1997 Opel Corsa Van
Proof that tiny European vans can be great fun.
Words and pictures: Peter Orosz
—you scream from the kitchen.
“Make that a couple!” I scream back.
Keep crunching on your Special K and soon we will be swirling up a summer storm of dust and shards and flowers, crunch away or the milk with bog it down. The speakers say: More than just a leitmotif / More chaotic, no relief
I hammer away on the hardwood floors, tapping go go GO, and off you are with car key twirling, slicing at a ginkgo leaf, you drop the clutch and hit the road and while you steer, I set the stereo to eleven so Karen can shriek: tick tick tick tick tick tick TICKTICKTICK
Time is slipping away. We advance a block. Then another. One may ask what a hundred and twenty cubic inches are enough for. Whether to defeat space and time, one would need a minimum of twelve cylinders to counter the pressure of bare feet stuck to a windscreen.
A satisfactory answer is perhaps provided by the remarkable kinetic energy of air molecules that hit an outstretched palm. Give them time and they will erode the loops off your skin down to the connective tissue.
You are a monster with your brake pads, you know, two drops of oil and cease would their whine like that of a corvette run aground on coral. You enjoy perhaps the wholesale destruction of the auditory cortex? Enjoy perhaps metal grinding on metal?
We do not exit the corner on a tangent but rather continue, the pebble-like Nineties chassis has many a trick up its sleeve, it is not a coupé but is instead a truck with a trip register.
Imagine the vistas afforded by a track suspension! Forged aluminum wishbones, lowered to skin the shards of soda bottles, a KKK turbo could also come in handy—
“Hold on,” you say, “hold on, we are entering a sweeping onramp and this is no Audi Quattro,” you lock the wheels and we are sliding sideways.
If only we could show this to owners of Opel Corsas otherwise disinterested in automotive transport. If only they could see the ebullient hollers produced from unstable hydrocarbons in simple ways.
Viewed from the outside, we could see significant flamery erupt from the exhaust pipe, melting pebbles down to glass. Rubber would peel off our tires for miles, but we are not on the outside, we are riding in a truck with a neglected trip register and one has to consider the inertia of a high roofline.
It is about time to head for a port or a thoroughfare and it is also about time to consider the ethereal quality of automotive decadence. If it has wheels, steering and exhaust pipes and it can make you laugh, do you really need a Countach Quattrovalvole? It would certainly come in handy.
But it is basically unnecessary.
∞ Published on Tuesday, July 8th, 2008