Wilson’s Alfa Romeo 6C 2500 Roadster

By Paul Wilson

I enjoyed my Alfa 6C2500 project so much that finishing it creates a problem: what next? Without a major dream to focus my thoughts on, I knew I would feel aimless and lost. So a few years ago I began to consider the possibilities.

I hesitate to mention my first idea. The long-feared Men in White Coats might appear at my door, with such proof of incurable insanity. But–how about a BAT? They’re really, really cool. And wild, showing the outer reaches of imaginative design in the early ‘50s. Air flow was the dominating concern–they were explorations of “aerodynamica,” the A in BAT. Smooth, rounded shapes would slip through the air with the least resistance. Enclosed wheels kept them out of the airstream. Ducts carried cooling air in and out, for the engine and brakes. And those spectacular fins shaped the flow over the rear body.

But even BAT 7, my favorite, has features I would change. I like seeing wheels. It has too many scoops and vents. I don’t mind sacrificing rear vision, and in-your-face impracticality is a lot of its appeal, but at least I’d like to be able to see out the side windows. I spent some time with Photoshop, experimenting with different modifications.

The original cars were built on an Alfa 1900 chassis. A friend has a 1900 parts car I could use for mine, so it would be authentic. The roof and side windows of BAT 7 resemble those on a VW Karmann-Ghia, so I dragged home a K-G donor car. Admittedly farfetched, the project didn’t look impossible.

Another idea for a future project, really my first choice, was making a 6C2500 roadster to match my coupe. These were originally coachbuilt cars, so mine would still be a real 6C2500, just rebodied. I had a couple of engines and other 6C2500 spares. With its all-independent suspension and gorgeous twin cam engine, it has exotic specifications. Its 18″ wire wheels give it an aggressive stance. And it’s a perfect size: big enough to command attention, but still a true sports car. Any bigger, and its character would change to a luxury tourer, heavier, more comfortable, more sedate.

If I could do another 6C, what would it look like? As with the coupe, it would blend the most appealing features of cars a late ‘40s designer would be familiar with. We can start, of course, with the Alfa 2.9. The Touring roadster is surely one of the most beautiful cars ever made: perfect proportions, graceful fender shapes, long hood. But comparison with its racecar sibling, the 2.9 Mille Miglia, suggests possible variations. At the rear, the MM’s narrower central fuselage divides the “tail” from the “wings.”

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I love the MM’s rear fenders, but I’m not so sure about the central area where the end of the fuselage forms a bullet above a bland lower area. On the Peugeot Darl’Mat the middle part tapers to a point to match the fender shapes, with smooth connecting panels in between. I love it (for many years I had the Darl’Mat now in the Simeone collection), but maybe there are further possibilities. I don’t like the heart-shaped license plate compartment, though to be fair, it’s hard to find any attractive way to put on a license plate. The central section should have more prominence than the fenders. Maybe the fenders could sweep in more dramatically.

The BMW 328 “Bugelfalte” roadster is another stunning design from the period, particularly successful in its simple, graceful front end. Having the engine and radiator much further forward than most prewar cars was a challenge that led to many clumsy solutions. On very different chassis, the great ‘30s classics didn’t give relevant answers. “Bugelfalte” translates to “trouser crease,” describing the peak at the fender tops. It’s an attractive detail, seen later on the Aston DB3S and in more emphatic form, on the Arnolt-Bristol. The BMW’s fenders are integrated into the body sides. I prefer the earlier look on a late ‘30s Zagato Alfa, a muscular torso connecting separate fender shapes front and rear.

My coupe’s front end would give a good starting point for its roadster sibling. But I like the steeper slope of the grille on one of the last 2.9 chassis. And the fenders might be more exciting with the BMW’s sharp peaks and a more aggressive front profile.

A body built just before the war by De Mola, an obscure Belgian firm, suggests further possibilities. Now on a 6C2500 chassis, it has a complicated history. In its original form, it had fully enclosed front wheels and headlights hidden under flip-up covers; when restored, it was slightly less radical. It still had high-set fenders, painted banners sweeping back in a contrasting color on the body and fenders, teardrop-shaped front wheel openings, and other wild details. If some features went a bit too far, its huge wire wheels, raked vee-windshield, and perfect proportions were a magical combination.

These pleasing fantasies ignored two huge problems. First, finding a 6C2500 chassis looked to be impossible. From 1939 to 1952, perhaps 1200 such cars were built. Probably a majority were scrapped. Survivors are now very valuable. Times have changed since I bought three for $1000 in 1975.

An equally daunting problem was pointed out to me by a friend. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “Your coupe is almost finished after 40-some years. And you’re how old? By my calculations, if you work with the same speed and efficiency on a roadster, it will be done in 2060, when you are 116 years old. Can you do arithmetic?”

If I were sober and sensible, I would have dropped the idea. Luckily, I didn’t. Stay tuned.