Diesel

Mention the word “diesel” and most of us instinctively reach for the recirculation control on our air conditioning. There's probably not a driver on the road who hasn't been stuck behind a battered Volkswagen Rabbit or antique Mercedes slowly chugging up a hill, its tailpipe emitting the sort of smokescreen that would make James Bond turn green with envy (or perhaps just green with nausea).

Diesels used to be smelly, smoky, clattery, and disinclined to start in cold weather. Most of them were also incredibly slow; not so much “accelerating” as “accumulating speed” (in the same way a coffee table accumulates dust).

However, diesel technology has progressed by leaps and bounds since those tortoise-like Rabbits first crawled onto the roads, and now the only way you can tell if you're following a modern diesel-powered car is by looking for the tell-tale traces of smugness in its driver. They're quiet, durable, very fuel-efficient, and surprisingly powerful, as best evidenced by the diesel-powered Audi R10 racecar's win at the prestigious Le Mans 24 hour race in June of last year.

Diesel fuel is more energy-dense than gasoline, and vehicles designed to run on it produce less carbon dioxide and hydrocarbon emissions than an equivalently-sized conventional gasoline-powered car. Add this efficiency to the fact that torquey turbo-diesel engines have the low- and mid-range punch of a much larger-displacement gasoline engine and you've got a seemingly winning combination.

Yet while diesel sales have rocketed in popularity overseas, here in North America they still command a relatively small share of the market. Recent figures suggest that diesel now powers the majority of vehicles in Europe, but only a little over one percent of passenger cars being sold in North America run on the smelly stuff.

There's also not a great deal of choice either: the only two manufacturers producing diesel vehicles for the North American Market (aside from heavy-duty trucks) are still Volkswagen and Mercedes. Where's the diesel version of the Honda Accord, the oil-burning Ford Explorer, that stump-pulling Toyota Corolla? Why is the diesel revolution taking as long to get started as one of those pioneering 'Benzes in a cold snap?

First, despite modern cleaner burning engines, diesel-powered vehicles still produce much more smog-creating particulate matter (soot) and nitrous oxides (NOx) than cars running on gasoline. While their greenhouse gas emissions are greatly reduced, it can be argued that they create essentially the same amount of pollution, just in different forms.

Second, diesels are more expensive to manufacture, and their heavy-duty construction results in a considerable amount of added weight, along with that desirable dependability. For all the performance benefits of the extra torque they produce, diesel engines produce a nose-heavy feel to a light car, and can cost a considerable premium over an equivalent gasoline model.

Last, and most importantly, diesel is only now overcoming the age-old stigma of the sluggish, smokescreen-producing Volkswagen.

Still, the revolution may be taking its time getting the glow-plugs warmed up, but once it's firing on all cylinders, there'll be no stopping it.

Matching North American fuel qualities to European ones has eliminated one of diesel's greatest stumbling blocks. The large-scale establishment of cleaner forms of fuel with ultra-low sulphur content (ULSD) combined with the introduction of new exhaust-scrubbing technologies has allowed for greatly reduced emissions. Additionally, modified diesel engines can be made to run on biodiesel, for those who don't mind smelling like McDonald's and developing a permanent greasy sheen from collecting waste vegetable oil.

With increasing gas prices and increasing environmental consciousness, the greater cost of diesel engines will also begin to be less of a stumbling block. It may even be that government will provide tax breaks on efficient diesels, as they do in European markets, in a similar fashion to the savings offered on Hybrid vehicles currently.

The Honda Accord diesel is coming. The incredibly powerful BMW 5-series diesel is coming. The Jeep Grand Cherokee diesel is already changing consumer's perceived desires for gasoline V8-powered SUVs.

In the next few years, expect to see the durable workhorse diesels outstripping their technocrat Hybrid-drivetrain cousins in the alternative fuel race, perhaps to the point that there'll be a diesel commuter in every driveway.

I'll take an Audi R10, please.

Track Day

“Nice, I like that!” says my instructor, as the inside front wheel of my car just barely kisses the apex of the off-camber left-hand turn. Then it's hard on the brakes, a quick down-shift into second and through the “throwaway” turn 5, not carrying maximum speed, just concentrating on maintaining a proper line, and looking ahead through the corner. I line the car up to hit the concrete transition at the entry of turn 6 and roll onto full throttle, blasting down the rear straight…where I'm promptly held up by a gaggle of M3s.

“Looks like we caught all the slow fast cars,” chuckles Mark, my instructor from Driving Unlimited, and I can't help a smug grin from crossing my face. Not bad for a novice in a station wagon.

It's the tail-end of what's been probably the most fun day I've ever had behind the wheel, and the air is full of the smell of glazing brakes, unburnt fuel and smouldering clutches. It's a potpourri of speed, even taking into account what the inside of my loaner helmet smells like.

The location of all this lead-footed lunacy is Mission Raceway Park, and the occasion is the last Vancouver Subaru Impreza Club track day for the season, put together by Specialty Subaru's Geremy Testar. WRXs and STis dominate the field, but there's also the aforementioned M3s, a pair of tuned-up NSXs (one of which has got a body-kit rivalling the Batmobile), and, lest you think speed is exclusively the province of young men with a wanton disregard for personal safety, a bright red Mini Cooper S piloted by a woman who has a passing resemblance to my mother. Annoyingly, she turns out to be a far better driver than me.

Track days provide a chance for those of us with an addiction to acceleration to test the limits of our cars and abilities in a safe environment. Well, mostly safe anyway.

The day started with quite a downpour, although there were only a few intermittent showers by the time we actually headed out for track orientation and warm-up exercises. However, this was worse than steady rain, potentially resulting in patchy areas of unpredictable grip, as our instructors reminded us at the driver's meeting. “We want everybody to have a good day out there, but more importantly, we want everybody to be able to drive their car home at the end of the day.”

The first one to discover that the instructors aren't fooling around is a black Honda S2000 that spins off into the grass in turn 2. He's lucky.

Fall weather has left slippery leaves lining the pavement either side of the perfect line, and there are lots of concrete walls out there, their sides scarred and covered with flecks of paint left there by previous victims of lift-throttle oversteer.

We split up into groups and run through the slalom, emergency braking and trail-braking exercises, getting a feel for the slick surface of the track. The higher-horsepower rear-wheel-drive cars are at a particular disadvantage, especially those with summer tires unsuited to the cold, wet conditions. Still, confidence in our abilities slowly began to build under the careful tutelage of our instructors.

Over a lunch of hot soup, we all chatter about our cars, proper gear choices for the corners, and that troublesome hairpin at turn 3. Most of us are novices, but there are a few more seasoned drivers, including the Mini driver and her husband. Regardless of experience though, there's a sense of community among the drivers, all here to fulfill our need for speed.

Despite the forecast, the rain holds off past lunch, and as the track dries out and grip gets better, we start going faster. Much, much faster.

The instructors pull us all in and give us the 3:20 braking lecture, reminding us that a tight, technical course like Mission can eat through brake pads and glaze rotors in two or three hot laps. “Brake management is among the most important things in race,” they hammer into us, “Brake early, and brake consistently.”

Despite their advice, more than a few cars have smoking binders after a couple of fast laps, and we need to pull into the paddock to cool off slowly and prevent warping, both of the brakes and of the driver's nerves. Then it's my turn to lead the last few hot laps, and Team Wagon pours through the turns, hot on the heels of those cocky Ultimate Driving Machine pilots. The signal for the final lap comes far, far too soon for anyone's likings.

After saying goodbye to my fellow drivers, I drive home in the sunshine and rush hour traffic. As things slow to a crawl just before the Pitt River bridge, I begin thinking of how I would explain how much fun today was to my decidedly non-auto-enthusiast wife.

Maybe I should get her a Mini.