Over the years, my father’s garage has become an elephant’s graveyard of corroded metal, faded wiring diagrams, desiccated gaskets and various other relics of a lifetime of Land Rover ownership. Buried somewhere amidst the artifacts is an old Punch magazine with a cartoon showing three British Leyland workers clustered around the company magazine, contemplating a picture of an Austin Mini with its speedometer mounted on the hubcap. The caption reads: “Cockup of The Month.” Amen. The Land Rover was the “best four by four by far” ever built by lazy English Communists.
Not many vehicles are as immediately and inescapably iconic as the Land Rover. Its cheerful boxy shape provokes a strong desire to don knee socks and a pith helmet, and go bouncing around the landscape, interfering with the simple quests of Kalihari Bushmen. Alan Quatermain would have driven one. David Attenborough did. It’s British pluck personified, like an all-terrain steak-and-kidney pie.
Perhaps that’s what made Dad buy one: familiarity. My parents emigrated from Northern Ireland to the Wild West coast of Canada in the late ‘60’s. After a brief dalliance with uncouth colonial pickup trucks, they plumped for the Jeep with a plummy accent.
The Land Rover’s aerodynamics-are-a-bloody-Jerry-plot design gave it the drag-coefficient of a 4’x8’ sheet of plywood. However, its simplicity meant that it could be taken apart like a huge Meccano set. No need for doors? Off they come! Mind you, just try and get the confounded things lined up when you want to put them back on again.
Bolting a tire to the bonnet made frequent underhood excursions an exercise in avoiding ending up with Sir Ranulph Fiennes’ fingers, or Charles the First’s haircut. Still, it gave me and my brother, perched on the front fenders, something to hang on to as we hurtled down a potholed logging road.
That's another thing. I don't know what it was exactly, but for some reason the Land Rover brought out the inner eejit in all of its drivers. My mother’s only speeding ticket came at the helm of the ‘Rover, which, considering its rather chelonian turn of speed, was roundly applauded by the rest of the family. My father managed to get it stuck attempting to ford a stream, within twenty feet of a perfectly serviceable bridge.
Performance? Imagine Winston Churchill in a sprint. Cornering? The QEII on wheels. Interior noise? Like being topside in the Blitz. Kit? All your essential mod cons: windows that open and close (sort of), black vinyl seats like the surface of the sun in summer, a dashboard that’d literally dash your brains out, and a steering wheel of a diameter that wouldn't have been out of place on the deck of a man-o’-war at Trafalgar.
Childhood memories of the Land Rover run the gamut from sheer terror to slight nausea. Whether it was teetering on the edge of a narrow mountain path or nearly bisecting me with the lap belt in the rear-facing back seat, the ‘Rover always gave the impression that somebody from the Spanish Inquisition had been hard at work in the design department.
Keeping it on the road was no picnic either. Countless hours were also spent holding the trouble light and passing wrenches to my cursing father (Dad once asked a teenager wearing a “Rage Against The Machine” t-shirt whether he too owned a Land Rover).
After one particularly involved overhaul, we put everything back together - only to be left with a margarine container filled with an assortment of important-looking nuts and bolts. In a fit of genius, my father affixed a masking tape label marked “Spares.” Problem solved.
By the time I got my grubby little paws on it, we were on our second ‘Rover (the first still sits on the driveway, eviscerated to keep the second one mobile). For a developing gearhead, this was a monumental disappointment. Having been taught to drive in my Dad’s mid-eighties 535i, one of the best-handling sedans you could buy at the time, I was informed that all future solo flights would be at the helm of Rosie the Riveted.
I was to discover that the Land Rover had more Achilles’ Heels than a Greek centipede. For instance, there was the day when, late for work, I leapt into my chariot and put the transmission into reverse. Ba-kunk! Off broke a two-foot section of gear lever. Two years later, we were still driving around with a set of vice-grip pliers attached to the stump.
Then, having fixed the throttle linkage’s tendency to fall apart at stoplights with baling wire (Land Rover Aspirin), I experienced the joy of having both half-shafts (their ends crystallized to protect the differential) snap and leave me stranded on a rail-crossing.
The big green monster currently resides on gravel at the ancestral manse, where wintertime duties compel it to sally forth and plow the drive. Unfortunately a recent frame-off restoration has resulted in a driver’s-side door that can’t be closed. Chariot of the Gods? The Gods Must Have Been Crazy.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Bonus: Unpublished 10 Worst List
10 Worst
1.] Chrysler Sebring
There are many things I would rather be driving than a Chrysler Sebring. For example, a ox-drawn dung cart.
Besides being uglier than botched botox, the Sebring has no personality, a rough engine, an flimsy plastic interior like the inside of a chocolate box, and steering which feels like it's communicating with the front wheels by Morse code. Or possibly carrier pigeon.
Worst of all, the Sebring was touted as the successor to the flawed-but-interesting Chrysler 300C, which is a little bit like Ice Cube's change from scary West Coast gangsta rapper into boring cuddly star of straight-to-DVD family movies.
2.] Saturn Ion
Some people have mourned the passing of Saturn. Well, both of you can lay the blame for the company's failure on this excrable econobox. The Ion took Saturn's reputation for making quirky, fuel-efficient automobiles with dent-resistant doors and blasted it from orbit with a beam of pure, concentrated ugly.
The plastic interior in the sluggish, unreliable Ion is of such a poor quality, it makes the previously mentioned Sebring look like Versailles, and the rest of the car is alternately boring or goofy-looking. Good riddance.
3.] BMW 7-Series
Early on, the BMW 7-series was like a Saville Row tailored suit: reserved, stylish, and projecting a sense of wealth and affluence. Then, a man named Chris Bangle came along and ruined everything.
Channeling the pure evil of the Dark Side of designing, Bangle turned the business suit into something Flavor Flav wouldn't wear. It took years for the horrible “Bangle Butt” to wear off, with its weirdly raised trunk lid.
Also complicating things was BMW's abysmal iDrive system, which auto-journos quickly renamed iDriveYouCrazy. Yes, using a single mouse-like controller for all vehicle functions is great, but not when changing the radio station requires a trip through twelve submenus and a skill-testing question.
4.] Pontiac Aztek
I almost feel sorry for the poor Pontiac Aztek. Yes, it's ugly and slow and horrible, but it's like the ugly duckling, always getting picked on; always the butt of jokes.
On the other hand, it is really, really, really ugly, and the only way it's turning into a swan is if someone melts down all that plastic body cladding and pours it into a mold.
5.] Pontiac Sunfire
Is it any wonder they don't make Pontiac anymore? Like a hamfisted and myopic plastic surgeon, GM's “sporty and fun” division seems to take a perfectly bland, slow and unreliable Chevrolet product, and “improve” it by adding non-functional vents, spoilers and other plastic bits. But that's not important.
What is important is that the Sunfire was coarse, ugly, plasticky and uncomfortable, and received a crash-test rating of Certain Death. Do not want.
6.] The Jaguar X-Type
Jaguar may have built itself a reputation over the years for supreme excellence in the field of unreliability, but at least they were also luxurious. When you did get the Jag to run, it purred and roared, and the interiors were lovely places to wait and have a nice hot thermos of tea while you waited for the tow truck.
Then along came the X-Type Jaguar, the Jag that mewed. Everybody knew that a cheap Jaguar was a bad idea, especially with Ford at the helm. No matter, the businesspersons scoffed at the dissidents and cheerfully steered the HMS Jag towards Bankruptcy Rock by releasing a slow, cramped and shoddy product, which didn't sell.
7.] Ford Focus
I'm talking strictly about '05 and up here, as the Focus of the early part of the decade was not that bad. Sharing a lot of its DNA with the Euro version, the Focus was nippy, fun-to-drive, and nearly reliable.
But then those same businesspeople stuck their noses in, preventing the next Focus from being a twin to its European cousin (which, incidentally, sells like pannekoekens overseas) and instead choosing to make the North American Focus, bigger, fatter, and slower. Just like us.
8.] Dodge Caliber / Jeep Compass
Believe it or not, these are the same cars, and they are both deeply, deeply terrible. The Caliber is boring and unreliable, and manages the trick of being a reverse Tardis: huge on the outside, cramped on the inside. It also has acceleration times normally associated with plate tectonics, unless you buy the SRT4 version, which will try to kill you with torque steer.
The Compass takes all these excellent features and adds a facegraft to make it look like a Jeep. It should not be possible to buy a front-wheel drive Jeep that gets stuck if someone spills a Big Gulp on the road, but the management at Chrysler thinks that's what you want.
9.] Kia Amanti
Every well-designed car has a “face”. Just look at the mischievous headlights and grille of a Mini Cooper to get an idea of its playful nature and fun-to-drive qualities. The Kia Amanti looks like a Koala Bear with brain damage.
It's also quite expensive, unless you were to work out the per-pound price, which is the only way the 4100 lb curb weight is helpful. It's a big flobbery idiot of a car, and an embarrassment next to some of the highly improved products Kia's been putting out lately.
10.] Hummer H3
Ever notice how a lot of cars on this list are made by companies who've either disappeared or been sold off? There's a good reason for that.
Witness Hummer, the company that's a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to Mother Nature's face. All three models are pretty bad, although the H1 is at least fairly unpretentious, but the crown of anti-excellence has to go to the H3. Visibility is poor. Fuel economy is poor. Power and acceleration are poor. You will be poor if you buy one, because the resale is poor. Just terrible.
1.] Chrysler Sebring
There are many things I would rather be driving than a Chrysler Sebring. For example, a ox-drawn dung cart.
Besides being uglier than botched botox, the Sebring has no personality, a rough engine, an flimsy plastic interior like the inside of a chocolate box, and steering which feels like it's communicating with the front wheels by Morse code. Or possibly carrier pigeon.
Worst of all, the Sebring was touted as the successor to the flawed-but-interesting Chrysler 300C, which is a little bit like Ice Cube's change from scary West Coast gangsta rapper into boring cuddly star of straight-to-DVD family movies.
2.] Saturn Ion
Some people have mourned the passing of Saturn. Well, both of you can lay the blame for the company's failure on this excrable econobox. The Ion took Saturn's reputation for making quirky, fuel-efficient automobiles with dent-resistant doors and blasted it from orbit with a beam of pure, concentrated ugly.
The plastic interior in the sluggish, unreliable Ion is of such a poor quality, it makes the previously mentioned Sebring look like Versailles, and the rest of the car is alternately boring or goofy-looking. Good riddance.
3.] BMW 7-Series
Early on, the BMW 7-series was like a Saville Row tailored suit: reserved, stylish, and projecting a sense of wealth and affluence. Then, a man named Chris Bangle came along and ruined everything.
Channeling the pure evil of the Dark Side of designing, Bangle turned the business suit into something Flavor Flav wouldn't wear. It took years for the horrible “Bangle Butt” to wear off, with its weirdly raised trunk lid.
Also complicating things was BMW's abysmal iDrive system, which auto-journos quickly renamed iDriveYouCrazy. Yes, using a single mouse-like controller for all vehicle functions is great, but not when changing the radio station requires a trip through twelve submenus and a skill-testing question.
4.] Pontiac Aztek
I almost feel sorry for the poor Pontiac Aztek. Yes, it's ugly and slow and horrible, but it's like the ugly duckling, always getting picked on; always the butt of jokes.
On the other hand, it is really, really, really ugly, and the only way it's turning into a swan is if someone melts down all that plastic body cladding and pours it into a mold.
5.] Pontiac Sunfire
Is it any wonder they don't make Pontiac anymore? Like a hamfisted and myopic plastic surgeon, GM's “sporty and fun” division seems to take a perfectly bland, slow and unreliable Chevrolet product, and “improve” it by adding non-functional vents, spoilers and other plastic bits. But that's not important.
What is important is that the Sunfire was coarse, ugly, plasticky and uncomfortable, and received a crash-test rating of Certain Death. Do not want.
6.] The Jaguar X-Type
Jaguar may have built itself a reputation over the years for supreme excellence in the field of unreliability, but at least they were also luxurious. When you did get the Jag to run, it purred and roared, and the interiors were lovely places to wait and have a nice hot thermos of tea while you waited for the tow truck.
Then along came the X-Type Jaguar, the Jag that mewed. Everybody knew that a cheap Jaguar was a bad idea, especially with Ford at the helm. No matter, the businesspersons scoffed at the dissidents and cheerfully steered the HMS Jag towards Bankruptcy Rock by releasing a slow, cramped and shoddy product, which didn't sell.
7.] Ford Focus
I'm talking strictly about '05 and up here, as the Focus of the early part of the decade was not that bad. Sharing a lot of its DNA with the Euro version, the Focus was nippy, fun-to-drive, and nearly reliable.
But then those same businesspeople stuck their noses in, preventing the next Focus from being a twin to its European cousin (which, incidentally, sells like pannekoekens overseas) and instead choosing to make the North American Focus, bigger, fatter, and slower. Just like us.
8.] Dodge Caliber / Jeep Compass
Believe it or not, these are the same cars, and they are both deeply, deeply terrible. The Caliber is boring and unreliable, and manages the trick of being a reverse Tardis: huge on the outside, cramped on the inside. It also has acceleration times normally associated with plate tectonics, unless you buy the SRT4 version, which will try to kill you with torque steer.
The Compass takes all these excellent features and adds a facegraft to make it look like a Jeep. It should not be possible to buy a front-wheel drive Jeep that gets stuck if someone spills a Big Gulp on the road, but the management at Chrysler thinks that's what you want.
9.] Kia Amanti
Every well-designed car has a “face”. Just look at the mischievous headlights and grille of a Mini Cooper to get an idea of its playful nature and fun-to-drive qualities. The Kia Amanti looks like a Koala Bear with brain damage.
It's also quite expensive, unless you were to work out the per-pound price, which is the only way the 4100 lb curb weight is helpful. It's a big flobbery idiot of a car, and an embarrassment next to some of the highly improved products Kia's been putting out lately.
10.] Hummer H3
Ever notice how a lot of cars on this list are made by companies who've either disappeared or been sold off? There's a good reason for that.
Witness Hummer, the company that's a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick to Mother Nature's face. All three models are pretty bad, although the H1 is at least fairly unpretentious, but the crown of anti-excellence has to go to the H3. Visibility is poor. Fuel economy is poor. Power and acceleration are poor. You will be poor if you buy one, because the resale is poor. Just terrible.
10 Best Cars of The Decade
As the decade draws to a close, we cast a jaded and cynical eye across a vast array of automotive products that were designed, engineered, built and shipped out to be shined up and placed in the showroom, and ask the all-important question: “What the hell were they thinking?”
But then there are the bright spots. Several times I found myself ruminating, “Why don't they make them like that anymore?” and occasionally, “Why do they insist on calling it the 'Noughties'? Sounds like nougat-based lingerie line. Hmm... May have to write a letter to Victoria's Secret.”
Well anyway, the end of any era deserves a good solid Top-Ten list, so here's the 10 Best Cars of 2000-2009.
10 Best
1.] Honda S2000
Some people, myself for instance, aren't allowed to have motorcycles because their spouses know they will be run over by an octogenarian in a minivan, and somebody will end up getting their liver. For those people, there's the Honda S2000.
Granted, the engine has less torque than an electric pencil sharpener, but it redlines at a stratospheric 8300rpm, and the handling dynamics are razor sharp. Not just a coupe with the roof cut off, the S2000 was designed from the ground up, and as such, it's a purpose-built smile generator,
It'll also never break. Unless you hit a tree.
2.] Subaru STI
With a giant hoodscoop and ludicrous rear spoiler, the rumbling offbeat of a turbo flat-four, and the blue and gold livery of a rally champion, Subaru's STI is about as subtly as Spinal Tap's leather pants. On the other hand, there's not many family sedans that can chase down an M3 on the track and then drive straight up the side of a mountain, going mostly sideways.
By essentially taking one of their race-winning WRC rally cars and chiseling off the decals, Subaru created a year-round yahoo: the sportscar with snowshoes.
I'm going to give a nod at Mitsubishi's EVO here for its superior electronic wizardry, and better on-tarmac driving dynamics, but the Subaru is like a big friendly golden retriever: lots of fun, likes to get dirty, goes anywhere, kind of gassy.
3.] BMW M Coupe
What happens when a bunch of lunatic German engineers work evenings and weekends, and have help tricking stodgy management types into funding their mad experiments? You get something very special, and very weird: the M Coupe.
Basically a Z3 roadster with a hardtop and the M3's big straight-six shoehorned under the hood, the M Coupe is one wacky-looking car. Even afficionados call it “the Clown Shoe.” On the other hand, you'd better have big shoes if you're going to kick this much ass. The M Coupe corners like a mongoose and zips down the straights so fast you expect it to say “Meep-Meep”.
Sure, it's got flaws. That long nose means a cramped cabin, and the short -wheelbase/big-power combination means driving in the wet will make you wet yourself. Still, M Coupe owners have reported an easy fix: remove the windshield wipers and move to Death Valley.
If you need any further convincing of the greatness of the M Coupe, which car do you suppose the head of BMW's M division took home for the weekend most often? He could have taken anything, but he always grabbed the keys to the M coupe.
4.] Corvette ZR-1
I'll probably never own a Corvette, in the same way that I'll never own any gold medallions or giant, diamond-encrusted pinky rings, and never have chest hair like a shag-pile skin graft. But the 'Vette's not quite as medallion-y as it used to be. Somewhere along the way it morphed into a real Ferrari-killer, and the ZR-1 is the current king of the hill.
Admittedly, the 'Vette doesn't appear to be the pinnacle of engineering, what with its plastic body and much-scoffed-at leaf springs. Somehow it doesn't make any difference. The Porsche 911 might be a delicate road-scalpel, but the 'Vette is a sledgehammer, and driving one, every other car out there starts looking like a nail.
There's a video out there on the interwebs of a menacing, battleship-grey ZR-1, shot from a camera mounted on the rear of a mystery car. The ZR-1 paces the other car easily, surging foward in a split second every time a gap opens, and even getting a little air time. At the end of the video, it's revealed that the 'Vette just hunted down the new Lamborghini Murcielago LP-640 SV, a car costing half a million dollars.
5.] Dodge Challenger SRT8
The new Mustang might have better sales figures, and the new Camaro might be more popular with Transformer fans, but there's only one car that properly distills that ol' muscle car moonshine. The Challenger is big, wide and dumb, like Moose from Archie. Also, that big V8 puts out a better noise than Three Dog Night ever did.
It ain't a sportscar by any means: y'all kin turn layft, or raight. But get that big nose pointed at the horizon and pull the trigger, and boom, you're in Las Vegas.
With a pistol grip manual shifter for preference, and in Hemi Orange with those big black stripes, it's retro done right.
6.] MINI Cooper S JCW
Speaking of retro done correctly, here's one of the few times where the sequel is just as much fun as the original (probably because Mark Wahlberg wasn't involved). It might be extremely pricey, especially for a subcompact, but BMW's re-imagining of the original Cooper means that the MINI is a hoot and a half.
There's always been some rumbling over the excessively cutesy interior with its cartoon gauges, and a modern MINI Cooper will loom over one of its diminutive ancestor like a Heffalump towering over Piglet. However, the reincarnated MINI seems to shrug off those extra pounds, and the only thing cartoonish about the grippy handling and the go-kart driving feel is the idiotic grin it'll put on your face.
The John Cooper Works version is the best and fastest (and most expensive), but the whole lineup is a pleasure to drive. Up until they bring that ruddy crossover out, that is.
7.] Audi R8
Audi has never had a problem building fast cars or luxurious cars, but no-one expected their first foray into the world of mid-engined coupes to be this good. The R8 isn't the fastest car you can buy, but it just might be the best.
Audi's supercar is as quiet and comfortable as their A8 limousine, but it can dice it up with the 911s at the track, and while the jury's still out on those carbon-fibre sideburns, the styling is at once restrained and futuristic.
8.] Nissan GT-R
But let's suppose for a moment, you think luxurious restraint is like pink fuzzy handcuffs: best avoided. Might I interest you in possibly the most technologically advanced car on the market?
The GT-R is not subtle. It doesn't draw from retro inspiration or make concessions to niceties like sound levels or comfort. It is a weapon, purpose-built for speed, and is the closest thing most of us will get to piloting a fighter plane.
With a hand-built, twin-turbo engine feeding just under 500hp through a multi-clutch transmission and twin carbon-fibre driveshafts, the GT-R needs more computing power than eBay to avoid liquefying the pavement beneath its massively sticky tires.
9.] Bugatti Veyron
There's a good chance you might never see a Veyron. Being so rare and expensive, most of them are bound for the Middle East or Hong Kong, where they will be preserved and polished, but rarely driven.
Volkswagen resurrected the Bugatti nameplate, but lost money on every Veyron they made. The car was the Apollo Mission of automotive engineering, unlikely to be repeated.
There'll probably never be a car like it again, what with the shifting focus towards alternative fuels and greater efficiency. It is a 1001hp, 400km/h, one million dollar one-off.
10.] Toyota Prius
And now, as John Cleese would say, for something completely different. Ordinarily, I have little time for the Prius, with its fairly boring driving dynamics and that faint sense of smugness you get from hybrid drivers, who in most cases should really be using public transportation instead.
But Priuses (Priii?) don't seem to break, and they hold their value, and they get good mileage, and they're a perfectly acceptable four-door family hatchback that just happens to be a high-tech fuel saver. Also, you can sneak up on people in the silent-running battery mode, which is helpful if you're a ninja, or the captain of a nuclear submarine.
Hybrids may only be a band-aid solution to climate change, but the Prius proves both that manufacturers can be innovative, and that consumers are willing to take a risk.
But then there are the bright spots. Several times I found myself ruminating, “Why don't they make them like that anymore?” and occasionally, “Why do they insist on calling it the 'Noughties'? Sounds like nougat-based lingerie line. Hmm... May have to write a letter to Victoria's Secret.”
Well anyway, the end of any era deserves a good solid Top-Ten list, so here's the 10 Best Cars of 2000-2009.
10 Best
1.] Honda S2000
Some people, myself for instance, aren't allowed to have motorcycles because their spouses know they will be run over by an octogenarian in a minivan, and somebody will end up getting their liver. For those people, there's the Honda S2000.
Granted, the engine has less torque than an electric pencil sharpener, but it redlines at a stratospheric 8300rpm, and the handling dynamics are razor sharp. Not just a coupe with the roof cut off, the S2000 was designed from the ground up, and as such, it's a purpose-built smile generator,
It'll also never break. Unless you hit a tree.
2.] Subaru STI
With a giant hoodscoop and ludicrous rear spoiler, the rumbling offbeat of a turbo flat-four, and the blue and gold livery of a rally champion, Subaru's STI is about as subtly as Spinal Tap's leather pants. On the other hand, there's not many family sedans that can chase down an M3 on the track and then drive straight up the side of a mountain, going mostly sideways.
By essentially taking one of their race-winning WRC rally cars and chiseling off the decals, Subaru created a year-round yahoo: the sportscar with snowshoes.
I'm going to give a nod at Mitsubishi's EVO here for its superior electronic wizardry, and better on-tarmac driving dynamics, but the Subaru is like a big friendly golden retriever: lots of fun, likes to get dirty, goes anywhere, kind of gassy.
3.] BMW M Coupe
What happens when a bunch of lunatic German engineers work evenings and weekends, and have help tricking stodgy management types into funding their mad experiments? You get something very special, and very weird: the M Coupe.
Basically a Z3 roadster with a hardtop and the M3's big straight-six shoehorned under the hood, the M Coupe is one wacky-looking car. Even afficionados call it “the Clown Shoe.” On the other hand, you'd better have big shoes if you're going to kick this much ass. The M Coupe corners like a mongoose and zips down the straights so fast you expect it to say “Meep-Meep”.
Sure, it's got flaws. That long nose means a cramped cabin, and the short -wheelbase/big-power combination means driving in the wet will make you wet yourself. Still, M Coupe owners have reported an easy fix: remove the windshield wipers and move to Death Valley.
If you need any further convincing of the greatness of the M Coupe, which car do you suppose the head of BMW's M division took home for the weekend most often? He could have taken anything, but he always grabbed the keys to the M coupe.
4.] Corvette ZR-1
I'll probably never own a Corvette, in the same way that I'll never own any gold medallions or giant, diamond-encrusted pinky rings, and never have chest hair like a shag-pile skin graft. But the 'Vette's not quite as medallion-y as it used to be. Somewhere along the way it morphed into a real Ferrari-killer, and the ZR-1 is the current king of the hill.
Admittedly, the 'Vette doesn't appear to be the pinnacle of engineering, what with its plastic body and much-scoffed-at leaf springs. Somehow it doesn't make any difference. The Porsche 911 might be a delicate road-scalpel, but the 'Vette is a sledgehammer, and driving one, every other car out there starts looking like a nail.
There's a video out there on the interwebs of a menacing, battleship-grey ZR-1, shot from a camera mounted on the rear of a mystery car. The ZR-1 paces the other car easily, surging foward in a split second every time a gap opens, and even getting a little air time. At the end of the video, it's revealed that the 'Vette just hunted down the new Lamborghini Murcielago LP-640 SV, a car costing half a million dollars.
5.] Dodge Challenger SRT8
The new Mustang might have better sales figures, and the new Camaro might be more popular with Transformer fans, but there's only one car that properly distills that ol' muscle car moonshine. The Challenger is big, wide and dumb, like Moose from Archie. Also, that big V8 puts out a better noise than Three Dog Night ever did.
It ain't a sportscar by any means: y'all kin turn layft, or raight. But get that big nose pointed at the horizon and pull the trigger, and boom, you're in Las Vegas.
With a pistol grip manual shifter for preference, and in Hemi Orange with those big black stripes, it's retro done right.
6.] MINI Cooper S JCW
Speaking of retro done correctly, here's one of the few times where the sequel is just as much fun as the original (probably because Mark Wahlberg wasn't involved). It might be extremely pricey, especially for a subcompact, but BMW's re-imagining of the original Cooper means that the MINI is a hoot and a half.
There's always been some rumbling over the excessively cutesy interior with its cartoon gauges, and a modern MINI Cooper will loom over one of its diminutive ancestor like a Heffalump towering over Piglet. However, the reincarnated MINI seems to shrug off those extra pounds, and the only thing cartoonish about the grippy handling and the go-kart driving feel is the idiotic grin it'll put on your face.
The John Cooper Works version is the best and fastest (and most expensive), but the whole lineup is a pleasure to drive. Up until they bring that ruddy crossover out, that is.
7.] Audi R8
Audi has never had a problem building fast cars or luxurious cars, but no-one expected their first foray into the world of mid-engined coupes to be this good. The R8 isn't the fastest car you can buy, but it just might be the best.
Audi's supercar is as quiet and comfortable as their A8 limousine, but it can dice it up with the 911s at the track, and while the jury's still out on those carbon-fibre sideburns, the styling is at once restrained and futuristic.
8.] Nissan GT-R
But let's suppose for a moment, you think luxurious restraint is like pink fuzzy handcuffs: best avoided. Might I interest you in possibly the most technologically advanced car on the market?
The GT-R is not subtle. It doesn't draw from retro inspiration or make concessions to niceties like sound levels or comfort. It is a weapon, purpose-built for speed, and is the closest thing most of us will get to piloting a fighter plane.
With a hand-built, twin-turbo engine feeding just under 500hp through a multi-clutch transmission and twin carbon-fibre driveshafts, the GT-R needs more computing power than eBay to avoid liquefying the pavement beneath its massively sticky tires.
9.] Bugatti Veyron
There's a good chance you might never see a Veyron. Being so rare and expensive, most of them are bound for the Middle East or Hong Kong, where they will be preserved and polished, but rarely driven.
Volkswagen resurrected the Bugatti nameplate, but lost money on every Veyron they made. The car was the Apollo Mission of automotive engineering, unlikely to be repeated.
There'll probably never be a car like it again, what with the shifting focus towards alternative fuels and greater efficiency. It is a 1001hp, 400km/h, one million dollar one-off.
10.] Toyota Prius
And now, as John Cleese would say, for something completely different. Ordinarily, I have little time for the Prius, with its fairly boring driving dynamics and that faint sense of smugness you get from hybrid drivers, who in most cases should really be using public transportation instead.
But Priuses (Priii?) don't seem to break, and they hold their value, and they get good mileage, and they're a perfectly acceptable four-door family hatchback that just happens to be a high-tech fuel saver. Also, you can sneak up on people in the silent-running battery mode, which is helpful if you're a ninja, or the captain of a nuclear submarine.
Hybrids may only be a band-aid solution to climate change, but the Prius proves both that manufacturers can be innovative, and that consumers are willing to take a risk.
Top Gear
If, for the last seven years, you've been living in a cave, on Mars, with your eyes shut and your hands clapped over your ears while humming the theme to Hockey Night in Canada as loudly as possible, you may just have avoided hearing about the most popular motoring television program in the world: Top Gear. But probably not.
This Sunday on BBC Two, three middle-aged British men will blow things up, powerslide around corners in inconceivably expensive exotic machinery, engage in pointless races pitting cars versus purebred greyhounds and downhill skateboarders, force a celebrity guest to lap a test track in a horrible little economy car, make fun of each other's haircuts and crack wise with off-colour commentary of the kind that usually results in the convening of a Human Rights Tribunal.
At no point will the teensiest iota of useful consumer advice be imparted, and a viewer may be expected to be insulted at least once based on their country of residence or choice of cars. The entire hour will be as bright and noisy as a Saturday morning cartoon and I am looking forward to it with a level of anticipation akin to that of a shipwrecked sailor finally coming home for Christmas to family, friends and a pair of twin Swedish supermodels. Both of whom are also part-time yoga instructors.
I'm not alone. Immediately after broadcast of the first episode of Top Gear's fourteenth series, you should expect the Internet to get a little sluggish, as every single person in the universe without access to BBC television begins downloading illegal copies of it. Regular viewership in all forms is estimated in the hundreds of millions.
That's a staggering number of people for a show about cars, so what's the attraction? Well, consider this recent review of the Ford Fiesta, a subcompact car becoming available in Canada sometime in 2010.
Lead host Jeremy Clarkson, a man recently forced to apologise to the British Prime Minister for calling him a “one-eyed idiot,” begins by testing the practicality of the hatchback by seeing whether a stuffed Zebra head will fit: it does. Then, having answered the questions of, “Is it easy to park?” and “Is it fun to drive?” Clarkson tackles the important issue of, “What if I go to a shopping centre and get chased by baddies in a Corvette?” by doing just that.
Having completed the Blues Brothers-style indoor demonstration of the Fiesta's nippy handling, Mr. Clarkson addresses eco-concerns by pointing out how green the little Ford is (it's painted green) and sums up its affordability by saying, “...if you have eleven thousand pounds to spend on a car, then yes, you can [afford it]. But if you've only got 40p, then no, you can't.” Then, and this is the mark of a truly thorough road test, Clarkson and his bright green hatchback take part in a beach assault with a Royal Marine Commando unit.
That's not a metaphor for something, the review really does end with the tiny Ford being packed with armed men (Clarkson notes that the smoke grenades fit nicely in the cupholders) and placed on a semi-amphibious landing craft. Then with full air support and naval support, the Fiesta storms the beach, driving ashore through two feet of breaking seas admist the crackling of automatic gunfire, the popping of smoke canisters and the triumphant blaring of Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture.
So there you are, absolutely nothing worthwhile learned and a good part of the scenery blown into smithereens, but what a piece of television! Can you imagine such a thing being attempted by the CBC? Their complaints department gets deluged by letters every time Red Green uses non-biodegradable duct-tape, never mind putting on an explosive display designed to appeal to eight-year-old schoolboys.
Much of Top Gear is in the same over-the-top vein, although it initially started as a dull factual program. The original series was a half-hour show running from 1977 to 2001 and provided the sort of dry consumer-information fare up until the aforementioned Mr. Clarkson arrived in 1988. Gradually, the focus moved to much more humourously critical reviews, until the old format faltered completely, to be re-launched in 2002 as an hour-long show.
“New” Top Gear has well-established formula: three squabbling hosts, a sprinkling of exotic steel, some generalized mucking about with old beaters and plenty of blowing things up. There is always a guest, and they are always forced to complete a flying lap of the Top Gear Test Track. Ardent fan Jay Kay of the band Jamiroquai currently holds the record, having soundly beaten a smug Simon Cowell, which was pretty satisfying for everyone who's not a self-important music-industry git.
The current host lineup has been the same for the past six years, with James May joining Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Hammond in the second series. The triumvirate found instant chemistry. Clarkson is easily the best-known presenter, and the show has developed around his characteristic boisterous reviewing style. Richard Hammond, youngest of the three, is every bit Mr. Clarkson's equal in opinionated squabbling, although he stands a mere 5'7” next to Clarkson's 6'5”. James May, nicknamed Captain Slow for his cautious driving style, brings a little common sense to the table, but where he lacks the others enthusiasm for reckless speed and noise, he is every bit the iconoclast when it comes to his weakness for ratty old classic cars.
Also integral to the show's success is their “tame racing driver,” a mysterious, white Nomex-clad figure called the Stig, who never appears on film without his helmet. Numerous rumours about the Stig's identity were fanned last year, when a picture of the film crew caught the Stig unmasked. Top Gear's response was to “reveal” a new identity for the Stig almost every other day, claiming at one point the the Stig was actually Barack Obama. In a televised segment, the Stig removed his helmet to reveal that he was in fact retired Formula 1 racing driver Michael Schumacher, but this was also overturned when Schumacher-as-Stig turned out to be completely hopeless on the track, unable even to drive a manual transmission.
Top Gear also features possibly the most highly polished cinematography and editing to be found outside of a summer blockbuster. Think Blue Planet with a snarling V8 soundtrack. There exists no better example of the car as art form, with lingering shots caressing the the curvaceous flanks and swelling hindquarters of a Ferrari 599, even as the throbbing soundtrack of an Italian V12 at full chat fills the oh bugger I've spilled my pint.
Highlights of the past fourteen seasons are nearly too innumerable to list. My personal favorites include the transformation of an early-nineties three-wheeled Reliant Robin into a space shuttle (it blew up); an attempt to cross the English channel in three amphibious cars (one burnt, one sank, one made it); five-man-a-side car football with racing drivers and Toyota Aygo city cars (a full-contact sport); and repeated attempts to destroy a diesel-powered Toyota Hilux pickup truck by dropping a caravan on it, setting it on fire, letting it get swept away by the tide, setting it on fire, and placing it atop a 23-storey-high apartment building that then underwent a controlled demolition (it survived everything and is preserved on a plinth in the Top Gear studio).
It hardly needs saying that Top Gear is not without its detractors. While Jeremy Clarkson is enormously funny with his hyperbolic metaphors and buffoonish on-screen persona, he's also unrepentantly politically incorrect, refutes the idea of climate change, and is outspoken about his contempt for the nanny state's crackdown on speeding. The BBC has endured numerous complaints about comments made both on and off the air by Mr. Clarkson. He has faced rebuke for making fun of the Germans, the Dutch, the Belgians, the French, the Americans, truck drivers, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, the British car manufacturing industry, caravan holidaymakers, motorcycling accidents, the blind, the deaf, women, various celebrities, the environmental movement, and pretty much everybody everywhere.
Top Gear itself has been under scrutiny for showing pipe-smoking on air, the destruction of the fragile salt flats of Botswana, and drinking and driving en route to the North Pole. Risky stunts are constantly coming into conflict with workplace health and safety concerns, and the hosts' propensity for setting fire to almost everything has environmental groups outraged with clockwork frequency. Richard Hammond suffered serious brain injury when a rocket-powered dragster he was piloting crashed at over 450 km/h. A common complaint is that the show is a waste of British ratepayers money and that it perpetuates a culture of reckless driving and wasteful consumption.
Certainly, the critics are not making things up. Top Gear's anti-social behaviour is pretty much indefensible on any other grounds other than that it's just jolly good fun to watch. But in these times of shrinking economies, crowded roads and dwindling oil reserves, there's nothing to dispel the blues like a day-glo Lamborghini doing a smoky powerslide, an exploding caravan, and taking the mickey out of ze Germans. See you Sunday, gents.
This Sunday on BBC Two, three middle-aged British men will blow things up, powerslide around corners in inconceivably expensive exotic machinery, engage in pointless races pitting cars versus purebred greyhounds and downhill skateboarders, force a celebrity guest to lap a test track in a horrible little economy car, make fun of each other's haircuts and crack wise with off-colour commentary of the kind that usually results in the convening of a Human Rights Tribunal.
At no point will the teensiest iota of useful consumer advice be imparted, and a viewer may be expected to be insulted at least once based on their country of residence or choice of cars. The entire hour will be as bright and noisy as a Saturday morning cartoon and I am looking forward to it with a level of anticipation akin to that of a shipwrecked sailor finally coming home for Christmas to family, friends and a pair of twin Swedish supermodels. Both of whom are also part-time yoga instructors.
I'm not alone. Immediately after broadcast of the first episode of Top Gear's fourteenth series, you should expect the Internet to get a little sluggish, as every single person in the universe without access to BBC television begins downloading illegal copies of it. Regular viewership in all forms is estimated in the hundreds of millions.
That's a staggering number of people for a show about cars, so what's the attraction? Well, consider this recent review of the Ford Fiesta, a subcompact car becoming available in Canada sometime in 2010.
Lead host Jeremy Clarkson, a man recently forced to apologise to the British Prime Minister for calling him a “one-eyed idiot,” begins by testing the practicality of the hatchback by seeing whether a stuffed Zebra head will fit: it does. Then, having answered the questions of, “Is it easy to park?” and “Is it fun to drive?” Clarkson tackles the important issue of, “What if I go to a shopping centre and get chased by baddies in a Corvette?” by doing just that.
Having completed the Blues Brothers-style indoor demonstration of the Fiesta's nippy handling, Mr. Clarkson addresses eco-concerns by pointing out how green the little Ford is (it's painted green) and sums up its affordability by saying, “...if you have eleven thousand pounds to spend on a car, then yes, you can [afford it]. But if you've only got 40p, then no, you can't.” Then, and this is the mark of a truly thorough road test, Clarkson and his bright green hatchback take part in a beach assault with a Royal Marine Commando unit.
That's not a metaphor for something, the review really does end with the tiny Ford being packed with armed men (Clarkson notes that the smoke grenades fit nicely in the cupholders) and placed on a semi-amphibious landing craft. Then with full air support and naval support, the Fiesta storms the beach, driving ashore through two feet of breaking seas admist the crackling of automatic gunfire, the popping of smoke canisters and the triumphant blaring of Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture.
So there you are, absolutely nothing worthwhile learned and a good part of the scenery blown into smithereens, but what a piece of television! Can you imagine such a thing being attempted by the CBC? Their complaints department gets deluged by letters every time Red Green uses non-biodegradable duct-tape, never mind putting on an explosive display designed to appeal to eight-year-old schoolboys.
Much of Top Gear is in the same over-the-top vein, although it initially started as a dull factual program. The original series was a half-hour show running from 1977 to 2001 and provided the sort of dry consumer-information fare up until the aforementioned Mr. Clarkson arrived in 1988. Gradually, the focus moved to much more humourously critical reviews, until the old format faltered completely, to be re-launched in 2002 as an hour-long show.
“New” Top Gear has well-established formula: three squabbling hosts, a sprinkling of exotic steel, some generalized mucking about with old beaters and plenty of blowing things up. There is always a guest, and they are always forced to complete a flying lap of the Top Gear Test Track. Ardent fan Jay Kay of the band Jamiroquai currently holds the record, having soundly beaten a smug Simon Cowell, which was pretty satisfying for everyone who's not a self-important music-industry git.
The current host lineup has been the same for the past six years, with James May joining Jeremy Clarkson and Richard Hammond in the second series. The triumvirate found instant chemistry. Clarkson is easily the best-known presenter, and the show has developed around his characteristic boisterous reviewing style. Richard Hammond, youngest of the three, is every bit Mr. Clarkson's equal in opinionated squabbling, although he stands a mere 5'7” next to Clarkson's 6'5”. James May, nicknamed Captain Slow for his cautious driving style, brings a little common sense to the table, but where he lacks the others enthusiasm for reckless speed and noise, he is every bit the iconoclast when it comes to his weakness for ratty old classic cars.
Also integral to the show's success is their “tame racing driver,” a mysterious, white Nomex-clad figure called the Stig, who never appears on film without his helmet. Numerous rumours about the Stig's identity were fanned last year, when a picture of the film crew caught the Stig unmasked. Top Gear's response was to “reveal” a new identity for the Stig almost every other day, claiming at one point the the Stig was actually Barack Obama. In a televised segment, the Stig removed his helmet to reveal that he was in fact retired Formula 1 racing driver Michael Schumacher, but this was also overturned when Schumacher-as-Stig turned out to be completely hopeless on the track, unable even to drive a manual transmission.
Top Gear also features possibly the most highly polished cinematography and editing to be found outside of a summer blockbuster. Think Blue Planet with a snarling V8 soundtrack. There exists no better example of the car as art form, with lingering shots caressing the the curvaceous flanks and swelling hindquarters of a Ferrari 599, even as the throbbing soundtrack of an Italian V12 at full chat fills the oh bugger I've spilled my pint.
Highlights of the past fourteen seasons are nearly too innumerable to list. My personal favorites include the transformation of an early-nineties three-wheeled Reliant Robin into a space shuttle (it blew up); an attempt to cross the English channel in three amphibious cars (one burnt, one sank, one made it); five-man-a-side car football with racing drivers and Toyota Aygo city cars (a full-contact sport); and repeated attempts to destroy a diesel-powered Toyota Hilux pickup truck by dropping a caravan on it, setting it on fire, letting it get swept away by the tide, setting it on fire, and placing it atop a 23-storey-high apartment building that then underwent a controlled demolition (it survived everything and is preserved on a plinth in the Top Gear studio).
It hardly needs saying that Top Gear is not without its detractors. While Jeremy Clarkson is enormously funny with his hyperbolic metaphors and buffoonish on-screen persona, he's also unrepentantly politically incorrect, refutes the idea of climate change, and is outspoken about his contempt for the nanny state's crackdown on speeding. The BBC has endured numerous complaints about comments made both on and off the air by Mr. Clarkson. He has faced rebuke for making fun of the Germans, the Dutch, the Belgians, the French, the Americans, truck drivers, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, the British car manufacturing industry, caravan holidaymakers, motorcycling accidents, the blind, the deaf, women, various celebrities, the environmental movement, and pretty much everybody everywhere.
Top Gear itself has been under scrutiny for showing pipe-smoking on air, the destruction of the fragile salt flats of Botswana, and drinking and driving en route to the North Pole. Risky stunts are constantly coming into conflict with workplace health and safety concerns, and the hosts' propensity for setting fire to almost everything has environmental groups outraged with clockwork frequency. Richard Hammond suffered serious brain injury when a rocket-powered dragster he was piloting crashed at over 450 km/h. A common complaint is that the show is a waste of British ratepayers money and that it perpetuates a culture of reckless driving and wasteful consumption.
Certainly, the critics are not making things up. Top Gear's anti-social behaviour is pretty much indefensible on any other grounds other than that it's just jolly good fun to watch. But in these times of shrinking economies, crowded roads and dwindling oil reserves, there's nothing to dispel the blues like a day-glo Lamborghini doing a smoky powerslide, an exploding caravan, and taking the mickey out of ze Germans. See you Sunday, gents.
Love The Beast
Normally, I'm not big on documentaries. There's nothing more disconcerting than going to the movies only to realize, halfway through a bag of mediocre popcorn, that, “Hey! You sneaky buggers are trying to educate me!” No thanks. When I want to learn something, I'll go look it up on wikipedia and get it mostly wrong.
Last weekend though, I watched a documentary that didn't teach me anything new, it just put into words and pictures something I already knew: you can fall in love with a car.
The film (I've donned my black turtleneck of pretentious reviewing) is actor/director Eric Bana's “Love The Beast,” and despite his rural Australian roots, it's not what ewe think. The Beast in question here is a 1974 Ford Falcon Coupe that Bana has owned for over 25 years, and he's completely nuts about it.
Spoiler alert, as they say on the interwebs, but the plot is your usual Boy meets Car, Boy restores Car, Boy and Car get into unfortunate love triangle with large, unyielding Tree. Midway through the Targa Tasmania, a multi-stage racing event on the beautiful, twisting roads of that tiny island, Bana loses control of his painstakingly restored and race-prepped muscle car and has a nasty crash. He then interviews such gearhead luminaries as Jay Leno and Jeremy Clarkson and this Dr. Phil fella, who I think is famous for knowing somebody called Opera and making statements that would be patently obvious to the most blithering of idiots.
But that's not the point of the movie (turtleneck discarded). This flick is about how a inanimate object constructed of steel, glass and rubber, which costs huge amounts of money to insure and fuel, that ruins the environment and makes you fat and lazy: how something like that can have a soul.
And they do have souls, you know. Not all cars, obviously, but some do. They have personalities. They begin to become part of your memories, good and bad.
The appeal of classic cars has never been a mystery to me: I knew they had personalities from a very early age. My dad has an MGB and a Land Rover, both of which have the personality of crotchety old men who hate the thought of anyone with intact knuckles. Even now, with a full restoration done, the MGB requires a great deal of fiddling about with the carburettors to get it to start, and I personally find the brakes to be alarmingly ineffective. But Dad loves it. He keeps talking about selling it. Never gonna happen.
That's why I understand the grins on the faces of people driving deeply flawed cars. Sure, the steering column may come thrusting through your chest like a Zulu assegai if you so much as tap the bumper of the person ahead of you, and sure, the roof leaks like a mid-nineties condo, but it doesn't matter.
It's the same thing when it comes time to shop for a new car. Everyone pretends to make a science project out of it, consulting checklists and safety ratings, fuel economy and features. For most of us, what it comes down to in the end is how the car makes us feel. We love to pretend that we buy cars just using our heads, but most of us end up listening to our hearts.
The car parked outside in my garage right now has a special place in my heart. Sure, she's not perfect, but I love the way there's a little lag to the larger turbo I had installed, and the occasional playful pop from the exhaust when the throttle plate closes. I can count each scratch and remember where we got it, whether it was in a parking lot or barrelling along gravel roads in search of the hot springs south of Pemberton.
I remember my wife and I cramming the back full of camping supplies and driving the coast to Los Angeles, cruising through pitch-black redwood forests and curving coastal roads. I remember a crisp fall morning driving the Sea-to-Sky highway and catching that first view of the snow-covered Chief. I remember catching that pack of M3s on turn seven at Mission Raceways. I remember waking up to toonie-sized snowflakes and rushing out to drive down the abandoned roads to Jericho beach. I remember that the bloody dashboard clock is broken and I have to try and fix it.
I sometimes wonder if non-car people will ever understand the attachment gearheads develop with their cars. It would seem to me that falling in love with a driving appliance like a Corolla would be as weird as feeling affectionate towards your toaster, or becoming good friends with the dishwasher.
But on the other hand, maybe you don't have to be the typical car-guy-or-girl, boring all your friends with talk of camshafts and compression ratios. Maybe it depends how you see your car. If it's just the bus or taxi that takes you on an unpleasantly congested commute to your semi-boring job, then you won't get it. If it's the faithful steed that brought home your first child from the hospital, then maybe you do.
For me, the little wagon out front is a part of the family. It's taken us places, hauled our stuff when we moved, been full of friends and their bicycles. Mostly though, it's just there, reminding me that if I wanted, I could go downstairs, jump in and drive to Newfoundland.
Not that I'm going to, you understand, but I could. If I did, my car would take me there, no complaints, no questions asked. Just don't ask her what time it is.
Last weekend though, I watched a documentary that didn't teach me anything new, it just put into words and pictures something I already knew: you can fall in love with a car.
The film (I've donned my black turtleneck of pretentious reviewing) is actor/director Eric Bana's “Love The Beast,” and despite his rural Australian roots, it's not what ewe think. The Beast in question here is a 1974 Ford Falcon Coupe that Bana has owned for over 25 years, and he's completely nuts about it.
Spoiler alert, as they say on the interwebs, but the plot is your usual Boy meets Car, Boy restores Car, Boy and Car get into unfortunate love triangle with large, unyielding Tree. Midway through the Targa Tasmania, a multi-stage racing event on the beautiful, twisting roads of that tiny island, Bana loses control of his painstakingly restored and race-prepped muscle car and has a nasty crash. He then interviews such gearhead luminaries as Jay Leno and Jeremy Clarkson and this Dr. Phil fella, who I think is famous for knowing somebody called Opera and making statements that would be patently obvious to the most blithering of idiots.
But that's not the point of the movie (turtleneck discarded). This flick is about how a inanimate object constructed of steel, glass and rubber, which costs huge amounts of money to insure and fuel, that ruins the environment and makes you fat and lazy: how something like that can have a soul.
And they do have souls, you know. Not all cars, obviously, but some do. They have personalities. They begin to become part of your memories, good and bad.
The appeal of classic cars has never been a mystery to me: I knew they had personalities from a very early age. My dad has an MGB and a Land Rover, both of which have the personality of crotchety old men who hate the thought of anyone with intact knuckles. Even now, with a full restoration done, the MGB requires a great deal of fiddling about with the carburettors to get it to start, and I personally find the brakes to be alarmingly ineffective. But Dad loves it. He keeps talking about selling it. Never gonna happen.
That's why I understand the grins on the faces of people driving deeply flawed cars. Sure, the steering column may come thrusting through your chest like a Zulu assegai if you so much as tap the bumper of the person ahead of you, and sure, the roof leaks like a mid-nineties condo, but it doesn't matter.
It's the same thing when it comes time to shop for a new car. Everyone pretends to make a science project out of it, consulting checklists and safety ratings, fuel economy and features. For most of us, what it comes down to in the end is how the car makes us feel. We love to pretend that we buy cars just using our heads, but most of us end up listening to our hearts.
The car parked outside in my garage right now has a special place in my heart. Sure, she's not perfect, but I love the way there's a little lag to the larger turbo I had installed, and the occasional playful pop from the exhaust when the throttle plate closes. I can count each scratch and remember where we got it, whether it was in a parking lot or barrelling along gravel roads in search of the hot springs south of Pemberton.
I remember my wife and I cramming the back full of camping supplies and driving the coast to Los Angeles, cruising through pitch-black redwood forests and curving coastal roads. I remember a crisp fall morning driving the Sea-to-Sky highway and catching that first view of the snow-covered Chief. I remember catching that pack of M3s on turn seven at Mission Raceways. I remember waking up to toonie-sized snowflakes and rushing out to drive down the abandoned roads to Jericho beach. I remember that the bloody dashboard clock is broken and I have to try and fix it.
I sometimes wonder if non-car people will ever understand the attachment gearheads develop with their cars. It would seem to me that falling in love with a driving appliance like a Corolla would be as weird as feeling affectionate towards your toaster, or becoming good friends with the dishwasher.
But on the other hand, maybe you don't have to be the typical car-guy-or-girl, boring all your friends with talk of camshafts and compression ratios. Maybe it depends how you see your car. If it's just the bus or taxi that takes you on an unpleasantly congested commute to your semi-boring job, then you won't get it. If it's the faithful steed that brought home your first child from the hospital, then maybe you do.
For me, the little wagon out front is a part of the family. It's taken us places, hauled our stuff when we moved, been full of friends and their bicycles. Mostly though, it's just there, reminding me that if I wanted, I could go downstairs, jump in and drive to Newfoundland.
Not that I'm going to, you understand, but I could. If I did, my car would take me there, no complaints, no questions asked. Just don't ask her what time it is.
More Cars We Don't Get
All right, I'll just come right out and say it: I want a Ford Focus. Yes, I'll happily give up the keys to my modified, 300+ horsepower WRX with all the time, effort and money I've spent tweaking it (and all the money I've spent paying professionals to undo the tweaks), and drive away in a Focus.
You're surprised? Well, just to be clear, I'm not talking about any old econobox Ford here. No, I'm talking about the Ford Focus RS, which you can't get here. Not yet anyway, he added hopefully, with an expression of wistful longing and a large measure of pointless optimism.
The RS is at the current top of my list, but idly leafing through any Euro car magazine reveals even more great cars that manufacturers just won't sell in North America.
The Ford Focus RS:
So let's start with this one, shall we? First of all, the RS is based on the excellent Euro-Focus, which is pretty well universally regarded as the most fun-to-drive hatchback you can get across the pond. It makes the VW Golf look as pointless and stodgy as... well... golf, I suppose.
Ford takes this spirited platform and then pumps it full of eight Barry-Bonds-worth of anabolic steroids and four Lenny-Bruce-worth of amphetamines. Its enormous exhaust pipes make the Chunnel look like a juicebox bendy straw. Its rear spoiler creates so much downforce, it can actually move the Earth out of orbit. Its wheelarches are flared in the same way that Bruce Banner's pants are flared when he changes into the Hulk. 300Hp. REVO-knuckle suspension. Terrier-like reflexes and attack-dog savagery.
And what kind of Focus do we get here? Oh look, a fancy iPod dock. Well, that's just perfect for my Anne Murray playlist, but I'll happily go without if you'll just bring the RS here, Ford. Do it. Do it now.
The Volkswagen Scirocco
Don't feel like wrestling with 300 rampaging horses constantly trying to wrest the steering wheel from your hands? What about a nice VW GTI, the perennial favourite for its hot-hatch lively driving, a beautifully-made interior and that Germanic level of precision in the build quality?
No thanks, I'll have a VW Scirocco instead. Why? Well, it's a GTI underneath, but it's lighter, prettier, slightly more powerful, prettier, a little bit faster around a track, and prettier. And it's cheaper too. And prettier.
If VW didn't hate us all so much, they'd bring this gorgeous coupe/hatchback cross over the Atlantic and sell it instead of the 2-door GTI. You could still buy a 4-door GTI if you only wanted a Golf, but the Scirocco is a hundred times better. I'll even stop making cracks about electrical problems if they do it.
The Fiat 500 Abarth esseesse
Another hot hatchback we don't get, although this one is so fashionable it makes the MINI Cooper S look like a sweatshirt with sequins and an airbrushed wolf on it. Fiat's 500 is pure excellence, and probably the best retro-based car you can buy in Europe today.
The Abarth takes that retro-excellence and adds a dash of hot sauce, but not too much. With a 1.4-litre turbocharged engine producing just 160hp, it's unlikely to set any landspeed records. But, with a hummingbird-light curbweight and a sport-tuned suspension, this car should take to the curves like only an Italian can.
Best news yet, we might actually get some form of the 500 as part of the Fiat-Chrysler merger. I, for one, would happily set fire to ten thousand PT Cruisers if we could make just one of these little firecrackers.
The Toyota iQ
Not everything has to have the turbocharging turned up to 11 or be riding around on huge alloy wheels. Some normal people might actually appreciate having a car that's efficient, easy-to-park, and cleverly optioned. If you're in the market for a micro-sized car here, you buy a Smart. If you wanted something a little cleverer overseas, you'd get an iQ.
The tiny iQ (har har) is a four-seater, two door car that has the short wheelbase of a Smart-car, but with way more interior room due to innovations like a flat fuel tank and rear-angled shock absorbers. With a tiny 3-cylinder engine, the iQ consumes just 4.3L/100kms, but it also has a 5-star Euro NCAP crash test rating.
I suppose I'd like to see a modified version of this little car, just to hear someone say, “Hey, I just lowered my iQ!” but really, just bring it here Toyota.
Canadian demand for big sedans is shrinking rapidly. Sure, a lot of us still need a highway car that's going to gulp down the miles and have a trunk big enough for haybales, but that's just the Albertans.
The era of the Small Car is upon us already, and it doesn't make any sense to me why there aren't even more choices for the small car buyer now. MINI's success should have proven that people are willing to pay more for less, as long as it's a nice less.
The real test though, will be the Euro-Fiesta that Ford's currently experimenting with. If that little car can do well, expect to see the Euro-Focus hot on its heels, and then (just maybe) I might be able to get my RS.
On the other hand, if anyone at Ford wants to send me one right now, please be assured that my journalistic integrity cannot be purchased. And I like the blue.
You're surprised? Well, just to be clear, I'm not talking about any old econobox Ford here. No, I'm talking about the Ford Focus RS, which you can't get here. Not yet anyway, he added hopefully, with an expression of wistful longing and a large measure of pointless optimism.
The RS is at the current top of my list, but idly leafing through any Euro car magazine reveals even more great cars that manufacturers just won't sell in North America.
The Ford Focus RS:
So let's start with this one, shall we? First of all, the RS is based on the excellent Euro-Focus, which is pretty well universally regarded as the most fun-to-drive hatchback you can get across the pond. It makes the VW Golf look as pointless and stodgy as... well... golf, I suppose.
Ford takes this spirited platform and then pumps it full of eight Barry-Bonds-worth of anabolic steroids and four Lenny-Bruce-worth of amphetamines. Its enormous exhaust pipes make the Chunnel look like a juicebox bendy straw. Its rear spoiler creates so much downforce, it can actually move the Earth out of orbit. Its wheelarches are flared in the same way that Bruce Banner's pants are flared when he changes into the Hulk. 300Hp. REVO-knuckle suspension. Terrier-like reflexes and attack-dog savagery.
And what kind of Focus do we get here? Oh look, a fancy iPod dock. Well, that's just perfect for my Anne Murray playlist, but I'll happily go without if you'll just bring the RS here, Ford. Do it. Do it now.
The Volkswagen Scirocco
Don't feel like wrestling with 300 rampaging horses constantly trying to wrest the steering wheel from your hands? What about a nice VW GTI, the perennial favourite for its hot-hatch lively driving, a beautifully-made interior and that Germanic level of precision in the build quality?
No thanks, I'll have a VW Scirocco instead. Why? Well, it's a GTI underneath, but it's lighter, prettier, slightly more powerful, prettier, a little bit faster around a track, and prettier. And it's cheaper too. And prettier.
If VW didn't hate us all so much, they'd bring this gorgeous coupe/hatchback cross over the Atlantic and sell it instead of the 2-door GTI. You could still buy a 4-door GTI if you only wanted a Golf, but the Scirocco is a hundred times better. I'll even stop making cracks about electrical problems if they do it.
The Fiat 500 Abarth esseesse
Another hot hatchback we don't get, although this one is so fashionable it makes the MINI Cooper S look like a sweatshirt with sequins and an airbrushed wolf on it. Fiat's 500 is pure excellence, and probably the best retro-based car you can buy in Europe today.
The Abarth takes that retro-excellence and adds a dash of hot sauce, but not too much. With a 1.4-litre turbocharged engine producing just 160hp, it's unlikely to set any landspeed records. But, with a hummingbird-light curbweight and a sport-tuned suspension, this car should take to the curves like only an Italian can.
Best news yet, we might actually get some form of the 500 as part of the Fiat-Chrysler merger. I, for one, would happily set fire to ten thousand PT Cruisers if we could make just one of these little firecrackers.
The Toyota iQ
Not everything has to have the turbocharging turned up to 11 or be riding around on huge alloy wheels. Some normal people might actually appreciate having a car that's efficient, easy-to-park, and cleverly optioned. If you're in the market for a micro-sized car here, you buy a Smart. If you wanted something a little cleverer overseas, you'd get an iQ.
The tiny iQ (har har) is a four-seater, two door car that has the short wheelbase of a Smart-car, but with way more interior room due to innovations like a flat fuel tank and rear-angled shock absorbers. With a tiny 3-cylinder engine, the iQ consumes just 4.3L/100kms, but it also has a 5-star Euro NCAP crash test rating.
I suppose I'd like to see a modified version of this little car, just to hear someone say, “Hey, I just lowered my iQ!” but really, just bring it here Toyota.
Canadian demand for big sedans is shrinking rapidly. Sure, a lot of us still need a highway car that's going to gulp down the miles and have a trunk big enough for haybales, but that's just the Albertans.
The era of the Small Car is upon us already, and it doesn't make any sense to me why there aren't even more choices for the small car buyer now. MINI's success should have proven that people are willing to pay more for less, as long as it's a nice less.
The real test though, will be the Euro-Fiesta that Ford's currently experimenting with. If that little car can do well, expect to see the Euro-Focus hot on its heels, and then (just maybe) I might be able to get my RS.
On the other hand, if anyone at Ford wants to send me one right now, please be assured that my journalistic integrity cannot be purchased. And I like the blue.
GM's Worst
Want to know what the best-selling car in North America was last year?
Honda Civic? Good guess. Toyota Corolla? Seems obvious, but no.
Cobalt? Not even close.
The car that captured the sales title for 2008 was none other than the
domestically produced Little Tikes Cozy Coupe. Yes, those tiny, bright
red, egg-shaped cars sold a whopping 457,000 units last year, easily
besting Japan's finest with excellent fuel economy and a low, low
price. So why should you care? Because this car, which costs around
fifty bucks and is stamped out in a mould in Ohio, has better build
quality and a less plasticky interior than most GM products.
"Oh sure," you say, "Kick 'em while they're down." But let's face it:
When hasn't the General been down? The company's been a paragon of
poor product and mismanagement since the late 14th century, and as
nice as it is to reflect on the great cars they somehow managed to
build, like a roomful of monkeys bashing out Hamlet, GM has built some
real stinkers over the years.
We're not just talking poor reliability here. We're talking seats
designed by members of the Spanish Inquisition, dashboards made out of
the same flimsy plastic you find in chocolate box trays, engines that
couldn't be any less modern and efficient if they ran on coal, and
styling done by a committee of 400 people who couldn't agree on
anything except that they hated beauty so much they probably went
around on the weekends beating up swans and stomping on butterflies.
Here are the worst offenders (and there's plenty to choose from):
The Hummer H2
Given its Americatastic image, the fact that Hummer has now been
more-or-less officially sold to the Chinese seems poetic somehow.
Sure, they were great off-road, and sure, if you wanted to let
everyone know that you were a drug dealer or the Governor of
California, you couldn't pick a vehicle with a clearer image. On the
other hand, owning a Hummer was a little like going to the pet store
to get a puppy for the kids and coming back with a hippopotamus. With
tapeworms.
I must confess, I have a particular and nearly unwarranted hatred for
the H3 as a badge-engineered excrescence; the only nice thing I can
say about the engineers behind it is that they managed to make the
Chevy Trailblazer even worse, which is quite an achievement. However,
as much as the H2 was actually a much more capable and respectable
vehicle, it's the one that will have to take the lion's share of the
blame.
Not since the Cadillac Escalade has there been such a ludicrous
example of conspicuous consumption, and as the H3's release coincided
with the crushing of the last of GM's EV-1 electrical vehicles, it
pretty much turned the General into a scapegoat for environmentalists.
Not that they didn't deserve it too, but the H3 allowed Toyota to get
on the green-wagon first, despite the Japanese company's own
gas-guzzlers like the Lexus LX-series.
The Saturn Ion
A popular idea in science fiction is the idea of an orbital ion
cannon, capable of delivering a pin-point strike with a destructive
energy beam of unimaginable power. Should one ever be developed, I
propose the first set of targets to be wiped from the face of the
Earth should be all examples of this horrible economy car. That's of
course assuming their owners haven't already set fire to them by that
point.
Released in 2003, the Ion was supposed to be the "New Saturn" that
would take on the Civic and Corolla and run, ahem, rings around them.
Unfortunately, its success was blunted by weirdly confused styling, a
woefully underpowered engine and, without a hint of exaggeration, the
worst car interior in the History of Mankind.
They'd eventually make a Redline supercharged version, but as far as
I'm concerned, the Ion was all Flatline, and if you're a Saturn fan
you can blame it for the death of your favourite company.
Chevy minivans, any of them
Woe is you if you ever traded in your hot little coupe for one of
these things because of a burgeoning family. Uplander, Montana, SV6,
whatever you called them, they were basically purgatory with sliding
doors: sliding doors that frequently broke.
Early models were just barely OK, but they suffered from having a
crashworthiness level slightly higher than that of a cardboard Pampers
box. This did not go over well with those soccer moms who didn't want
their offspring to die horribly (i.e. all of them), so GM glued a
four-foot nose to the front. Crashworthiness problem solved, styling
problem aggravated. On the other hand, it's a minivan. Who cares if
it's uglier than Quasimodo on a bad hair day after being relentlessly
attacked by wasps?
Buyers care, apparently, and what's worse, they surprisingly don't
want unreliable vehicles. A quick search of a consumer-based-reviews
website popped up two representative samples. One began, "We've had
lots of problems with our minivan. Very disappointed and would not
recommend." The next one started, "What could possibly go wrong
next??!?" Uh-oh.
I stopped reading before I got depressed.
The Pontiac Aztec
Here it is: the auto journalist's favourite whipping boy. It takes a
special type of car to be the one that always gets incorporated into
the tagline, ". . . but at least it's not as ugly as the Pontiac
Aztec." As in, "The new 7-series BMW looks like it was designed by
pushing the old one down the stairs and then jumping up and down on
the wreckage, but at least it's not as ugly as the Pontiac Aztec."
Shame really, as the bizarrely-styled trucklet wasn't too terrible
elsewhere. Beneath that weird exterior beat a heart of pure . . .
arthritis, actually. However, on a kinder note, the looks were
something of an anti-theft device, and you could bolt a tent on the
back. That's it, I can't think up any more nice things to say.
The Chevy SSR
I think this takes the cake. GM's built some bad, bad cars and worse
trucks, but the SSR takes terrible to a whole new level:
ultraterrible.
For starters, it's a production convertible pickup truck. What? Who
needs a convertible pickup truck? Cattle ranchers in Malibu? Guys with
really big hats? Elvis's re-animated corpse?
Worse, because it has a folding hardtop, there's no space in the truck
bed. And you can't tow anything with it. And there are only two seats.
Still, it looks cool, in a sort of retro-futuristic way, although the
bifurcated headlamps kind of resemble bifocals to me. But for a
whopping, no, make that insane $80,000, you could just have easily
bought four classic hotrods and your own tow-truck service to take
care of them, and another pickup to carry stuff. It's not like the SSR
was any more reliable than a worked-over '48 Chev. Plus, the hotrods
wouldn't have crappy plastic interiors.
That's not even the worst part. The worst part, and something I can't
abide in a car that claims to be a factory hotrod, is how slow this
thing was. It's a two-door convertible with a 350 horsepower,
5.7-litre V-8 engine. Should be pretty nippy, right? Wrong. This thing
got to 100 km/h in about eight seconds and ran the quarter mile in, at
best, 15.7 seconds. You can do that in a Buick Park Avenue. You can do
that in a Dodge Neon, for crying out loud, and this truckvertible cost
more than $80,000.
I suppose the performance is not surprising when you look up the
curb-weight of the SSR and find that it weighs the same as that
blasted H3 or the combined moons of Jupiter. Still, it's the perfect
vehicle to point out GM's current problems: Bloated, underachieving,
off-target, and far too costly.
Give the Little Tikes people a call, GM. They'll help you out.
Honda Civic? Good guess. Toyota Corolla? Seems obvious, but no.
Cobalt? Not even close.
The car that captured the sales title for 2008 was none other than the
domestically produced Little Tikes Cozy Coupe. Yes, those tiny, bright
red, egg-shaped cars sold a whopping 457,000 units last year, easily
besting Japan's finest with excellent fuel economy and a low, low
price. So why should you care? Because this car, which costs around
fifty bucks and is stamped out in a mould in Ohio, has better build
quality and a less plasticky interior than most GM products.
"Oh sure," you say, "Kick 'em while they're down." But let's face it:
When hasn't the General been down? The company's been a paragon of
poor product and mismanagement since the late 14th century, and as
nice as it is to reflect on the great cars they somehow managed to
build, like a roomful of monkeys bashing out Hamlet, GM has built some
real stinkers over the years.
We're not just talking poor reliability here. We're talking seats
designed by members of the Spanish Inquisition, dashboards made out of
the same flimsy plastic you find in chocolate box trays, engines that
couldn't be any less modern and efficient if they ran on coal, and
styling done by a committee of 400 people who couldn't agree on
anything except that they hated beauty so much they probably went
around on the weekends beating up swans and stomping on butterflies.
Here are the worst offenders (and there's plenty to choose from):
The Hummer H2
Given its Americatastic image, the fact that Hummer has now been
more-or-less officially sold to the Chinese seems poetic somehow.
Sure, they were great off-road, and sure, if you wanted to let
everyone know that you were a drug dealer or the Governor of
California, you couldn't pick a vehicle with a clearer image. On the
other hand, owning a Hummer was a little like going to the pet store
to get a puppy for the kids and coming back with a hippopotamus. With
tapeworms.
I must confess, I have a particular and nearly unwarranted hatred for
the H3 as a badge-engineered excrescence; the only nice thing I can
say about the engineers behind it is that they managed to make the
Chevy Trailblazer even worse, which is quite an achievement. However,
as much as the H2 was actually a much more capable and respectable
vehicle, it's the one that will have to take the lion's share of the
blame.
Not since the Cadillac Escalade has there been such a ludicrous
example of conspicuous consumption, and as the H3's release coincided
with the crushing of the last of GM's EV-1 electrical vehicles, it
pretty much turned the General into a scapegoat for environmentalists.
Not that they didn't deserve it too, but the H3 allowed Toyota to get
on the green-wagon first, despite the Japanese company's own
gas-guzzlers like the Lexus LX-series.
The Saturn Ion
A popular idea in science fiction is the idea of an orbital ion
cannon, capable of delivering a pin-point strike with a destructive
energy beam of unimaginable power. Should one ever be developed, I
propose the first set of targets to be wiped from the face of the
Earth should be all examples of this horrible economy car. That's of
course assuming their owners haven't already set fire to them by that
point.
Released in 2003, the Ion was supposed to be the "New Saturn" that
would take on the Civic and Corolla and run, ahem, rings around them.
Unfortunately, its success was blunted by weirdly confused styling, a
woefully underpowered engine and, without a hint of exaggeration, the
worst car interior in the History of Mankind.
They'd eventually make a Redline supercharged version, but as far as
I'm concerned, the Ion was all Flatline, and if you're a Saturn fan
you can blame it for the death of your favourite company.
Chevy minivans, any of them
Woe is you if you ever traded in your hot little coupe for one of
these things because of a burgeoning family. Uplander, Montana, SV6,
whatever you called them, they were basically purgatory with sliding
doors: sliding doors that frequently broke.
Early models were just barely OK, but they suffered from having a
crashworthiness level slightly higher than that of a cardboard Pampers
box. This did not go over well with those soccer moms who didn't want
their offspring to die horribly (i.e. all of them), so GM glued a
four-foot nose to the front. Crashworthiness problem solved, styling
problem aggravated. On the other hand, it's a minivan. Who cares if
it's uglier than Quasimodo on a bad hair day after being relentlessly
attacked by wasps?
Buyers care, apparently, and what's worse, they surprisingly don't
want unreliable vehicles. A quick search of a consumer-based-reviews
website popped up two representative samples. One began, "We've had
lots of problems with our minivan. Very disappointed and would not
recommend." The next one started, "What could possibly go wrong
next??!?" Uh-oh.
I stopped reading before I got depressed.
The Pontiac Aztec
Here it is: the auto journalist's favourite whipping boy. It takes a
special type of car to be the one that always gets incorporated into
the tagline, ". . . but at least it's not as ugly as the Pontiac
Aztec." As in, "The new 7-series BMW looks like it was designed by
pushing the old one down the stairs and then jumping up and down on
the wreckage, but at least it's not as ugly as the Pontiac Aztec."
Shame really, as the bizarrely-styled trucklet wasn't too terrible
elsewhere. Beneath that weird exterior beat a heart of pure . . .
arthritis, actually. However, on a kinder note, the looks were
something of an anti-theft device, and you could bolt a tent on the
back. That's it, I can't think up any more nice things to say.
The Chevy SSR
I think this takes the cake. GM's built some bad, bad cars and worse
trucks, but the SSR takes terrible to a whole new level:
ultraterrible.
For starters, it's a production convertible pickup truck. What? Who
needs a convertible pickup truck? Cattle ranchers in Malibu? Guys with
really big hats? Elvis's re-animated corpse?
Worse, because it has a folding hardtop, there's no space in the truck
bed. And you can't tow anything with it. And there are only two seats.
Still, it looks cool, in a sort of retro-futuristic way, although the
bifurcated headlamps kind of resemble bifocals to me. But for a
whopping, no, make that insane $80,000, you could just have easily
bought four classic hotrods and your own tow-truck service to take
care of them, and another pickup to carry stuff. It's not like the SSR
was any more reliable than a worked-over '48 Chev. Plus, the hotrods
wouldn't have crappy plastic interiors.
That's not even the worst part. The worst part, and something I can't
abide in a car that claims to be a factory hotrod, is how slow this
thing was. It's a two-door convertible with a 350 horsepower,
5.7-litre V-8 engine. Should be pretty nippy, right? Wrong. This thing
got to 100 km/h in about eight seconds and ran the quarter mile in, at
best, 15.7 seconds. You can do that in a Buick Park Avenue. You can do
that in a Dodge Neon, for crying out loud, and this truckvertible cost
more than $80,000.
I suppose the performance is not surprising when you look up the
curb-weight of the SSR and find that it weighs the same as that
blasted H3 or the combined moons of Jupiter. Still, it's the perfect
vehicle to point out GM's current problems: Bloated, underachieving,
off-target, and far too costly.
Give the Little Tikes people a call, GM. They'll help you out.
Racing Greats
This year's Spanish Grand Prix was touted as being a triumph of pit strategy and clever planning by team leader Ross Brawn. However, aside from one fairly unimpressive accident right at the beginning, the race might have been dubbed the Curious Case of Jenson Button, as it was long, tedious, and predictable.
By now I'm sure rabid F1 fans are foaming at the mouth, racing to their Ferrari-branded keyboards and writing huge tracts about the many ways in which I should be disembowled with carbonfibre wings. Fair enough I suppose, but I would challenge anyone to be excited by Formula 1's chess-like strategies after reading, as I did before watching the race, anything about racing in the '30's-'60's.
In particular, I had been reading about the last variant of Mercedes-McLaren's SLR supercar, a homage to Sir Stirling Moss, and stumbled across this quote from the fabled racecar driver: “Jenks [navigator Denis Jenkison] had given me the signal that it was OK flat and we went over the damn thing [a humpbacked bridge] at 150 or 160 [about 250km/h] and the bloody thing was flying. It was a dead straight road, but I knew it was a bit dodgy. We were airborne for quite a few seconds.”
A bit dodgy indeed when you learn that this was on a narrow, tree-lined Italian road in an open-topped Mercedes with drum brakes, and nobody was wearing seatbelts in case the car caught on fire. Oh, and Sir Moss preferred shortsleeved shirts so he could work on his tan. Next to lunacy of this calibre, Formula 1 is like paintball compared to the Normandy landings.
That's not to say F1 is really boring, it's just been designed to be safer and safer, and rightly so. There's no way that the antics of the past could be allowed, and it's not like there still isn't a great potential for danger. But my fear is that the greatest racing stories have been told, Lewis Hamilton notwithstanding.
Sir Stirling's achievement, for instance, in the 1955 Mille Miglia, a 1600km gruelling endurance race, is nothing short of superhuman. Blasting through narrow, winding Italian country roads, throttle-steering the big Mercedes around blind sweepers with spectators leaping out at you, Moss averaged 160km/h over a ten-hour period, beating his closest rival and teammate by 30 minutes. His time of ten hours, seven minutes and forty-eight seconds would never be beaten.
Epic surely, but for the greatest racing victory of all time, we have to look to the Italians. Tazio Nuvolari was a successful motorcycle racer in the 20's and early 30's but by 1931 he'd decided to move into four-wheel racing. He had some success and engaged in the usual staggering stupidity of racecar drivers, racing once with a broken leg in a car specially designed to be driven with only one leg, but then came the 1935 German Grand Prix.
Every good story needs villains, and who better than the old standbys, the Third Reich. Yep, here come the Nazis in their two state-funded teams with the supercharged 400-hp Mercedes W25s and the rear-engined Auto-Union (later to become Audi) Type-Bs, also with well over 400hp. These enormous silver beasts were to be piloted by the best drivers out there: Hans Stuck, Rudolf Caracciola, Manfred von Brauchitsch, Achille Varzi and the amazingly talented Bernd Rosemeyer.
Nuvolari was in an hopelessly outdated and underpowered Alfa Romeo that looked like a chicken coop on bicycle tires. He was 43 years old, grizzled from years of racing and partially crippled by the injuries he had sustained through his career. The track was the fabled Nürburgring, a course that even today takes a dozen lives every year. The nine big German rocket ships lined up on the wet track in front of 300,000 nationalistic fans, one of them with a funny moustache and a bad haircut.
They're off! And already there's a serious injury as a mechanic rushing to help a stalled Hans Stuck gets clipped by one of the big Auto Unions, fracturing his skull. The slick track is no match for Caracciola, an expert in the wet, and he opens up a significant lead, but here comes Rosemeyer, drifiting his car through the corners at over 160km/h. The two racing greats duel for the lead, while von Brauchitsch and Varzi are battling with Hans Stuck who has somehow caught up after his disastrous start, and in fifth place it's...
It's Nuvolari! Yes, the 5ft 4in Italian in his tiny soapbox-racer of an Alfa Romeo is somehow keeping up to all that German horsepower. He's grimacing, chatting away to the car and patting it encouragingly, wringing every last ounce of speed and handling out of the little Alfa.
By lap nine, the Germans were still leading and the other two Alfa Romeos had predicably broken, leaving only Nuvolari battling alone against eight cars, Rosemeyer having pitted to change out his shredded tires. The little Italian was still hanging on, and then he wasn't just hanging on any more. He was winning.
Recording the first-ever sub-11 minute circuit of the Nurburgring, Nuvolari passed an Audi, then a Mercedes, then another Audi, and then suddenly he was past Caracciola for the lead! The crowd went deathly silent.
But then disaster strikes! Von Brauchitsch sets a blistering 10 minutes 32 seconds lap to catch up, and he, Nuvolari, Rosemeyer and Caracciola all enter their last pit stop at the same time. With military precision, von Brauchitsch's team gets him out first, then Caracciola and Rosemeyer. Nuvolari? Stuck in the pits, with a broken fuel pressure pump. As the mechanics attempted to fuel the car by hand, the time ticked away until he was right back in sixth place.
Sensing victory, von Brauchitsch pushed harder and harder as Rosemeyer and Caracciola fell back, charging to a comfortable lead of one minute 30 seconds. But then that lead started shrinking. And the car in second place, gaining precious seconds? It was the number 12 Alfa Romeo of Nuvolari.
Over the last three laps, von Brauchitsch's lead was cut until the final lap only left him a 30 second lead, not enough time to change the tires he had worn through pushing so hard. The cars disappeared out of sight, and the announcer had become so frenzied and unintelligible there was no way for the crowd to know what was happening. They waited for the winner to appear out of the light mist.
Finally a silhouette emerged. It was boxy, small, and there was a jubilant Italian at the wheel. The crowd sat in stunned silence.
Tiny Nuvolari looked ridiculous in the huge victory wreath that had been designed for the taller German drivers, and the race organizers hadn't even bothered to bring a copy of the Italian national anthem, but there was nothing taken away from the jubilation felt by the Alfa Romeo team, especially by its young leader, who declared that Nuvolari was the best driver that had ever been. The leader's name? Enzo Ferrari.
So you can have your clinical Formula 1, but I think I'll let Sir Stirling have the last word:
"To me now racing is - the dangers are taken away: if it's difficult, they put in a chicane. So really now the danger is minimal - which is good, because people aren't hurt. But for me the fact that I had danger on my shoulder made it much more exciting... And I think with driving a motor car, the danger is a very necessary ingredient. Like if you're cooking, you need salt. You can cook without salt, but it doesn't have the flavor. It's the same with motor racing without danger. For me.”
Me too.
By now I'm sure rabid F1 fans are foaming at the mouth, racing to their Ferrari-branded keyboards and writing huge tracts about the many ways in which I should be disembowled with carbonfibre wings. Fair enough I suppose, but I would challenge anyone to be excited by Formula 1's chess-like strategies after reading, as I did before watching the race, anything about racing in the '30's-'60's.
In particular, I had been reading about the last variant of Mercedes-McLaren's SLR supercar, a homage to Sir Stirling Moss, and stumbled across this quote from the fabled racecar driver: “Jenks [navigator Denis Jenkison] had given me the signal that it was OK flat and we went over the damn thing [a humpbacked bridge] at 150 or 160 [about 250km/h] and the bloody thing was flying. It was a dead straight road, but I knew it was a bit dodgy. We were airborne for quite a few seconds.”
A bit dodgy indeed when you learn that this was on a narrow, tree-lined Italian road in an open-topped Mercedes with drum brakes, and nobody was wearing seatbelts in case the car caught on fire. Oh, and Sir Moss preferred shortsleeved shirts so he could work on his tan. Next to lunacy of this calibre, Formula 1 is like paintball compared to the Normandy landings.
That's not to say F1 is really boring, it's just been designed to be safer and safer, and rightly so. There's no way that the antics of the past could be allowed, and it's not like there still isn't a great potential for danger. But my fear is that the greatest racing stories have been told, Lewis Hamilton notwithstanding.
Sir Stirling's achievement, for instance, in the 1955 Mille Miglia, a 1600km gruelling endurance race, is nothing short of superhuman. Blasting through narrow, winding Italian country roads, throttle-steering the big Mercedes around blind sweepers with spectators leaping out at you, Moss averaged 160km/h over a ten-hour period, beating his closest rival and teammate by 30 minutes. His time of ten hours, seven minutes and forty-eight seconds would never be beaten.
Epic surely, but for the greatest racing victory of all time, we have to look to the Italians. Tazio Nuvolari was a successful motorcycle racer in the 20's and early 30's but by 1931 he'd decided to move into four-wheel racing. He had some success and engaged in the usual staggering stupidity of racecar drivers, racing once with a broken leg in a car specially designed to be driven with only one leg, but then came the 1935 German Grand Prix.
Every good story needs villains, and who better than the old standbys, the Third Reich. Yep, here come the Nazis in their two state-funded teams with the supercharged 400-hp Mercedes W25s and the rear-engined Auto-Union (later to become Audi) Type-Bs, also with well over 400hp. These enormous silver beasts were to be piloted by the best drivers out there: Hans Stuck, Rudolf Caracciola, Manfred von Brauchitsch, Achille Varzi and the amazingly talented Bernd Rosemeyer.
Nuvolari was in an hopelessly outdated and underpowered Alfa Romeo that looked like a chicken coop on bicycle tires. He was 43 years old, grizzled from years of racing and partially crippled by the injuries he had sustained through his career. The track was the fabled Nürburgring, a course that even today takes a dozen lives every year. The nine big German rocket ships lined up on the wet track in front of 300,000 nationalistic fans, one of them with a funny moustache and a bad haircut.
They're off! And already there's a serious injury as a mechanic rushing to help a stalled Hans Stuck gets clipped by one of the big Auto Unions, fracturing his skull. The slick track is no match for Caracciola, an expert in the wet, and he opens up a significant lead, but here comes Rosemeyer, drifiting his car through the corners at over 160km/h. The two racing greats duel for the lead, while von Brauchitsch and Varzi are battling with Hans Stuck who has somehow caught up after his disastrous start, and in fifth place it's...
It's Nuvolari! Yes, the 5ft 4in Italian in his tiny soapbox-racer of an Alfa Romeo is somehow keeping up to all that German horsepower. He's grimacing, chatting away to the car and patting it encouragingly, wringing every last ounce of speed and handling out of the little Alfa.
By lap nine, the Germans were still leading and the other two Alfa Romeos had predicably broken, leaving only Nuvolari battling alone against eight cars, Rosemeyer having pitted to change out his shredded tires. The little Italian was still hanging on, and then he wasn't just hanging on any more. He was winning.
Recording the first-ever sub-11 minute circuit of the Nurburgring, Nuvolari passed an Audi, then a Mercedes, then another Audi, and then suddenly he was past Caracciola for the lead! The crowd went deathly silent.
But then disaster strikes! Von Brauchitsch sets a blistering 10 minutes 32 seconds lap to catch up, and he, Nuvolari, Rosemeyer and Caracciola all enter their last pit stop at the same time. With military precision, von Brauchitsch's team gets him out first, then Caracciola and Rosemeyer. Nuvolari? Stuck in the pits, with a broken fuel pressure pump. As the mechanics attempted to fuel the car by hand, the time ticked away until he was right back in sixth place.
Sensing victory, von Brauchitsch pushed harder and harder as Rosemeyer and Caracciola fell back, charging to a comfortable lead of one minute 30 seconds. But then that lead started shrinking. And the car in second place, gaining precious seconds? It was the number 12 Alfa Romeo of Nuvolari.
Over the last three laps, von Brauchitsch's lead was cut until the final lap only left him a 30 second lead, not enough time to change the tires he had worn through pushing so hard. The cars disappeared out of sight, and the announcer had become so frenzied and unintelligible there was no way for the crowd to know what was happening. They waited for the winner to appear out of the light mist.
Finally a silhouette emerged. It was boxy, small, and there was a jubilant Italian at the wheel. The crowd sat in stunned silence.
Tiny Nuvolari looked ridiculous in the huge victory wreath that had been designed for the taller German drivers, and the race organizers hadn't even bothered to bring a copy of the Italian national anthem, but there was nothing taken away from the jubilation felt by the Alfa Romeo team, especially by its young leader, who declared that Nuvolari was the best driver that had ever been. The leader's name? Enzo Ferrari.
So you can have your clinical Formula 1, but I think I'll let Sir Stirling have the last word:
"To me now racing is - the dangers are taken away: if it's difficult, they put in a chicane. So really now the danger is minimal - which is good, because people aren't hurt. But for me the fact that I had danger on my shoulder made it much more exciting... And I think with driving a motor car, the danger is a very necessary ingredient. Like if you're cooking, you need salt. You can cook without salt, but it doesn't have the flavor. It's the same with motor racing without danger. For me.”
Me too.
Auto Show
Recession? Perish the thought.
At least, that's what all the crowds at this year's Vancouver International Auto Show seemed to be indicating. Sure, more people were there to find bargains on fuel-sippers, but the throng packed around the new Camaro shows that a gearhead is still a gearhead, even when they're shifting up early to save gas.
With a huge number of new and re-designed cars revealed this year, there's plenty to get excited about, from matte-black supercars to game-changing hybrids.
For cool cars that'll warm up the planet, you've got to head straight to the supercar paddock and check out the gorgeous curves of the Aston-Martin DBS and Ferrari 599 GTB. Maserati and Bentley have put in an appearance too, but the filly that really caught my eye was a black Lamborghini Gallardo LP 560-4. I don't know why they bother with all the numbers as all the brain remembers is “Lamborghini,” but it's a thing of beauty with its perforated tailpipes and bio-hazard symbol brake lights.
Nutcase of the show goes to Dutch manufacturer Spyker, whose new Calgary-based dealership brought in two of their wild convertibles. These cars are a riot of quilted leather and more chrome than all the rap videos between 2003-2005, and the bizarro double-rod gear linkage is insane enough to make you cut off your own ear. By comparison, the Lotuses looked like sensible econoboxes.
Of course, outside of the latest Gran Turismo game, I'm pretty sure a supercar isn't going to make it into my garage anytime soon. Still, there's performance bargains aplenty to be found over at the Subaru/Mitsubishi corner. I guess now that both companies are out of the rallying game, it's safe to put them side-by-side, but I'm still surprised not to find the reps flinging mud at each other. Subaru has their new 265hp WRX on display, but the crowds were even busier checking out Mitsubihi's newer 5-door Lancer Sportback. The new Lancer is by far the prettier car, and is a great compromise between wagon and sports-sedan.
Over at Nissan, plenty of crowds attracted by the still-popular GTR supercar stayed to paw all over the brand-new Z car: the 370Z. This year, the rear-wheel drive, V6 icon brings more power, better handling and lower weight to the table, and (even more enticing) it has a lower price. If the GTR is a half-price 911 Turbo, then this new car takes aim at the Porsche Cayman S, and Stuttgart should be nervous.
However, when it comes to performance bargains, the show-stopper was definitely Hyundai with their Genesis coupe. The 3.8 litre V6 model is a worthy contender to go up against that 370Z, although it has a little less power than the Nissan. However, the real deal is the 2-litre turbo model that can be picked up with a manual transmission, 210hp and 18” rims for just over $26,000. My prediction: it's going to be nearly impossible to find these for the first year as they'll all be getting snapped up as fast as Korea can make them. Don't be fooled by the V6's greater power output either; that 4-cylinder turbo sports a very similar engine to the one found in the Mitsubishi Ralliart. Expect to see 400hp+ tuner versions in the upcoming months.
However, we can't tear around all the time consuming petrochemicals like a Kuwati oil fire. Luckily, this is one of the best years for providing the eco-concious driver with a wide array of choices. The new Prius is here, somehow sporting more power and better fuel economy through some Toyota black magic. But the Prius had better gird its leaf-loving loins for battle because Honda's new Insight hybrid was garnering all the attention. Both cars seem to be jelly-beans from the same pod, but the Insight is touted as having that classic sharp Honda driving feel. It'll be cheaper too.
Eco even got a bit sexy over at Dodge, where their massively over-engined Challenger was parked next to a little yellow bumblebee of a car: the Dodge EV. Based on a Lotus, this little full-electric sportscar would happily outhandle the big bruiser in the corners, and the ludicrously available torque from an electric engine means it would out-drag it to 100km/h too.
Speaking of electric powertrains, this year's show boasted a whole array of electric vehicles on the upper mezzanine, from mini-dumptrucks to converted Toyota Rav4s. Parked right next to them was the Alé concept, a BC-homebrew that's competing for the automotive X-Prize of 100mpg. The spec sheet on the Jetson-looking podcar seemed a bit far-fetched but apparently it's nearing production.
More practical transportation for the rest of us was provided by pretty much every manufacturer there, but don't equate economical with boring. Nissan debuted their funky little Cube, a box-on-wheels that will redefine cheap and cheerful, Kia's Soul is already selling like hotcakes, and Ford even had the audacity to display a bright green euro-spec Fiesta hatchback. They'd better not be teasing, as this little car could provide serious competition on an even footing with the Yaris, Fit and Versa.
Every year it's tricky to pick a must-see car, but this year I had an easy time finding the star of the show, even though it was tucked away on the mezzanine with little fanfare. In the sparse Porsche booth, right between Lexus and Land Rover, there was a 911 that I just instantly fell for. Sure the Lamborghini was the sexiest car, and sure the Insight will probably be the biggest sales success in the coming year, but away from all the fanfare and fins there was a deep green 911 Carrerra S with a tan leather interior.
I've seen plenty of 911s in red, black and silver, but that particular colour combination immediately transported me twenty-five years into the future, where all our cars are pod-like affairs that whirr along in silence and comfort, connected wirelessly to prevent accidents, with AI-controlled navigation systems and automatic pilot. Somewhere in all that oil-starved sterility, someone is going to open their garage on a Sunday morning and pull an old sheet off this car. It'll fire up with that classic flat-six rumble and its driver will ease it out into the spring sunshine in search of some looped ribbon of lonely country road. I hope that driver is me.
At least, that's what all the crowds at this year's Vancouver International Auto Show seemed to be indicating. Sure, more people were there to find bargains on fuel-sippers, but the throng packed around the new Camaro shows that a gearhead is still a gearhead, even when they're shifting up early to save gas.
With a huge number of new and re-designed cars revealed this year, there's plenty to get excited about, from matte-black supercars to game-changing hybrids.
For cool cars that'll warm up the planet, you've got to head straight to the supercar paddock and check out the gorgeous curves of the Aston-Martin DBS and Ferrari 599 GTB. Maserati and Bentley have put in an appearance too, but the filly that really caught my eye was a black Lamborghini Gallardo LP 560-4. I don't know why they bother with all the numbers as all the brain remembers is “Lamborghini,” but it's a thing of beauty with its perforated tailpipes and bio-hazard symbol brake lights.
Nutcase of the show goes to Dutch manufacturer Spyker, whose new Calgary-based dealership brought in two of their wild convertibles. These cars are a riot of quilted leather and more chrome than all the rap videos between 2003-2005, and the bizarro double-rod gear linkage is insane enough to make you cut off your own ear. By comparison, the Lotuses looked like sensible econoboxes.
Of course, outside of the latest Gran Turismo game, I'm pretty sure a supercar isn't going to make it into my garage anytime soon. Still, there's performance bargains aplenty to be found over at the Subaru/Mitsubishi corner. I guess now that both companies are out of the rallying game, it's safe to put them side-by-side, but I'm still surprised not to find the reps flinging mud at each other. Subaru has their new 265hp WRX on display, but the crowds were even busier checking out Mitsubihi's newer 5-door Lancer Sportback. The new Lancer is by far the prettier car, and is a great compromise between wagon and sports-sedan.
Over at Nissan, plenty of crowds attracted by the still-popular GTR supercar stayed to paw all over the brand-new Z car: the 370Z. This year, the rear-wheel drive, V6 icon brings more power, better handling and lower weight to the table, and (even more enticing) it has a lower price. If the GTR is a half-price 911 Turbo, then this new car takes aim at the Porsche Cayman S, and Stuttgart should be nervous.
However, when it comes to performance bargains, the show-stopper was definitely Hyundai with their Genesis coupe. The 3.8 litre V6 model is a worthy contender to go up against that 370Z, although it has a little less power than the Nissan. However, the real deal is the 2-litre turbo model that can be picked up with a manual transmission, 210hp and 18” rims for just over $26,000. My prediction: it's going to be nearly impossible to find these for the first year as they'll all be getting snapped up as fast as Korea can make them. Don't be fooled by the V6's greater power output either; that 4-cylinder turbo sports a very similar engine to the one found in the Mitsubishi Ralliart. Expect to see 400hp+ tuner versions in the upcoming months.
However, we can't tear around all the time consuming petrochemicals like a Kuwati oil fire. Luckily, this is one of the best years for providing the eco-concious driver with a wide array of choices. The new Prius is here, somehow sporting more power and better fuel economy through some Toyota black magic. But the Prius had better gird its leaf-loving loins for battle because Honda's new Insight hybrid was garnering all the attention. Both cars seem to be jelly-beans from the same pod, but the Insight is touted as having that classic sharp Honda driving feel. It'll be cheaper too.
Eco even got a bit sexy over at Dodge, where their massively over-engined Challenger was parked next to a little yellow bumblebee of a car: the Dodge EV. Based on a Lotus, this little full-electric sportscar would happily outhandle the big bruiser in the corners, and the ludicrously available torque from an electric engine means it would out-drag it to 100km/h too.
Speaking of electric powertrains, this year's show boasted a whole array of electric vehicles on the upper mezzanine, from mini-dumptrucks to converted Toyota Rav4s. Parked right next to them was the Alé concept, a BC-homebrew that's competing for the automotive X-Prize of 100mpg. The spec sheet on the Jetson-looking podcar seemed a bit far-fetched but apparently it's nearing production.
More practical transportation for the rest of us was provided by pretty much every manufacturer there, but don't equate economical with boring. Nissan debuted their funky little Cube, a box-on-wheels that will redefine cheap and cheerful, Kia's Soul is already selling like hotcakes, and Ford even had the audacity to display a bright green euro-spec Fiesta hatchback. They'd better not be teasing, as this little car could provide serious competition on an even footing with the Yaris, Fit and Versa.
Every year it's tricky to pick a must-see car, but this year I had an easy time finding the star of the show, even though it was tucked away on the mezzanine with little fanfare. In the sparse Porsche booth, right between Lexus and Land Rover, there was a 911 that I just instantly fell for. Sure the Lamborghini was the sexiest car, and sure the Insight will probably be the biggest sales success in the coming year, but away from all the fanfare and fins there was a deep green 911 Carrerra S with a tan leather interior.
I've seen plenty of 911s in red, black and silver, but that particular colour combination immediately transported me twenty-five years into the future, where all our cars are pod-like affairs that whirr along in silence and comfort, connected wirelessly to prevent accidents, with AI-controlled navigation systems and automatic pilot. Somewhere in all that oil-starved sterility, someone is going to open their garage on a Sunday morning and pull an old sheet off this car. It'll fire up with that classic flat-six rumble and its driver will ease it out into the spring sunshine in search of some looped ribbon of lonely country road. I hope that driver is me.
Jaguar
As someone who's spent a great deal of time in (or more accurately, underneath) British cars, I find the word 'Jaguar' to be synonomous with luxury, style and great suffering. Thankfully, my dad never expressed any interest in owning an XJ or XK, and it remained a sort of Holy Grail of mechanical difficulty. “At least,” I'd say to myself, when some important part of the Land Rover had gone fatally 'sproing', “At least we don't have a Jaguar.”
But that doesn't mean I don't drool all over an E-Type whenever I come across one in a parking lot. They're like automotive goddesses with the curves of Aphrodite and the mood swings of Shiva. And you have to remove the rear end just to change the brakes.
Actually, the E-Type is perhaps a bit too obvious a choice. Everyone loves that thing, even people with hemp pants and communists. If I had to pick a favourite Jag, it'd be the big saloons: the '66 Mark IIs and the '68 420s. For me, these big cats are all about flash cockney villains, jewel heists and Italian Jobs, Michael Caine and John Osborne. They're cool enough to turn a Roger Rabbit into a Roger Daltrey.
And here's the thing: when I see a big Jaguar on the street, I think to myself, “That's the business.” With the exception of the excreable X-Type, every Jag is a true icon, an undiluted expression of the marque.
Founded in the '20s as a motorcycle sidecar company, Jaguar began producing sports cars in the thirties. However, it wasn't until the late forties that Jaguar really came into its own with the XK120 sport-saloon. Developed during war-time fire watch on the factory floor, the XK120 was a revolution in speed and luxury.
For instance in 1952, during a high-speed trial, a team of three drivers lapped an XK120 for 168 consecutive hours at 210 km/h, covering over 27,000 kms and stopping only for fuel and driver changes. In a time when most British cars would have struggled to break 100 km/h, this was like driving non-stop at double the speed limit from Vancouver to St. Johns, Newfoundland, and back again, twice in one week.
It was this sort of ridiculous achievement and numerous racing victories that built Jaguar's reputation for speed, while their burled wood and leather interiors were building a reputation for luxury. Sadly, by the late sixties, the actual cars were being built by British Leyland, which had built a reputation on being bad at building things.
Still the indisputable character of Jaguars remained untouched, if a bit rusty, up until the Ford Motor Corporation snapped them up in 1989. Between '89 and 2007 Jaguar earned Ford a profit of nothing, zero, nada, while turning out beauties like the XKR coupe, and yawnfests like the Mondeo-based X-Type.
Jaguar is now owned by India's Tata motors, which is probably the best thing that could have happened to them. Modern Britain is all chavs and ASBOs, David and Victoria Beckham, lager louts and football hooligans. India on the other hand, is proably the greatest preserver of English culture in the world. The P.G. Wodehouse appreciation society has more members in India than any other nation.
Combine this with the recent modernization of the country, and you have the perfect ownership for a company that's always lived on a heritage of speed and old-world charm, combined with modern technology. Consider the new supercharged XKR with its classic long-nose short-tail profile and E-type oval grille. With over 500 horsepower and a trick suspension, it brings supercar speed to the table, but it does it with a refinement and character only an Aston-Martin could match (at twice the price).
With the current economic turmoil, Jaguar remains one of the only luxury automakers that doesn't have a cluttered, diluted lineup. BMW has nearly ten model lines with various trim levels, and cheap financing. Mercedes has three different SUVs and the A-Class entry-level vehicle. Lexus's I250 is a luxo-badge at a Toyota price.
If you're in a Jaguar though, there's none of that cheapness. You might not have the one with the biggest engine, but it's going to be something very special nontheless. Perhaps this excusivity will mean a rebirth for Jaguar, an upswell in sales and a return to profitability. Either way, any time you see an old XJ or XK on the road, be sure and give them a salute.
Saying a few Hail Marys for their powertrain wouldn't go amiss either.
But that doesn't mean I don't drool all over an E-Type whenever I come across one in a parking lot. They're like automotive goddesses with the curves of Aphrodite and the mood swings of Shiva. And you have to remove the rear end just to change the brakes.
Actually, the E-Type is perhaps a bit too obvious a choice. Everyone loves that thing, even people with hemp pants and communists. If I had to pick a favourite Jag, it'd be the big saloons: the '66 Mark IIs and the '68 420s. For me, these big cats are all about flash cockney villains, jewel heists and Italian Jobs, Michael Caine and John Osborne. They're cool enough to turn a Roger Rabbit into a Roger Daltrey.
And here's the thing: when I see a big Jaguar on the street, I think to myself, “That's the business.” With the exception of the excreable X-Type, every Jag is a true icon, an undiluted expression of the marque.
Founded in the '20s as a motorcycle sidecar company, Jaguar began producing sports cars in the thirties. However, it wasn't until the late forties that Jaguar really came into its own with the XK120 sport-saloon. Developed during war-time fire watch on the factory floor, the XK120 was a revolution in speed and luxury.
For instance in 1952, during a high-speed trial, a team of three drivers lapped an XK120 for 168 consecutive hours at 210 km/h, covering over 27,000 kms and stopping only for fuel and driver changes. In a time when most British cars would have struggled to break 100 km/h, this was like driving non-stop at double the speed limit from Vancouver to St. Johns, Newfoundland, and back again, twice in one week.
It was this sort of ridiculous achievement and numerous racing victories that built Jaguar's reputation for speed, while their burled wood and leather interiors were building a reputation for luxury. Sadly, by the late sixties, the actual cars were being built by British Leyland, which had built a reputation on being bad at building things.
Still the indisputable character of Jaguars remained untouched, if a bit rusty, up until the Ford Motor Corporation snapped them up in 1989. Between '89 and 2007 Jaguar earned Ford a profit of nothing, zero, nada, while turning out beauties like the XKR coupe, and yawnfests like the Mondeo-based X-Type.
Jaguar is now owned by India's Tata motors, which is probably the best thing that could have happened to them. Modern Britain is all chavs and ASBOs, David and Victoria Beckham, lager louts and football hooligans. India on the other hand, is proably the greatest preserver of English culture in the world. The P.G. Wodehouse appreciation society has more members in India than any other nation.
Combine this with the recent modernization of the country, and you have the perfect ownership for a company that's always lived on a heritage of speed and old-world charm, combined with modern technology. Consider the new supercharged XKR with its classic long-nose short-tail profile and E-type oval grille. With over 500 horsepower and a trick suspension, it brings supercar speed to the table, but it does it with a refinement and character only an Aston-Martin could match (at twice the price).
With the current economic turmoil, Jaguar remains one of the only luxury automakers that doesn't have a cluttered, diluted lineup. BMW has nearly ten model lines with various trim levels, and cheap financing. Mercedes has three different SUVs and the A-Class entry-level vehicle. Lexus's I250 is a luxo-badge at a Toyota price.
If you're in a Jaguar though, there's none of that cheapness. You might not have the one with the biggest engine, but it's going to be something very special nontheless. Perhaps this excusivity will mean a rebirth for Jaguar, an upswell in sales and a return to profitability. Either way, any time you see an old XJ or XK on the road, be sure and give them a salute.
Saying a few Hail Marys for their powertrain wouldn't go amiss either.
Toyota
Well, it finally happened. This week, Toyota officially became the world's largest auto manufacturer with 2008 car and truck sales of 8.97 million besting GM's paltry 8.35 million units sold.
Most people consider Toyota to have surpassed GM last year when they produced the most vehicles in the world, but Detroit denial stipulated that the sales crown was more important. And now that crown rests upon the brow of a beige Corolla with one missing hubcap.
More bad news for GM then as their whopping 77 years of market domination comes to an end, but perhaps its better to see things in a more optimistic light and cheer Toyota for their success. Maybe if we're really nice to them, they'll bring back the Supra.
Toyota sprang into being in the mid-thirties as an offshoot of a manufacturer of automatic looms. Kiichiro Toyoda was the enterprising son who had been sent to America and Europe to examine automotive production there, and he brought home what he learned to a Japan hungry for domestic car production. Early models were sold as Toyodas and were so similar to Dodge and Chevy products that some parts were actually interchangeable.
The Toyota company was given its name largely as the result of superstition. The homonym “Toyota” requires eight brush strokes to write in Japanese, which is both lucky and visually simpler than the symbols for “Toyoda”. Additionally, the literal translation of Toyoda is “fertile rice paddies,” and the modern company was eager to distance themselves from old-fashioned farming, especially when you think about what fertilizes rice paddies.
Early small cars from the Toyota motor company were sold under the name “Toyopet,” which didn't go over very well when they went on sale in the U.S. in 1957. The name was changed back to Toyota for export models, and in what may have been foreshadowing, the first model to show up on North American roads was the Toyota Crown.
You can still buy a Toyota Crown today, as it's roughly equivalent to a Lexus E350. You couldn't buy one by 1960 though because the car was a major failure. Its puny four-cylinder engine was no match for its truck-based frame on the interstate highways of the United States, and on a publicity stunt coast-to-coast trip, it barely made it from L.A. to Las Vegas. Toyota pulled the car from the export lineup, leaving only the jeep-like Land Cruiser and the Tiara, which initially sold 318 units and was considered a runaway success. Eventually the Crown was re-launched in the mid-sixties with a six-cylinder engine and the Tiara (which soon changed to Corona) began doubling its sales every year.
Really though, all that sales figures stuff is incredibly boring. The moment anyone actually started caring about Toyota was the moment they saw Akkiko Wakabayashi roll up in a white Toyota 2000 GT open-top to help James Bond escape from the bad guys. Yes, You Only Live Twice was a pretty silly movie, and yes, Sean Connery's Japanese disguise was pretty laughable (“domo arrrigato, Mishter Rrroboto”), but the swooping Jaguar E-type lines and Porche 911 performance of the 2000 GT made everybody sit up and pay attention. That was a Toyota?
Proving they could build an interesting car helped Toyota's sales, but it was the '73 oil crisis that really kicked down the doors for Japanese companies and their small, fuel-efficient vehicles. By the early 80's there were Toyota badges everywhere, particularly the Corolla, which would go on to be the best selling car nameplate in the world.
For me, the 80's are really the time where Toyota's trucks came into their own with the nigh-indestructible Hilux (or Tacoma) and Land Cruiser. If only groups like the Taliban were forced to drive around in trucks produced by Fiat or Alfa-Romeo, all the hotspots of the world would be a lot quieter, as they'd spend most of their time either walking or pushing. With a Toyota pickup truck though, they can go pretty much anywhere, and it'll run pretty much forever even without maintenance.
In 1989 Toyota pulled another trick out of their bag: they introduced Lexus. The LS400 flagship was launched after years of prototypes and customer focus groups, and it was a smooth-riding success. BMW and Mercedes sneered at the idea of a Japanese luxury car, dismissing it as nothing more than a fancy Camry, and suggesting that no Toyota product would ever be a threat to the high-end German marques. Look how well that prediction worked out.
By the 90's things were in full swing with the outrageous twin-turbo Supra, the pocket-rocket Celica GTS and the if-it-were-any-slower-it'd-be-a-Ferrari Turbo MR2. All fun to drive, but the most interesting vehicle Toyota launched wasn't. In 1997, Japanese roads were introduced to the bulbous, slow, and incredibly important Prius Hybrid.
Toyota has championed its Hybrid-Synergy drive over the last decade, making it available in everything from the SUV Toyota Highlander to their flagship sedan Lexus LS600h. In typical Toyota fashion, it spent millions on research even before the market existed for the vehicles it was intending to build.
Toyota now comprises three companies: Lexus, Toyota, and the “Youth” brand Scion. It also has its tentacles in Subaru, Yamaha and Isuzu. But even with its huge resources, great management and high sales volume, Toyota is still slowing or stopping production. They've killed the idea of bringing back the Supra, and a new Lexus supercar which was in the works also faces the axe.
Whether or not they retain their crown, it'd be nice to borrow Toyota's crystal ball for a while and see what they think the future has in store for us. Hopefully it's not just another shade of beige for that Corolla.
Most people consider Toyota to have surpassed GM last year when they produced the most vehicles in the world, but Detroit denial stipulated that the sales crown was more important. And now that crown rests upon the brow of a beige Corolla with one missing hubcap.
More bad news for GM then as their whopping 77 years of market domination comes to an end, but perhaps its better to see things in a more optimistic light and cheer Toyota for their success. Maybe if we're really nice to them, they'll bring back the Supra.
Toyota sprang into being in the mid-thirties as an offshoot of a manufacturer of automatic looms. Kiichiro Toyoda was the enterprising son who had been sent to America and Europe to examine automotive production there, and he brought home what he learned to a Japan hungry for domestic car production. Early models were sold as Toyodas and were so similar to Dodge and Chevy products that some parts were actually interchangeable.
The Toyota company was given its name largely as the result of superstition. The homonym “Toyota” requires eight brush strokes to write in Japanese, which is both lucky and visually simpler than the symbols for “Toyoda”. Additionally, the literal translation of Toyoda is “fertile rice paddies,” and the modern company was eager to distance themselves from old-fashioned farming, especially when you think about what fertilizes rice paddies.
Early small cars from the Toyota motor company were sold under the name “Toyopet,” which didn't go over very well when they went on sale in the U.S. in 1957. The name was changed back to Toyota for export models, and in what may have been foreshadowing, the first model to show up on North American roads was the Toyota Crown.
You can still buy a Toyota Crown today, as it's roughly equivalent to a Lexus E350. You couldn't buy one by 1960 though because the car was a major failure. Its puny four-cylinder engine was no match for its truck-based frame on the interstate highways of the United States, and on a publicity stunt coast-to-coast trip, it barely made it from L.A. to Las Vegas. Toyota pulled the car from the export lineup, leaving only the jeep-like Land Cruiser and the Tiara, which initially sold 318 units and was considered a runaway success. Eventually the Crown was re-launched in the mid-sixties with a six-cylinder engine and the Tiara (which soon changed to Corona) began doubling its sales every year.
Really though, all that sales figures stuff is incredibly boring. The moment anyone actually started caring about Toyota was the moment they saw Akkiko Wakabayashi roll up in a white Toyota 2000 GT open-top to help James Bond escape from the bad guys. Yes, You Only Live Twice was a pretty silly movie, and yes, Sean Connery's Japanese disguise was pretty laughable (“domo arrrigato, Mishter Rrroboto”), but the swooping Jaguar E-type lines and Porche 911 performance of the 2000 GT made everybody sit up and pay attention. That was a Toyota?
Proving they could build an interesting car helped Toyota's sales, but it was the '73 oil crisis that really kicked down the doors for Japanese companies and their small, fuel-efficient vehicles. By the early 80's there were Toyota badges everywhere, particularly the Corolla, which would go on to be the best selling car nameplate in the world.
For me, the 80's are really the time where Toyota's trucks came into their own with the nigh-indestructible Hilux (or Tacoma) and Land Cruiser. If only groups like the Taliban were forced to drive around in trucks produced by Fiat or Alfa-Romeo, all the hotspots of the world would be a lot quieter, as they'd spend most of their time either walking or pushing. With a Toyota pickup truck though, they can go pretty much anywhere, and it'll run pretty much forever even without maintenance.
In 1989 Toyota pulled another trick out of their bag: they introduced Lexus. The LS400 flagship was launched after years of prototypes and customer focus groups, and it was a smooth-riding success. BMW and Mercedes sneered at the idea of a Japanese luxury car, dismissing it as nothing more than a fancy Camry, and suggesting that no Toyota product would ever be a threat to the high-end German marques. Look how well that prediction worked out.
By the 90's things were in full swing with the outrageous twin-turbo Supra, the pocket-rocket Celica GTS and the if-it-were-any-slower-it'd-be-a-Ferrari Turbo MR2. All fun to drive, but the most interesting vehicle Toyota launched wasn't. In 1997, Japanese roads were introduced to the bulbous, slow, and incredibly important Prius Hybrid.
Toyota has championed its Hybrid-Synergy drive over the last decade, making it available in everything from the SUV Toyota Highlander to their flagship sedan Lexus LS600h. In typical Toyota fashion, it spent millions on research even before the market existed for the vehicles it was intending to build.
Toyota now comprises three companies: Lexus, Toyota, and the “Youth” brand Scion. It also has its tentacles in Subaru, Yamaha and Isuzu. But even with its huge resources, great management and high sales volume, Toyota is still slowing or stopping production. They've killed the idea of bringing back the Supra, and a new Lexus supercar which was in the works also faces the axe.
Whether or not they retain their crown, it'd be nice to borrow Toyota's crystal ball for a while and see what they think the future has in store for us. Hopefully it's not just another shade of beige for that Corolla.
The Future
As the year draws to a close, I can't say that there's a great deal of Christmas cheer in the automotive industry. Subaru and Suzuki can't afford to go rally-racing anymore. Honda just cancelled their V10-powered NSX supercar, even as it was in undergoing final trials at the Nürburgring. Toyota has been laying off contract workers in Japan by the hundreds, and has halted construction on a new US plant that would have built more Priuses for the North American market.
And if things are bad for foreign automakers, they're even worse for the home teams. GM is so starved for cash that they've just announced their intention to sell off rare and collectible cars from their museum collection. Chrysler has shut down all production for at least a month. Ford is looking to unload Volvo. Parts suppliers are witholding orders until they're paid in cash.
But it's not all Grinchiness and doom. In fact, gazing into our crystal ball-joint, it's possible to just make out the faintest few glimmers of hope on the horizon.
The Tesla Roadster
Up to this point, battery-powered transportation has failed to be, pardon the pun, electrifying. Basically every form of electric alternative transport was little more than a slightly oversized golf-cart; driving them was about as much of a hoot as licking a 9-volt battery. But not the Tesla.
Based on a Lotus chassis, the Tesla roadster has a lithium-ion battery pack that'll hold a charge good for a nearly 400-km range. Efficient? Yes. Exciting? Not so much.
Ignore the green stuff then, and check out the performance: 0-60mph takes just 3.9 seconds. On a recent British motoring program, the Tesla outran its gasoline-powered Lotus Elise cousin around a track, and ended up posting a better overall lap time than a Porsche 911.
Setting aside the fact that this sports coupe has been in development about as long as cold fusion, the production models are poised to appear at any moment, and it sounds as though they just might work.
The Chevy Volt
If GM does go under, it'll be especially painful as they have a car in development that'd probably have saved them, given a bit more time.
Possessing both a gasoline engine and an electric drivetrain, the Volt may appear to be like many hybrids on the surface. However, rather than using the gasoline engine to provide propulsion when engine loads are high, the Volt actually operates principally as an electric vehicle, one designed to be recharged periodically.
On pure electric power, the Volt will have a range of about 65kms. Once the batteries are depleted, a small 4-cylinder gasoline engine acts as a generator to extend the range to over 1000 kms.
Expected to enter production in 2010, if we don't see the Volt as a Chevy product, we're sure to see the technology in another form.
The Honda Insight
For a long time now, the Prius has had it all its own way. If you wanted to show that you were hip and environmentally concious, you bought a Prius. Actually, if you really wanted to show that you were green, you bought a bicycle and a bus-pass, but for those who couldn't live without a car, the Prius was pretty much the only game in town.
But here comes Honda, a little late to the party, but with an offering that will be much, much cheaper. By reducing the premium that hybrids demand over conventional small cars, Honda will undoubtedly contribute to a huge increase in the number of gas-electric powertrain vehicles on the road.
More hybrids on the road doesn't necessarily mean less pollutants in the air, but an increased demand for the technology would lead to more efficient production lines, less reliance on shipping over local manufacturing and better battery recycling programs.
The Nissan Denki Cube
Canadians will be able to get the Nissan Cube next year in conventional gasoline-powered form, and the funky little box on wheels should be a hot seller. Portland, Oregon residents will get an even better version (if you're a city dweller) as Nissan has announced a partnership with the State of Oregon based around electric vehicles.
The Oregon Department of Transport will be responsible for providing the recharging infrastructure, principally in densely-developed areas, and Nissan will provide the electric vehicles. Nissan CEO Carlos Ghosn has mentioned a need for electric SUVs and Minivans for the plan to succeed, but you can pretty much guarantee there will be some version of the lithium-ion powered Denki Cube concept that was revealed at the 2008 New York Auto Show.
The Toyota/Subaru Coupe
The new Dodge Challenger SRT8 produces 425 horsepower. The BMW M3 now has a 420hp V8. The Corvette ZR1 churns out a whopping 638 horsepower. All excellent if you're trying to use up the oil reserves faster or melt those pesky polar icecaps.
But is all this brute force necessary if you just want to have something fun to drive? Subaru and Toyota don't think so, so they've been working on a new project that favours lightness over large-displacement, forced-induction engines.
Rumored to have a 2.0-litre, 200hp engine with rear-wheel-drive, a six-speed manual transmission and a 2400lb curb weight, the two-seater coupe is sure to be a smash. It may be launched under Subaru brand in North America only, or under Toyota's youth-oriented Scion brand. Best of all, it's projected to be competing at a price-point just over $20,000.
The European Ford Focus
I've long said that if Ford of Europe ever bring their cars over to North America, I'd be among the first in line at the dealership.
Well it looks like they're going to do it, so it's time to break out the camping chairs and sleeping bags and get in line. Ford will be releasing their Transit utility van, their Fiesta sub-compact car and the European Focus should arrive by 2010. Forget everything you ever thought about Fords, the Focus is more fun to drive than a Miata, more reliable than a Civic, and more practical than a minivan.
If they don't bring the 300hp Focus RS though, I may have to Take Steps.
The Honda FCX Clarity
Honda's already got a mention in this list, but their Fuel-Cell powered clarity is truly a vision of the future. This car is the one to watch if you'd like to know what you'll be driving when the oil runs out.
No it doesn't hover or fly or (disappointingly) have laser beams attached to the front fenders to blast rush hour into molecular dust.
What it does have is four doors, above-average roominess, a willing 134 horsepower engine, miserly fuel economy, and excellent brakes and handling. It feels like a glimpse at the next Honda Accord. The futuristic part is the powerplant.
The FCX Clarity runs on hydrogen. Its vertical-flow fuel cell charges a 288V lithium-ion battery and runs the electric motor. No gasoline required.
Several FCX Clarities have been leased at a Honda-subsidized $600USD/month to specific customers at dealerships where hydrogen refueling stations are close by. Obviously the cost of manufacturing hydrogen and the fuel-cell cars is still far too high to be commercially viable, but Honda has proved that they can build a practical daily driver around the technology, and it's only a matter of time before we see more fuel-cell cars on the road.
And if things are bad for foreign automakers, they're even worse for the home teams. GM is so starved for cash that they've just announced their intention to sell off rare and collectible cars from their museum collection. Chrysler has shut down all production for at least a month. Ford is looking to unload Volvo. Parts suppliers are witholding orders until they're paid in cash.
But it's not all Grinchiness and doom. In fact, gazing into our crystal ball-joint, it's possible to just make out the faintest few glimmers of hope on the horizon.
The Tesla Roadster
Up to this point, battery-powered transportation has failed to be, pardon the pun, electrifying. Basically every form of electric alternative transport was little more than a slightly oversized golf-cart; driving them was about as much of a hoot as licking a 9-volt battery. But not the Tesla.
Based on a Lotus chassis, the Tesla roadster has a lithium-ion battery pack that'll hold a charge good for a nearly 400-km range. Efficient? Yes. Exciting? Not so much.
Ignore the green stuff then, and check out the performance: 0-60mph takes just 3.9 seconds. On a recent British motoring program, the Tesla outran its gasoline-powered Lotus Elise cousin around a track, and ended up posting a better overall lap time than a Porsche 911.
Setting aside the fact that this sports coupe has been in development about as long as cold fusion, the production models are poised to appear at any moment, and it sounds as though they just might work.
The Chevy Volt
If GM does go under, it'll be especially painful as they have a car in development that'd probably have saved them, given a bit more time.
Possessing both a gasoline engine and an electric drivetrain, the Volt may appear to be like many hybrids on the surface. However, rather than using the gasoline engine to provide propulsion when engine loads are high, the Volt actually operates principally as an electric vehicle, one designed to be recharged periodically.
On pure electric power, the Volt will have a range of about 65kms. Once the batteries are depleted, a small 4-cylinder gasoline engine acts as a generator to extend the range to over 1000 kms.
Expected to enter production in 2010, if we don't see the Volt as a Chevy product, we're sure to see the technology in another form.
The Honda Insight
For a long time now, the Prius has had it all its own way. If you wanted to show that you were hip and environmentally concious, you bought a Prius. Actually, if you really wanted to show that you were green, you bought a bicycle and a bus-pass, but for those who couldn't live without a car, the Prius was pretty much the only game in town.
But here comes Honda, a little late to the party, but with an offering that will be much, much cheaper. By reducing the premium that hybrids demand over conventional small cars, Honda will undoubtedly contribute to a huge increase in the number of gas-electric powertrain vehicles on the road.
More hybrids on the road doesn't necessarily mean less pollutants in the air, but an increased demand for the technology would lead to more efficient production lines, less reliance on shipping over local manufacturing and better battery recycling programs.
The Nissan Denki Cube
Canadians will be able to get the Nissan Cube next year in conventional gasoline-powered form, and the funky little box on wheels should be a hot seller. Portland, Oregon residents will get an even better version (if you're a city dweller) as Nissan has announced a partnership with the State of Oregon based around electric vehicles.
The Oregon Department of Transport will be responsible for providing the recharging infrastructure, principally in densely-developed areas, and Nissan will provide the electric vehicles. Nissan CEO Carlos Ghosn has mentioned a need for electric SUVs and Minivans for the plan to succeed, but you can pretty much guarantee there will be some version of the lithium-ion powered Denki Cube concept that was revealed at the 2008 New York Auto Show.
The Toyota/Subaru Coupe
The new Dodge Challenger SRT8 produces 425 horsepower. The BMW M3 now has a 420hp V8. The Corvette ZR1 churns out a whopping 638 horsepower. All excellent if you're trying to use up the oil reserves faster or melt those pesky polar icecaps.
But is all this brute force necessary if you just want to have something fun to drive? Subaru and Toyota don't think so, so they've been working on a new project that favours lightness over large-displacement, forced-induction engines.
Rumored to have a 2.0-litre, 200hp engine with rear-wheel-drive, a six-speed manual transmission and a 2400lb curb weight, the two-seater coupe is sure to be a smash. It may be launched under Subaru brand in North America only, or under Toyota's youth-oriented Scion brand. Best of all, it's projected to be competing at a price-point just over $20,000.
The European Ford Focus
I've long said that if Ford of Europe ever bring their cars over to North America, I'd be among the first in line at the dealership.
Well it looks like they're going to do it, so it's time to break out the camping chairs and sleeping bags and get in line. Ford will be releasing their Transit utility van, their Fiesta sub-compact car and the European Focus should arrive by 2010. Forget everything you ever thought about Fords, the Focus is more fun to drive than a Miata, more reliable than a Civic, and more practical than a minivan.
If they don't bring the 300hp Focus RS though, I may have to Take Steps.
The Honda FCX Clarity
Honda's already got a mention in this list, but their Fuel-Cell powered clarity is truly a vision of the future. This car is the one to watch if you'd like to know what you'll be driving when the oil runs out.
No it doesn't hover or fly or (disappointingly) have laser beams attached to the front fenders to blast rush hour into molecular dust.
What it does have is four doors, above-average roominess, a willing 134 horsepower engine, miserly fuel economy, and excellent brakes and handling. It feels like a glimpse at the next Honda Accord. The futuristic part is the powerplant.
The FCX Clarity runs on hydrogen. Its vertical-flow fuel cell charges a 288V lithium-ion battery and runs the electric motor. No gasoline required.
Several FCX Clarities have been leased at a Honda-subsidized $600USD/month to specific customers at dealerships where hydrogen refueling stations are close by. Obviously the cost of manufacturing hydrogen and the fuel-cell cars is still far too high to be commercially viable, but Honda has proved that they can build a practical daily driver around the technology, and it's only a matter of time before we see more fuel-cell cars on the road.
Automotive Branding
My dad brought home a Peugot pepper grinder the other day. When I finished picking myself up off the floor after hearing how much it had cost, I began to wonder what makes people buy car-company-branded products that have nothing to do with cars whatsoever.
Obviously the French have always been aces at food preparation, but I'd expect a pepper grinder designed by a French car company to leak oil all over my pasta and then disintegrate into a small conical pile of rust on the kitchen table.
Actually though, it worked quite well, which made me wonder if the real problem is that the engineers at Peugot are a little too concerned with preparing eight-course lunches to be bothered designing a car where the doors don't fall off unexpectedly. Even so, where do these companies get the idea that they should invest time and money in developing things that are totally unrelated to motor vehicles?
Porsche Design, for instance, offers pretty much everything you'd expect in the way of driving gloves, briefcases, hats and wallets with the Porsche name emblazoned on them: all the nonsense that lets everyone know you don't actually own a Porsche and probably never will. But you can also buy a Porsche-branded pipe. Or an entire kitchen. What exactly makes it a Porsche kitchen? Does the stove only have burners in the back? Does the refrigerator have a tendency to suddenly snap-oversteer and crash into a tree? I'm not quite sure.
Is it perhaps because the designers have nothing better to do? I mean the current new-style 911 Carrera has round headlights (again), but pretty much everything else is the same shape it's always been. Perhaps all these turtleneck-wearing ultra-cool German art-school graduates are just plain bored.
But then, it's not just Porsche who's slapping their name on everything under the sun either. Care to buy a Ferrari Segway? Some Hummer shot glasses? How about a Lamborghini Smart-phone, or a spritz of Bugatti cologne? It's sheer lunacy, but worst of all, the automakers are missing out on tie-ins they really should be making. Here's a few I'd like to see.
Toyota Warm Milk Drink:
Dependable. Reliable. Good value for money. All core attributes of Toyota products. Fun? Well occasionally, as long as it's not too much fun, there's no loud noises, and certainly not after eight o'clock. Having put the Celica to sleep a while back, and now with the announcement that Toyota intends to scrap its plans to return the riotously delinquent Supra, what better tie-in for Japan's largest automaker than a mild sedative?
They can even offer it in three shades of beige packaging, and the Prius version could be soy-based.
Honda VTEC Pacemakers:
Of the millions of VTEC valve-timing control devices that Honda's put out over the years, not a single failure has been reported. That's good.
Even better is the clever way in which VTEC allows for excellent fuel economy whilst puttering around town, and then a kick in the pants when you rev the engine into the stratosphere. Think of just how useful this could be for grandad: fiddling about in the garden all afternoon, and then out for some basketball with grandson Jimmy, dunking over all those baggy-short-wearing whippersnappers.
Potential drawback: young men might start illegally racing their grandparents on the street.
Aston Martin Make-up:
Astons are among the most beautiful man-made things on the planet, so why not you too? Stunning lines, gorgeous curves, perfectly balanced proportions, British Racing Green paintwork, it can all be yours! Side effects may include a long nose, wide rear haunches and a bellowing exhaust note.
Volvo Hockey Pads:
Literally translated, “Volvo” means “rolling strength”, but why not “skating strength”? After all, as the maker of some of the most crash-worthy cars ever to have golden retreivers shed all over the back seats, Volvo has always prided itself on safety first.
An additional bonus is that Volvo's traditional boxy design will leave you looking like a cross between Todd Bertuzzi and Optimus Prime.
Range Rover Designer Gumboots:
Just in time for the squelchy fall season, a high-heeled wellington boot. Be forewarned though, they're pretty much guaranteed to leak like a cardboard colander.
Alfa-Romeo Cappucino Maker:
From Italy comes a frothing, fizzy delight, emitting grinding noises and jets of steam. So why doesn't Alfa also have a go at building a Cappucino machine?
Come to think of it, they wouldn't even have to develop anything. All they'd have to do is retrofit one of their old Spyders so that the coffee beans were fed into the gearbox, and the radiator was hooked up to the milk steamer. Then all you'd have to do is drive it until it overheated, say fifteen feet or so, enjoy a lovely morning pick-me-up, and then get your neighbour to help you push it back into the garage.
Saab Jet Fighter:
Saab loves to tell the world about its aeronautical background, but the truth is the company that builds cars split from the airplane manufacturer back around the time fire was discovered. Still, I'd love to see what they could come up with if they tried to build a fighter plane today. Prediction: it'd be front-wheel-drive, turbocharged, have a ski-rack and be flown by Tom Cruise's orthodontist.
Citroën Energy Drink:
I have no real reason for this one, except for the chance we should all have to enjoy a tasty lemon-flavoured beverage called Citroënella.
There're plenty more, some that might even make sense like a Nissan-themed Playstation (after all, the Gran Turismo guys designed the GT-R's display system), but the deadline to print looms rapidly.
Good thing I've got my fool-proof Yugo speel-chëkker on.
Obviously the French have always been aces at food preparation, but I'd expect a pepper grinder designed by a French car company to leak oil all over my pasta and then disintegrate into a small conical pile of rust on the kitchen table.
Actually though, it worked quite well, which made me wonder if the real problem is that the engineers at Peugot are a little too concerned with preparing eight-course lunches to be bothered designing a car where the doors don't fall off unexpectedly. Even so, where do these companies get the idea that they should invest time and money in developing things that are totally unrelated to motor vehicles?
Porsche Design, for instance, offers pretty much everything you'd expect in the way of driving gloves, briefcases, hats and wallets with the Porsche name emblazoned on them: all the nonsense that lets everyone know you don't actually own a Porsche and probably never will. But you can also buy a Porsche-branded pipe. Or an entire kitchen. What exactly makes it a Porsche kitchen? Does the stove only have burners in the back? Does the refrigerator have a tendency to suddenly snap-oversteer and crash into a tree? I'm not quite sure.
Is it perhaps because the designers have nothing better to do? I mean the current new-style 911 Carrera has round headlights (again), but pretty much everything else is the same shape it's always been. Perhaps all these turtleneck-wearing ultra-cool German art-school graduates are just plain bored.
But then, it's not just Porsche who's slapping their name on everything under the sun either. Care to buy a Ferrari Segway? Some Hummer shot glasses? How about a Lamborghini Smart-phone, or a spritz of Bugatti cologne? It's sheer lunacy, but worst of all, the automakers are missing out on tie-ins they really should be making. Here's a few I'd like to see.
Toyota Warm Milk Drink:
Dependable. Reliable. Good value for money. All core attributes of Toyota products. Fun? Well occasionally, as long as it's not too much fun, there's no loud noises, and certainly not after eight o'clock. Having put the Celica to sleep a while back, and now with the announcement that Toyota intends to scrap its plans to return the riotously delinquent Supra, what better tie-in for Japan's largest automaker than a mild sedative?
They can even offer it in three shades of beige packaging, and the Prius version could be soy-based.
Honda VTEC Pacemakers:
Of the millions of VTEC valve-timing control devices that Honda's put out over the years, not a single failure has been reported. That's good.
Even better is the clever way in which VTEC allows for excellent fuel economy whilst puttering around town, and then a kick in the pants when you rev the engine into the stratosphere. Think of just how useful this could be for grandad: fiddling about in the garden all afternoon, and then out for some basketball with grandson Jimmy, dunking over all those baggy-short-wearing whippersnappers.
Potential drawback: young men might start illegally racing their grandparents on the street.
Aston Martin Make-up:
Astons are among the most beautiful man-made things on the planet, so why not you too? Stunning lines, gorgeous curves, perfectly balanced proportions, British Racing Green paintwork, it can all be yours! Side effects may include a long nose, wide rear haunches and a bellowing exhaust note.
Volvo Hockey Pads:
Literally translated, “Volvo” means “rolling strength”, but why not “skating strength”? After all, as the maker of some of the most crash-worthy cars ever to have golden retreivers shed all over the back seats, Volvo has always prided itself on safety first.
An additional bonus is that Volvo's traditional boxy design will leave you looking like a cross between Todd Bertuzzi and Optimus Prime.
Range Rover Designer Gumboots:
Just in time for the squelchy fall season, a high-heeled wellington boot. Be forewarned though, they're pretty much guaranteed to leak like a cardboard colander.
Alfa-Romeo Cappucino Maker:
From Italy comes a frothing, fizzy delight, emitting grinding noises and jets of steam. So why doesn't Alfa also have a go at building a Cappucino machine?
Come to think of it, they wouldn't even have to develop anything. All they'd have to do is retrofit one of their old Spyders so that the coffee beans were fed into the gearbox, and the radiator was hooked up to the milk steamer. Then all you'd have to do is drive it until it overheated, say fifteen feet or so, enjoy a lovely morning pick-me-up, and then get your neighbour to help you push it back into the garage.
Saab Jet Fighter:
Saab loves to tell the world about its aeronautical background, but the truth is the company that builds cars split from the airplane manufacturer back around the time fire was discovered. Still, I'd love to see what they could come up with if they tried to build a fighter plane today. Prediction: it'd be front-wheel-drive, turbocharged, have a ski-rack and be flown by Tom Cruise's orthodontist.
Citroën Energy Drink:
I have no real reason for this one, except for the chance we should all have to enjoy a tasty lemon-flavoured beverage called Citroënella.
There're plenty more, some that might even make sense like a Nissan-themed Playstation (after all, the Gran Turismo guys designed the GT-R's display system), but the deadline to print looms rapidly.
Good thing I've got my fool-proof Yugo speel-chëkker on.
Gas Prices are Good
I really love our new high gas prices.
Wait, hear me out! And you in the back, put down those pointy-looking rocks. High gas prices are actually good for driving enthusiasts.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but artificially low gas prices have been subsidizing an unsustainable automobile-based lifestyle, and we need to get back to basics, man. At least, that's what some beared guy on a bicycle told me. He did seem fairly with-it and groovy though, and anybody with that many facial piercings must know something I don't.
Anyway, for those of us who have the luxury of regarding driving as just a luxury, rather than a necessity, the recent rise in fuel prices is about to result in a second golden age of motoring. Steam may issue from my ears every time I pay for a fill-up of premium, but there's at least five good reasons I can think of to be happy my wallet is hurting.
1.] Less Congestion:
People who don't understand why I enjoy driving are often confused about what driving actually is, and no wonder. Here in the lower mainland, piloting a car from one place to another can be an activity far closer to parking than driving.
But good news everyone! Paying more per litre is finally pushing the cost of transportation into a greater factor than the minor inconveniences of public transit. Even car-pooling with somebody who's a Leafs fan is better than being stony broke after single-car commuting, and if you reduce the number of vehicles on the road by doubling up, we all get there faster.
Even better, can you imagine what the Sea-to-Sky would be like if people were commuting back and forth for their ski weekends by train, rather than forming kilometers-long congo-lines of motorists too testy to check out either the sea or the sky? Nothing is worse than getting stuck behind some ancient Winnebago that always seems to ooze along at twenty kph until there's a passing zone, at which point Bob and Martha turn into Han Solo and Chewebacca trying to break their Kessel Run record at hyperlight speed.
2.] Better cars:
I suppose SUVs are pretty good value per pound, but so is ground chuck. Now automakers are dealing with our new demand for extra-lean vehicles, and that means better design, more efficiency, and an emphasis on small and sporty, rather than big and beefy.[
High gas prices are sounding the death-knell of the Sport Utility Vehicle – those mastodons of the highways. Personally, I couldn't be more delighted, as the things are forever veering out of their lane, blotting out the scenery and blocking the line-ups at the pump every time gas dips below 1.40. Fact is, most people who drive SUVs don't need to, and those who are legitimately using a behemoth on a daily basis would be more than happy if it had a usefully efficient diesel engine, rather than some ludicrously large V8, swilling fuel and belching pollutants.
3.] Better roads:
Higher fuel prices mean less urban sprawl as people start to value living closer to their work. Greater densification in the urban core means that when you head out on the weekend for a trip to the countryside, not only do you get there sooner but you're also likelier to find cows, chickens and sheep rather than a massive new gated community in taupe and off-white. The secret backroads where driving nirvana hides will remain isolated, leafy and winding.
4.] Cheaper Insurance:
Cheaper insurance is not ever something I thought I'd see in my lifetime. Happily though, the more fuel-efficient your car, the further down the insurance scale it is. Small displacement engines that provide good bang for your buck are also easier on your insurance premiums, even if it's the sportier model of a compact car, rather than the V8 model of a luxury car.
Also, if you aren't driving your car for work, you can afford to take it off the road and insure it for pleasure use only. Not a huge savings to be had here, but there's something very pleasant about knowing that your car is there for you only when you need it, rather than being some slavering monster hiding in the garage that must be fed before the daily commute.
Better than that, you can always sell your boring minivan and buy the classic or hot-rod you've always wanted. Collector plate insurance is the cheapest you can get, and I'm sure heading out to pick up milk wouldn't be such a hassle if you had an Aston-Martin DB5 or an orange '70 Challenger R/T.
5.] Fitter Vancouverites:
I'm not just talking about the asthetics of Lululemon yoga pants here, although they are the really are the best leg-related thing to happen since the polio vaccine. When you and your friends are all fitness enthusiasts with the collective mass of a balsa-wood glider, your car is faster, handles better and burns less gas. Fantastic! Plus, there's a reduced burden on the healthcare system so taxes can be re-directed to finally paving that giant pothole called Cambie Street.
So embrace our new high gas prices, even if your Visa bill now looks like the GDP of Portugal. But just so everyone knows I'm only on the bus for the love of driving, I'll be wearing my race helmet.
Wait, hear me out! And you in the back, put down those pointy-looking rocks. High gas prices are actually good for driving enthusiasts.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but artificially low gas prices have been subsidizing an unsustainable automobile-based lifestyle, and we need to get back to basics, man. At least, that's what some beared guy on a bicycle told me. He did seem fairly with-it and groovy though, and anybody with that many facial piercings must know something I don't.
Anyway, for those of us who have the luxury of regarding driving as just a luxury, rather than a necessity, the recent rise in fuel prices is about to result in a second golden age of motoring. Steam may issue from my ears every time I pay for a fill-up of premium, but there's at least five good reasons I can think of to be happy my wallet is hurting.
1.] Less Congestion:
People who don't understand why I enjoy driving are often confused about what driving actually is, and no wonder. Here in the lower mainland, piloting a car from one place to another can be an activity far closer to parking than driving.
But good news everyone! Paying more per litre is finally pushing the cost of transportation into a greater factor than the minor inconveniences of public transit. Even car-pooling with somebody who's a Leafs fan is better than being stony broke after single-car commuting, and if you reduce the number of vehicles on the road by doubling up, we all get there faster.
Even better, can you imagine what the Sea-to-Sky would be like if people were commuting back and forth for their ski weekends by train, rather than forming kilometers-long congo-lines of motorists too testy to check out either the sea or the sky? Nothing is worse than getting stuck behind some ancient Winnebago that always seems to ooze along at twenty kph until there's a passing zone, at which point Bob and Martha turn into Han Solo and Chewebacca trying to break their Kessel Run record at hyperlight speed.
2.] Better cars:
I suppose SUVs are pretty good value per pound, but so is ground chuck. Now automakers are dealing with our new demand for extra-lean vehicles, and that means better design, more efficiency, and an emphasis on small and sporty, rather than big and beefy.[
High gas prices are sounding the death-knell of the Sport Utility Vehicle – those mastodons of the highways. Personally, I couldn't be more delighted, as the things are forever veering out of their lane, blotting out the scenery and blocking the line-ups at the pump every time gas dips below 1.40. Fact is, most people who drive SUVs don't need to, and those who are legitimately using a behemoth on a daily basis would be more than happy if it had a usefully efficient diesel engine, rather than some ludicrously large V8, swilling fuel and belching pollutants.
3.] Better roads:
Higher fuel prices mean less urban sprawl as people start to value living closer to their work. Greater densification in the urban core means that when you head out on the weekend for a trip to the countryside, not only do you get there sooner but you're also likelier to find cows, chickens and sheep rather than a massive new gated community in taupe and off-white. The secret backroads where driving nirvana hides will remain isolated, leafy and winding.
4.] Cheaper Insurance:
Cheaper insurance is not ever something I thought I'd see in my lifetime. Happily though, the more fuel-efficient your car, the further down the insurance scale it is. Small displacement engines that provide good bang for your buck are also easier on your insurance premiums, even if it's the sportier model of a compact car, rather than the V8 model of a luxury car.
Also, if you aren't driving your car for work, you can afford to take it off the road and insure it for pleasure use only. Not a huge savings to be had here, but there's something very pleasant about knowing that your car is there for you only when you need it, rather than being some slavering monster hiding in the garage that must be fed before the daily commute.
Better than that, you can always sell your boring minivan and buy the classic or hot-rod you've always wanted. Collector plate insurance is the cheapest you can get, and I'm sure heading out to pick up milk wouldn't be such a hassle if you had an Aston-Martin DB5 or an orange '70 Challenger R/T.
5.] Fitter Vancouverites:
I'm not just talking about the asthetics of Lululemon yoga pants here, although they are the really are the best leg-related thing to happen since the polio vaccine. When you and your friends are all fitness enthusiasts with the collective mass of a balsa-wood glider, your car is faster, handles better and burns less gas. Fantastic! Plus, there's a reduced burden on the healthcare system so taxes can be re-directed to finally paving that giant pothole called Cambie Street.
So embrace our new high gas prices, even if your Visa bill now looks like the GDP of Portugal. But just so everyone knows I'm only on the bus for the love of driving, I'll be wearing my race helmet.
GTR
It's a hundred and fifteen degrees Fahrenheit on the shimmering tarmac of Las Vegas Motor Speedway and there's a desert wind coming in from the West that feels like God's hairdryer. In this brutal desert environment any human being exposed to the elements for too long would shrivel up like a banana slug in a microwave oven. Convenient then, that this particular human being is currently sitting in a Monster.
A Monster with air-conditioning. Actually, it's getting a bit nippy in here, I'd better turn it down a little. Brrr.
The Monster in question is “Godzilla”, the nickname carried by Nissan's new supercar GT-R. A car that has garnered more press recently than a Britney Spears haircut. A car that is generating more expectant hype than Brangelina's baby. A car, in short, that has every gearhead either drooling in anticipation or warming up their scoffing muscles.
But perhaps a quick recap is necessary if you've been living in a cave. On Mars. With your eyes shut and your hands over your ears.
The Nissan GT-R's heritage stretches back to the sixties when it dominated Japanese racing series. Then nothing very much exciting happened for a while. Moon landings and fuel crisises mostly.
In 1989 the twin-turbocharged, all-wheel-drive GT-R arrived in its first R32 designation and proceeded to win the Japanese Touring Car Championship title for four consecutive years, was the first production car to lap the Nürburgring in under eight minutes, and was so dominant in racing that it was generally handicapped with weight and power-restriction penalties.
This latest incarnation, chassis designation R35, has been coming our way since being revealed as a concept at the Tokyo Auto Show way back in 2001. Since then, there's been spy shots of heavily camoflauged prototypes being tested, unofficial lap times, leaked technical specifications, an early Japan-only release, and the more recent news that two GT-Rs have been unloaded at Annacis Island in Vancouver and are awaiting customs clearance.
It's still a twin-turbocharged, all-wheel-drive beast, but Nissan is now calling the GT-R an “everyday supercar” and pitting it against the likes of the Corvette Z06 and the Porsche 911 twin turbo.
The new GT-R has destroyed everything in every parameter of every comparison test in every major automotive magazine in the last six months, and now I'm sitting in one at the starting line of the Las Vegas Motor Speedway road course, waiting to see if Godzilla is really a monster, or just a man in a silly rubber suit.
Does it live up to the hype?
Oh yes, yes indeedy.
Sweet sassy molassy, does it ever!
With all three adjustable parameters (suspension, throttle response, traction control) put to their “R” race settings, I pin the drive-by-wire throttle wide open and hang on for dear life as the GT-R rockets to 60 mph in less than four seconds. Then it's hard on those enormous six-piston brakes, each one the size of a smaller car's entire wheel, and into the sharp right-hander. There's so much cornering grip I fully expect the tarmac behind me to be ripped up as though by the claws of some prehistoric beast, but there's no time to check the rear view as the GT-R wriggles through some fast bends without any drama, just pouring on the power like a force of nature.
Gear-changes happen in the blink of an eye (half a blink actually) in a near seamless wave of lag-free acceleration. The brakes can stop you faster than running smack into a block of depleted uranium, but it's so easy to modulate their ferocious bite. The all-wheel-drive system is balanced and free of any understeering tendencies. But the really special thing is how the car works as a whole.
If a Mazda MX-5 Miata is supposed to fit like slipping on a pair of driving gloves, the GT-R is like one of those exoskeletal cargo-loaders from Aliens II, powerful and brutal. Better yet, it's Ironman's power-suit, seemingly invincible and transmitting every input into staggering performance.
Its electronic wizardry doesn't ever feel as though it's interfering, it just enhances your driving experience, making a slight correction here, adding a touch of brakes there. Confidence in my own abilities may not be absolute, but in this car, I'm Michael Schumacher crossed with Juan Michael Fangio, Jackie Stewart crossed with Ayrton Senna, Gilles Villeneuve crossed with... whoopsie...
Yikes, that last chicane was a bit awkward, but where a normal car might have spun, the GT-R stepped in for a split-second and routed some extra power to the front wheels to pull me out of the frying pan
But it's time to pull into the pit-lanes, and step out of air-conditioned comfort into the firey Nevada desert. Is the new Nissan GT-R the most amazing thing I've ever driven? An unequivocal “Yes”.
A Monster with air-conditioning. Actually, it's getting a bit nippy in here, I'd better turn it down a little. Brrr.
The Monster in question is “Godzilla”, the nickname carried by Nissan's new supercar GT-R. A car that has garnered more press recently than a Britney Spears haircut. A car that is generating more expectant hype than Brangelina's baby. A car, in short, that has every gearhead either drooling in anticipation or warming up their scoffing muscles.
But perhaps a quick recap is necessary if you've been living in a cave. On Mars. With your eyes shut and your hands over your ears.
The Nissan GT-R's heritage stretches back to the sixties when it dominated Japanese racing series. Then nothing very much exciting happened for a while. Moon landings and fuel crisises mostly.
In 1989 the twin-turbocharged, all-wheel-drive GT-R arrived in its first R32 designation and proceeded to win the Japanese Touring Car Championship title for four consecutive years, was the first production car to lap the Nürburgring in under eight minutes, and was so dominant in racing that it was generally handicapped with weight and power-restriction penalties.
This latest incarnation, chassis designation R35, has been coming our way since being revealed as a concept at the Tokyo Auto Show way back in 2001. Since then, there's been spy shots of heavily camoflauged prototypes being tested, unofficial lap times, leaked technical specifications, an early Japan-only release, and the more recent news that two GT-Rs have been unloaded at Annacis Island in Vancouver and are awaiting customs clearance.
It's still a twin-turbocharged, all-wheel-drive beast, but Nissan is now calling the GT-R an “everyday supercar” and pitting it against the likes of the Corvette Z06 and the Porsche 911 twin turbo.
The new GT-R has destroyed everything in every parameter of every comparison test in every major automotive magazine in the last six months, and now I'm sitting in one at the starting line of the Las Vegas Motor Speedway road course, waiting to see if Godzilla is really a monster, or just a man in a silly rubber suit.
Does it live up to the hype?
Oh yes, yes indeedy.
Sweet sassy molassy, does it ever!
With all three adjustable parameters (suspension, throttle response, traction control) put to their “R” race settings, I pin the drive-by-wire throttle wide open and hang on for dear life as the GT-R rockets to 60 mph in less than four seconds. Then it's hard on those enormous six-piston brakes, each one the size of a smaller car's entire wheel, and into the sharp right-hander. There's so much cornering grip I fully expect the tarmac behind me to be ripped up as though by the claws of some prehistoric beast, but there's no time to check the rear view as the GT-R wriggles through some fast bends without any drama, just pouring on the power like a force of nature.
Gear-changes happen in the blink of an eye (half a blink actually) in a near seamless wave of lag-free acceleration. The brakes can stop you faster than running smack into a block of depleted uranium, but it's so easy to modulate their ferocious bite. The all-wheel-drive system is balanced and free of any understeering tendencies. But the really special thing is how the car works as a whole.
If a Mazda MX-5 Miata is supposed to fit like slipping on a pair of driving gloves, the GT-R is like one of those exoskeletal cargo-loaders from Aliens II, powerful and brutal. Better yet, it's Ironman's power-suit, seemingly invincible and transmitting every input into staggering performance.
Its electronic wizardry doesn't ever feel as though it's interfering, it just enhances your driving experience, making a slight correction here, adding a touch of brakes there. Confidence in my own abilities may not be absolute, but in this car, I'm Michael Schumacher crossed with Juan Michael Fangio, Jackie Stewart crossed with Ayrton Senna, Gilles Villeneuve crossed with... whoopsie...
Yikes, that last chicane was a bit awkward, but where a normal car might have spun, the GT-R stepped in for a split-second and routed some extra power to the front wheels to pull me out of the frying pan
But it's time to pull into the pit-lanes, and step out of air-conditioned comfort into the firey Nevada desert. Is the new Nissan GT-R the most amazing thing I've ever driven? An unequivocal “Yes”.
Nürburgring
Nürburgring
Recently, the new Nissan GT-R supercar lapped the Nürburgring in a blisteringly fast seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds. Next, the new supercharged 638-horsepower Chevy Corvette ZR-1 started putting in lap times in the 7:40 range, but in less-than-ideal cold, wet track conditions, and the GM engineering team started flexing their bragging muscles.
Nissan, not about to lose face to a bunch of hairy gaijin and their coarse, brutish 'Vette, sent out track ninja Tochio Suzuki who knocked out an unbelievably quick 7:29. In the face of speculations as to whether the ZR-1's dry lap time would best the techno-wizardy of the GT-R, chief ZR-1 Engineer Tadge Juecter responded that his car would beat any production car's track record, anywhere in the world.
Needless to say, this epic battle went to my head faster than a pint of schnapps and I may have become a little over-excited. Sadly, I was not successfully able to communicate that excitement to most of my friends.
“Nüburgring? Isn't that the German word for onion ring?” one asked.
“I thought the Nürburgring was destroyed when Frodo cast it into Mount Doom,” said another, “Oh, and thanks for calling, I need your help to clean out my basement.”
There was no help on the home front either, as my eco-conscious wife wanted to know how many miles to the gallon the ZR-1 got. “At least several,” I mumbled, and then high-tailed it.
So what is the Nüburgring anyway, and why does it seem to be the equivalent of behind-the-bike-sheds for afterschool scrapping between the best racecar drivers and engineering teams in the world?
Built in the 1920s in Nürburg (which has nothing whatsoever to do with onions, just in case you were wondering), the Nüburgring is one of the longest, most technically difficult racetracks in the world. It is located in the west of Germany, 120 kilometers northwest of Frankfurt, and is divided into several sections, the most famous being the Nordschliefe or “Northern Loop.”
At nearly twenty-three kilometers in length, with every conceivable type of corner imaginable, it is the Nordschliefe that has made the Nüburgring famous. Sir Jackie Stewart, the Formula 1 racing driver known as the “Flying Scot”, coined the term “The Green Hell” for the Nordschliefe when he raced there in the late sixties, and even now, it is widely regarded as the toughest, the most demanding and the most dangerous racetrack in existence.
The Nüburgring claims several lives each year in crashes. Several well-experienced Formula One drivers died in the sixties, and even now drivers who have logged countless hours can be caught out by any one of its one hundred corners. Any mistake at all means hitting the barrier, and the track's enormous length makes it difficult for emergency teams to respond quickly.
Dangerous it may be, but as a yardstick with which to measure the performance of supercars, 'Ring lap times are far better than just 0-60mph acceleration figures and quarter-mile times. The Nüburgring punishes every dynamic of the cars, only rewarding the best, and many manufacturers use the track as a place to hone their vehicles until they're just right.
GM and their Corvette are relatively new 'Ring rats, but team drivers from German companies such as BMW, Mercedes, Audi and Porsche can be found on the track almost every day, flogging everything from prototype racers to the latest 911 variant. No official word on what the Germans think about the current battle for 'Ring supremacy being fought between the Americans and the Japanese but they're probably cooking up their own track superweapon.
It's not just bragging rights for company racers either: the 'Ring is also open to the public on most weekends and weekday evenings. As it operates in much the same manner as a toll road, you simply drive up to the gate, deposit your twenty-one Euro, and then it's off for a blast around the corners. It can be dangerous to get too wrapped up in trying to hit your best lap time though. Rescue paramedics report that they often retrieve running stopwatches from crashed racecars.
If you're not foolhardy enough to want to lap the Nüburgring yourself, a professional driver can take you on a lightning tour in one of the BMW M5 'Ring Taxis. If you're very lucky, it'll be the “Queen of the Ring”, driver Sabine Schmitz, who's known for giving out such helpful tips as, “Never enter Karussell [a tricky corner] when on the brakes! I have gone round there on the roof, I know what I'm talking about.”
Not enthused about riding shotgun with a fast and furious fräulein either? Well, the Nüburgring's popularity is so widespread, it can be found on most any serious racing simulator you'd care to name. If you do happen to end up going around the Karussel on your roof, it's great to have a reset button.
Recently, the new Nissan GT-R supercar lapped the Nürburgring in a blisteringly fast seven minutes and thirty-eight seconds. Next, the new supercharged 638-horsepower Chevy Corvette ZR-1 started putting in lap times in the 7:40 range, but in less-than-ideal cold, wet track conditions, and the GM engineering team started flexing their bragging muscles.
Nissan, not about to lose face to a bunch of hairy gaijin and their coarse, brutish 'Vette, sent out track ninja Tochio Suzuki who knocked out an unbelievably quick 7:29. In the face of speculations as to whether the ZR-1's dry lap time would best the techno-wizardy of the GT-R, chief ZR-1 Engineer Tadge Juecter responded that his car would beat any production car's track record, anywhere in the world.
Needless to say, this epic battle went to my head faster than a pint of schnapps and I may have become a little over-excited. Sadly, I was not successfully able to communicate that excitement to most of my friends.
“Nüburgring? Isn't that the German word for onion ring?” one asked.
“I thought the Nürburgring was destroyed when Frodo cast it into Mount Doom,” said another, “Oh, and thanks for calling, I need your help to clean out my basement.”
There was no help on the home front either, as my eco-conscious wife wanted to know how many miles to the gallon the ZR-1 got. “At least several,” I mumbled, and then high-tailed it.
So what is the Nüburgring anyway, and why does it seem to be the equivalent of behind-the-bike-sheds for afterschool scrapping between the best racecar drivers and engineering teams in the world?
Built in the 1920s in Nürburg (which has nothing whatsoever to do with onions, just in case you were wondering), the Nüburgring is one of the longest, most technically difficult racetracks in the world. It is located in the west of Germany, 120 kilometers northwest of Frankfurt, and is divided into several sections, the most famous being the Nordschliefe or “Northern Loop.”
At nearly twenty-three kilometers in length, with every conceivable type of corner imaginable, it is the Nordschliefe that has made the Nüburgring famous. Sir Jackie Stewart, the Formula 1 racing driver known as the “Flying Scot”, coined the term “The Green Hell” for the Nordschliefe when he raced there in the late sixties, and even now, it is widely regarded as the toughest, the most demanding and the most dangerous racetrack in existence.
The Nüburgring claims several lives each year in crashes. Several well-experienced Formula One drivers died in the sixties, and even now drivers who have logged countless hours can be caught out by any one of its one hundred corners. Any mistake at all means hitting the barrier, and the track's enormous length makes it difficult for emergency teams to respond quickly.
Dangerous it may be, but as a yardstick with which to measure the performance of supercars, 'Ring lap times are far better than just 0-60mph acceleration figures and quarter-mile times. The Nüburgring punishes every dynamic of the cars, only rewarding the best, and many manufacturers use the track as a place to hone their vehicles until they're just right.
GM and their Corvette are relatively new 'Ring rats, but team drivers from German companies such as BMW, Mercedes, Audi and Porsche can be found on the track almost every day, flogging everything from prototype racers to the latest 911 variant. No official word on what the Germans think about the current battle for 'Ring supremacy being fought between the Americans and the Japanese but they're probably cooking up their own track superweapon.
It's not just bragging rights for company racers either: the 'Ring is also open to the public on most weekends and weekday evenings. As it operates in much the same manner as a toll road, you simply drive up to the gate, deposit your twenty-one Euro, and then it's off for a blast around the corners. It can be dangerous to get too wrapped up in trying to hit your best lap time though. Rescue paramedics report that they often retrieve running stopwatches from crashed racecars.
If you're not foolhardy enough to want to lap the Nüburgring yourself, a professional driver can take you on a lightning tour in one of the BMW M5 'Ring Taxis. If you're very lucky, it'll be the “Queen of the Ring”, driver Sabine Schmitz, who's known for giving out such helpful tips as, “Never enter Karussell [a tricky corner] when on the brakes! I have gone round there on the roof, I know what I'm talking about.”
Not enthused about riding shotgun with a fast and furious fräulein either? Well, the Nüburgring's popularity is so widespread, it can be found on most any serious racing simulator you'd care to name. If you do happen to end up going around the Karussel on your roof, it's great to have a reset button.
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