This page is an ode to my car, a 1961 Mercedes Benz 220 “Heckflosse” (fintail). I bought it for the love of a beautiful thing. The tail fins, as subtle as they are, were seen as a controversial design move for MB —the perception being an attempt to reach out to the tastes of the American buyer. But the car’s got great lines; it’s so gorgeous. Distinct. Today’s car may be more advanced, but contemporary car design is apparently largely about conformity, not distinction.
My 220 is not in great condition; it’s in decent condition, but definitely not “show” shape. Some rust. And frankly, I’m quite satisfied with that as the last thing I want to do is worry about every little new scratch. Quite shiny though.
The most frequently asked question—and I do mean frequent (usually by guys who pull up next to you at a stop light): “What year is it?” Second most frequently asked question: “Is it standard or automatic?” It is indeed manual transmission, with the shifter on the steering column—“four on the column,” as they say. And this is a car for which the driver is an active participant. Whereas today’s car drive you through an experience of ease that could lull you into sleep, this baby demands your effort. Which makes you feel very alive when driving it: the steering’s stiff, the brake pedal even stiffer—so you’re always leaning into your drive. And the idle level is a little unpredictable, depending what kind of mood she’s in, which means you have to listen carefully and occasionally toy with the choke to keep her going in stop and go. Power brakes? Power steering? Power locks? Yeah right—this beauty doesn’t even have seat belts. I love it, I love it.
