First drive to Talla: why some roads deserve the right car

Photographer and writer David Corfield takes his restored 1998 Audi S4 Avant on a road that resonates...

(C) 2026 David Corfield

There are some drives that aren’t really about getting anywhere. They’re about reconnecting. With a car. With a road. With yourself. After months of restoration work spent fettling, checking, cleaning and slowly bringing my Audi S4 back to life, the time finally came for its first proper outing after a successful MOT test. This wasn’t a quick run to the shops or a tentative loop around town to see if everything felt vaguely acceptable. This was the moment I had been working towards through long evenings, weekends lost to spanners and parts diagrams, and the sort of patient, methodical effort that only old cars seem to demand.

There were countless small jobs along the way: fluids changed, hoses inspected, tired components replaced, trim cleaned, electrical gremlins chased, and all the little details that separate a merely running car from one that feels properly sorted. Some jobs were straightforward. Others turned into far more involved investigations than expected, with one fix leading to another and another until the whole process became a proper restoration in the truest sense of the word. By the end of it, the Audi was no longer just a car I had bought. It was a car I had brought back – and am still bringing back.

So, there was only ever going to be one place for its first real drive. Talla Reservoir.

I’ve been bringing every car I’ve owned here since 1987. It’s become something of a tradition over nearly four decades. Different cars, different stages of life, different cameras hanging around my neck, but always the same road leading to the same expanse of water beneath the surrounding hills. It’s become my own automotive rite of passage. If a car earns its place in my life, sooner or later it ends up parked on the steep pass overlooking Talla Reservoir.

Leaving home, there was that familiar feeling of anticipation that every enthusiast knows. You don’t just start a car like this. You wake it up. The 2.7-litre twin-turbocharged V6 settles into a cultured idle that somehow manages to sound restrained while hinting that there’s far more waiting beneath the surface. Modern performance cars often assault your senses with artificial exhaust pops, amplified induction noise and synthetic engine sound pumped through the speakers. The S4 does none of that. Everything you hear is real, and everything you feel is genuine.

As the engine warmed through and I headed out on the A701 to Tweedsmuir, I was reminded why analogue performance cars have become so sought after. They ask something of you. They expect your involvement. Nothing is filtered. Nothing is sanitised.

The steering has genuine weight, the six-speed manual gearbox rewards precision rather than speed and the clutch needs a deliberate left foot. Even the throttle pedal feels mechanically connected to the engine rather than interpreted by layers of software. It’s a conversation rather than a command.

Once clear of Broughton village, the A701 opened up and I could finally let the V6 breathe. There is something uniquely addictive about a twin-turbo engine from this era. Below 2,500rpm it’s civilised and relaxed. Then you sense the boost beginning to build. By 3,000rpm the engine gathers itself before delivering that wonderfully progressive surge that seems to gather momentum all the way to the red line with a faintly discernible whistle as the two BorgWarner KO3 turbos spool up. There’s no dramatic explosion of power. Instead it’s a relentless wave that pushes you down the road with increasing urgency.

It’s fast by any sensible measure, and this one has been breathed on to deliver a not unimpressive 316bhp. A deep mechanical growl blends with the muted whistle of the turbochargers before the subtle flutter as you lift off. No artificial theatrics. Just the wonderful collection of noises that engineers created before marketing departments decided every performance car needed to sound like a touring car.

With the windows open, every shift became an event. Clutch. Gear. Throttle. Boost. Repeat.

The rhythm is wonderfully involving and driving roads like these reminds you that performance isn’t simply measured by acceleration figures or Nürburgring lap times. It’s measured by how much a car makes you smile when there’s nobody else around.

(C) 2023 David Corfield

And so to Talla. The scenery changes almost imperceptibly. Rolling farmland gradually gives way to open moorland before the landscape opens into something altogether more dramatic. The reservoir appears almost unexpectedly, hidden by an impressive dam overlooked by Victoria Lodge and framed by hills that seem to stretch forever under vast Scottish skies. Even after all these years, it still makes me slow down – and not just because the road demands it. But because the view deserves it.

I’ve photographed countless cars here over the years. Some modest. Some genuinely special. Front-wheel drive hot hatches, four-wheel drive sports cars, executive saloons and the occasional automotive indulgence. Each one marked a chapter in life. Cars become milestones and remind us where we were in our lives when we owned them. That’s why enthusiasts rarely talk about horsepower first – they talk about memories.

Standing beside the Audi overlooking the vast expanse of the reservoir, camera in hand as always, I realised this latest chapter feels rather significant. Only the sound of my dog Tess panting and the breeze moving across the water and the occasional bird broke the stillness. I stood there for quite a while, reflecting on the journey. Everything had gone exactly as I’d hoped. The Audi had done what great cars do – it disappeared beneath me while somehow making every mile memorable.

Driving home, I realised this wasn’t really the first drive of a newly acquired car, but more the continuation of a tradition that began almost forty years ago. Different cars have come and gone, life has changed in countless ways and cameras have evolved from film to digital. The roads have become busier and the world has become noisier yet Talla Reservoir remains reassuringly constant. Perhaps that’s why I keep returning. It’s not simply a beautiful destination, it’s become a place where every new automotive chapter begins.

And now, alongside all those memories stretching back to 1987, there’s another one: my Audi S4. A reminder that, in an increasingly digital world, some of life’s greatest pleasures remain wonderfully mechanical.