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Never did I picture myself owning a classic Italian sports car – and certainly never an Alfa Romeo. As my family had a lengthy connection with a number of British sports car marques, I always assumed that this was also my natural trajectory. In fact, on that late February afternoon when I first walked into that little British specialty shop, closing that gap in my life and joining the ranks of my grandfather and uncle, before the impending deadline of 40th birthday that was preparing to rain down on me in just a few short weeks, was the primary objective.

I had wandered in from the street after spotting a Craigslist ad featuring a semi-completed project Triumph TR4A. When I arrived, I didn’t even need to look any closer at the car that was parked on the street in front of the entrance to realize it wasn’t the one for me. However, they also had a pretty nice-looking metal-dash MGB out there, too, so I ventured in to try to find out more. Unfortunately, that car had already been spoken for, but that didn’t stop me from asking the shop’s main “salesperson” what else they had.

He pointed me in the direction of a couple of pretty worn-looking XJSs and XJ6s, but I was specifically looking for a roadster, and none of those were particularly to my liking either. Then he mentioned he had a customer’s Alfa Romeo, that it was kind of a cool and unusual color and that it was also for sale.

Resting virtually abandoned, suspended on top of a lift all the way in the back corner of the garage, it looked bad. His customer had owned the car for like 20 years, but was planning to convert it for autocross. He had some health issues, had kind of given up on it and decided to throw in the towel and asked the shop if they could sell it. He claimed that they had put in a (very, very, very ugly) roll bar and a few other random racing parts, slapped on some Datsun mirrors (for reasons I still can’t figure out) and that the car had been sitting for about 6 months (in hindsight I suspect it was quite a lot longer, but either way …). Still, there was something about it. I didn’t drive it, I didn’t inspect it in any kind of thorough manner, I didn’t really ask any questions and I didn’t try to negotiate. I saw it, I asked what it cost and I shook the guy’s hand. I did literally everything that I tell everybody else not to do when purchasing a vintage car.

For the next couple of years, I spent every free night and weekend in it and underneath it, trying to get it to the point where it was usable and presentable. Then, in the summer of 2019, my house was destroyed in a construction accident and unfortunately the Alfa was also a victim. Despite all my hard work being erased, without thought, I started over (thankfully, this time with the help of my friends at Sports and Collector Car Center in Tempe, Arizona) and began the soul-crushing task of doing it all a second time.

Around then, I was getting a lot of questions as to why I was doing this. I’m certainly in and around cars that are perceived to be a lot better all the time and I’ve driven basically everything. Why not dump this mess and “upgrade”? I think the answer then and the answer now continue to remain the same: This car is really honest, it keeps me honest and, because of that, I remain grounded. It’s also become a symbol for me of where I started and everything I had to go through to get to where I am now.

It’s really easy to get divorced from reality in this business. Over the years, I’ve watched a lot of people get themselves into trouble and basically foul out this way. This car is just enough of all the good things that I like about all my favorite cars: It keeps me happy and engaged and also keeps everything around me (from a work perspective) fresh and exciting. It stops me from the endless trappings of always wanting more and continues to teach me lessons about the value of contentment.

They say that you don’t find these cars; they find you. This couldn’t be more of a shining example of that. Since that day when we first laid eyes on each other, it’s become more than a machine. It’s an advisor, a therapist, a friend and a part of my family that I intend to travel the freeways and B-roads of life with for the rest of mine.

Simply put, this wonderful little machine has become a part of me.