the roundabout, with screeching tyres. Over the hill again for shopping. But above all: I only smile when I see it in front of the door. That rarely happens to me with new cars.
And anyway – you shouldn’t underestimate this small, pretty, simple car. The Autobianchi A112 is a milestone, that’s for sure. I’ll take a moment to gather my thoughts, looking back to 1885, when Edoardo Bianchi started manufacturing bicycles in Milan. He quickly became well known, partly because his bicycles were of good quality and he was constantly developing them further, but mainly because he painted them in a beautiful light blue (the colour was called Celeste). In 1897, Bianchi built his first bicycle with an auxiliary motor, and by 1900 he had built his first car, soon followed by the first motorcycle. In 1914, Bianchi’s annual production was 45,000 bicycles, 1,500 motorcycles and a whopping 1,000 cars. After the First World War, things continued to go well. The legendary cyclist Fausto Coppi made the light-blue bicycles even more famous, and the cars, too, had arrived in the luxury class with eight-cylinder engines. Although the factory was destroyed during the Second World War, Bianchi was one of the first manufacturers to resume production, as early as 1946. However, in the same year, the company founder was killed in a car accident. And after that, nothing was the same. In order to resume car production, Bianchi entered into a cooperation with Fiat and Pirelli in 1955, and Autobianchi was born. The Bianchina was available from 1958, followed by the magnificent and much-underrated Primula (designed by Dante Giacosa) in 1964. But in 1967, Fiat took over the majority of shares and control. The idea was that innovations such as front-wheel drive, transversely mounted engines and the tailgate could first be tried out on the market at Autobianchi before they were introduced into large-scale Fiat production. So the Autobianchi A111 became the forerunner of the Fiat 128 – and, much more importantly, the A112 became the mother of the Fiat 127. The A112 was built for 17 years. It was, of course, the brand’s most successful model – and its design was similarly groundbreaking for all other small cars, like the Mini. You have to love it for that too.
This is a story from the print edition of radical. We would like to thank the Oldtimer Galerie Toffen.
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