Environmental Programming

When I was two and a half years old, I remembered that we (my older sister and I) could earn some money (50 Pfennig) if we could spot a Volvo P1800 and point her out to my father. That very rarely happened and one day I was lounging around near the living room window when a red P1800 pulled up and parked right in front of our house. As I was still contemplating the disappointment that my father was not around at the time, thus me not being able to earn the money, he himself stepped out of the car. I could not believe it. It made me so happy, knowing how much he had wanted that car. And he looked so happy, too. Today I believe that the joy I felt then - that my father treated himself with this very cool car - was what started my passion.

As our family grew, some more appropriate and bigger Volvos followed, being eventually replaced by a Saab 900 Turbo. But my father during all that time had his heart set on another 'contemporary' classic. A Jaguar XJ12. The first time I went with him to the showroom to check one out was shortly after the P1800. But many years went by until my father once again treated himself, and surprised us again. Actually, my sister this time. We picked her up where she was studying away from home. We showed up at her place and he would give her the keys and say: "Could you please go ahead and get the car. It's parked all the way at the end the block!" She looked for the Turbo and only when she could not find it she checked out the keys. Her female intuition told her something was up. And sure enough the key fob displayed a strange and unfamiliar "D". Eventually she spotted a black Daimler Double Six with plates of her hometown and figured it out. We had such a laugh. This is how I was introduced to automotive style, the English way. Not to mention "sufficient power" (almost 300BHP from 12 cylinders out of 5.3 litres). The car was such pleasure, oozing style with its biscuit interior and wooden everything. We all just loved her. And of course she was in the workshop once a month asking for four-digit figures each time. Breakdown anecdotes would be a book of its own, including the one with the chauffeurs of our minister of foreign affairs helping me jump-start the car at night outside the opera, under the watchful eyes of an army of security agents. Just ask my mother, she was driving her the most. Inevitably my father's accountant told him one day: "If you sold the car you could put a third child through university." And so he did. I could never understand the reasoning, as my father did not have a third child! The car went and the whole family mourned for month. The Double Six was replaced by a very unremarkable Mercedes. Naturally the Benz never ever broke down and collected over 150,000 miles without anything rattling anywhere. You just can't beat German engineering, but than again - you can't beat English style either. For me the latter was always more important. I figured it is just a matter of spending more money. Now I know of course it's a little more complicated then that!
I lived for ten years in New York City where, if you are a New Yorker, don’t have a car. During those years I had plenty of opportunity to decide on "the one" should I ever return to Europe. There I developed this preference for muscle cars. In the end everything comes together. Even though another event in my youth determined my final choice ahead of time - it makes all perfect sense now.
I was in my early twenties, at night in my Beetle, at a red light in the rain: Before I heard her I felt this low frequency vibration in my stomach. And before I could see her I heard this unbelievable, solid, rich and intimidating rumble of a V8. In the rear-view mirror this black muscle car, hugging the wet and shiny street pulled up right next to me. (Think: John Carpenter movies). Then I recognized the beast: Aston Martin V8 Vantage. The engine only idled, like Berry White slowly giggling: "Huhuhuhuhuhuhh..." Nevertheless, it felt like my Beetle's door was about to fall off. I peeked into the interior and since it was night I could only catch the highlights on the wood and the size of the cushioned leather headrest. I couldn't make out the driver, only a silhouette. The traffic light switched to green and she pulled away. Just in a normal lawful fashion, nevertheless with incredible pace. Ahhh... and that sound was amazing. Rising now from giggle to full blast laughter, never ever had I heard anything like this before. I followed the sight of the fat, wet rear tires and the two straight pipes coming out from under the car emitting this divine noise. Right there and then I told myself: "This is my car! This is definitely me!"

Realizing a dreams:
Back in the States I imagined my first car after many, many years to somehow be a new car and the DB7 which had just come out, and which I only knew from pictures, then climbed to the top of my list. I ended up going back and forth between Europe, the States and South Africa a lot and I finally started to sample some Astons. A DB6 in Cape Town, later a DBS in Hamburg. ...hmmm - this seemed to be going in the right direction. In Thailand I meet my wife. She is a European New Yorker like myself and we had a lot in common. One day we talked cars and it turned out that her all-time dream car was too, how perfect, an Aston Martin. Later, in Geneva, I popped the question. The day that happened we walked by a Vantage smirking at us out of a classic car showroom window - pewter with beige hide and dark brown piping. As we were on cloud nine, having just agreed on sharing the rest of our lives together, we walked in and arranged for a test-drive. The salesmen in the back seat got quite pale as we pushed the car through all gears on the highway. Let's just say: In Switzerland we could have been jailed for it.
The decision was made: This would be our honeymoon transportation. But the car was not right. Not the right specs! No problem though, since the wedding was eight month away. I called up the factory to ask how much it would be to do a little paint job hear and there, and to get rid of the brown piping. Astronomical, of course! O.K.! New approach: I thought to myself: 'If we want the perfect V8 and since we are going to have a home in London, why not ask the factory to sell one to us directly? Mr. McCloskey who initially answered my first call and to whom I have been speaking ever since, politely replied: "Well, we are not really in the used-car business but I am more than happy to make a few calls to see if any of our dealers has a car in stock with the specs you have in mind." I liked that. And amazingly two brief weeks later the car was found.
Quite overwhelming for my future wife and myself, I must say. And 95% the way we wanted her: A manual 1989 V8 Vantage, X-pack in Cumberland Grey with black hide and dark wood. My wife, thank God, insisted on losing the grey piping, (through cost efficient re-Connolising grey leather to black), and I insisted on losing the blanked off grill. Our motto was ‘subtlety’. Later on, after a fortunate little accident due to another motorists fault, the Vantage airdam went as well and was replaced with a P.O.W.-spec type spoiler. The first and original shape, true not to the factory's add-ons but the pencil strokes of genius William Towns himself, combined with the final technical incarnation of the '89 Vantage” My dream car.

Astons are more like individual cars for individual people. People with their own sense of style, of design, integrity - not willing to compromise, just like the people who build the cars in the first place. Up to the introduction of the DB7 you probably will not find two cars with the exact same spec.. But many with totally unique features, custom built by the factory and other specialists for their clients. And there are plenty of one-offs. I, for example, have never ever seen my exact color specification again. That makes it even more amazing that the car found us in those two short weeks. It was meant to be!

From dreams to reality:
Today, however, I have a long list of breakdown stories of my own to tell, including one of a front wheel breaking off at full speed on a French highway! That break ripped off the brake-pipes, which rendered the brakes instantly useless. It took me 500 yards to stop the car crossing four lanes to reach the emergency strip. Thank God the highway went uphill. I left an equally long track of rubber, metal and grooves in the asphalt. When I got out and looked at the damage all I could do was sit down and have a smoke. Magically nobody was hurt.
What bothered me the most where the constant dents the thin aluminum was catching as the car was pushed on and off tow-trucks around Europe all the time. The money sunk into the car is mind-boggling and not justifiable by any logic. I can't say it was without strain on my marriage. The Vantage started out as our only and every-day car covering 15,000 miles in the first year! (Including that trouble-free honeymoon in Scotland - Wow!) Now, many years and another 35,000 miles later I reached the financial limit. The car first moved to storage to be taken out only on special occasions. Then I moved back to New York again and the Nautilus (her name) had to go. She is okay though, at home in a very nice Aston collection of somebody really appreciating her specialness.

But did the passion shrink?

No!

Did the car inspire me? Yes! My (so far) 11 part TV series is the proof. Who would have thought: A car as a muse... Now I understand why women can be jealous of cars.