The Maratona edition was referred to as the "Marijuana" edition, in reference to what Alfa must have been smoking at the time
The Maratona edition was referred to as the "Marijuana" edition, in reference to what Alfa must have been smoking at the time
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For many Alfisti (our esteemed Publisher included), the saga of Alfa Romeo in the U.S. effectively ends after 1967, when emission controls began to sap their essential "Alfa-ness." Having driven his '65 Giulia Spider Veloce, it's not difficult to see how he comes by this opinion. And the market seems to agree. Serial-production Alfa sports cars built prior to 1968 are all appreciating, while those built after 1967-excluding the last Duettos, the Montreal, and 1750/2000 GTVs- are nearly all fodder for columns like this one.
It doesn't mean that all post-'67 Alfas are bad cars, just rather hopeless as collectibles for now and the foreseeable future. Of the various late Spiders, Milanos, Alfettas, and 164s, the GTV6 may be the most rewarding, yet it still languishes squarely in bottom-feeder territory, where it has resided since Bush the First was President. This aggressive depreciation will stand, but those who say it wouldn't be prudent at this juncture to seek one out are wrong.
The GTV6 was a development of the well-balanced but underpowered Alfetta GT, the successor to the 105-series GTV. Designed by Giorgetto Giugiaro, it was a pleasant design, if a bit tail-heavy, with a slightly hunchbacked roofline that at least allowed for decent rear seat headroom. Following the Alfetta, the suspension relied on double wishbones and torsion bars at the front and a DeDion transaxle at the rear. Even with the substitution of the heavier V6 (Alfa's first), the car remained well-balanced, although understeer was its natural tendency.
The V6 engine was the real story
Aside from the redesigned dash-which did away with a layout of instruments and controls that would cause a Honda designer to combust spontaneously-the engine was the real story. It was a really sweet 2.5-liter SOHC V6 that is smooth and revvy. Maximum torque comes at 4,000 rpms, but it's anything but flaccid lower down. Zero to 60 times of around eight seconds were the norm.
As usual, however, what Alfa giveth, Alfa also taketh away, and like the Series I 3.8 E-type Jaguar, the GTV6 is let down by a poor gearchange. It has been likened to stirring a pot of overcooked tortellini. The long linkage that reaches back to the transaxle is responsible for vagueness, and when coupled with the typical worn bushings and synchros, it becomes pretty tedious. At least the exhaust note makes double clutching rewarding.
The interior of the GTV6 is pleasant by 1980s standards, with a fat wood-rimmed steering wheel and seats usually done in leather. Optional Recaros came with goofy mesh-insert headrests. Other options included power windows, air conditioning, and a sunroof. All of which carried the usual Italian quality, so expect slow or stuck power windows, leaky sunroofs, and tepid a/c. (As an indicator of just how reliable Alfa thought its power windows would be, a manual window crank was supplied with the car. Just in case.) Various other electrical maladies will likely manifest themselves in obvious ways.
Head gaskets still a problem
On that note, most cars will no longer be running with their original twin-plate clutches or four-piece head gaskets. Nevertheless, blown head gaskets continued to plague Alfa V6s through the 164, to which I can personally attest. Blue smoke when letting off at high rpm spells worn valve guides. Valve noise usually means that the owner has neglected to do a valve adjustment, probably because it's a pain in the neck.
Alfa, like Jaguar, continued to be enamored with the concept of inboard rear brakes. I've never understood the trade-off in a small amount of unsprung weight versus larger service headaches. Adjusters fail with regularity and the only fix is a new caliper.
And while Porsche was blazing new trails in automotive rustproofing with pioneering galvanized bodies built to last a lifetime, Alfa went on under the assumption that the weather in Hamburg was the same year round as in Rome and continued to build rust-prone bodies built to last a lunchtime. Nearly every place is fair game, including front fender tops, wheel arches, windshield and rear window surrounds, tailgate areas, and jacking points.
Don't even think about rescuing a rusty GTV6 unless perhaps it's one of the ultra-rare Callaway twin turbo cars. With upgraded wheels, suspension, brakes, a wilder hood bulge, and the blessing of Alfa, the "junior Ferrari" label applied to every underachieving Italian sports car by excuse-making owners actually makes sense with a Callaway GTV6. Having had the crap scared out of me by an enthusiastic owner during a test drive, I can confirm that the performance is certainly there and they look mean. Twin turbos rarely come on the market, but I suspect that the high $20k or low $30k range is about right.
It's best to leave the modifications to the likes of the skilled like Reeves Callaway. There are plenty of poorly modified cars that don't work very well, although not all fall into that category. Three-liter conversions are common, as are lowered suspensions and fatter wheels and tires. Some owners clearly look at the GTV6 as the closest Alfa came to producing a muscle car.
Little special about special editions
Two special editions were produced for the U.S. As usual, there was little special about them beyond stripes and wheels, some additional equipment, and minor body mods (including a dopey clear hood insert). Known as the "Balocco" and "Maratona" editions, they were simply a ploy to sell slow-moving product. The latter was referred to by cynics as the "Marijuana" edition, no doubt a reference to what Alfa of North America was smoking at the time. Let the Porsche people pay double for an anemic 1974-75 tape stripe Carrera, but unless it's a really good example, there is little reason to seek out a Balocco or Maratona GTV6.
Similarly, there are misguided souls who take pride in the alleged "Bond car" status of the GTV6. Yes, Roger Moore (or rather his stunt driver, the brilliant Rémy Julienne) did drive the hell out of one in the otherwise miserable excuse for a Bond flick, "Octopussy." However, it was not issued by Q; Bond stole the car while disguised in a clown outfit-Sean Connery would have garotted anyone who suggested that-making it in my book no more a Bond car than the Sunbeam Alpine used in "Dr. No."
As always with cheap cars, the most expensive examples are the cheapest ones in the long run. In the case of the GTV6, spending $5,000-$7,000 should get one of the best. Applying the law of substitution often cited by SCM's Dave Kinney, a right GTV6 really is a poor man's Lamborghini Espada. It has a great powerplant, good brakes, sharp steering, and a relatively practical 2+2 body.