1971 Chevrolet Camaro: The New Black

A backstage pass to American love. We rock out with Chevrolet’s second-generation Camaro in the streets of Cape Town in full tough guy guise.

It’s 5:15 on a Saturday morning and I’m not gifted with the cat and mouse game of hitting “snooze” on the alarm. I have an appointment with a rock star of motoring, a 1971 Chevrolet’s Camaro. The car that became the Ford Mustang arch nemesis. Sleep-deprived and only having one coffee in system vs my usual three, I head out to encounter an opportunity to get star-studded.

06:10 and Jonathan’s just arrived under the flyover bridge and the recent Cape Town sample hurricane has served up quite the moody backdrop. The goal for the day is to avoid getting smacked in the face with a piece of soiled toilet paper. The car’s not phased though. It’s got that all weather, all condition toughness about it and a little bit of wind is merely a formality. We start shooting. The Camaros darkened accents proving to be an ideal foreground subject today. With enough shots taken we decide to move to the next location only to hear the sound that unites every petrol head…the sound of a burnout. I turn and immediately gesticulate towards Jonathan, laughing and shout: "Bud, the way shoots work…it goes like this…if you do anything epic, please just let us know so that we can at least capture it. To which he replies:” No Problem…I can always do it again.”

Bud, the way shoots work…it goes like this…if you do anything epic, please just let us know so that we can at least capture it. To which he replies:”No Problem…I can always do it again.

Pump up the Volume: How does it drive? I swing the enormously oversized barn-like drivers side door and (Older Muscle cars tend to have this disproportionally odd panel sizing) strap myself in, make the necessary steering column and seat adjustments before releasing the park brake lever, lifting the Hurst shifter into drive mode. The car engages a gear, there’s a violent shudder and we set off. This may come as a revelation but this is my first time driving an old left-hand drive classic and for the first few minutes it takes a bit getting used to. With apprehension, I feather the accelerator in anticipation of a World War. It doesn’t come. Muscle cars tend to have this no-nonsense reputation where everything is extreme and violent, including the accelerator at the slightest of pressure. Perhaps that’s my sympathetic side towards engineering engaging in a smooth transaction of foot and pedal but I have every bit of confidence that unleashing all the ponies and you’ll be changing lanes involuntarily. I don’t want that.

The three-speed automatic gearbox is a seamless affair. So smooth I have to strain my senses to feel the shifts. A nod of the head to the Camaros makers. On the downside, steering inputs are as unresponsive as what you’d expect from an older American car with every input I make followed by a delayed and dull output. The strategic eventuallity of turning at the end of the road seems to be low on the priority list. All is forgiven as we press on along the coastal road, where at higher speeds, things tightens up. The Camaros sweet engine growl filling the crisp beach suburbs’ surroundings, drowning out the sound of seagulls squawking. Life’s good.

With effortless increases in speed as we forge along, I feel that this steroid laden V8 wants you to ring it out. On this model’s restoration process, the suspension was stiffened, making the ride feel just that much more engaging.

The brakes are assisted by a booster and you can sympathise with its struggle in slowing down all that weight but equally impressive for a car pushing 45 years of age. I mean you’re not collecting dandruff off the dash through sharp braking like on a modern car.

What’s it like backstage? Once inside, the Camaro's surroundings close in on you with its leather seats and analogue instruments of the time proving that this was an all-round player and not some pretty car show queen. There is an abundance of chrome surrounds, an original stereo system and General Motor’s eagerness to display safety warnings on the safety belts. I guess after the previous few decades of non-existent safety this is a fitting tongue-in-cheek moment and the very least the manufacturer can do. In this 2+2 configuration, the two puffy front leather seats lean back with this lounge-like feel. The Hurst shifter, fitted on this car is an event in itself. It’s cold-pressed aluminium feel being a fitting complement to the dark atmosphere of the cabin.

“You feel like things are finicky. You don’t want to force it. With the indicator, you slowly put it down…the gear changer…all that…. But eventually, you come to the realisation that, yes it’s an old car, but it’s built solid. These hurst shifters are meant to take a beating so I don’t pussyfoot around anymore”

The greatest hits. Even though the Mustang was the more popular choice throughout the years outselling the Camaro, don’t think this made the Camaro a dull car. The very success of the Mustang could be pinned on the competitive nature of the Mustang/Camaro rivalry throughout the years, all thanks to the Camaro. Iron sharpens the iron, right? This continues today, more than 50 years later. Put that in your twin exhaust pipes and smoke it.

The encore. I may not have been the greatest muscle car fan boy prior to this muscle car concert but I DO get their appeal. I can understand why so many generations loved them, and specifically, the Camaro. It has uber loud stage personality and all the right back-alley street smarts whilst wearing that ‘worn-in-process’ leather jacket. You know that one with the scuff marks in all the right places and exposed ‘Deep V’ T-shirt with the exposed chest tattoos. The type of look that says “Don’t play with me” and the type of look that guys like Adam Levine desperately want to have.

With my virgin muscle car album played out through three-inch stainless steel exhaust, and my dopamine levels spiked, I can’t quite help but be left with the desire to sample more. Anyone have a Mustang for this new muscle car groupie?