The first thing I notice is how small the cab area is. It is not a question of leg or head room since these are adequate for me. However, the windshield seems right in my face and there is a feeling of being extremely vulnerable. Only a thin sheet metal panel separates the tips of my toes from the outside world. My knees straddle the steering column. In fact the manufacturer wisely suggested that if a head on collision was anticipated the driver and front passenger should lift their legs to minimize injury. Back in the days when I was making the scene in my 1960 there were numerous horror stories about people taking their VW Microbusses north up the Alcan Highway, getting into collisions in remote areas and losing their legs at the knee.
The cab was designed to maximize cargo space and is quite utilitarian. I remember that it is similar in some respects to the cockpit of a small airplane of the same era. I am now used to modern vehicles with adjustable seats and dashes that curve away from the driver and have bodies that extend beyond. I drive big over the road trucks sometimes and this vehicle is on the opposite end of the spectrum. It suddenly occurs to me that a contributing factor to the feeling of confinement is being 50 pounds heavier than in 1968. Still I like the car and find it satisfying to be inside.