I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d catapulted myself into old age

WITH decent temperatures warming the oil in the gearbox of life, there’s plenty happening in my corner of the motoring world. The Saab 9-3 Viggen is about to undergo a cosmetic upgrade to match its recent mechanical overhaul and the Suzuki SV650S sailed through its MOT, giving me the confidence to push it as hard as possible on runs with my advanced riding chums.

I’m a reflective person, though – I have an honours degree in philosophy to prove it – and have been pondering the events that led to my current position.

Strike “events”. What brought me here was one decision, which at the time seemed like the most sensible thing in the world.

Having fallen out of love with driving, two years ago I bought a Volvo*.

I remember it as clear as day. My fatherin-law David and I pootled south from Newcastle to a village near Scarborough, where a small dealer/ garage was advertising a low-mileage XC70 (the beefed-up AWD version of the flagship V70 estate) for a little over six grand. The rain was pelting down as we arrived so the seller reversed the car in the workshop and left us to inspect it.

Lordy me. I thought I’d won the lottery. The car seemed massive, as if cast from military-grade metals. The doors, bonnet and boot opened and shut like those of a G-Wagen. The leather interior was unblemished. The tyres seemed immense, at least in comparison with what I was accustomed to. The first-aid kit, rear load cover, dog guard and spare wheel were immaculate. Droplets of rain raced off the well-tended bodywork. David and I were more than impressed. The XC was less a car than a suit of armour. Nothing would faze it.

After test-driving the Volvo and finding no fault with the diesel engine and semiautomatic transmission the seller and I agreed a price and AU54 ONF was mine.

The plan was to punt the Saab, but every time I took the Viggen out it would remind me of its rough, unhinged charms, like a hungry cat rubbing against your leg. Nimble yet, in the wrong hands, short-tempered.

Driving the XC70, by contrast, was far less threatening, but I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling I had catapulted myself into old age far too soon. I could feel my skills blunting like a cheap penknife.

Within weeks I had sold the tank – to a very pleasant couple from Benderloch whose XC70 had spontaneously gone up in smoke on the road to Oban – and signed up for motorcycling lessons.

And here we are. I am more in thrall to driving (and now riding) than I have ever been. The Saab will be spending most of June in the bodyshop undergoing fairly major work to rid it of rust, meaning it’s time to get the Corrado out of hibernation, and I am endeavouring to acquire the skills of an advanced motorcyclist. Happy days. *The author would like to acknowledge Volvo manufactures well-engineered, well-designed vehicles and clarify he has no personal grievance with the company or those who drive its cars. But, come on, a Volvo? Really? result is a CAR that can be driven both on road and on track.

The bodywork, in a three-layer metallic red, marks a radical departure from the donor car. The twin-turbo, twin-intercooler set-up of the 488 GTB inspired the team to reference the mighty F40 as an icon from which to instruct the project’s general direction. Inset headlights were designed to be as thin as possible, with the mandatory DRL (daytime running lights) units relocated to add character and functionality to a slim bumper lip reminiscent of the 308 GTB.

On the side, the defining air scoop of the 488 GTB is completely concealed where the sheet metal folds in on itself from the low beltline on the door and into the rear wheelarch and three-quarter light.