Alfa Romeo

Milano Verde Transport to Colorado

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Yet again, I found my judgement clouded by the allure of an Alfa V6.  The proposal: move a buddy’s Milano from Detroit to Denver – twenty hours, if driven in a straight shot.

The outlook was optimistic for this particular car.  Milano Verdes, with their comfortable Recaro seats and long-legged 3.55 final drive, rival country music as companions across flyover states.  And, this was a particularly healthy example, coming from a collection of five V6 transaxle Alfas.  What’s the phrase?  “Wouldn’t hesitate to drive across the country”?

Leaving Detroit at 5PM via I-94 is a failure in planning, unless the plan is to shake down the mechanical systems of a nearly 30 year old Italian sedan.  Coolant temp?  Right on the mark, if the gauge is to be trusted.  Brakes?  If they aren’t sorted, you’ll find out quickly in rush hour.  Fluid leaks?  The rearview mirror is as useful for spotting leaks as it is for avoiding rear-end collisions.

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My Milano is Gone.

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All I had left to address was the 2nd gear synchro, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to fix that last trace of Alfa idiosyncrasy.  Nearly two years into the most involving, frustrating and absorbing auto ownership experience in my 25 years, I lost my Alfa, my garage, and with them, my GTI and two of my brother’s cars.

I will be perfectly clear.  Alfas are reliable; neglected cars are not.

I had purchased a neglected 1989 Alfa Romeo Milano Verde two summers prior to bridge the gap between the BMW e30 I owned at the time, and the Ferrari 308 that I knew I shouldn’t buy.  The practical exotic.  4 doors and a Busso V6 with an exhaust note that could embarrass any fuel-injected 80s Ferrari V8.  A useable trunk and a rear-mounted transaxle with inboard mounted brake rotors.  Room for human beings and a torsion bar front, DeDion rear suspension.  And, under 3k RPM, you’d be hard pressed to turn any heads in traffic.
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Picking up the 164Q in New York City

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I was tired of dealing with sub-zero temperatures in State College. My roommates and I worried that we’d forgotten what heat felt like after three straight months of biking to work in the snow. The 16V 190E was parked indefinitely and it was too cold to do anything besides parse through Fortran in a warm office. Graham saw the opportunity and took advantage of my frostbitten brain—he sent me a link to a red Alfa 164Q with the subject ‘buy this car’.

Up until that day I’d been entertained by Graham’s stories about Alfa failures of every degree. He insisted they’re still ‘great cars’ but they just need a little more care, attention, and money than most others. I knew he had anywhere from one to four of these Alfas under his control and had already done some major engine rebuilding. This somehow didn’t deter me in my search for a new unique vehicle. He also lauded their finer points, of course. I’d gotten tired of him talking about the ‘peanut butter leather’ interior of his 164 and how much fun it was to drive. I decided to give the Alfa some consideration because I figured I probably needed a third car if I was going to make it through grad school. Graham had even let me wear his Alfa hat a couple of times, and I felt I needed to truly earn a hat of my own.

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Alfa Milano Verde Shakedown Trip to the Dragon

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Last September, my 89 Alfa Milano substantiated a vile Italian automobile stereotype as I traveled to family back east for Labor Day weekend. Of course, there were warning signs; the failed clutch hydraulics hose the day I brought the car home, and the miserably inadequate cooling system that demanded maximum heater settings to control the coolant temp. I attempted to deceive myself with defensive internal retorts to my friends’ negative Alfa sentiments. “Guys, chill. It’s just an Italian e30 – Bosch fuel system. If anything, the German components will be first to go.” The denial even continued into the first manifestation of rod knock. “Hmm, the engine is starting to sound like a tractor. A Lamborghini tractor, heh heh.”

In actuality, it sounded like an Alfa-with-thrown-rod tractor. Less than a month into Alfa ownership, and I was about to atone for the sinful Alfa soundtrack – something like ripping canvas – with the task of replacing the 6-pot paperweight sitting between the torsion bars of my Milano.

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Alfa Romeo Milano Verde Part 3: Rebuild

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I get the idea that foreign or classic car owners on the coasts often have “a guy” to help them out of trouble when things start to fall apart.  For instance, my dad, when he was piecing together his 1973 3.0 CS, had most of the work done at shops within a 15 mile radius of our house in York, PA.  To have the carbs tuned, he sent the car down the road to the shop with plenty of Alfas out front.  For upholstery, he commissioned a shop downtown with a slew of Grand Wagoneers in the lot, and, at one point etched into my memory, a Watusi bull in various stages of meat grinding inside the shop.  To get the brakes ready for inspection, he dropped the car off behind a trailer park, close to the river.  He kept the car in shape without ever leaving York County.

Living in Columbus, IN, undertaking an Alfa V6 rebuild posed some geographical challenges.  The only European shop in the county was the local Import Auto shop, where I buy all of my VW and BMW parts.  So, for ignition and fuel system components, I had the convenience of stopping by after work to pick up parts.  I asked around for recommendations on local machine shops, and drove south to Jackson County, where I found a shop for head work, and a shop to take care of the bottom end. 

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Alfa Romeo Milano Verde Part 2: Disassembly and Diagnosis

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Continued from Alfa Romeo Milano Verde Part 1: Introduction

Understanding why the Milano’s engine had seized so suddenly and ruinously on I-70 required minimal disassembly.  The first bolt revealed metallic sheen of the oil – not good.  17 bolts later, I was staring at a mangled connecting rod cap sitting in a rubble of rod bearing annihilation – oh no, crank is bad.  Then I noticed the coolant lingering in the lower oil pan, and started feeling better knowing that at this point, at least I’d get to meet another Alfisti, because the block was toast.

Now, the root cause of the spun rod bearing and subsequent destruction is more difficult to establish. 10 minutes prior to the excitement, I had checked the oil level, so oil was available, at least to the oil pump. The oil pump seemed to be working too, since the low oil pressure light never came on, and the oil pressure gauge never dropped.  Some cavitation damage was present on the oil pump rotor, but given the adequate oil pressure, not enough to blame for loss of oil film.  The oil itself was in good shape, having been changed 700 miles ago.

Alfa Romeo Milano Verde Part 1: Introduction

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I can blame my middle school bus route past the import auto shop for the recent deluge of Alfa in my life.  Our dad‘s 73 BMW 3.0 CS sometimes sat outside of the shop there, so in between sightings of the classic E9 coupe began a steady exposure to Alfa Romeo.  It’s necessary to note that the school bus never broke down, which at that point would have been the only opportunity, short of breaking down in an Alfa, for me to associate Alfas with a disregard for forward progress.

One Saturday in 2004, we stopped at the import shop  to check out a meet-up underway.  Some classic British, BMW M, and other Euro noteworthies occupied the lot out front.  Taylor and I made our way to the Alfas near the fence and made the following observations:

1. The Spider shift lever position is exceptional
2. The 164 dash is a vast expanse of buttons
3. The Milano Verde has the coolest seats on earth

A.L.F.A: Always Looking For Another

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Only in my case, it would be Always Looking For Another Because One Broke, or ALFABOB.  I imagine somebody already has the as a personalized plate – likely in California, where extroverts seem to thrive.

Now, I’m not the first person to experience a broken Alfa, but both my ’89 Milano Verde and my ’95 164LS both have experienced bottom end failure within their first weeks in my garage.  I am documenting the Verde failure and rebuild, but to summarize, it threw a rod while I was doing 75mph on the Interstate.  Since I missed it so much, I bought the 164LS to have something over-the-top to shuttle me around in while the Verde engine is on the stand.  Well, the 164LS developed rod knock while driving at 55mph on the highway.  Luckily, it will only need new rod bearings, which I can manage to replace with the engine in the car.

Bought an Italian Saab.

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And I posed for the iPhone while holding a stereotypical Italian beverage in dorky, Saab-inspired fashion.

How is the Saab-Alfa to drive?

Well, power is just right for the 3,450lb sedan.  Starting at the base LS-spec 211hp, this car adds the Q-spec intake runners and a Squadra chip for a total of 240hp.  So with a power/weight on par with a VW R32, it moves.  The Stebro exhaust is blatant auditory affirmation of any throttle input.

In the curves, it belies its Saab underpinnings, starting neutral, and progressing to lift-throttle oversteer when needed.  This replaces my e30s, and around town, it feels tighter and more alert.

Of course, in true Alfa fashion, it’s currently out of service for what started out as a bad Motronic H20 temp sensor, and progressed to a full-fledged Alfa 24V V6 timing belt job.

In spite of this, I’m smitten with the car.  Ask me about the interior sometime – especially if you have a full afternoon to listen to me waxing about the peanut butter leather and Alfa logos embossed into each seat.  I’m in way too far with Alfas, and I don’t have any reason to believe that I won’t be that guy with 25 Alfa parts cars sprawled in the front yard, say, 5 years from now.