Chris's Car Blog

Along came a Spider

2010-08-19T18:15:00.000+01:00

It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to update the blog, but rest assured I haven’t been twiddling my thumbs. One car that’s remained very much on the radar is the Porsche 918 Spider. Now confirmed to be making the switch from concept to production car, the futuristic super-hybrid, which combines 74mpg frugality with a 198mph top speed, can finally be seen in action in the video below.

The reason this car is so exciting is that it gives us hope in an era where fast cars are seen as increasingly socially unacceptable. Whether or not you subscribe to that theory is a moot point – enough people (including, it seems, the law makers) do to threaten the reign of the conventional large-capacity internal combustion engine, and cars like this prove we’re no longer dependent on it.

Despite its performance the Spider emits just 70g/km of CO2. That’s nearly 20g/km less CO2 than a Toyota Prius and yet it’s a proper mid-engined Porsche supercar. Suddenly the future seems rather bright.

Countdown to Motion: Porsche 918 Spyder Hybrid Drives. from TangentVector on Vimeo.

Zig and Zag

2010-07-12T17:36:00.010+01:00

One Caterham, 48 hours of freedom and a full tank of petrol, but what to do? The dilemma of how to spend my first free weekend in ages isn’t an entirely unpleasant one, granted. In the end I make the decision to head down to some friends holding a barbeque in Bournemouth. The trip is about 130 miles – mostly on the motorway – so it seems the ideal chance to try out the car’s touring capabilities.

To give myself a fleeting chance of avoiding the weekend exodus I set off at around 7am. There are already a reasonable number of people on the M25, but I appear to be the only one driving a stripped out ex-racer with no roof, an unpadded plastic seat and a competition gearbox of deafeningly low ratios. Funny that. In order to make things a little more bearable I’ve packed an MP3 player and a pair of powerful in-ear headphones that just about manage to make themselves heard over the engine. Although the Caterham emits a very pleasant racy bark under acceleration, the constant mechanical blare of a 5,000rpm cruise (in 6th!) rapidly becomes wearing. Unservoed brakes and a competition clutch make traffic somewhat fatiguing, while slightly dubious ergonomics make it very difficult to rest your legs in a comfortable position when cruising. Not surprisingly, the motorway isn’t proving to be the Seven’s forte.

As the A31 emerges from the New Forest I turn off to investigate a tip off I’d been given about a good driving road en-route. The B3347 from Ringwood to Christchurch is said to be something of a biker’s favourite, which is usually a good sign, but to be honest I don’t find much to recommend it for those on four wheels. There’s one nice set of S-bends, but they fall inside a 40mph limit and you have to contend with traffic for much of the rest of the route, even at 9am on a Saturday. And, while half of Dorset seem to be bumbling along the B3347, those I'm due to meet have yet to surface, so it seems like the perfect opportunity to satisfy a long held curiosity.

There’s a section of the B3081, better known as Zig Zag Hill, which is officially the twistiest road in Britain. It packs seven tight bends into a little over half a mile, but does this actually make it a worthwhile driving road in the real world or just a curiosity for the map makers and statisticians? To find out, I first have to get there. The ‘Zig Zag’ part of the route is close to the village of Cann Common, some 20 miles to the west of the road’s start, but fortunately even the busy opening section of the B3081 is an improvement on the previous road. Once past Verwood, the traffic starts to thin out and there are some nice little sections as the road threads its way through the impossibly lush setting of the Dorset/Wiltshire border. There are still a few slower cars around, but the Caterham comes into its element here, nipping past traffic with ease thanks to its tiny dimensions and impressive power-to-weight ratio.

As the road tightens up even the Seven finds itself marooned behind a slow moving horse transporter. I pull in to the side to let a biker past, but he can’t find a gap big enough to get past the truck either. Finally the road clears, the bike takes off and the gap is just big enough for the Caterham to follow. The trees thin out and the long sweeping corners give the road a slightly unexpected moorland feel. It’s ideal bike territory and our newfound companion edges ahead under acceleration, while we claw back some ground in the car through the corners. It’s good fun, but eventually discretion kicks in and I ease off to watch the two-wheeled silhouette disappear over the horizon.

Soon the landscape changes again as we approach the top of the hill and descend towards the famous Zig Zags. It only takes one corner for you to realise that the hill lives up to its reputation. It feels like an alpine pass that's been compressed, with a series of tight switchbacks crammed into a small space under the trees. The road may be narrow, but it's not so tiny that you can't have some fun if you're sensible, particularly in something the size of a Caterham.

Heel and toeing my way down into the hairpins, peering round for a clear view of the road ahead and then slingshotting down to the next corner I start to grin manically. Before long the bike creeps back into view and we howl along the final section in unison.

Rather pleased with the result of my investigation, I turn round and head back up the hill. The ascent is, predictably, a hillclimb waiting to be staged and I’d love the chance to really attack it. Even on open roads, the Caterham just feels so right here, threading its way up a course that would leave something like an M3 struggling for space and render most hot hatches bloated and underpowered. It’s a superb drive and perhaps the best on-road experience I’ve had in the car so far.

After retracing my steps along the moorland section I take the local roads into Bournemouth and park up. Silly as this may sound it’s the first time the car’s been left out over night, so I assemble the tarpaulin I’d bought to keep any unexpected rain out and set about laying it up. In truth this highlights the biggest obstacle to ever using it every day as far as I’m concerned – even Seven owners who have a full hood report mixed luck at actually keeping the water out, and the flimsy canvas cover, held on with poppers, must look rather inviting to those of a criminal persuasion.

On the whole, the Caterham has coped well with its first long distance trip. Okay, it wasn’t much fun on the motorway, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d feared it could have been and the open road experience more than made up for it. With a suitably masochistic outlook, a strong set of calf muscles and a good pair of headphones you can overlook the Seven’s lack of creature comforts, even in the most basic ex-racing model. What you can’t do is keep it safe and secure outside in, say, a dodgy area of London. With that in mind, the solution seems clear – I need to move to a nicer location. The foot of Zig Zag Hill perhaps.

Fiat drops down a size

2010-07-08T17:19:00.004+01:00

The idea of ‘turbo-downsizing’ took another step forward today with the unveiling of a new family of twin-cylinder 900cc engines from Fiat. The turbocharged TwinAir range, set to debut in the Fiat 500 next September, promises performance equal to that of a conventional 1.4-litre unit, despite 30% reductions in fuel consumption and CO2 emissions. It does so by combining the current trend for small capacity turbocharged engines with Fiat’s clever MultiAir valve control system.

The result is 85bhp from a small, lightweight engine that returns 57mpg and emits just 92g/km of CO2. It’s perhaps the purest application of the turbo-downsizing theory so far, having only two cylinders and displacing less than a litre, and shows the technology has truly come of age.

The TwinAir-equipped Fiat 500 is good for 107mph and dispatches the 0-60mph sprint in 11 seconds. This comfortably trumps the current base spec 1.2-litre model and comes within a whisker of the 1.4, but what’s perhaps more impressive is that it produces 145Nm of torque from just 1,750rpm in standard mode. A special ‘city mode’ reduces this to 100Nm, softens up the throttle response and re-programs the robotized manual gearbox (where used) to maximise fuel economy around town. Additionally, all cars come with a gearshift indicator light to prompt you when best to change gear and a stop-start system to cut the engine in traffic.

The Fiat press release also hints at bigger things to come. The TwinAir engine’s compact dimensions make it particularly easy, it says, to package an auxiliary power source such as an electric motor next to it. Also, it’s said a version of the TwinAir engine featuring methane injection, running in parallel with the usual petrol supply, will soon be available. According to Fiat this should reduce CO2 emissions to the point where they’re hard to better with a conventional internal combustion engine. That’s a bold claim, but there again a sub 1-litre turbocharged direct injection twin-cylinder hybrid (and breathe...) is pretty much the specified goal of current small car powertrain thinking.

(Photo for illustration only. Source: Newspress)

Along came a Dagger

2010-07-07T14:11:00.001+01:00

Barely a day after the Bugatti Veyron Super Sport raised the intriguing prospect of a 300mph road car, US firm TranStar Racing has announced its intentions to build one. The TranStar Racing Dagger GT - gotta love our Atlantic cousins' flare for names - is due to be powered by a 9.4-litre twin-turbo V8 producing 2000bhp.

It's not the first time a start-up company has appeared with a new supercar design promising big numbers, and it's anyone's guess as to whether this one will get any further than the usual renderings. The idea of using a big Old School V8 is promisingly grounded, though, and 2000bhp is certainly not unrealistic for a drag racing engine.

With that sort of power on tap 300mph should, in theory, be attainable. What's somewhat more surprising is the company's suggestion that it will also meet US emissions requirements and provide 'reasonable gas mileage for a big block engine'. There's also the small matter of keeping it on the ground at 300mph, keeping the tyres intact, and, not least, funding the project.

If the Dagger ever does come to fruition its base price of $400,000 will comfortably undercut most of the existing hypercars, but cynics might argue this is rather academic until the first prototype actually turns a wheel. In the meantime what we do have is a collection of renderings and you'd have to say they look rather good. Let's hope we see it in the flesh one day.

Bugatti Veyron Super Sport hits 268mph

2010-07-06T10:54:00.003+01:00

Remember when 200mph seemed an almost impassable barrier, reserved only for the fastest hypercars? Those days may be long gone, but even in the era of 200mph estate cars there’s something pretty special about Bugatti’s latest achievement.

Yesterday, at the Volkswagen Group’s Ehra-Lessien development facility a Bugatti Veyron 16.4 Super Sport piloted by factory driver Pierre Henri Raphanel set an average speed of 431kph over two runs. That’s 268mph. In a road car.

More to the point, it was also a standard production road car – provided, that is, you can ever classify a 16-cylinder, 1200bhp, €1,950,000 Veyron as standard. Upgrades relative to the modest 1,001bhp base model include enlarged turbos and intercoolers, greater spring travel, revised dampers and a re-programmed 4-wheel drive system. All of which throws down the gauntlet to the likes of the Hennessey Venom GT (a 1,200bhp Anglo-American supercar said to be capable of ‘at least 262mph’). How long until the first 300mph production car? Place your bets now.

Renault's Wind blows in

2010-07-06T09:36:00.006+01:00

Preconceptions can be a wonderful thing. Essex, for example, is actually quite a nice place to live; TVRs don’t have to breakdown (much); and sometimes racing drivers can construct a sentence without even using the phrase ‘for sure’. Wherever we get preconceptions there are inevitably bargains to be had by those capable of seeing through them. And the ‘girlie’ end of the car market is no exception. The Mazda MX5, for example, may attract more than its fair share of hairdresser jibes, but once you’ve seen one slithering around a wet track the idea of dismissing it for its image is a bit like writing off Napoleon because he was 'a bit short'.

Admittedly, the drop top supermini market, frequented by cars like the Vauxhall Tigra and Peugeot 207 CC, hasn’t traditionally been the most promising place to look for a driver’s car, but a closet gem may be about to emerge. Its name is the Renault Wind, and underneath the mildly effeminate exterior lies a chassis honed by Renaultsport. What’s more, the larger of its two engine options – a naturally aspirated 1.6-litre unit producing 133bhp – comes direct from the Renaultsport Twingo. So far, so good.

It’s not actually that girlie to look at either. The roll hoop and flying buttresses at the back have a hint of Lotus Elise about them – at least if we’re being kind – and the somewhat squat proportions almost make it look mid-engined. At the front, the chunky grill with its twin air intakes lends it a meatier stance than cars like the Tigra, although, admittedly that’s not difficult.

The Wind boasts some neat design features too. In an era of increasingly complicated folding hard tops its roof is a model of elegant simplicity. Instead of contorting through some tortuous path and then devouring half the boot space it simply flips – Ferrari Superamerica style – through 180 degrees and comes to rest on the rear deck. The whole process takes just 12 seconds and the boot space – said to be on a par with the Clio hatchback – remains unaffected.

Click on the video below to see the Wind's clever roof in action

Weighing in at a modest 21.8kg the rotating roof mechanism also helps to keep the overall weight down. Starting at 1,131kg for the 1.2 TCe 100 and ranging up to 1,173kg for the 1.6 VVT 133, the Wind isn’t going to frighten any Caterhams, but it is a respectable build for a mainstream modern supermini, which after all is what it is. That’s enough to propel the turbocharged 1.2-litre base model to 60mph in 10.5 seconds, while the 1.6 takes 9.2 seconds (half a second off the equivalent Twingo).

Only time will tell if the Wind’s driving experience lives up to the promise, but the potential definitely exists for it to upstage the supermini-based competition and provide some cheap and cheerful fun. Or at least that’s theory. With prices starting at £15,500 and rising to £18,200 it’s perilously close to the Mazda MX5, and already costs more than many warm tin tops. Given a few years the first examples should depreciate to a very tempting second hand buy though – providing, that is, you can live with the image.

A bug's life

2010-07-04T18:51:00.010+01:00

"Come and see this car," beckoned my girlfriend as she appeared in the flat this afternoon. It was an odd request for several reasons; principally because she tends to treat cars with a level of disinterest normally reserved for me flicking through a shoe catalogue. Something about this particular example had clearly caught her attention though.

A friend had given her a lift in what turned out to be a 1973 Volkswagen Beetle. It was sporting a slight patina, with the odd scratch and dent that only added to its appeal (as befits a trusty workhorse that brought every day transport to millions).

I know the phrase 'character' is banded about too frequently in automotive circles, and often used as a euphemism for something less flattering, but the humble little bug really did have it by the bucket load. I was busy mumbling my appreciation when the owner thrust the keys forward and asked if I'd like to have a go. Under the circumstances it would have been rude not to.

After a couple of stabs of the throttle to prime its carburettor, the horizontally opposed 4 chuntered into life and settled to a percussive idle. The first tentative steps were all surprisingly easy. The clutch was light and progressive, the gearshift was actually better than you might expect given it's a 40 year old mechanism operating something at the other end of the car and, to my amazement, the brakes were both well servoed and reasonably effective.

Predictably, the performance wasn't spectacular by modern standards, but there was something very engaging about the way the ancient 1500cc engine went its about business. The same could be said for the dynamics. The steering was extremely light around the straight-ahead, feeling a little floaty under normal circumstances, but it weighted up markedly under lock, requiring a degree of effort at manoeuvring speeds. The only really issue came from the gearbox, which seemed to be losing its synchromesh on second, but, to be honest, double de-clutching on the way back only added to the retro experience.

So does this mean I'm a Vee Dub convert? Well, yes and no. I'm not sure I'd want to forego the conveniences of a modern run-around for one. And, engaging as it was, I wasn't sufficiently smitten to want to swap the Caterham for one as a toy. But, if money was no object - after half a dozen assorted Astons, the odd Ferrari and various other types of exotica - there might just be a space for the bug in my fantasy garage.

(Photo: VW/Newspress)

Race Tech website goes live!

2010-06-17T13:18:00.000+01:00

The all-new Race Tech website has gone live! For anyone wondering what I do for a day job, here it is. And instead of the old website – woven together from twigs and moss and powered by steam – the shiny new one is bang up to date, with lots of exciting features and a distinctly 21st century ‘digital edition’ of the mag. Fear not, the paper version is still very much available, but the online mag is intended to give a feel for the publication and currently allows people to view a recent back-issue for free.

Click on the link below to visit the site:

http://www.racetechmag.com/

Millbrook: Tester's notes

2010-06-07T11:57:00.001+01:00

So, four down, 16 to go. But these observations are intended to be a little different to the blog I wrote last time. Although often memorable in their own way, these are the cars I flitted between even quicker than those mentioned previously. Few, if any, notes were made and these remarks are firmly based on first impressions rather than any attempt at a serious review.

Alfa Romeo Mito 1.3 JTDM-2 – The Mito is arguably the best looking supermini on the outside (with more than a passing resemblance to the gorgeous Alfa Romeo 8C), but dynamically I was a little disappointed. Lacklustre throttle response and slightly detached handling keep it short of the best competition.

MINI Cooper D Clubman – After the Mito I headed over to the MINI stand for a reality check. I’d raved about the diesel MINI when I first drove it a few years ago, could it still feel that good? The answer is yes. The powertrain delivers a superb balance of economy, performance and driver appeal. In some respects it almost feels like a petrol unit, so smooth and revvy is the 1.6-litre DV6 engine in BMW trim. It handles well, it has a great quality feel to the cabin and the Clubman body goes some way to addressing the MINI’s traditional weak point of practicality.

Audi A8 4.2 FSI Quattro Tiptronic – The A8’s interior is pure Teutonic efficiency; big on build quality and mod cons, but perhaps just a little bit sombre. Out on the Hill Route the 4.2-litre petrol V8 gives it an impressive turn of speed, but the handling is definitely more Rolls Royce than Ronin.

Citroen DS3 DSport 1.6i 16v THP 250 – In the flesh the DS3’s exterior is subtler than expected, but the cabin still brims with art-deco flare. It’s a shame the same can’t be said about the engine, which comes across as a little flat in some respects, particularly its disappointing soundtrack. Overly light power steering doesn’t help its case once on the move either.

Volkswagen Golf R (manual and DSG) – A genuinely rapid car; the sensation of performance is heightened by a rather old school surge of torque as the turbo’d 4-pot gets into its stride. Sounds quite fruity too. The DSG gearbox shifts very rapidly and delivers a suitably indulgent blip on the downshifts, but there seems to be a slight delay between requesting the shift and actually getting it, which leaves me ultimately preferring the manual.

Volkswagen Scirocco R – Not surprisingly the Scirocco feels distinctly similar to the Golf. The cabin is a step up, and the handling is, if anything, even more composed, with fantastic body control and superb rigidity. The lack of four-wheel drive doesn’t seem to hamper things too much either – it’s hard to believe there’s over 260bhp going through those front wheels.

Audi TT RS – Sticking with the VAG theme comes the most potent TT yet. It feels – and sounds – every one of its 335bhp, while precise, well-weighted steering and a very taut ride make for good fun on the Hill Route. It’s not just dynamic thrills, either. The interior is a fantastic place to be and perhaps the most inspired of Audi’s current range. Overall the TT RS was an unexpected highlight and something of a baby supercar.

Mazda MX5 – The revamped mk3.5 MX5 is tantalisingly close to greatness. The controls are spot on, the steering is beautifully direct and the structure feels impressively rigid for a convertible. It even sounds quite nice. But on the Hill Route’s smooth, undulating tarmac it still comes across as distinctly under-damped. To be fair, it would probably strike a better compromise on a typically rough British B-road, but you can’t help thinking that a more focused suspension setup would complete the package.

Honda CR-Z – Another unexpected highlight. The test car looked superb in Championship White, while the interior – clearly influenced by the current Civic – was bold, distinctive and comfortable. Even in Sport Mode the car isn’t hugely quick outright, but the powertrain is fantastically eager with great response and seamless intervention from the 14bhp electric motor. Superb body control and meaty steering encourage you to explore what turns out to be quite a feisty handling balance. A spot of trail-braking will bring the rear end into play quite smartly, but the chassis’ innate balance makes it easy to restore. A very positive sign for the future.

Nissan 370Z (Coupe and Roadster) – I was surprised by how agricultural the 370Z’s powertrain was. The gearchange is heavy and the engine, in the coupe at least, sounds rather mechanical. The Synchro Rev Control works superbly, however, and if you want to change the gears yourself the conventional manual is definitely the one to go for; the auto ‘box does have a paddle-operated manual mode, but it’s undoubtedly happier left in drive.

Much like the MX5, both models of the 370Z feel inexplicably wallowy out on the course and only really come alive once their ESP is switched off. Although the coupe feels reasonably rigid, you can definitely sense the effects of removing the roof on the Roadster. That said though, al freso motoring does seem to suit the relaxed nature of the Zed and also reveals more character in its soundtrack.

Twingo Renaultsport 133 Cup – Like its bigger brother the Clio, the Twingo has a rather old school character. The Feisty 1598cc engine emits a suitably rorty induction note and the steering offers that rarest of things these days – genuine feel. On the downside the brakes could do with a touch more power and the plasticy interior looks like it was lifted from a portaloo.

Clio Renaultsport 200 Cup –The Clio has a similarly organic feel to the steering and a rather more throttle-adjustable stance than the Twingo. The ride can get flustered at times, however, and, again, the brakes seemed to be a weak link. To be fair, the latter may be due to the car’s popularity with eager journos on a warm day.

Peugeot RCZ – Perhaps predictably, the RCZ is another car that needs to be seen in the flesh to be fully appreciated. It looks extremely classy inside and out, with a svelte silhouette that you’d swear belonged to something mid-engined. Despite this, the visibility is exceptional and there’s a very sizeable loading area behind the seats, making it a perfectly sensible everyday proposition.

On the move the RCZ turns in keenly and grips tenaciously. It’s beautifully composed with effortless body control, and it allows you just enough opportunity to trim your line with the throttle.

First trip was in the HDi 163 diesel, which performed respectably and cruised quietly on the whole, despite some noticeable diesel chatter under heavy acceleration. The next was in the THP 156 petrol, which proved revvy and responsive, but still lacked the ultimate punch or the character that the chassis deserves. This may be something the forthcoming THP 200 model can address, but in the meantime the rest of the package presents a very strong case.

SMMT Test Day 2010 highlights

2010-06-01T14:06:00.020+01:00

I can’t quite convey the sound involved, but there came a point last Thursday when any attempt at subjective analysis faded into deranged muttering. It came as the result of a sustained blast of full throttle in something which had more power than my first five cars put together. Fortunately the part of my brain devoted to things like driving continued to function, but whichever lobe or cortex it is that controls speech had temporarily turned to mush. "Jhessssus... it's... oh my... erm..."

It wasn’t supposed to be that way. I had intended to play it cool and remain entirely matter of fact about the SMMT Test Day at Millbrook – a get together for the UK’s motoring journalists that sees every significant car manufacturer in the country bring a fleet of test vehicles along. And, while this may just be another day for more seasoned journos, it was my first time. I was like Pete Doherty in an opium factory – my eyes swelled to the size of dinner plates and any attempt at nonchalance evaporated immediately.

I’d made a list of three boxes I’d like to tick. The first was to drive a bonefide supercar – engine in the middle, lots of cylinders and preferably Italian in origin; next was to have another go at off-roading; and finally, having never understood what all the fuss was about, I wanted to try a Porsche 911. To start with, however, I decided to go with something a little less intimidating to find my way round. I picked an Alfa Romeo Mito 1.3 JTDM-2 and headed out.

The Mito was certainly un-intimidating. Sadly it was also rather underwhelming, with unexceptional dynamics and a slightly detached feeling to its diesel powertrain. The Millbrook Hill Route, however, was anything but. A 2-lane ribbon of private tarmac threading its way through the Bedfordshire hills, the route is littered with steep gradients and blind crests. It also contains a fantastic variety of corners, which combine with the topography to make bits of it feel rather like a certain toll road in the Eiffel Mountains.

In total I drove 20 cars over the course of the day. The format and the sheer number means that time in each is understandably brief, but here goes…

Bentley Continental Supersports – The Supersports seemed the logical model to go for at the Bentley stand. After all, while it comes as no surprise that the standard model wafts beautifully, the success of converting it into a hardcore two seater seemed far less assured. Even in pared down Supersports trim, the Conti weighs well over two tons and measures a non-inconsiderable 15.7 feet long, so could it really work?

From the moment you drop into the beautifully appointed cabin it’s clear that Bentley means business. The carbon fibre-backed seats are deceptively comfortable, but the padding is sparse and the support is firm. Behind you a strut brace – again in gleaming carbon fibre – fills the area where the rear seats used to be, and there’s yet more of the stuff on the dashboard. Elsewhere, the quilted leather looks and feels sublime, while the switchgear is wonderfully tactile and well positioned.

Trundling out to the Hill Route the first thing that strikes you is how well the Bentley disguises its bulk. The car shrinks around you, and pottering around with the gearbox on auto and the aircon silently cooling your brow is a distinctly relaxed affair. As we reach the start of the track, however, it takes all of two seconds for the experience I wrote about at the beginning to unfold.

I’ve driven plenty of quick cars before – my own Caterham has roughly the same power-to-weight ratio as the Supersports – but the way it deploys its 621bhp charge is something else. Nothing I’ve experienced delivers the same savagery or the same crushing feeling of power. It truly is immense. Yet for all its brutal ability, the Supersports remains a well mannered and surprisingly involving drive. There are times when you can sense its mass at work, but they’re few and far between. The body control is truly superb and the big Bentley changes direction far quicker than it has any right to. Likewise, the steering, although not the last word in feel, is sharp and precise; the big carbon-ceramic brakes have no shortage of power; and the four-wheel drive system makes light work of the car’s devastating firepower. Admittedly, as with most of the cars, I left the electronics in their default position during our brief liaison, but any intervention was subtle and unobtrusive.

Of all the cars there it was undoubtedly one of the most addictive. I couldn’t resist the urge to sneak in a couple of extra laps and the childish thrill of opening the throttle and being catapulted down the straights never abated. Likewise, the soundtrack – multi-faceted and vocal when pushed – continued to delight. I really didn’t want to give it back.

Audi R8 Spyder – Okay, so it’s not strictly Italian, but the R8’s Lamborghini underpinnings and mid-mounted 5.2-litre V10 certainly qualify for supercar status. Its 194mph top speed may be 10mph short of the Bentley’s, but its power-to-weight ratio – now over the magic 300bhp/ton mark – should make it even quicker in the real world. It looks fast too. Even sat in the queue outside the Audi hospitality unit it cuts a rakish silhouette. True, there is a distinct family resemblance to the humble TT, but in the flesh it comes across as so much more.

The theme continues on the inside. It doesn’t have quite the drama you might expect from its Italian cousins, nor the opulence of the Bentley, but what it does have is a tremendous feeling of quality and an incredible attention to detail. My camera is stowed in the luggage compartment in the nose – not huge, but easily larger than that behind the seats of a Lotus Elise – and we’re off. It turns out to be a tremendously easy car to drive. The clutch is light and progressive, the throttle is docile and the mid-engined seating position doesn‘t pose any problems with visibility or positioning. You could drive the R8 Spyder in city centre traffic all day long if you so desired. That would be missing the point of course though.

I head over to the high-speed bowl – the only circuit we’re allowed to sample this particular car on – and accelerate up through the gated six-speed manual ‘box. With the throttle wide open the Spyder’s V10 lets out a proper supercar howl. It sounds utterly gorgeous and, again, proves somewhat addictive. The revs pile on in a relentlessly smooth stream of sustained acceleration. It’s a very different experience to the Bentley, but no less compelling.

The circular track does little to challenge the car’s dynamics; even well into three figures it tracks the lanes effortlessly. What’s perhaps more surprising is that at 130mph you can still hold a conversation with the roof down. That perhaps sums up the R8 Spyder. There are some who will claim that this makes it somewhat sanitised – that a supercar simply shouldn’t carry this breadth of ability. Well, they’re wrong. Once on the move the R8 is undoubtedly the real deal, with the wind in your hair, the sun on your neck and that sublime soundtrack tickling your cochlea. And, for a few minutes, a little piece of Bedfordshire could just pass for the Riviera. The fact it could do suburban London on a cold damp morning too only adds to the appeal.

Getting muddy in the Range Rover Sport – With the supercar box ticked, I set about sampling the other end of the spectrum. Millbrook has two off road courses and I headed for the Black Route in the air-conditioned comfort of a Range Rover Sport HSE TDV6, accompanied by an instructor.

This particular example features new cabin materials that lend it an even more palatial air than usual. Sitting at the chunky control panel, it feels like the bridge of a ship. The LCD touchscreen in the centre provides a suitably hi-tech feel. It not only handles the usual sat nav and entertainment duties, but also acts as an interface for the terrain settings and provides a split-screen display for various cameras secreted over the car. The idea is to give you far more detailed information when manoeuvring off-road, or for that matter in Tesco’s car park.

Once underway, most of the driving is left to the hill descent and traction control systems. The simple presence of independent computer-controlled braking on all four wheels means that any idiot can do things that would trouble even the most experienced off-road driver without the system. You simply take your feet off the pedals and let it do the work. Occasionally on the muddy slopes you can feel the tiniest amount of slip at one corner, but serenity is quickly restored by the electronic brain. At the end of it, in neutral but still rolling, I’m simply told to disengage low range and the Mud and Ruts mode on the touch screen and click back to normal. “There,” explains my instructor. “Now you’re ready for the school run.”

Meet the Porsches – They do things a little differently at Porsche it seems. Unlike most of the companies, which were running a first-come-first served system and letting people out alone, they relied on allocated time slots and sent a Porsche Driving Consultant out as a chaperone for each one. Both are understandable when you consider the demand for the cars and their reputation for swapping ends in the hands of the inexperienced, but it also meant the slots were all booked up by the time I arrived at the stand in the mid-afternoon. There was a slim chance however: ‘Check back at the end and we might be able to sneak you in’ I was told.

In the end I returned just a few minutes too late. The drives had stopped and the Porsche appeared to be one box I wouldn’t tick, so I wandered despondently off towards a nice shiny Chrysler 300C SRT8 parked opposite. As I stood there, Nick Perry from Porsche GB came striding over with some good news. Although everyone else had ceased driving, there was nothing in the rules that said they couldn't let me out for one last go. What’s more, they were sending me out in the most extreme model there, the 997 GT3. Excellent.

With a hefty roll cage in place of the rear seats, a relatively spartan interior and the pre-requisite carbon fibre bucket seats, it feels far more focused than the other exotica on offer at the test. The flat six’s fantastically gruff idle only enhances this impression, as does the weighty clutch pedal and steering. It’s somewhat surprising, therefore that the 435bhp race-derived powerplant is actually wonderfully tractable. We crawl through the parking area at barely above walking pace in second gear, never noticing any hesitation. First stop, the high-speed bowl.

Accelerating out onto the bowl, the engine really comes alive. It features variable valve timing and two-stage lift on both camshafts, giving the power delivery a slightly turbocharged feel. It sounds wonderfully racy too, with a hard-edged bark that runs the Audi’s more cultured soundtrack close for overall honours. After a couple of blasts up into three figures, it’s time to head for the Hill Route.

Any fears of nannying turn out to be unfounded as my new passenger encourages me to lean on the GT3’s prodigious abilities. The front-end grip is simply staggering, and a slight lift into a tightening right hander brings the legendary pendulum effect of the 911 into play. It’s a help rather than a hindrance – swinging the front end crisply into corner, instead of threatening to go any further – but it is definitely there.

At full chat down the straights it’s the only car to come close to rivalling the ferocity of the Bentley. In reality, it’s probably even quicker still, with the highest power-to-weight ratio of the whole bunch. The steering, meanwhile, is unquestionably the most communicative. It combines brilliant weighting with a detailed stream of feedback sent to your fingertips via a chunky alcantara wheel. Predictably, the body control is also superb and the brakes are more than capable of responding to anything I throw at them. It is, in short, close to perfect.

The long drive home

In the end, it was perhaps the Bentley that left the greatest impression on me. The sheer violence of its power delivery, combined with the way it shrinks around you, was a pretty persuasive combination. Plus, the sensation of getting airborne over the Hill Route’s famous ‘ski jump’ (where 007 somewhat implausibly rolled his Aston in Casino Royale) will stay with me forever; not least because it happened in something worth a substantial portion of the value of my house.

It’s less easy to draw a conclusion on the other two. Venturing onto the high-speed bowl in the Audi was a truly memorable experience, but not one that capable of showing off its full dynamic repertoire. Similarly, with the GT3, I’d have needed a lot more time and a more forgiving track (or far more skill) to come anywhere close to exposing its limits.

The one thing that did strike me with all three cars, though, was just how usable these mainstream supercars are. The low volume manufacturers I’m more used can sometimes pull off a coup dynamically, but you simply can’t beat hordes of engineers and comparatively vast development budgets for overall ability. Despite their performances on the track, not one of these cars would have been anything other than a joy to drive home afterwards. Except, of course, I wasn’t driving one of them home. I was driving a 1600cc Ford Focus. And on that journey, struggling to comprehend the general awesomeness of the day that had just passed, I lapsed into something of a daze. Once again the basic part of my brain continued to steer the car and avoid obstacles, but the rest of me was somewhere else. It was like a mild state of shock. Every so often I’d come to my senses, chuckle manically and then lapse back into it. That’s got to be a better feeling than playing it cool

World class rallying

2010-03-23T14:01:00.002Z

Concerned motorsport is getting too expensive? Try telling that to Bill Caswell. The Chicago rally enthusiast exploited a loophole to enter a 1991 BMW 318i, purchased for the princely sum of $500 into the Wolrd Rally Championship’s Rally Mexico.

Using a homemade roll cage and a second hand E30 M3 engine he was not only able to pass scrutineering, but actually finish third in class, beating Mitsubishi Evo IXs and Peuegot 206s along the way. In fact Caswell’s epic drive would even have secured him a hypothetical 23rd place (out of 26 finishers) in the WRC class. Kudos is due.

A full write up can be found at Jalopnik:
http://jalopnik.com/5497042/how-a-500-craigslist-car-beat-400k-rally-racers?skyline=true&s=i

My Cars: Citroën Saxo

2010-01-28T22:26:00.012Z

Okay, let’s get a couple of things straight. Not once have I referred to anyone as ‘Bruv’, I don’t spend my evenings loitering in McDonalds’ car parks and my CD collection doesn’t contain a single hard house or drum-and-bass compilation. And so, with that out the way, I feel free to confess a dark secret: I absolutely adore the Citroën Saxo. Its popularity the big stereo brigade may have robbed the car of some of its credibility, but underneath lies a very honest and surprisingly capable little car.

My connection with the Saxo, and W169 OFJ in particular, goes almost as far back as my driving. It was bought for my mum around the time I was learning to drive and when, sometime later, I finally passed my test it became my first 4-wheeled transport. Buzzing round the lanes of Devon, this little Gallic tin box proved an ideal introduction to the basics of car control. Its nimble (and surprisingly tail-happy) handling was a joy to experience. Skinny tyres meant it was possible to indulge in lift-off antics at manageable speeds, while the steering provided a gloriously detailed stream of communication to your fingertips. I’m going to stick my neck out here and claim that this poverty-spec supermini had the best steering, and one of the best overall handling packages, of any front wheel drive car I’ve encountered. This may sound far-fetched, but it does actually make sense.

There’s an old adage that they don’t make ‘em like they used to, and in this case that was probably true. The Saxo felt like a car from another era. The 1.1-litre model belonged to a time before air conditioning, electric windows or multiple airbags (it was also built with all the structural integrity of a cheese and onion crisp, hence crash regulations eventually killed it off, but that’s by-the-by). The end result was that it weighed in at a scarcely credible 790kg (less than a Series 2 Elise). To put that into perspective, many modern superminis weigh a third of a ton more.

The Saxo’s anaemic build meant it didn’t need feedback-zapping power steering. It also meant that the meagre 60bhp engine would punt it along very respectably, despite never producing enough grunt to induce torque steer. Add to that the stiff sidewalls and high-profile of its Michelin Energy tyres and suddenly the Citroën’s dynamics didn’t seem so unlikely. It’s also worth bearing in mind that PSA wasn’t averse to having a little fun back then. Believe it or not, the humble Saxo bore a striking family resemblance to the Peuegot 205 GTi behind the wheel. I do wonder if more of the mighty Pug’s aggressive setup was carried over to the 106 and Saxo than the health and safety people would these days allow.

It wasn’t just a one-trick pony either. Its brilliantly judged damping managed to combine lively handling with a surprisingly supple ride, while the Saxo consistently returned mid 40s to the gallon, seemingly irrespective of how it was driven. True, the cabin was more than a little plasticy and it did feature some rather unusual aesthetic choices, like odd-coloured seatbelts and a bright yellow gear knob, but it was a comfortable and airy place to be. What's more, folding seats and a generous hatch gave it excellent luggage capacity for a small car. It would swallow two mountain bikes (minus wheels) with ease and thought nothing of taking four people and a week’s worth of camping gear.

It wasn’t long before these exploits prompted me to invest in my own car, but that wasn’t the last I would see of the Saxo. Five years later I was looking to change cars at the same time as my mum spied a newer runaround. A deal was struck and ‘OFJ once again came to join me, this time half a decade and 200 miles away from those first steps in the West Country. By that point I’d owned and driven a far wider variety of cars and you know what? It still felt good. In fact, around that time I ended up chatting to a very well known magazine road tester who confided that one of the best drives he’d ever had was spent nipping along coastal roads in Greece behind the wheel of a hired Saxo. That was some statement from a man who drives Astons and Ferraris on a daily basis.

Alas, all good things come to an end. And in the case of ‘OFJ it was quite an abrupt end. On the way to work one morning a driver in one of those 'lardy modern hatchbacks' I spoke of earlier drove into the side of me. There was barely a scratch on the offending Vauxhall, but the twisted remains of the Saxo were about to embark on a one-way trip to the great dealership in the sky. It seems the car’s featherweight build was ultimately to prove its downfall. The fact remains, however, that I walked away unscathed and all those years of use simply wouldn’t have been as much fun in any of its contemporaries.

Alfaholism

2010-01-22T14:47:00.003Z

One of the stars of the Autosport show for me was a gorgeous 1970s Alfa Romeo Montreal in the Pistonheads Arena. Even in a slightly questionable shade of yellow it was still pant-wettingly desireable.

As a result I later stumbled upon this link from a little-known Michael Caine movie called the The Marseille Contract.

Of course, in reality the Alfa would have broken down - or rusted - before it reached the finish and the '70s 911 would have killed its driver and possibly a few bystanders in a sudden fit of irretrievable oversteer. It's also another rather dubious choice from the Alfa paint department, but the car still looks fantastic.

Florida Part 2: Day of Thunder

2010-01-02T15:48:00.012Z

Go to the southern states of America and few things are holier than NASCAR. It's up there with republicanism, country music and God. So, not something to be taken lightly. Or is it? Stepping onto the bus to Daytona International Speedway our guide decides to introduce us naïve Europeans to the world of stock car racing with a DVD. To my amazement, it's Talladega Nights; a gloriously silly and borderline-slanderous send up of NASCAR, complete with all the usual redneck cliches and side helping of homoeroticism.

While you might expect someone condoning such heresy to be dragged from the bus and ritually disembowled by an angry crowd of hillbillies, you can't help feeling our guide is actually pretty safe. Not least, because she's Alana France; part of the clan that owns Daytona, along with no less than eight other US circuits and indeed NASCAR itself. In fact it was Bill France (grandfather of her ex-husband) who started the whole thing off, when he began racing on the beach at Daytona in 1936.

Alana shows us through the speedway's museum, which is packed with stock cars of virtually every era, along with some less predictable exhibits. This year's Daytona 500 winner, still streaked with engine oil and victory champagne takes pride of place in one hall, while Malcolm Campbell's 1935 Bluebird V record breaker dominates the view in the next. Perhaps the most surprising addition is Richard 'The King' Petty's personal transport that the NASCAR legend used to drive around the paddock. Think you can guess what it is? Go on – take a shot – a big blue Plymouth Superbird perhaps? Maybe a Corvette of some description? Nope, America's greatest racing icon used to cruise round in a Mini Cooper Van little bigger than he is. It's even right hand drive.

After the museum tour a tram ride takes us through to the infield. While the commentary unfolds, there's some real life drama on the banking as sports cars and prototypes flash past in testing for the famous 24 hour race held in January. What we're really waiting for, however, is the point they go for lunch, because as the racers leave the track it's our turn. A pair of Chevrolet Impala SS road cars whisk the waiting journos onto the banking. As we reach turn one, our driver, Mike, slows the Chevy right down. “How slow do you reckon we can go before it rolls over?” he asks, only half joking. While I've been on enough banked tracks to know we're quite safe, there's banked and there's banked. At 31 degrees Daytona is seriously steep and, as we come to a complete rest, clinging to the banking, it's not hard to see how Mike takes in less suspecting visitors with the routine. It feels like we're perched on a mountain side.

We build speed again, with the SS' V8 purring away in auto mode and the air conditioning on. It's quite a sedate experience in most respects, but attacking the corners with a little more speed takes some degree of mental recalibration. The lateral force generated isn't massively high, but the sensation of being forced into base of your seat as well as the side, while the horizon tilts at an unnatural angle and the barriers blur past is an alien one. Our ride tops out at a little over the ton, which is exciting enough – it must be a brutal experience in a Sprint Cup car reaching nearly twice that.

300C: A US odyssey

2009-12-22T12:07:00.010Z

It's said that alligators sometimes wander into peoples' back gardens in this part of Florida. You really can head out to the pool and find half a ton of armoured reptile basking in it. Yet even here the greatest threat to a pale skinned Brit seems to be that of spontaneous combustion. It’s mid December, but still the temperature is a thoroughly toasty 85 degrees and the humidity is up to nearly 60 percent.

So what drags me away from the temperate climes of London? Well, in between sampling the banked curves of Daytona and plying my wares at the world's largest racing trade show – more on those later – I'm here to experience a little bit of American car culture. In truth, it's been something of an impromptu affair – with a day to spare before the show I approach the local car hire firm for something suitable. The result was a gleaming black 2008 Chrysler 300C. And a map. The plan is to get out of the tourist Mecca of Orlando, which lies to the east of the Florida peninsula, and head west to the town of Clearwater on the Gulf of Mexico; sort of a mini coast-to-coast.

Out in the car park, the big Chrysler does a fine job of filling even a US space. At sixteen and a half feet long it's bigger than a Bentley Continental GT. It screams Americana too, with a comically high shoulder line, a brash authoritarian presence and a front end seemingly modelled on JR Ewing's grin. It's much the same inside, with wide open spaces and a bold, simple layout.

The 3.5-litre V6 starts with a slightly muted thrum and the 300C creeps forward obligingly once the 5-speed auto 'box is placed in drive. We whisk out the car park and onto International Drive with the transmission quietly slurring away. The sheer size of the thing would render it unwieldy in the UK. Fortunately, you sit quite high with a good view of its extremities as the long bonnet sweeps round corners. It does feel somewhat like captaining a boat at times, but cruising the wide palm tree lined boulevards of downtown Orlando the 300C feels perfectly at home.

Soon I locate the interstate, and with it my first chance to open the car up. To be honest it seems to be a bit startled by the process. I'd love the 5.7-litre V8 in the higher spec 300s, but my work was cut out just trying to find something American and the V6 is a bit of a pale imitation. It's actually a very revvy engine, with a useful power band extending up to 7,000rpm, but torque isn't really on the agenda. Cruising slowly this isn't a problem; the auto 'box shifts up at the earliest possible moment and you're left wafting quietly around, but put your foot down and the torque converter throws a hissy fit. After a moment's confusion it begrudgingly kicks down two gears and begins screaming away without any significant increase in speed. It's almost as if the gearbox is slipping. Yet with a more delicate approach it can be coaxed into performing quite well. The acceleration is hardly alarming (it's rated at 8.6 seconds to 60mph), but it does feel nicely sustained as the big Chrysler pushes its way through the air. The soundtrack isn't bad either; quite refined, but with a muscular edge that almost suggests an extra pair of cylinders might be lurking under the bonnet.

After a couple of miles I start to drop into the routine of US motorway travel. Barring the flat, sub tropical landscape, much is the same as the UK. It's 3 lanes wide, people have a healthy disdain for the speed limit (which ranges from 55mph to 75 and even includes minimum speeds in some sections) and the layout is all fairly intuitive. What's even worse than the UK is lane discipline. It simply does not exist, and drivers seem to pick a lane completely irrespective of their speed. Occasionally one of them wakes up and promptly undertakes the car in front, but there's little real order. It never feels aggressive or overwrought and, with relatively low traffic densities, the whole thing more or less seems to work. In fact they're so chilled out that several times I witness a car in one of the outside lanes wander until it actually puts two wheels on the dirt. Fortunately the trucks appear to be somewhat more carefully guided. They're big out here; really big. If one was to stray off the road it's likely it could run over several small towns before the driver's attention was even diverted from his Lynyrd Skynyrd tape.

The I4 widens to four lanes as we pass the outskirts of Tampa. It's a bright modern city with a cluster of silver sky scrapers looming against the hazy midday sky. It also marks a brief stint on the I275, a comparatively twisty urban freeway, which gives a bit more insight into the Chrysler’s dynamics. Once again the messages are a little mixed. The steering is quite precise with a pleasingly linear action, but it’s almost completely devoid of feel. The initial turn is distinctly floaty and the whole thing feels a touch under-damped, but the car actually feels surprisingly well balanced once its set up in the turn. Sweeping through the I275’s twists, its body roll is no worse than you’d expect from a large sedan and the car actually feels quite poised.

The only real shock comes after we turn off and join State Road 60. It begins by heading through a series of traffic lights, one of which decides to turn red just as we approach. There’s no one behind and it’s not that close so I elect to go for the brakes. They felt fine on the interstate with adequate feel and reasonable levels of assistance, but when tasked with something a bit more urgent they fail miserably. The tyres let out a screech and a puff of smoke, but little in the way of actual retardation. We pass the stop light travelling at pretty much the same speed as before and I elect to go for the gas instead. There’s plenty of time to clear the crossing, which is fortunate as the brakes are simply the worst of any modern car I’ve encountered. I suppose it’s good to see the big Chrylser does live up to its ‘yank tank’ image in at least one respect.

The SR60 rapidly blends into the Courtney Campbell Causeway; 9.9 miles of bridges and reclaimed land stretching across Tampa Bay. It leads to the aptly named town of Clearwater. You can drive virtually onto the beach and, as Florida gives way to the Gulf of Mexico, the water is indeed crystal clear. As we pause for a photocall, a steady stream of numbered white 4X4s drive past – presumably watching out for anyone paddling past in a sombrero. The strange foreigner randomly photographing his hire car seems to attract a certain attention too, signalling that it’s perhaps time to move on.

We trundle down a rough concrete track barely wider than the Chrysler. It runs within feet of the waters edge, before rejoining the main road that takes us back towards Tampa. Cruising onward along the I4 you can’t help noticing the sheer number of police cars. There are state troopers, county sheriffs and local police everywhere. At one point we pass a car being pulled over and the officer approaches cautiously, one hand hovering over his gun. Make no mistake, this is still America.

Orlando is beckoning, but we’re not done yet. With about twenty miles to go, we turn off the beaten track onto State Road 532. This is Smokey and The Bandit country; unmistakably Southern with paperbark trees, Florida pines and palm trees dotted along the side of the road. Sure enough, it’s not long before we pass the county mountie, watching intently from a side turning. Even the cruisers still bear a distinct resemblance to those which chased Burt Reynolds.

Our final waypoint, Kissimmee, is different. It feels like someone has turned the contrast up – it has the bluest skies, the greenest grass and the orangiest buildings. To be fair, the Victorian shop fronts and awnings stretching onto the main road actually come in a variety of colours, but all are bright. I don’t know how many ordinary Floridians actually live here, but to an outsider it appears to be a rather utopian vision of small-town America. It’s like Pleasantville. There’s no litter, every blade of grass is immaculately trimmed and every street corner has a bright, breezy cafe cheerfully dishing up the local speciality, key lime pie. Even fly tipping just looks better here. We pass a mid ‘50s Ford Edsel Station Wagon that’s been abandoned in a side street. Although faded and abused, it still bears a sort of retro charm. Somehow it just looks right.

The drive back along Poinciana Boulevard features a rare sight on Florida’s country roads: corners. It’s hardly Zig Zag Hill, but there are a couple of S-Bends that provide a certain amount of childish amusement for me, but apparently considerable concern to the local drivers who slow right down before carefully negotiating these dangerous oddities. If their cars go round corners like the 300C stops it’s probably a wise move.

My first experience of driving Stateside has been an enlightening one. Like America in general, much of it feels strangely familiar, but all with a distinctly US slant. I’d love to do a real coast-to-coast one day or cruise along Pacific Coast Highway, but for now the trip to Clearwater in the big Chrysler will have to do. At least I didn’t expire in the heat.

Driven: TVR 1600M

2009-11-24T12:48:00.009Z

Blackpool's finest treats us to a blast from the past...

There's a bit of a debate raging at the moment as to what extent our traits are inherited. It seems likely that some things are indeed genetic, and perhaps that goes some way to explaining my obsession with cars. You see, my dad is something of a petrolhead. It was his blood red Alfa Romeo Alfetta GTV that defined my earliest memories of the motor car, and the sales brochures for the TVR Tasmin 2+2 he contemplated replacing it with that adorned my bedroom walls as a kid. Before I came along, however, my parents' choice of transport was a 1972 TVR 1600M.

Not wishing to part with his two seat toy, my father squirreled it away in a lock up garage for the next decade or two, until time, money and a grown up family allowed it to be revived in the late '90s. And so, after a thorough restoration, it's perhaps the only pristine one-owner-from new classic TVR that still regularly tackles the muddy lanes of Devon for the weekly shop. It also happens to be a kit car – the last that TVR ever built no less – and so, with the Caterham temporarily out of action, I opted to hitch a lift in the Tiv to this year's Exeter Kit Car Show.

"Do you want to have a go?" my dad enquired part through the drive way back. The offer was too good to refuse, so we promptly pulled into a lay-by and swapped seats.

Threading yourself through the low, narrow doors of the M-Series is something of an event. The leather-lined interior perfectly compliments its 'pocket GT' aesthetics, which you might be forgiven for thinking originated in Modena or Maranello, not windswept Blackpool. The exotic theme is carried over to the driving position, with long arms, comparatively short legs and the steering wheel resting on your knees. You can tell this car was designed before (the much missed and unfeasibly tall) Peter Wheeler took the reigns.

Finding the bite point on the cable-operated clutch takes some degree of practise, but we're rapidly away. One of the first things you notice is the clarity of the steering (unassisted, naturally). It has no discernable play, and every bump and ripple of the Devon lane is perfectly relayed through the chunky leather helm. It's strange, then, this early promise isn't born out in the corners. The front suspension runs very little castor, so the steering resolutely refuses to weight up, giving you little confidence in the remaining grip. It also feels like the adjustable dampers may be set a few notches too low on the front end, which comes across as a tad wayward and disconnected on turn-in.

It's a shame, because the chassis clearly has great potential. Despite dating back to the early seventies (and tracing its roots back beyond) it feels impressively rigid. There's no scuttle shake, no discernable chassis flex, and bumps are absorbed in the suspension, not the structure. It even rides well for a sports car, combining reasonable levels of comfort with relatively little roll. Steering foibles aside, the controls are basically good too. True, the 4 speed gearbox is a little vague, but the brakes combine excellent feel with plentiful stopping power and the throttle has a pleasing action to it.

Squeeze it, however, and the results aren't all you might expect. Although praised for its handling balance (and considered ultimately, by many, better than the 3-litre) the standard 1600cc M-Series wasn't an especially rapid car even in its prime. This one benefits from a somewhat tuned engine, but it's a mixed blessing. The Ford Crossflow lump takes some time to get into its stride, and flooring it in the mid range exposes a rather obtrusive flat spot in the power delivery, which ultimately leaves it feeling slower than it actually is. In reality, the performance is probably approaching warm hatch territory, with a nought to sixty of somewhere around 9 seconds.

The other thing that counts against this TVR is its soundtrack. While it emits a suitably retro burble from the outside, the experience within the cabin is dominated by a civilised, but ultimately rather mechanical noise – it doesn't belch sheets of flame and terrify passing children in the way we've become accustomed to with later models. And yet, driving the M-Series is still a special experience. Partly on a personal level perhaps, but also because it offers a rather romantic glimpse into the past, with its elegant granturismo styling and atmospheric cabin. That said, much of the driving experience still stacks up well today and the car's idiosyncrasies should be easy enough to tweak.

I already have images of an M-Series running revised suspension geometry, modern rubber and – not wishing to do anything by halves – a nice sonorous Alfa Romeo V6 thrown in for good measure. Sadly I'd never have the skill to carry out such work myself, but it seems I'm not the only one who's had the idea. My dad's also been contemplating doing just such a swap on an M-Series restoration project. Fortunately for him, my mechanical ineptitude is one genetic trait that doesn’t come from his side of the family, so it might just happen. Come on Dad, you know it makes sense.

Molto testicoli

2009-10-27T17:38:00.003Z

Somewhat further up the Seven ladder than my Roadsport-A comes this video from Caterham Italy, showing Dario Margutti hustling an R500 around the Nordschleife. There are some supreme displays of commitment, but it also shows fundamental physics at work as the comparatively modest 263bhp Seven monsters a Porsche 996 GT2 in the twisties. Scary stuff.

A Seven for all seasons

2009-10-24T17:51:00.005+01:00

Simple pleasures. That’s how you could describe my glee at starting the Caterham this morning – not from a length of brown wire touched to the battery terminal, but from an actual key. The same could be said for my chuckle as it burst into life; this time with the usual satisfying rasp, but not the unpleasant screech from the alternator belt, which had come to accompany it. Actually, the last point is probably something of a relief to my neighbours as well…

All are the result of a small but significant series of tweaks and repairs to the car since I last wrote. The detail changes have included wiring in a new starter motor relay to bypass the current unit and solve the dreaded ‘Caterham click’; re-tensioning the alternator belt to silence the screech; and replacing the universal joint at the end of the steering column. On a more major note, I’ve also swapped the rock hard racing suspension for Caterham’s own road spec springs and dampers, and fitted a Half Hood from Soft Bits For Sevens.

In fact the new suspension has been proving its worth for over a month now. It’s still far from soggy, with the Seven’s trademark fidgety ride and pin sharp turn-in firmly retained, but the extra compliance is a massive plus. Not only do all four wheels stay on the ground a majority of the time now, but the car has also become much more forgiving at the limit. It even seems to have improved the steering feedback – presumably thanks to the new setup working the tyres more effectively.

Spin forward to last night and it was time for the rest of the work. Thanks to the invaluable help of another local Seven owner, fitting the new parts was a relatively straightforward procedure. We treated the car to its first oil change in my ownership while we were there (at a very conservative 1,750 miles) and then it was time to head back.

It was well towards midnight by that point, but the night air was still unseasonably warm so I headed off with the roof firmly stowed in the boot. But not for long. A few miles later I felt the first soft drips land on my forehead, then spots started to appear on the windscreen, then finally the deluge began.

I darted into a petrol station forecourt and set to work. The whole procedure took all of thirty seconds, thanks to a beautifully thought out design. The canopy unrolls from its bag in the boot with the rear already anchored to the back of the car via a pair of straps. It drapes over the roll bar and picks up on the poppers on the windscreen surround. Meanwhile a couple of additional straps at the side, tensioned with buckles like the rears, pull the cover taut.

At the back the Half Hood is open to the elements (hence the name), so it’s not completely watertight. It is surprisingly close, however, not to mention dramatically quicker and easier to erect than a full hood. What’s more the airflow through the cockpit greatly reduces the chance of misting up, particularly when combined with the car’s heated windscreen.

Back on the road, another simple adjustment began to pay dividends. We’d re-aligned the headlights while working on the car and not surprisingly this made night driving a lot more pleasant. I even finally discovered which of the dashboard switches controls the screen washer. Given it turned out to be the fan override switch I don’t feel quite so sheepish admitting that it’s taken me three months to locate!

With all this complete – despite the darkness and the rain – I couldn’t resist taking the long way home. It revealed the Caterham’s setup to be distinctly entertaining in the wet. The new universal joint has removed a lot of friction from the steering, as well as some play, giving it much a smoother action. This is particularly useful when indulging in low speed oversteer antics, although to be honest the ease with which these could be provoked in the damp suggests I might need to check the tyre pressures.

There’s plenty of time to do that another day though, not least because the car is now likely to come out much more often. Being able to stop at a petrol station and refuel without fear of ‘the click’ leaving you stranded is a major plus. Likewise, having basic weather gear means you can still venture out when the weather looks debatable, and no screech means early morning hoons are no longer such an anti-social undertaking. In short, a few brief (much overdue) changes have opened up the Caterham’s fun factor for virtually any occasion. Roll on winter.

Chip off the old Block

2009-09-29T10:32:00.005+01:00

Oh look, Ken Block's at it again. And this time you can say hello to his little friend...

This latest video might focus less on Block's otherworldly car control and take the series closer to the likes of Jackass, but it's still essential online viewing. For anyone yet to see them, the earlier videos (found on YouTube and the like) are also highly recommended!

My cars: Sylva Leader 400

2009-09-16T11:03:00.011+01:00

Intoxicating and uncompromsing, the Sylva Leader provided a tantalising taste of extreme sports

My girlfriend has a uniquely feminine way of describing cars. It revolves solely around colour, and it’s usually a hugely incomplete method of description, but in the case of my old Sylva Leader she may have been on to something. If you asked anyone to describe the car - even a bonefide petrolhead - the one word that usually came up was yellow. And it was indeed very, very yellow. And fast - as if Noddy and Big Ears had consumed way too much fairy dust one night and decided to try their hand at street racing with a homemade hotrod.

The Sylva certainly was homemade, and boy did it look it. The kit car industry has produced some staggering designs in recent years, but even in 1987 the Leader wasn’t one of its better offerings. The whole thing looked like a giant, slightly misshapen jelly mould, and yet - with it’s low stance and (yellow) roll bar - also strangely purposeful. This combination of the sublime and the ridiculous found many fans in the vicinity, and it never failed to raise a smile, even with typically disapproving audiences such as old ladies and the local constabulary.

The driving experience was always an event. It took several pumps of the throttle to prime the two huge Delhorto carburettors used to feed its 1800cc Lancia heart, but it was worth it. If you were lucky the push button starter on the left hand side of the dash would overcome the engine’s Latin temperament and it would fire with a delicious bark. Prod the throttle and the big carbs would let out a snort, while the side exit exhaust, barely two feet beneath your right ear, emitted a fiery rasp. To this day it remains the best four cylinder soundtrack I’ve ever heard.

On the road its performance was electric. The 150bhp produced by the Italian twin cam might not sound like much, but, with only 650kg to propel, it equated to around 230bhp/ton, which is 911 turbo territory. The brick-like aerodynamics may have blunted its potency at higher speeds, but this was a bit irrelevant for a speccy four eyes like myself, because at around 60mph (with next to no windscreen) my glasses began to take off. Factor in the lack of doors, a hood of any type, any security or anything remotely resembling a boot and the Leader’s everyday credentials began to look shaky.

As a general rule all Sylvas, and most Leaders included, are very fine handling cars, but some DIY suspension mods carried out by a previous owner had left mine with a few unwanted traits. The rock hard rear suspension made the car skittish to say the least, and loss of traction on bumpy roads was a sudden and frequently violent experience. The direct, but surprisingly numb steering, meanwhile, gave little indication of impending doom through its overly weighty helm. It made any of the TVRs I’ve since driven seem a bit, well, safe, but it was undoubtedly exciting and every journey bore a sense of occasion.

Another idiosyncrasy was the car’s braking system. Not only was it un-servoed, which takes some getting used to in this day and age, but it was well overdue for an overhaul. Even if you could summon the gargantuan force needed to operate the hydraulics I’m not convinced they would have done much good. To compound matters, the previous owners’ home engineering periodically reared its ugly head. One hot day the outer part of the throttle cable melted (later discovered to be a bicycle gear cable run perilously close to the exhaust manifold); only to solidify at the extreme end of its travel. Cue a flurry of screaming revs and wheel spin that sent me snaking down a narrow (but mercifully straight) country lane for a few seconds before I brought the clutch in. And, if experiences like that weren’t enough, an unidentified misfire would routinely kick in at high revs, and on occasions the car would simply fail to start altogether.

So does this mean the Leader was a bad car? Well, no, not in the slightest actually. It wasn’t even a particularly bad example. The body and chassis were pristine (if somewhat yellow), the engine performed spectacularly when niggling faults weren’t hampering it, and a damper change and some new rubber would have gone a long way to sorting out the handling. It was a few weekends work away from being a superb track day toy. Sadly, in truth, it was another car that succumbed to my learning curve. At the time I had no garage to work on it and little in the way of tools or practical experience.

The Leader was also a victim of its own appeal. The experience of blasting down country lanes with the glorious twin cam on full song, the hedges accelerating past your ear and the sheer force pulling you back into the seat was intoxicating. I wanted more, but even in pristine condition the Leader would have been a little extreme. What I needed was a car that could deliver the same hit, but also justify itself with fair weather trips to the office and the occasional weekend away. So I did what any sensible young man would do; I bought a TVR.

Driven: Quaife IB5 Sequential

2009-08-26T12:01:00.004+01:00

It’s been a while since I’ve driven a Fiesta ST150. In a previous life I used to work for Ford, so I’ve sampled my fair share of Uncle Henry’s creations, but this one is rather different. It’s equipped with a 5-speed sequential gearbox developed by Quaife Engineering for the race and rally market.

Today the prototype isn’t to be found at Brands Hatch or the forests of Kielder however, it’s in the slightly more sedate setting of Sevenoaks. And, as we trundle out onto a quiet suburban road with company director Michael Quaife at the wheel, the pronounced whine from the straight cut ‘box seems strangely at odds with its situation. It creates a faint air of surrealism, which is somewhat heightened by the fact the car producing this hardcore soundtrack is completely standard barring its transmission.

We pull over to swap seats and I tug the chunky gearlever backwards to engage first. Pulling away is a doddle and little different to any other Fiesta, as is the change up to second. Afterwards, though, the temptation is to push the lever forwards to find third, and initially you have to consciously override this to keep going up the ‘box. After a few times this becomes second nature and the classic pull-up push-down action is actually more intuitive than a normal H-pattern.

The lever requires a reasonably firm hand, particularly at low speeds, but the effort isn’t obtrusive and the shifts are as smooth as a normal synchromesh box. Being a fully mechanical system it’s best to use the clutch, and this is really the limiting factor in shift speed – the mechanism itself is very slick and notably faster than a synchromesh unit.

On the open road the Fiesta buzzes along with vigour. The close ratios and lowered final drive suit the engine down to the ground, but it does make things a tad frenetic, with a gentle motorway cruise now in excess of 5,000rpm. As a track day or competition mod it would be perfect though, with the performance noticeably sharpened by the lower gear ratios and reduced losses. What’s more Quaife do offer longer final drives, as well as a quieter helical cut ‘box.

Coming back into Sevenoaks we whine and chug our way to a standstill. One foible of sequential gearboxes is that you can’t guarantee the drive dogs will be correctly aligned to change gear when stationary. As a result you have to remind yourself to change down to first before coming to a standstill, for fear of being stranded in a higher gear, but it’s no great hardship, and it certainly wouldn’t be a problem on track.

Quaife set out to produce a quality competition gearbox for the clubman’s budget and all the indications are that they’ve succeeded. The modest fully-trimmed interior of the demonstrator may seem an unlikely place to sample it, but there’s no doubt the gearbox is the real thing.

The Duel

2009-08-19T16:15:00.001+01:00

It seems Steve McQueen’s posthumous acting career is still going strong. In a role reminiscent of his appearance in the old Ford Puma commercials, the star of Le Mans and Bullet can be seen sparring with a familiar face from modern F1. Perhaps it’s a testament to the man that even nearly three decades after his untimely demise he’s still eminently capable of acting Lewis Hamilton off the screen. Based on this, I can only urge McLaren’s finest not to give up the day job.

Northern highlights

2009-08-17T11:14:00.010+01:00

I’m not going to pretend my choice of transport for this trip came through anything other than necessity. The Caterham’s current mechanical issues, allied to its lack of a hood, and the fact I would have almost certainly ended up single by the end of the trip had I taken it, compelled me to use the Focus instead. And for those very reasons I find myself cruising up the A1 in the quiet confines of the Ford’s interior.

The familiar journey up to my girlfriend’s parents’ near York turns out to be an uneventful one, barring a spooky atmospheric phenomenon that manifests itself as I pass through Cambridgeshire. As the last rays of the peach coloured sunset creep over the horizon, a dense mist wells up in the fields surrounding the road. It hangs all around, covering the windscreen with a fine film of water vapour and collecting by the hedgerows and hollows like the start of a horror film. There are, however, no ghosts, ghouls or vampires, and by about 11pm I’ve arrived, safely back in the land of the living.

Two days later I head out with my significant other to our base for the next couple of days; the Yorkshire Dales. We approach from the bustling market town of Leyburn, following the sat nav along a spectacular single-track road onto the fells. Not for the last time it turns out to be a route you couldn’t drive at any great speed - thanks to crests, blind corners, errant sheep and the sheer lack of width - but the scenery is breathtaking. The sudden switch from lush farmland to rugged moorland leaves you in no doubt you’ve arrived in the Dales. A few miles further on, the view from our hotel in the tiny hamlet of Low Row is almost equally dramatic, and it promises much to explore.

The following day we head out to the Lake District along the B6270. Initially it’s a meandering country road skirting the villages of the Northern Dales, but the eastern edge thrusts us onto a narrow track, like the previous night's road only more so. The scenery becomes increasingly desolate, and the views ever more expansive. This is big sky country, with a horizon that stretches on for miles, and over one of its numerous crests we cross the border and plunge down into Cumbria.

The roads around The Lakes are predictably congested and we stick to the main routes for ease, but on the way back we stumble across a real gem and arguably the best driving road of the trip: the A684. Sometime after Kendal the traffic peters out and the road darts around a series of devilishly twisty bends and fast sweeping curves. It gives a rare opportunity to exploit the Focus’ innate chassis balance, trail braking into the bends to quell the initial understeer and then pushing the revvy, if somewhat beleaguered engine up through the gears on the way out.

The roller coaster lasts until we get back into the Dales, when an increasing quota of villages and bumbling tourists forces a more leisurely pace. Soon afterwards, however, we turn off onto the infamous Buttertubs Pass.

Heading north out of Hawes the first stretch is classic moorland road - quite straight, reasonably well sighted and fast. As the altitude peaks, the swooping introduction gives way to the famous vertigo-inducing section. Here all that separates you from a fiery death in the valley floor several hundred feet below appears to be a length of green hosepipe suspended between the fence posts. Fortunately we remain on the black stuff, and the final descent into Thwaite is something else. It's narrower, steeper and twistier than the rest of the road, and I reach the end with a considerable grin, a strong smell of warm brakes and a somewhat spongy pedal. In truth it would probably be more fun the other way round (north to south), but that will have to wait for a future trip.

The following day, however, we do head south over the same valley, albeit on the Askrigg Common road that runs parallel to the Buttertubs, a little further east. It’s a familiar story – more scenic route than honing road - but nonetheless spectacular as the road hugs the steep side of the valley and makes its way over the common. Unfortunately there turns out to be a cycle race on, making progress, for us, very sedate. Not so for the competitors, who are hurtling down the 1 in 4 hill towards us, placing all their trust in old fashioned cycle brakes and sticking rigidly to the racing line. While, to me, it looks like fun, I defy anyone who moans about people driving enthusiastically to claim that’s safer!

Afterwards, on a tip-off, we head down the B6255 towards Ingleton. Were it not for swarms of peak-season tourists this road would be one of the highlights, thanks to a great mixture of longish open straights and tight twisty sections. It seems to be very popular with bikers too, but the local constabulary are also in attendance, sporting a very tasty looking Evo IX pursuit car no less.

On the final day - after another pass over Askrigg Common - we head back along the eastern stretch of the A684. Initially it winds its way through a series of quaint stone-clad villages but, as before, it opens up on the periphery into a genuinely credible driving road. It's just a pity that this particular road leads us back to the A1 and, from there, on to London.

Yet the Focus once again performs admirably on the motorway slog. For a sub-premium hatchback, let alone a design that’s over a decade old, it’s remarkably versatile. True, the meagre 1.6-litre engine needs working to overcome its considerable mass on occasions, but even then it remains relatively civilised, with an excellent ride-handling balance and some of the most comfortable leather seats I’ve ever sat in. What’s more, throughout the whole trip it’s averaged comfortably more than it does on my usual suburban commute, so it seems this very ordinary car’s trip into some extraordinary surroundings has categorically done it good.

Along came a Spider

2009-08-04T13:17:00.002+01:00

The Alfa 8C Competizione has to be one of the most desirable GTs currently on sale - pipped perhaps only by the Aston Martin V12 Vantage. However, the coupe now has some in-house competition from its drop-top sibbling, the 8C Competizione Spider.

This video from Autocar tells you all you need to know about the new arrival.

Driven: Rover 416

2009-07-27T13:00:00.007+01:00

A (not so) polished performance...

They say you can’t polish a turd, but I’m here to tell you that’s wrong. Don’t for a moment assume I’m defending the gloriously crap Rover 400 you see in the photo above though, because it is indeed a turd; a vehemently malodorous pile of steaming excreta that should never have been allowed to leave Longbridge. What’s shocking is the fact I owned an MG ZS, based on this very model, and it was really rather good. While it wasn’t the last word in automotive evolution it was still a very credible competitor for something like the Ford Focus ST170. The Rover, on the other hand, isn’t.

While the MG changed direction with great alacrity and cornered flat (if a little too flat on occasions) the humble Rover is like steering a big boat in heavy seas... with a broken rudder. After a somewhat delayed response from the unbelievably woolly steering it wallows from side to side in a way I simply didn’t realise cars still did in the late ‘90s. The interior, meanwhile, looks like it was designed for the sort of people who list their remaining pleasures in life as comfy slacks and visits to the National Trust.

To be fair there is something approaching an upside in the form of the 1.6-litre K-Series powerplant. As a Caterham owner I would say that, but the truth is, even in the more sedate confines of the Rover, the engine performs surprisingly respectably. That really is it though. To compound the handling matters, the brakes are numb and overservoed, the clutch is vague, and the gearshift feels like stirring porridge with a stick of celery; it is a car of virtually no redeeming qualities.

So how did I end up here? Well, quite simply it’s a courtesy car given to me while the Focus is in for an MOT. I know what you’re thinking, but no, a hire car’s life really doesn’t excuse the state of the Rover. I expected to see at least 250,000 miles on the clock, but it’s covered a relatively sprightly 79,000, which makes it considerably less decrepit than the target market apparently was.

I’ve heard people from MG Rover going on about how much modification gone into morphing the Rover 45 into the MG ZS, but always assumed it was exaggerated; now I realise it was not. Just imagine what the same transformation could to do a car that was dynamically sound in the first place. Come back MG, all is forgiven.

Fellowship of the ring

2009-07-21T10:19:00.005+01:00

I don’t often bother with news type posts, but this one may well strike a chord with anyone who’s tried to arrange insurance for their own car on the ‘ring, for one simple reason: it’s virtually impossible to do. Despite internet mumblings to the contrary, most ordinary insurers are wise to the fact that a certain public toll road near Nurburg is more than it seems and won't cough up even if there's nothing in the policy schedule to say otherwise.

Now Nurburgmotorsport, a British owned company based at the ring, together with Allianz, is offering insurance for both drivers and motorcyclists tackling the Green Hell. Cover includes €10,000 of personal liability, rescue costs of €10,000 and, er, death cover of €30,000. There is, however, no compensation for stacking your own pride and joy, and the cost for one day and up to eight laps is a not-inconsiderable £99. In true Teutonic style the vehicle also has to undergo and engineer’s inspection at an approved local garage at additional cost and there’s a €300 excess to think about.

So does this represent good value for money? Well, peel back the details and it looks debatable; if you write off someone’s brand new F430 Scuderia in your accident (and at the ‘ring that’s more than possible) €10,000 is going to provide little comfort. However, there’s no getting round the fact that few companies even offer anything similar. It’s a credible first attempt, but what’s really tantalising here is the possibility it could open up the market for lower prices and greater cover in the future.

Tracks and tribulations

2009-07-14T22:46:00.009+01:00

On a whim I decided to make a late booking for Evo's track evening at Bedford Autodrome last week. Little did I know driving round the track was only going to be half the experience.

Prepare to be shocked: I’m going to start with my verdict from the first significant trip out in the Caterham and it may come as something of a surprise. You see, it appears that the car’s natural habitat is not in fact the city, nor indeed the motorway.

In the first instance the clutch pedal – unlike its two perfectly spaced neighbours – seems like an unobtainable luxury, placed at the very edge of reach for your left foot. This is only part of the problem of course, because the effort required to actually engage it when you get there is enough to wear your leg muscles down to a quivering pulp over the course of 6 miles of roadworks. And should you escape the gridlock onto a faster stretch the buffeting from above and beside the screen causes any passing dust particles or insects to make an instant beeline for your cornea. Of course, your other senses are dulled already because ears have long since started to bleed on account of the 5,000rpm motorway cruise and your body is aching from the stiff suspension and the unpadded race seat.

In a perversely masochistic way it all sounds slightly romantic - being in a racing car for the road - and on an engaging B-road it undoubtedly would be. However, going up the M1 and then negotiating the longest, slowest stretch of road works I’ve ever seen towards Bedford and out the other side, almost forced me out of love with the new toy. But not quite.

The first foray on track came somewhat unexpectedly. Instead of running a couple of safety car laps after the session starts, like most venues do, at Bedford Autodrome the procession from the formation area (outside the actual circuit) to the pits takes the form of the sighting laps. Somehow I’d missed that part of the briefing and so I trundled off behind the other cars expecting a sedate trip, only to find myself doing what would have been a distinctly enthusiastic road pace around the circuit; seatbelt unbuckled, helmet lying on the passenger seat. As always seems to happen the first time you visit a particular track – especially in an unfamiliar car – even that felt rapid. How much quicker would I actually go during the session?

The answer turned out to be quite a lot, but not to start with. The South West circuit at Bedford Autodrome follows a fantastic course, with varied corners and a great range of straights. It is, however, almost completely featureless with no gradient change and few landmarks to position yourself, so the first few laps can be a bit shaky. Once I’d got a vague idea of where I was going it was time to up the pace a little and explore a bit more of the car’s capabilities.

At road speeds deliberate provocation is needed to make the Seven’s stubby rump step out of line and then it does so slowly and progressively. As you approach the limit of steady state cornering however, as opposed to simply practicing abject hooliganism, things start to happen a lot more quickly. It’s still easy to correct with the proverbial dab of oppo and there’s plenty of feedback, but it doesn’t offer a verbal warning, then a letter, and then finally a lazy, half-hearted transition to oversteer like the TVR did.

Still trying to find my bearings, I enlisted the help of one of MSV’s instructors. What followed was pleasingly unpatronising and enthusiastic tuition that largely consisted of him yelling what appeared to be “keep going, keep going, don’t brake yet!” over the wind noise. In between encouraging me to stop being such a big girl he showed me the correct lines, which weren’t always obvious. One such example came at the complex after the back straight where the technique was to take a lot of curb, putting two wheels clear off the tarmac and onto the surrounding concrete in places. It was rather brutal on the car and required careful positioning to avoid unsettling the balance, but boy did it work.

After that I headed back on track with a lot more confidence and rather better lines. Things were definitely starting to come together and I was also tuning in to the Caterham’s responses. Reigning in my entry speeds solved the turn-in oversteer and mid-corner understeer I’d previously experienced, replacing them with a delicate neutrality that would give way to a hint of slip on the exit. It all felt a lot more fluid and controlled, and it seemed to be paying off. In all honesty it appeared the only things that could keep up round the corners were other Sevens; even the 996 GT3 and KTM X-Bow on track seemed marginally slower in the tighter bends. It was a different matter on the straights where the Caterham’s brick-like aerodynamics took over, but it was still indicating a none-too-shabby 130mph on the back straight.

Alas, as is all too often the case things were coming to a halt just as I got the hang of it. The chequered flag fell just before 8pm and it was time to head for home. This turned out to be easier said than done as the ‘Caterham click’ starter motor issue had reared it’s ugly head again earlier on in the day and I’d been dependant on other people for push starts. Between the Evo crowd and a few other familiar faces I’d gained a pretty distinguished pit crew, but it appeared some of them actually had homes to go to. As a result I had to head off red faced and co-opt yet more unfortunate individuals to start it for the journey home, and that wasn’t the last of my troubles.

The bag tank on the Roadsport A doesn’t come with the luxury of a fuel sender, so I’d been relying on other people’s reported tank range all day. With the starter motor issue I didn’t want to head off to a fuel station and risk being stranded, but fortunately my sums said I should just get back. They were wrong. After another 45 minutes of utter misery on the A421 and A6 roadworks I headed onto the M1 only to come to a spluttering halt about 10 miles later. Bugger.

At this point it could be argued karma was about to intervene. I had a slight rant about the AA in my last post and I couldn’t help wondering if I’d grossly underestimated the readership of this blog as I sat on the side of the road waiting for over an hour in the darkness. To make matters worse, once the guy arrived with some fuel, he announced that their union had forbidden them to push start vehicles. After a certain amount of persuasion he agreed to tow start the car with a rope instead, and I was on my way.

As the cold night air tumbled over the windscreen and the engine screamed away (despite a relatively law abiding pace) the car’s touring limitations once again became apparent. However, as a track tool and a B-road toy the Seven offers performance and exhilaration to humble all but the most extreme sports cars. And, to be honest, I think I'm even starting to enjoy the masochism that dominates the rest of the proceedings.

Lead photo:Chris Rutter/Evo magazine

The Annoyance Association

2009-07-09T14:17:00.006+01:00

A variety of largely useless detritus arrives to fill up my inbox every morning, and of this it’s often the AA’s press releases that cause me most concern. Here is one of the oldest motoring organisations in the world, yet paradoxically it seems to have adopted a deeply conservative, almost anti-car stance. It also appears to have a conspicuously pro-government agenda with numerous polls showing support for Westminster’s spin campaigns and revenue-generating initiatives.

‘The vehicle scrappage scheme will not only pump an extra £2 billion turnover into the UK’s ailing car sector but give the country’s most disadvantaged drivers a lift,’ proclaims one press release. Really? So if you’re one of the most disadvantaged drivers in the UK you have a spare £5,000 or so for a new car after the government’s scrappage scheme? Interesting... Now take the next headline: Car power modification could boost teenage death toll! ‘Increasing the power of a car engine often pushes both the driver and the car beyond their limitations,’ it warns. Quite right – young scallywags, what will they think of next?

If you think you can hear the AA banging its walking stick on the floor, muttering incoherently about the youth of today and ranting about the dangers of exceeding 40mph, then don’t dismiss it just yet. There are important, earth shattering questions as ‘should Britain’s road signs go metric?’ still being addressed by the association. And how else would we find out that ‘drivers slowing down to save fuel could lead to a reduction in accidents and deaths’? Hardcore, adrenaline packed stuff...

I suppose it could be argued I’m missing the point here. It’s possibly no surprise that something over a hundred years old might come accross as a bit stuffy and old-school. But here’s the thing: When the group destined to become the AA first met on the 29th of June 1905 their stated aims were to promote the exciting new sport of motoring and help drivers combat over-zealous policing and the use of speed traps. With that in mind it seems rather sad that the AA has become a politically impotent old boys’ club, tucked up with the government like the motoring world’s ministry of information. But if they really have to adopt that line then why, oh why, can’t they do so quietly and stop bombarding my email system?

A mildly industrious weekend

2009-07-06T12:40:00.004+01:00

It was a weekend of quiet productivity for the Caterham, with a couple of teething problems now sorted out. First off I decided to engineer a proper repair for the exhaust mount. This involved me putting a call through to fellow Seven owner Mark about thread sizes and so on, who kindly invited me over to his workshop.

The exhaust repair – touch wood – was an unexpectedly simple operation, which just involved cleaning up the thread with a tap and replacing the bolt. Next Mark – an experienced Caterham racer who just happens to have a whole load of setup equipment in his garage – suggested checking the geometry.

The ride heights and tow angles were spot on, and a rather vicious-looking procedure to remove the front ball joints with a hammer soon corrected a small camber defficiency. Last came the tyre pressures (technically an oversight on our part that should have been done first) and the corner weights. With half a tank of fuel and various odds and sods in the boot, the car came to a featherweight 528kg, in full road trim, complete with a full height screen, doors and weather gear.

That said, there was one thing missing. During my initial investigation of the exhaust I’d mistakenly taken the passenger seat out (forgetting the sides were double-skined and the fixing was inside). This potentially thrust me into a whole world of pain and anguish, as I attempted to align the bolts and spacers dangling from two independently movable runners with four tiny holes on the floor, all the while obscured by the seat. Fortunately moving the runners to the extreme end of their travel, so that the front bolt on each side was accessible solved this, meanwhile taping the spacers down ensured they remained on the bolts during the installation.

After the geometry check I asked racer Mark if he’d take the car out to check it was handling as it should. He didn’t take much persuading and soon came back with a grin on his face and a glowing endorsement of the Seven’s setup and mechanical condition. To cap it all, during my drive back I decided to have a go at heel and toe; one of those things I’ve occasionally tried to do, but never been able to perfect. In the Caterham, however, the pedal spacing lends itself to this technique perfectly and it’s become almost second nature. It may be a small thing – like the other work over the weekend – but it formed the cherry on top of the cake, finalising a rewarding introduction to Caterham ownership.

New arrival

2009-07-03T17:49:00.004+01:00

It’s said the best things in life are worth waiting for. Yet, a month after the TVR had gone I was about to starting to dispute that. Mid-summer had come and gone during one of the hottest and sunniest periods of recent years, and all the while the B-roads were sat quiet, empty and inviting, yet I had nothing to play with.

Finally, yesterday, that was put right. After a bumpy ride which had seen me looking at the best part of a dozen cars and nearly buying two I eventually struck gold, or rather metallic blue, in the form of an ex-competition car from Scotland. It was built to contest Roadsport A – at the time the fastest class in the Caterham Cup – and features a very healthy spec including a close ratio 6-speed gearbox, limited slip differential and Minister-built 1.6 Supersport powerplant.

Waiting for it to arrive on Thursday morning I sat with some trepidation. The car was coming all the way from Argyll and I’d never seen it in the flesh before. I’d spoken with Mike, the seller, at some length and poured over endless photos, but there was still a slight anxiety about how it would appear in the flesh.

I needn’t have worried. Yes, it bears a few battle scars up close, but it’s actually in remarkably good condition for a retired racing car. Its bodywork glinted in the morning sun as we offloaded it from the trailer and the engine burst into life with an enthusiastic rasp as I headed off for the maiden voyage. In my haste I’d elected to leave the sidescreens in the garage, along with all my tools; both of which turned out to be a mistake.

First impressions were of a very rapid little car. In theory the engine produces the same power output as the factory Supersport, but in reality the Minister unit felt distinctly more athletic. That said, the impression of speed was greatly exaggerated by the lack of sidescreens, which I rapidly learned was a big mistake. Above about 50mph I had to squint to try and maintain my vision and as the national limit approached there was a very real chance of my glasses taking off.

That, however, was the least of my worries as, a few miles later, the rear bracket of the exhaust decided to detach itself, leaving the tailpipe skimming the road. A couple of superficial burns to my hand and a makeshift bracket constructed out of an old shoelace later I was ready to go. Unfortunately, the car was not. The dreaded ‘Caterham click’ issue had struck, ceasing the starter motor and leaving me stranded.

My first reaction was to try and overcome it with some more volts and it just so happened a van had recently pulled up at a nearby house. I went over to ask if the driver had any jump leads and it turned out not only that he did, but also that he was a former Caterham racer and member of the local motor club. My luck seemed to be improving. A simple jump start got the car running again and the improvised exhaust mounting saw me home without incident.

I probably should have left it there until the exhaust was fixed, but temptation got the better of me, and that evening I headed out for a quick blast. It turned out to be a truly phenomenal drive - one of those really gratuitous occasions where you don't even kid yourself you're going out for a pint of milk, you just hoon around childishly. I didn’t go off to anywhere far flung and I didn’t seek out any particularly epic roads, but just buzzing around the local B-roads in the warm evening sunshine felt sublime. It was pure automotive indulgence.

Arriving back in time for a nice cool beer I felt eminently satisfied with my purchase. True there are a few things on the ‘to do’ list, not least the exhaust, but I seem to have bonded very rapidly with ‘the wee car’ as its Scottish builder used to refer to it. Evidently it was worth the wait after all.

Le Mans 2009 - part 1

2009-06-30T19:51:00.008+01:00

Whisper this, but I’d never actually been to Le Mans before this year. It seemed any petrolhead worth his salt considered the place a sort of spiritual home, but not me. I was a Le Mans virgin. I suppose there is a first time for everyone though and in my case that was earlier this month.

Day 1
It was an inauspicious start to be honest; moderate traffic and light drizzle for an unexceptional run down to the tunnel on Wednesday morning. One villainously over-priced croissant, a slurp of orange juice and a few chapters of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and I was out into the overcast gloom of northern France.

Somehow the Focus didn’t quite cut it with the Ferraris and Aston Martins disembarking at the same time. I’d sold the TVR a week and a half previously, so I had no real choice in the matter, yet part of me was actually quite glad of this as the heavens opened near Rouen. It may have about as much charisma as any other metallic gray repmobile, but the humble Ford really does impress with its refinement. The engine is barely audible at motorway speed and even though wind and tyre noise are a bit more pronounced the Focus is still streets ahead of many of the more evocative Le Mans choices in this respect. Likewise, the route – straight down the A28 – may have been a little unadventurous, but with a tight schedule to keep and zealous gendarmes potentially perched behind every tree I set a steady 130kph and cruised on to Le Mans. After all, I was on business.

The first job when I arrived was to rendezvous with the rest of the Race Tech crew at the press accreditation centre. It was also my first chance to take a proper look at editor William’s 1938 Bentley special, which to be honest figured pretty high in my list of priorities. I’d been keen to see the car since I’d joined the magazine last September. And so, curiosity satisfied and accreditation complete, it was time to head back to my first hotel, the Mercure in Le Mans centre.

That evening we were due to attending a dinner near the circuit, so after a brief rest, William brought the Bentley round to the hotel and I followed him and publishing director Soheila out to Arnage. Or at least I tried to. Slight navigational issues intervened to give the evening a rather surreal atmosphere. Chasing the Bentley’s art-decco tail through the gloomy half-lit back streets of Le Mans was pure film noir, and the plot was about to thicken. It dawned on me that were starting to pass familiar landmarks and in fact we were going round in circles.

This trend developed as we somehow progressed into the countryside only to continue driving in circles. It didn’t matter though, we were close enough to here the racing engines scream past as free practice unfolded, and the Bentley’s elegant frame blended perfectly with the time-warp landscape that bordered the circuit. Le Mans had begun.

Day 2
That morning, still fuelled by what was undoubtedly the best dinner I’ve ever had the previous night, I ventured out towards the circuit. It was due to be a day of preparation – both for us and the teams. While they performed last minute setup changes before the evening’s qualifying session, we secured a prime spot in the Le Mans press office and, later, I headed into the town centre to pick up the latest addition to our squad.

Steve Bridges’ day job is promoting industry (and in particularly motorsport) for the Commonwealth of Virginia, but in his spare time he’s also a track marshal and unofficial ambassador for Virginia International Raceway – the hidden gem sometimes referred to America’s Nürburgring. And now he was about to add another title to his collection: Race Tech’s official photographer.

After meeting at the station and proceeding to accreditation again, we decided to head back to get some rest ahead of that evening’s qualifying. For the rest of the week we were both staying in a small farmhouse near Teloche, about seven miles away from the circuit. The route out into the sticks seemed straightforward enough but, as we were about to find out, things were a little complicated. Thanks to the unique nature of Le Mans, most of the roads out to the BnB either formed or intersected part of the circuit and we came to numerous roadblocks only to be turned away by stony-faced gendarmes. Eventually we made our way down a narrow gravel track to the farmhouse, sheltered from the afternoon sun by the shade of an old barn.

That evening, after struggling through the pleasantries with our hosts in broken Franglais, we returned to the circuit. At this point two joys of being a member of the press highlighted themselves. Firstly, we had access right up to the crash barrier on several parts of the circuit, including the Esses just before the Dunlop Bridge. The sense of smugness this generated in both of us was palpable as the pietons sat some 50 yards further back crammed behind the catch fence. Secondly, this jammyness only increased as we discovered the various hospitality units were open for business.

After a very pleasant meal care of Peugeot – Chris Harries once remarked the free dinners were the best part of this job and he’s not far wrong – we headed back out to watch the end of qualifying. Despite the 908’s general air of dominance, Allan McNish had set a blistering time in the Audi in the first half, which seemed unbreakable. However, as the final session drew to a close, with the track now engulfed in darkness, Frenchmen Stephane Sarrazin flew through to take the pole for Peugeot. Things were looking very good indeed for the car I’d witnessed the birth of back in February.

Day 3

Friday is rebuild day for the teams at Le Mans. An army of mechanics take to the cars changing engines, gearboxes, bodywork sections and just about anything else that bears any risk of detaching itself or degrading over the course of the race. We, meanwhile, set to delivering magazines and securing interviews with the various team owners and race engineers floating around.

The paddock at Le Mans has a unique atmosphere, which seems so much more organic than the rather clinical condition encountered at a grand prix. Access is far less restricted and, despite a very serious job in hand, the feeling is far more relaxed. All of this seems to put the teams at ease, but if you really need to break the ice, I found three little letters which were guaranteed to do the trick. The ACO, or Automobile Club de l'Ouest, has been running the race since its inception in 1923, and in the 86 years since then they have rarely seen eye-to-eye with the competitors. I rapidly discovered this was a favoured topic of conversation and guaranteed to produce the start of a long, frank conversation.

After a productive day at the coalface it was time to experience the carnival atmosphere that surrounds Le Mans. All four of us clambered into the twin cockpits of the Bentley – separated fore and aft like the pilot and gunner in a vintage fighter plane, with William and Soheila up front and Steve and I in the back. As we set off into the twilight, the circuit’s floodlights glowing in the background, the evening once again took on a slightly surreal aspect, however this time it was an altogether more visceral experience.

We were just approaching the exit when the first barrage of Mad Friday began. A large crowd lined the road and a torrent of water pistol fire came from both sides. Then – bam – a water bomb landed square on the cowl in front of the rear seats, showering me and Steve. We ploughed on towards the town, dodging the broken bottles on the side of the road and attempting to pick our way past the drunken revellers.

A circuit of Le Mans on Friday night is a must. The mood hovers somewhere between good-natured fun and a full-on riot, but somehow it stops just short of being excessive. The Bentley proved extremely popular, particularly with the hordes of Brits who lined the streets, and every so often William would open it up to unleash a deep rasp from the exhaust and a great cheer from the crowd. Because of this we probably got away rather lightly as we cruised through Mulsanne and onto the town centre, but it still remained an exciting – and damp – experience.

As we drove through the centre, past the floodlit cafes, and the cathedral front that Steve McQueen drives past in the famous movie homage to the event, we shared the streets with a mouth-watering array of machinery. A Ferrari 599, a vintage Aston Martin International and an enthusiastically driven French-registered Lotus Esprit V8 were just some of the ‘spotteds’ along the way. And then we turned off the main roads and down a narrow side street, which it later transpired was jam packed with Brits. Yet again the car acted like cat nip for the drunken fans, with a wall of camera phones raised in front of us and drunken greetings issuing from every direction. It looked like we would have to come to a halt but, wisely, William kept us crawling through the dense crowd until an opening appeared. As he opened the taps the old Bentley catapulted forward with surprising force, the crowd cheered, and we drove off into the cool night air.

Le Mans 2009 - part 2

2009-06-30T19:48:00.006+01:00

Having survived Mad Friday and the drive down, the race itself begins...

Day 4
By Saturday we’d figured out a nice back way into the circuit, which brought us in away from the increasingly congested main entrance. However, as we approached on the morning of the race it seemed the gendarmes had blocked this off and we approached a typically humourless officer, who explained to us (we thought) in French that we needed a different colour parking sticking to enter this way. For a second the thought occurred, why not just go for broke, dump the clutch and steam our way past the road block? “Better not,” mused Steve, “he’s got a gun.”

We reached the track just in time for the start of the historic race. This was a slightly mixed affair, with some of the racers treating us to a fantastic display of four-wheel drifts with a classic soundtrack, while some pottered around at a more sedate rate. Given many of the cars were worth more than my house the latter is probably sensible. It’s just not quite as fun though.

About an hour before the start of the main race we pitched up at the Peugeot hospitality unit overlooking the pits and secured a spot by the window. As 3pm approached the cars went off behind the safety car for the formation lap, and then silence. The procedure may have changed, but you could feel a tangible link to the famous start sequence in the Steve McQueen film. The grandstands went quiet and the crowd’s collective pulse began to rise, faster and faster. Then came the noise. The combination of cheering fans and angry racing cars reached a crescendo as Ferrari chairman Luca di Montezemolo dropped the flag, and Le Mans 2009 was go.

The beginning of the race was eventful to say the least, with GT1 Lamborghini retiring after two (although it has since been suggested the remarkably relaxed team were in fact there to boost its resale value and had no intention of going any further). Two of the Audis went for off-track excursions during the first couple of hours and, not to be outdone, a pair of Peugeots T-boned each other during the first round of pitstops.

As the race progressed a beautiful sunset lit the sky with a rich purple glow that provided ideal photo conditions. I headed up to the Dunlop Bridge to take a few shots and, on my return, came across one of the stricken Audis under a tarpaulin. The car was completely covered and unidentifiable barring the branding on the dust cover and the fact it was boarding an Audi transporter, so there seemed no harm in recording the moment.

The marshals, it seemed, did not agree and all hell broke loose. One of them charged at me furiously yelling something in French. Quite why – given I was yards away from a see-through fence behind which were 300,000 spectators armed with camera phones – I’m not sure, but the ranting Gallic lunatic then tried to physically grab my camera. Holding it at arms length and fiercely protesting my innocence I retreated to the gate frantically gesturing towards my press pass and photographer’s bib. I later found out there’s a gentleman’s agreement between the French photographers and the organisers not to take photos of broken cars, even when the interesting bits are safely covered and it’s in full view of the public. Now how did I not work that out in the first place? Still it’s not every day you get physically assaulted by a moronic jobsworth in a dayglo orange vest.

Day 5

As we came back to the circuit on Sunday morning the drone of race engines reverberated around the grandstands. The field was quite well separated by sunrise and the sound of the individual cars going past took on a rather more sombre note than the cacophony of the early stages. As ever the diesels provided one end of the spectrum with an eerie whoosh – more wind noise than revs – while the GT1 Corvettes provided a dramatic counterpoint with their old school V8 bellow and sheets of flame on overrun.

The race had settled into a rhythm, with the leading Peugeots first and second, Audi in third and the Gulf-liveried Lola Aston Martin of Thomas Enge and friends in fourth. I headed out to work exchanging magazines for interviews, until about an hour before the end, when we all converged on the Peugeot hospitality area once more.

With ten minutes to go the lead car appeared to slow down. Confusion reigned around the cheeseboard – did he have a problem? Far from it actually; it seems Peugeot had slowed the car down as part of a carefully orchestrated photo-finish. Confidence was evidently high in the team, and so it seemed at the bar, as the waiter lined up a row of glasses and filled each to the brim with champagne. Sure enough, three and a half minutes later there was a deafening roar from the elated home-crowd as the 908s swept past the grandstands to take the chequered flag. Inside the mood was similarly ecstatic as the drivers’ families watched the car cross the line, and we stayed to soak up the atmosphere, not to mention what remained of the Lanson.

After braving the pitlane crowds for the podium celebrations, we went for a walk around the site. It was quite strange how quickly the event died down – before long the grandstands were thinning and the seats on the iconic Ferris wheel were being taken down. However, it turned out the party was about to begin.

The Peugeot team’s after race celebrations began quite sedately, with a rather corporate presentation to the winning drivers and a succession of somewhat restrained speeches. Then something we didn’t expect happened – the Germans turned up. Audi walked over to congratulate their adversaries in what could have been rather hollow move, but instead turned out to be a deeply sporting gesture. They received a standing ovation from the victorious French team as they walked up the stairs to the main part of the suite, and there was a feeling that the pre-race mud slinging between the two companies had well and truly been left behind.

From that point the music rapidly got louder and livelier, the corks started to pop and atmosphere became electric. Along the top of the bar an assortment of Le Mans winners, mostly past or present Formula One drivers, in various states of undress were spraying the crowd with champagne. Beneath them Audi motorsport supremo Dr Wolfgang Ullrich and drivers like Allan McNish were taking to the dance floor. And so, as the evening unfolded, Sunday night at Le Mans morphed progressively into Friday night at Austin Powers’ pad.

Many hours later, as the crowds finally began to thin we emerged. Steve and the others had consumed several bottles of champagne by this point but, as designated driver, I was alarmingly sober. This did, however, have an upside. It meant when the urge to drive round the recently re-opened road sections of the course hit us at about 2am we were perfectly positioned to respond. Sat-nav armed with the start of the D338, we set out and picked up the circuit at Tertre Rouge.

Even the Focus proved a pretty special place to be as we accelerated down the start of the Mulsanne Straight. Rapidly the wind noise took over from the hopelessly un-Porsche-917 engine note and we cruised past the first and second chicanes (cordoned off now the race had finished) and on to the roundabout that forms Mulsanne Corner. Back on the gas, we followed the road as it kinked to the right, flanked by Armco to the sides and bordered above by a Shell advertising banner.

Next Indianapolis Corner appeared in the dim light of the Ford’s headlights and we swept to the right, clipping the rumble strip on our side of the road, before braking hard into the left hander that follows. Off the brakes, I turned into the corner with Focus’ tyres complaining bitterly and its inhabitants grinning like imbeciles. “Curb on the left, curb on the right, second gear, third gear, fourth gear” recited Steve doing his best Allan McNish impersonation as a slight lift brought the Focus’ wayward nose back into line. Next, the road reached a junction where we took a square right to follow the circuit around Arnage Corner. A short distance further up the road the track veered off to the right in what becomes the Porsche Curve. Alas a pair of substantial looking barriers forced us to continue along the road towards Arnage instead, and with that our trip around (part of) the Le Mans circuit came to a close. But the night was young and gendarmes appeared to have gone home, so instead we elected to turn round and do the whole thing again. Twice... Well, it would have been rude not to.

Day 6
Monday morning began early as I took Steve to the train station in Le Mans for the 7:30 train. As with the rest of the week it was something that could have been a chore, but turned out to be anything but. The whole event had been fantastic and, along with the rest of the Race Tech team, Steve’s knowledge and humour had made it far more than the corporate business trip it could have been.

After dropping him off I headed for the channel, with the roads once again deserted as the remaining fans slept off their hangovers. The gendarmes, however, were up and out, but thankfully still not in the sort of force I’d expected. I managed to spot a couple of lightly camouflaged speed traps on the latter stretch of the A16 heading in towards Calais and boarded the Eurotunnel unscathed. Emerging on the other side, and for perhaps the first time ever, I felt rather glad to be on roads with UK speed enforcement and not their altogether sneakier continental cousins. And, with that, my first Le Mans week drew to a close. It had been a fantastic introduction to the race and one which cemented many lasting memories. What’s more it was a rite of passage; next year I won’t be approaching the event as a Le Mans virgin.

Struck down

2009-06-22T16:07:00.006+01:00

Do you remember swine flu? Last month it was destined to kill the entire population of Britain within the week. We were told the streets would be thick with the stench of rotting corpses once the plague pits had filled up and the quick lime had run out. So where is it? Well... No idea, but I think I might have found another ailment previously unknown to science.

I’m sat here sweating profusely; muscles tensed and brow furrowed. Upon examination I would be found tearing my hair out in perpetual anguish and ranting feverishly (arguably not for the first time) with same questions re-occurring: Rover or Vauxhall power? Superlight or Roadsport? Do I really need a limited slip diff?

The cause of these symptoms is, it appears, not strictly physical, but rather a psychological condition soon to be known as manic car buying disorder. You may laugh, but it’s all proving to be a rather stressful experience. There are so many options to consider and every one of them seems to be worth paying a little extra for until you eventually end up having to place all non-essential organs up for sale to fund the purchase.

Specifically speaking, I’ve decided to concentrate on Caterhams. Ideally I’d like to get an early noughties Superlight, with parts like a limited slip differential, close ratio gearbox and bigger brakes already fitted. The problem is that sort of spec falls right at the top end of my budget, and at £15,000 for a ten year old car that’s starting to become quite serious money for a junior hack.

The other option is to find a standard Roadsport model that’s been modified. This is proving surprisingly difficult to do, with the only real candidates being ex-race cars. One in particular has caught my eye, but that’s in Scotland – about as far away from my London home as it’s physcially possible to get in the UK. The car appears to be excellent value for money, being virtually Superlight spec mechanically, but for 50% less. The downside, however, is that it sports what could politely be described as the lived in look, following four seasons of hard racing.

The other side of the dilemma is an apparently excellent factory Superlight for sale in Essex. It doesn’t require any tidying, unlike the Scottish car, and the spec is higher still, but it’s three times the price of any car I’ve ever bought. I’ve got the money – just – but should a wheel fall off on the way home I’d be walking the rest of the way as I have literally no more cash. Each car is worth the money in its own way, but it’s a question of balancing the time, effort and risk inherent to each. Hmm.

So, until that point, the sweat continues to seep down my increasingly wrinkled forehead. Which should I go for? I honestly don’t know.

Broken up

2009-06-04T18:19:00.005+01:00

It’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to update the blog and it’s been a period of turmoil. Break ups can be hard and this one was no exception. Indeed it followed a fairly standard emotional rollercoaster; first came the realisation that it was time to move on, then the deed itself, followed by a period of deep regret and eventually a rebound period where I just wanted to get inside anything new. So that’s my story for the past week. What about my girlfriend you may ask? She’s fine – to be honest she never understood why I was so obsessed with the car in the first place.

Alas, it’s true, the TVR is gone. I’d been toying with the idea of something more track focused for a few months and on something of an impulse I put K7 VRS for sale last Saturday. What followed was quite unexpected. I’d got so attached to the car that I was half hoping I wouldn’t get any serious offers and this would prompt me to reconsider the idea. Instead, three hours after the ad went on Pistonheads I received a call and less than 24 hours after that it was gone.

Gone. Bugger. What am I going to do now? I hadn’t really expected it to be quite that smooth. I do bitterly miss the car, especially now the long sunny evenings are upon us. Every time the urge catches me to go for a quick blast down round the local B-roads the depressing reality hits home. However, it’s all done for a reason. My garage now has the capacity sufficient to accept its new occupant, as does my bank balance. Project ‘find a track car’ is go!

Crap car chic

2009-05-06T11:04:00.001+01:00

Last night I saw one of these on the road:

The Wartburg. A vehicle last seen being ridiculed in the pages of CAR (many moons ago) for being one of the worst they'd ever tested. And yet, somehow, it seemed a little bit cool. Is there such a thing as 'crap car' chic do you reckon?

Maturity

2009-04-28T19:11:00.004+01:00

A thought occurred to me the other day. Nipping up the handbrake on entrance to a deserted gravel car park at my local mountain bike trail, the Focus’ squat rear end arced gracefully round, unleashing a plume of dust that settled across the clearing as I cut the engine. And then, sitting there, it popped into my head; was that possibly the tiniest bit immature?

It’s not just the odd spot of precision parking we’re talking about either, what about all this tearing around in sports cars? Surely mature people wouldn’t do that? After all, mature, sensible individuals don’t have TVRs - they have mortgages. And dinner parties. It’s doubtful any of them have ever sneaked out to practise (laughably poor) attempts at heel and toe or indeed grinned manically to themselves while driving through a tunnel with the windows down.

And yet you have to ask what these people really do fill their lives with? Conformity is all well and good, but it’s hardly what you’d call exciting, and doing anything out of the ordinary could be seen as equally pointless. Climbing Everest is bound to be a bit cold and dangerous, painting the Sistine Chapel would doubtlessly have been quicker with some Dulux and a roller, and piloting a rocket to the moon simply won’t get you of negative equity. So what’s the point of any of this?

Hopefully if you’re reading this you have at least a passing interest in cars, hence I’d be preaching to the converted if I listed the simple joys of being in the right car on the right road. But beyond that I’d say there’s also a fundamental link between driving for pleasure and any other hobby; all involve choosing to take something beyond the mundane level that most people will experience it at. In which case perhaps, rather worryingly, the answer is that mature, sensible people don’t actually do a lot at all. They just slowly corrode, running through a series of pre-programmed actions designed to appease society, the bank and the boss.

Ultimately I suppose, yes, hand brake turns and power slides are all a bit immature by the standards of polite society, but isn’t everything that’s worth doing? Come to think of it, perhaps the question isn’t so much whether, as petrolheads, we show maturity, but whether we should even bother trying to.

Hung out to dry

2009-04-24T10:35:00.004+01:00

I had something akin to a religious experience last Thursday. You see, ever since the TVR’s rather sobering performance at North Weald I’ve been slightly concerned about its wet weather handling. The new setup certainly works well in the dry, but there was no way of knowing if it had cured the vicious snap oversteer which presented itself on that soaking airfield. And so, as torrents of rain lashed against my office window in the morning, I couldn’t help feeling more than a little bit apprehensive about my track session that evening.

Things didn’t improve in the afternoon either as I trundled along the M25 in a dense cloud of spray while the heavens continued to open. Memories of Brands Hatch’s unsettling gradient changes and cambers remained lodged in the back of my mind, along with the notions of minimal run off area and solid-looking barriers. ‘Oh dear’ I thought, ‘what have I let myself in for?’ Yet, as I turned off the A20 and into the circuit’s familiar gates, something very strange happened - the downpour eased off. Then, despite 24 hours of incessant deluge, forecast to continue for the rest of the day, the rain stopped completely, the clouds parted and miraculously even a hint of golden sunshine appeared.

There was plenty of time to meet the other attendees as the organisers first delayed our start time, then announced they were shortening the session by half an hour. Next came the noise test – often an issue for TVR’s more vocal offerings, but I was quietly confident, having carried out a DIY test at well below the session’s advertised 105dB limit. Except, as the marshal explained when my car registered a slightly suspect 104.9 dB, that was no longer the limit - they’d dropped it to 102. Great.

As the better prepared TVR owners started bolting on additional silencers I had no choice but to opt for a slightly more devious approach. I apologetically explained to the tester that actually I’d made a mistake and the test had been more like 90% of maximum revs, not the stated three quarters. Just to be on the safe side I went for a slightly economical 3,500rpm next time round and got the coveted ‘noise test passed’ sticker. “Just don’t floor it going out the pits,” commented the marshal, who clearly believed the story about as much as I did. Still, I was ready to go.

With the tarmac now bone dry I took one last glance up at the sky and elected to stow the hood before venturing out. Taking it easy at first, initial impressions were good. You sit fractionally higher in the TVR than in the Caterham I previously drove at Brands and it made even the blind crest and steep, off-camber plunge of Paddock Hill Bend seem less ominous. It was more than just a case of eye level though – the car was handling superbly. The new, firmer damper settings had sharpened up the turn in somewhat and the car felt more nimble, despite retaining a fundamentally neutral balance. When provoked by a sharp lift or a determined burst of throttle the back end could be coaxed out somewhat faster than it had before, but it remained a progressive, well-telegraphed event to savour rather than anything to fear.

As the session progressed it became obvious that the TVR had the measure of most of the naturally aspirated MX5s which made up the bulk of this Mazda on Track event. However a somewhat-modified turbocharged example proved the exception, pulling away easily along the main straight. I’d spoken to the owner beforehand and meant to find him at some point for a passenger ride, but sadly never did. One car I did get out in was the 4.5-litre TVR Cerbera of a man known simply as Mad Graham. Far from being insane he proved to be a very smooth, competent driver and demonstrated that the much-maligned Cerbera, despite having a massive 250bhp increase over the S3, needn’t be a monster either.

Suitably impressed I returned to my somewhat humble machine and lapped on and off until the chequered flag came out. As the session drew to a close and the light began to fade everyone agreed it had been an evening well spent. In fact, the track time proved so much fun I now find myself contemplating a dedicated track day toy. What’s more the TVR continued to impress with another superb performance, keeping up with some much more powerful machinery and putting a broad grin on my face in the process. There was just one thing however. Travelling back with the roof down and the stars beginning to appear above it suddenly occurred to me; I still hadn’t had a chance to find out how the it handles in the wet.

Brown announces new 'road police'

2009-04-01T11:58:00.006+01:00

Prime Minister Gordon Brown today announced plans for a dedicated wing of the security service aimed at clamping down on traffic violations. Due to come into power on April 1st 2010, the State Transport And Speeding Intelligence (STASI) service will address issues such as speeding fines and road tax enforcement. They are also expected to man a nation-wide network of cameras and vehicle-mounted tracking devices giving total coverage of every vehicle on UK roads.

In a press conference earlier Mr Brown commented: “This brings our roads a step closer to the glorious peoples’ democracy that we have always envisaged. We hope our freedom-loving drivers will respond positively to this step and we will be providing re-education centres for those who abuse the roads of the mother land for fun and frivolity.”

A spokesman from the opposition party was unable to comment after he mysteriously disappeared in the early hours of this morning.

(Image shamelessly pinched from the the-spine.com)

Wash tosh

2009-03-30T12:46:00.001+01:00

I've never really got into the London thing, so in my naivety I try and be nice to my neighbours. Living in a sort of housing development you'd expect it to be quite close-knit, but apparently not.

Our closest neighbours seem to spend their entire weekends washing their cars. Unusually, yesterday I decided to do the same, but seems we have no downstairs water supply, and in an attempt to strike up a bit of a conversation, I went over to see if I could maybe fill a bucket up from the hose he had.

The guy looked at me like I'd asked to deflower his firstborn daughter. 'Ok...' I thought.

After lugging bucket after bucket down the stairs I set to washing the TVR, quitely minding my own business. I caught bits of the conversation between my dear neighbour and his Audi-washing mate where one was saying to the other, "I think we're supposed to be jealous that he has a sports car".

How twisted to you have to be to assume someone washing their car is intended to provoke a reaction? It was the first time I'd washed it in about three months and there was no attempt to parade it around - I just parked up after my morning hoon and set to it.

So, I've learnt my lesson now. Don't try and be nice to the natives, they don't appreciate it.

Goodwood videos

2009-03-24T14:45:00.004Z

Hot on the heels of Goodwood post, here are a couple of video clips from my trip up the hill in the Aeromax.

Goodwood preview day

2009-03-24T14:32:00.006Z

Last Thursday began with a chance encounter as I cruised down the A286 on the way to the Goodwood. I noticed a blood red vintage sports car waiting to join the road ahead, slowed down to let him out, flashed the headlights. We then had one of those ‘no you go... no you go’ moments as we both hesitated, then decided to go simultaneously. Slightly red faced, but fortunately intact, I sheepishly my way past the beautiful car and its (presumably now somewhat confused) driver and continued on my way.

Once at Goodwood things took an altogether more surreal turn. The characteristic sound of rotor blades echoed off the front of the house as an Army Air Corps Lynx appeared over the tree tops and began a jaw dropping low-altitude display, looping and rolling its way across the horizon. As a climax it accelerated towards us across the lawn, pulled the nose up in a dramatic stop and then came to a rest, hovering about 20 feet above the ground. Then – and I swear I’m not making this up – Amanda Stretton fast roped out of the helicopter, ran over the lawns to the front of the house and interviewied Lord March for the beginning of the day. You can’t deny that’s quite an entrance.

Next, after a brief introduction, it was time to hit the hill. All manner of mouth-watering machinery from the 1920s to the present day was lining up at the start line, including no less than three priceless ‘silver arrow’ racers. Many of the cars there I’d never even seen in a museum before, let alone witnessed performing a full-bore standing start a matter of feet away. Group C Le Mans racers and Group B rally cars became virtually de rigeur in a field that also included a very enthusiastically driven Aston Martin DB3S, a Bugatti Atlantique and a unique Ferrari 250GT ‘Breadvan’. The modern era was well represented too with a brand spanking new Nissan 370Z there, along with its bigger brother the GT-R , a Ferrari 599GTB and a Maserati Granturismo driven by none other than Jodie Kidd.

My trip up the hill finally came in a Morgan Aeromax. Now let me make one thing clear: it’s a spectacularly desirable car - fast, apparently progressive at the limit, atmospheric and beautifully crafted. In any other setting I would be overjoyed to get a ride in such a fabulous machine, but with automotive royalty like the actual Le Mans winning McLaren F1 GTR offering passenger rides it seemed, well, a tad underwhelming. Even so it was a magical experience and It’s testament to the breathtaking scale of Goodwood that I can take such a spoilt attitude.

The BMW-sourced V8 catapulted us away from the start line with surprising vigour and a thunderous soundtrack. Even in one of the more road-orientated cars, the hay bales were flying past at a considerable rate by the time we reached the first corner. As the Morgan’s auto box found its footing on the exit, the front end gently tucked in, with only the slightest touch required from the driver, chief designer Matthew Humphries to reign in the slide. The whole experience was remarkably relaxed, illustrating just what a superbly executed GT the Aeromax is.

Sat in the paddock at the top of the hill Matthew showed me around the features of his car like a proud father. The detailing is indeed sublime, and unlike some limited-production supercars it really does feel like a £100,000 product – part comic book racer, part gentleman’s club on wheels. Unfortunately as we sat around discussing its finer points I was oblivious to the fact the final passenger rides were coming to a close on the rally stage. I had to blank this from my mind later in the day as my fellow guests recounted stories of airborne Quattros and sideways Integrales and I swore to be quicker on the uptake next time round.

One area which I did manage to capitalise on was lunch. Although the atmosphere was wonderfully informal (in fact I felt a bit out of place in my suit) the food was very much what you would expect from a society event at one of England’s great country houses. Then came the champagne, which if anything surpassed the cuisine, causing me to curse the decision to drive down. Once again I made a mental note for next year’s event.

Much like the opening, lunch time had a somewhat quirky feel as no less than 12 mini-skirted girls posted themselves into a mini, in a scene straight from Austin Powers’ wildest fantasy. Add to that the occasional passing supermodel or famous racing driver and the other-worldly feel was complete. In fact, surveying the crowd of familiar faces I made a discovery: Stood on the lawn was TV presenter and gentleman racer Alain de Cadenet and next to him was his car. It just happens to be a priceless 1930s Alfa Romeo 8C. In blood red. Suddenly I was particularly glad I hadn’t T-boned that car on the A286...

Drifting - Chinese style

2009-03-16T10:18:00.002Z

I've hitherto resisted the temptation to post multiple Youtube links, but this one is too good to miss. Maybe a Chinese pickup truck is the answer to the proposed 50mph speed limit?

The Speed Merchants

2009-03-15T17:10:00.003Z

Following on from Le Mans (watched last month) I decided to maintain the theme with a similar slice of retro motor racing. And I suspect that’s pretty much what the film’s producer Michael Keyser must have been aiming to do as well. It’s setting, the 1972 World Sports Car Championship, has more than a hint of the iconic Steve McQueen movie about it, but this time the action is real.

It principally focuses on Mario Andretti at Ferrari and Vic Elford at for Alfa Romeo, but Brian Redman, Helmut Marko and Jacky Ickx all make significant supporting appearances, as do a mouth-watering array of sports racing cars. However, despite its abundant car-porn, the film’s main success is intimately portraying the emotional toll of racing, back in the days when fatal or career-ending accidents were all too common and the money raised from racing could barely support a family.

The obviously scripted commentary from the two main drivers, complete with some hilariously wooden tagged-on comments strangely adds to the appeal. Far from seeming ‘put up’, The Speed Merchants comes over as both authentic and deeply atmospheric. The impressive level of access to all the major teams helps no end, but it’s the striking cinéma vérité visuals, combined with Paul Harris’ genuinely haunting piano score which really bring this film to life. As the final frame freezes with Andretti’s Ferrari 312PB streaking along the main straight at Watkins Glen there’s a feeling that they genuinely have frozen a moment in time.

The beginning of the end for UK motoring?

2009-03-08T13:01:00.010Z

This morning the UK government announced plans to reduce the national speed limit from 60mph to 50mph. What’s more a new wave of average speed cameras is planned to enforce the reduction. The official justification for this is of course road safety, with some conveniently obliging government statistics to back the message.

“We are killing 3,000 people a year on our roads,” said roads minister Jim Fitzpatrick. “It would be irresponsible not to do something about it and I’m sure that the vast majority of motorists would support the proposals.”

Well, here comes the science bit: According to the government 69% of fatal car crashes on UK roads in 2007 occurred in rural areas. Que a recent study by the Department of Transport, which claims that a 10mph reduction in the speed limit would save around 200 lives a year. However, even the highest estimate only puts a third of these down to excessive speed - an almost equally large proportion is attributed to drivers under the influence of drugs.

UK roads were for many years – when the national speed limit was 60mph and 70mph before that – rated as the safest in the world. Nonetheless, accidents still have to occur somewhere, and if you look at the options it’s no wonder that they will be on rural roads. The conditions in town means that a reasonably sensible driver never really goes fast enough to kill another motorist – even pedestrians are relatively safe at 20 or 30mph down the high street. Take our other major road category, motorways, and although the speeds are much higher there are no junctions or oncoming cars to worry about. Logically you’d expect nearly 100% of our road accidents to be on rural NSL roads, not 69.

The government’s target optimistically equates to a 6% reduction in road casualties, or a total reduction in the number of people dying each year in Britain by 0.04%. Surely if the aim is to save lives the money could be better spent elsewhere? Last time the politicians played Risk in the Middle East hundreds, if not thousands, of times that number were killed. If you want to make the world a safer place there are more cost effective solutions.

Indeed, there are more cost effective ways of making the UK roads a safer place. How about better standards of driving tuition? Zero tolerance on drugs, and more human police officers rather than R2D2 spying on you from a yellow box? Sadly you have to concede the answer is money. Average speed cameras are notoriously effective at catching drivers unaware as they do not monitor one particular black spot, but rather a wider stretch with potentially no other hazards. Add to that the fact that it neatly paves the way for ‘pay as you drive’ road charging schemes and makes up for the loss in tax revenue from greener vehicles, and it suddenly sounds disturbingly real.

I’d love to think this will disapear like so many crackpot vote winners before it, but sadly apathy looks set to take over. Most people live in suburban connobations. And, when they do venture into the countryside, they sit at precisely 43mph until their gormless, commatosed state causes an accident, still well within the confines of the proposed laws. It won’t affect them and many, no doubt, will support it. I’d love to end on a cheery note about heading to the burgeoning track day scene, but with councils across the country clamping down on noise regulations, even that looks under threat. Sadly it seems whatever the greater bulk of voters don’t want or can’t afford will always be a target. I would say that’s just democracy, but with us sliding apathetically towards a police state, even that doesn’t seem to justify it.

Run to the hills

2009-03-05T13:48:00.008Z

Day One
It’s 7:15pm, on an unseasonably mild February evening at Reading Services on the M4, and I’m sitting outside on the grass bank that lines one side of the car park. I’m waiting for my best mate and fellow car nut Ian Robinson. A few feet away on the tarmac the TVR sits gleaming under the spot lights, and somewhere on the M25 Ian is nearing the rendezvous in his Fiat Panda 100HP.

The aim of the next couple of days is twofold. Firstly, we’re travelling down to Llandow race circuit near Cardiff, ostensibly to write a story on the Adrenaline Motorsport’s Murtaya Britcar entry for Race Tech, but also to take the TVR on track. Secondly, it seems a shame not to pay a visit to the Brecon Beacons – said to be the home of some of Britain’s best driving roads – while we’re there.

A phone call signals the arrival of the mighty Panda and within minutes we’re heading out onto the motorway. Having had various tip offs about good roads I’ve loaded a mind bogglingly complex route into the sat nav and so all that remains is to press go. At least in theory.

Day Two
Day two dawns early as we scoff an unusual breakfast of Y-Fenni cheese on toast and set off towards the circuit. I can’t deny I’m feeling slightly apprehensive about taking the TVR on track, after my last, (somewhat sobering) attempt was plagued by unpredictable bouts of snap oversteer. It wasn’t really a problem then, but Llandow, unlike North Weald airfield, has very little run off area. What’s more I know from past experience just how quick the Murtayas and the tuned Imprezas due to turn up can be. I fully expect to be scared witless as banzai 600bhp monsters fly by left right and centre.

I do have a couple of tricks up my sleeve though. Since last time I’ve had the front ride height raised to the correct level and, after we park up at the track, I set to work adjusting the dampers. The first few laps are taken cautiously, and then it hits me: The car is handling well. Really, really well. It feels far more planted at high speeds, with a fundamentally neutral balance that can be coaxed into oversteer using the throttle at low speeds, or a slight lift to tuck the nose in at higher speeds. The change is simply unbelievable and the new package is nothing short of sublime.

However, as I start to get carried away, it feels like the rear tyres are suffering somewhat so I head back to the pits. After a few minutes for them to cool down, Ian and I head back out, but something appears to have gone very badly wrong. There’s a massive vibration coming from the rear of the car and we nurse it round to the pits. Trying not to think of wheel bearing failures or broken suspension arms, the only other option seems to be a loose wheel, so I head straight for the rear left. It’s the only wheel that renowned specialists The TVR Centre needed to remove for the recent fuel sender change and sure enough it’s loose. I let off a stream of expletives and settle into a daze – minutes before we were doing 100mph towards a very solid looking crash barrier, dependant on that wheel for safety.

After torqueing the wheel nuts up – something that one of North London’s most expensive garages is seemingly incapable of doing – we head back onto the circuit. Fortunately the car is once again handling fantastically and, confident it’s no longer likely to kill either of us, I come in to swap seats with Ian. “Have fun,” I explain. “But just remember: if you break it, you pay for it!”

Even from the passenger seat the S3 makes for a fantastic ride. Ian has always been quicker to adapt to things than I am and we’re doing a very respectable pace right from the first lap. On about the fourth attempt we come into the bus stop chicane just after the start/finish straight. As he goes for the power on the second left-hander the back end starts to come round and Ian steers into it but overcorrects and sends us into a tank-slapper. The final rotation sees the car pirouetting back to the left, where we finish on a mercifully clear stretch of tarmac some yards away from the nearest barrier.

“That was fun!” I exclaim, but Ian isn’t quite so sure, so we return to the pits for another driver swap. It later transpires that he managed to dislocate his thumb during the first part of the drama and this may well have been the reason we ended up spinning. Sadly it marks the end of his circuit driving for the day. For me, however, the next outing proves to be a rather special one. The Murtaya demonstrator is out of action but, explains Neil Yates of Adrenaline, I can do a few laps in the racer if I like.

Minutes later I’m struggling to post my less-than-athletic form through the roll cage of the enclosed GT racer. Ingress is a mild challenge, but the real problem comes from trying to fit my crash helmet once I’m inside. The boxer engine’s staccato note fires up and then settles to a bassy idle as works driver James Harrison gives me a few last points: “Try and be smooth, only use 2nd, 3rd and 4th and make sure you short shift coming out of the bus stop.” My apprehension builds as we head out onto the circuit. Pulling out onto the track I take the first trip through the chicane very gently and short shift into third as requested. As I feed the power in towards the first straight it dawns on me that actually this production class racer has significantly less power than the wild road-going demonstrator I sampled last summer.

Nonetheless it feels very much a race car, with the stripped out dash, integral roll cage and plumbed-in fire extinguisher. The characteristic wave of turbocharged torque remains, as does the chirp from the waste gates when you lift off. Beside me, James is proving to be an excellent instructor. He points out a few new lines – particularly through the tricky high speed chicane towards the end of the lap – and provides plenty of encouragement. “Ok, this time go into 5th,” he says. “Good now keep the throttle pinned – pin it – don’t touch the brakes – now brake!” We fly around the long final corner, with the front tyres just starting to give way to mild understeer before slingshotting past one of the road going Scoobys like it’s stuck in reverse. One lap later we return to the pits and I pause to catch my breath before beginning the predictably tortuous extraction process.

In the afternoon I return to the track in the TVR and put some of James’ advice into practice. With the rear dampers turned up another notch and a bit more familiarity with the track I’m starting to make quite respectable process. To my astonishment ‘the baby TVR’ makes its way past several Imprezas, a track prepared Clio 182 and even the odd Murtaya over the next couple of hours. I still can’t believe the change – it simply wouldn’t have been possible one week previously even though they were obviously driving more gently than I was. As it is, my final trip onto the circuit at around 5pm sees the chequered flag hung out from the control tower. I never expected as much track time, nor for the TVR to be so entertaining. I return unbelievably chuffed to the car park and, after saying our goodbyes to the other drivers, Ian and I set off in convoy back to the B&B.

Day Three
It’s another early start on Sunday and another fine breakfast at Rectory Cottage. Today, in theory, is the big one, with a full itinerary planned out taking us over some of the most spectacular roads in Wales. We head out with the Tom Tom in control – me in front in the TVR and Ian following behind in the Panda. From the start it’s obvious that yesterday’s track setup greatly enhances things on the road too. What it loses in ride comfort over the broken tarmac, it more than makes up for with improved body control and greater composure.

After skirting the Beacons on the Head of the Valleys Road for some miles we wind our way through the ominously grey streets of one last Valleys town, before suddenly the road opens out over a cattle grid and we’re thrust onto the moor. There’s little here other than the occasional sheep and mile after mile of windswept heathland. It’s a truly breathtaking location and, as promised, a fine road. Unfortunately the local topography lends itself to repeated blind crests which slow the progress somewhat in a low slung car on an unfamiliar road, but the views are every bit as epic as anticipated. Apart from a few lost tourists acting as mobile chicanes we’re alone until a pair of Porsches streak past in the opposite direction as we descend into Langynidr.

There we once again place our trust in the sat nav, which takes us up to Brecon on the B4588 as planned. It makes for a very picturesque route, but with a narrow road, tall hedges and a dawdling Vauxhall ahead, not one for hooning. However, after a short trip along the A470 we find something altogether more satisfying.

The A4059 starts off inconspicuously, sweeping through a patch of conifers, before emerging onto the open moorland. Pausing for photographs, we spot patches of snow remaining on the opposite side of the valley and a cool wind whistles past the camera. Nonetheless, it’s time to take the hood panels off and, once safely stowed in the back of the Panda, we make our way back onto the road. And what a road... it snakes over the Beacons with reasonable visibility and a good surface all the way. The fast sweeping corners flow into each other with short straights between them and the occasional tighter bend thrown in for good measure. It’s my first chance to really exercise the TVR today and the long gearing, hairy-chested torque and new-found high speed stability suddenly come into their own. With the roof down every last blipped down change is heard in glorious stereo and the pace starts to rise. Life is good.

After a brief spell back on the dual carriageway, we pick up the A4109. It’s only supposed to be a connecting route, but it proves quite an entertaining drive in itself. The slow trundle through the streets of Brynamman that follows may not be quite so exciting, but what is to come more than makes up for it.

Once again civilisation rolls back to plunge us into the wilderness. But this isn’t just any patch of wilderness; it marks the start of the A4069, the infamous Black Mountain Road. After briefly lulling us into a false sense of security it starts to live up to its reputation. The sides of the road close in, with an unremitting stream of jagged rocks marking out its boundaries and a series of adverse cambers. What’s more the surface changes to a dark tarmac with curiously shiny flakes imbedded in it that the TVR’s Bridgestones don’t like one bit. We slither cautiously around the corners until the surface changes and the road widens somewhat just uphill of the old quarry that sits by the summit of the Black Mountain. Back on the gas, we slingshot down the next half a mile or so until we reach what is possibly the most famous photo location in UK motoring journalism.

The ‘Evo Hairpin’ as it’s often dubbed perches high up on the side of the valley, offering incredible views over the northern tip of the Brecon Beacons. For this very reason we slow down looking for somewhere to take a few photos and pull up on the outside of the bend next to a beautifully prepared TVR Griffith. There’s a tremendous camaraderie between TVR drivers and they always seem to be up for a chat with like-minded enthusiasts. Wyn Davies is no exception - it turns out he owned a string of V8 TVR ‘Wedges’ before adopting the immaculate black Griffith you see in the picture. He gives us the benefit of some local knowledge regarding the Mid Wales roads, before heading off in a thunderous symphony of V8 revs and protesting tyres.

As we make our way back down the valley the narrow mountain road jinks left and right clinging to the side of the hill, with regular bumps and camber changes to keep us on our toes. Aided by the new setup the TVR is digging in out of the slow corners and catapulting itself down the road with impressive force. The tenacious little Panda isn’t losing any significant amount of ground either though, as we bang and pop our way off the moor.

What the next stretch of the A4069 lacks in visual impact compared to its high mountain section, it makes up for with better visibility and a wider, more reliable road surface. We swoop down under the trees, apex to apex with barely a dab of the brakes as the road flows towards its northern tip at Llangadog. It’s so good that we turn around as the road flattens out and make a return trip up to the quarry. On the ascent, with the road now more familiar, we up the pace a little. The TVR’s torque becomes a clear advantage on the uphill stretch, but the diminutive Fiat is doing a good job of staying in touch. I’m learning that it pays to dip down into second gear – if nothing else it gives the excuse for a self indulgent down change – but it makes for quite an interesting ride as the wheels spin up and S3’s rear skips nervously over one of the more pronounced bumps. This is not a road to be taken lightly, but it certainly rewards when you get it right, particularly in the southerly direction. At the top we turn around and head back down with ever increasing grins.

This descent fundamentally marks the end of our Brecon Beacons route, but after lunch and an hour or so burbling along behind tourist traffic on the A40 we found an unexpected highlight. The B4235 starts off as a pleasant, but fairly unassuming country road. It gets progressively twistier as you head towards Chepstow, culminating in an almost alpine series of Armco-lined switchbacks under the trees. Once again a repeat is in order and we go back to a point about half way up before turning around. Setting off we encounter two bikers who approach from behind. After a brief spell it’s clear that lead rider is able to make more progress than us on the more open stretch, so I signal to let him past.

Tagging on behind I can get a much better idea of where the roads goes and I keep up for a time before the bike edges out of view. Then something happens. It all starts to come together and the TVR and I start covering ground a lot more rapidly. Coming back into the tighter section, the improved body control offered by the new setup and superb feedback from the front wheels allows me to exploit the excellent road surface. The bike comes back into view and soon, along the tightest stretch, I find myself gaining on him. For a couple of hundred yards we go along in unison until a slower car spoils my fun and he disappears into the distance. It doesn’t matter though, because I’m grinning like an idiot after one of the defining driving experiences of my life. I’m still in this state of delirium as the Panda comes back into view behind, with the second biker still tucked in behind it. It seems a good drive was had by all!

Shortly afterwards we pull into a service station, buzzing with adrenaline, before commencing the long slog back to London. It’s been a superb weekend, one with some unexpected bonuses, yet - perhaps more impressively - absolutely no disappointments. It seems a repeat is definitely called for – but one thing’s for sure – we won’t forget this trip in a hurry.

Quantum shift

2009-03-02T14:35:00.004Z

The experience of driving a well setup Caterham Superlight on track has somewhat redefined just how good a car can be. With its impeccably damped suspension delivering virtually zero body roll, its beautifully stiff chassis responding to every action, and its telepathically accurate steering delivering superb turn in and feedback, the Caterham was a revelation. It forms the perfect track day tool in the same way that the Lotus Elise comes together so beautifully on a B-road.

The real reason, however, that I found myself at the Brands Hatch Indy circuit last week to sample Quaife’s 60G sequential gearbox. It’s a race-spec unit intended to replace the ageing Ford Type 9 gearbox found in many kit and race cars, including various Caterhams, Westfields and Ginettas. What’s more in the case of this unit it features a Geartronics pneumatic paddle-shift system, which enables you to change gear at the touch of a button.

The system comes with its own ECU that provides an automatic ignition cut on upshifts and a throttle blip on the way down, meaning the car can be driven clutchless on the move. It renders heel and toeing redundant (which is useful if, like me, you can’t do it) and cuts gearchange times to as little as 30ms on the way up and 100ms on the way down.

It proved hugely effective and very straightforward to use when driving hard. A switchable auto upshift system prevents over-revving if you fail to change up, although on this occasion I suspect it had been set somewhat low to prevent careless journos destroying the test car. Meanwhile, the downshifts were very rapid and reasonably smooth at higher engine speeds. Meandering out of the pits and when on the road the system is a little more intrusive, but a simple dip of the clutch smoothes over the changes.

The paddle-shift system proved very impressive and would no doubt be a useful addition to the club racer’s armoury. It also made for an incredible track day accessory and perfectly complemented the Caterham’s racy persona. The chance to sample it in such an evocative setting was fantastic and many thanks to Race Tech magazine and Quaife for the opportunity.

Out to launch

2009-02-15T17:48:00.003Z

There are some things you’re always supposed to remember, be it starting school, learning to rider a bike or your first kiss. Well I can add another one to that, and you don’t have to worry about nose-avoidance tilting or whether you’ll accidentally get entwined in anyone’s braces. Specifically, it’s any budding car journo’s first launch. And mine just took place.

I nearly didn’t make it thanks to an unbelievably hellish trip round the M25 which saw me take nearly three hours to cover the twenty or so miles to Heathrow. There I met Peugeot UK PR bosses Ian Sedgwick and Andy Sutton over breakfast, before boarding our flight to Paris.

The waiting taxi whisked us from Charles de Gaulle airport into the heart of the city – coincidentally along the very road that featured in the opening part of the infamous driving movie Rendezvous. After a brief orange juice in a café on the opposite side of la Grande-Armée we crossed into the firm’s Paris headquarters. There I was introduced to Bruno Famin, the technical director of Peugeot Sport division and none other than Christian Peugeot – heir to the family business.

We sat through a predictably corporate presentation at the start of the ceremony, where the drivers were announced and, surprisingly, Peugeot declared it wanted to win the 2009 Le Mans 24 hours. Then two very pleasant young ladies and a group of less aesthetically gifted middle-aged executives took the wraps off the car. I tried to get a photo of the exact moment it happened, but conscious of the fact I was there to write the words – unlike the snappers whose mortgages actually depend on it – I stayed back. Still, holding the camera aloft, I did manage to get the one grainy, out of focus shot, which you can see below. And it captures the exact moment I went through this rite of passage. Here’s to many more.

Going dizzy

2009-02-10T22:24:00.007Z

The horizon rotated around and around as I catapulted across the wet tarmac. I’d just got it wrong on the high-speed turn again. Although not that high speed in the grand scheme of things - about 80mph in the streaming wet - the corner in question was showing up inherent flaws in both the car and the driver.

I’d tried Andy Walsh’s techniques for high speed cornering with mixed success and it was rapidly becoming obvious just how much skill it takes to pedal a car with the same panache as the wry Welshman. Whatever I was doing wrong it was still immense fun, given more than enough run-off to pirouette to my heart’s content and a group of like-minded individuals who were all doing much the same thing. Admittedly, being principally cocooned in edgy mid-engined Lotuses, they had more of an excuse.

Come the afternoon we switched to a different approach. Two circuits were set up on opposite sides of the airfield and we were free to move between them. At each, people queued to hurtle round a succession of cones which marked the track from the grey expanse of tarmac that forms North Weald airfield. The Lotus drivers were seemingly all regulars who knew Andy, not to mention each other, well. They’d set up camp on the slightly longer circuit and the handful of newbies present were recommended to try the shorter sprint.

In the streaming rain my first run came in at a less than impressive 1:03. I went out again, determined to break the one-minute barrier: Out, round the tight infield section, onto the long fast service road, braking hard to a 180 degree loop around the far cone and then back, retracing my route and sliding to a halt in the finishing box. After a couple of immensely enjoyable attempts I finally crept into the 58s and I was grinning like an idiot. What’s more something strange had happened – on those slightly slower turns the TVR was pure joy to drive. After the merest hint of well-telegraphed understeer it would go into eminently controllable, deeply flattering power oversteer. Bargain.

And so, buoyed by the experience, I decided to try the main track. After joining a long queue of drenched Lotae I finally got a run at the new loop only to find it involved roughly the same track time as the circuit I’d just left. It had roughly the same number of corners, just considerably longer straights between. The competition was fierce amongst the Lotus boys, but I scraped anonymously onto the bottom of the leader board merely labelled as ‘TVR – slowest so far’. Time to head back.

On the other side of the airfield the crowd had thinned down to three other cars, dropping to two after a few minutes. And it was simply fantastic. Everyone was in good spirits, the car was feeling better and better, and I eventually summoned a time of 56.3 seconds. This put me well into Lotus territory (although not in the case of the guy with a supercharged S1 Elise who was a clear four seconds faster). What’s more, with virtually no waiting time in between the runs, I could afford give up on the stopwatch and stage my own mini drift tournament on some of them. Again the car impressed, but I couldn’t believe it was due to a dramatic increase of skill since lunchtime. It seemed likely that something in the setup (or indeed my technique) inherently favoured low speed corners - the difference was night and day.

Whatever the reason, the Car Limits activity day had been tremendous fun and fantastic value for money. It may not have quite given the track time of a conventional circuit day, but it cost a fraction of the price and still offered far more than a corporate driving experience would. It provided an excellent taster for Andy’s (much more intense, two or four person) driver training days and left me eager to book a return visit. Maybe next time I’ll finally be able to drive the car as flamboyantly at high speeds as I can while slithering around the cones. Maybe.

North and Sarthe

2009-02-01T14:10:00.003Z

After watching my boss’ face contort in a variety of amusing ways when I explained I’d never seen ‘the definitive racing movie’ Le Mans, I promptly decided to order a copy. It came through some weeks ago and last night, with my long-suffering girlfriend oop north and a ready supply of beer and pizza on hand, I finally had the ideal opportunity to watch it.

It is indeed an epic experience - providing you’re a petrolhead. Despite Steve McQueen’s brooding presence, the cars are the real stars of the film and it even goes for an impressive 37 minutes before the first line of dialogue is uttered. Some might say it’s a little bit light on plot too. Mercifully, the growing connection between McQueen and the widow of a driver killed in an accident he was involved in is kept brief. Instead it simply follows the race between arch-rivals Porsche and Ferrari.

The footage of Porsche 917s and Ferrari 512s battling it out at La Sarthe is breathtaking, and with good reason. Many of the driving sequences were filmed in the real 1970 Le Mans race where the production company entered a Porsche 908 camera car. Persistent rumours claim that, despite the producer’s attempts to stop him, McQueen actually drove during the race.

Either way, it provides a very atmospheric and authentic portrayal of the most evocative motor race on the planet. It’s very much a product of its time, complete with CI5 haircuts and an achingly cool jazz soundtrack, but the action is 100 percent contemporary. Heartily recommended, but definitely one for the hardcore petrolhead.

Suspension of disbelief

2009-01-28T18:28:00.006Z

‘These things are sent to try us’… I’m not a religious person, but I do distinctly remember something along those lines. And by divine intervention or not they certainly seem to have been happening.

After fixing my plans to keep the TVR, I swung into action with a phone call to Derek Gardiner of Absolutely Shocks. We’d met the previous week at Autosport International and having owned a string of S-Series TVRs, and with very close links with shock manufacturers Gaz, he seemed like the ideal man for the job. So, that weekend Derek was set to pick up the tiv and return it with a pristine set of new springs and shocks, finely tuned to handling perfection on a four-point alignment rig.

Little did I know, things were about to get biblical. First the car developed what turned out to be an immobiliser fault (coincidentally the result of finest Japanese engineering and not a TVR part). Next, with plans re-arranged to ship the car down on a trailer, some idiot decided to park his Clio in front of the garage door, sealing it in. With that removed and the car on its way, I had to chase after Derek who'd forgotten the keys. Next, safely tucked up in the Gaz workshop it took no less than two callouts from the auto electrician to revive it, during which time the speedo and tachometer mysteriously stopped functioning. Surely things would now be simple? Er, no.

“It’s a tiny little bit firm,” explained Derek on the phone before bringing the car back, "and the ride height appears to have settled quite a bit since I did it.” A brief test drive returned mixed results – the chassis was more than capable of working with the new firmer settings, but the driver most definitely was not. What’s more the reduced ride height had caused it to ground with monotonous regularity. And so, back to the factory it went.

The fault was eventually traced to the wrong type of valving on the rear shocks, which was promptly rectified, along with an increase in front ride height. Second time round, you simply wouldn’t believe the difference it made. The (reasonably firm) ride is now every bit as good as it ever was, but the body control is greatly improved. Where it would previously pitch into corners, it now resists roll well and feels far more composed. As well as making the car much more nimble, the tweaks have also indirectly sharpened up the steering. Instead of taking its time to load up and start giving you meaningful feedback, it now does so from the off. This means confidence in the car is much increased and you can now chuck it into corners far more exuberantly than was previously wise.

So are there any downsides? Essentially speaking, no. It does still have a tendency to kiss the tarmac on very bumpy B-roads and the occasional speed bump, but this is somewhat of an occupational hazard with the S-Series and the sparks do at least look cool. Aside of that, it appears to be all for the better. The real test, however, will come next week, when the car goes for its first foray onto the track and its weakest component – the driver – goes with it.

Problem solvent

2009-01-18T19:07:00.002Z

‘Tick this box to discuss savings’. Those were the words written on the deposit envelope as I paid in the last lump sum from my former life at Ford. And it seemed like a good idea - despite the much-clichéd global economic meltdown I’ve never been in a better position financially and putting some away for a rainy day seemed like a solid plan.

Except when the bank actually phoned me over Christmas the best they could offer, even on a 9-month bond, was still below inflation. In slight disbelief I clarified, “so I’d actually end up losing 0.8% a year?” “Erm, yeah,” Mr Barclays sheepishly replied, “you would”. So at that point I reasoned I’d rather lose a little more, but get a car for my troubles.

Dangerous thoughts started filling my head. If it was going to be sort of an investment, lovingly secreted in the garage and rarely used, then all manner of hitherto unobtainable machinery was now an option. An Aston martin Virage appealed, but while I could just about afford to buy one, the first Aston-only part to go pop would have put me in much the same position as Lehman Brothers. Likewise, a Maserati 3200GT, although now quite affordable, is capable of generating its own value in service bills each year. So, in the end, the list of potential replacements for the S3 came down to various other TVRs.

After much umming and arring, I decided the Cerbera was out – partly for financial reasons and partly because the car that one magazine described as ‘violently unpredictable, intimidating and in some cases downright undriveable’ would very possibly kill me. Much the same argument was applied to the Tuscan 2. And, while the Tamora and T350C were said to be less intimidating behind the wheel, the spectre of repeated Speed Six engine rebuilds loomed large, as did the prospect of higher depreciation. So, it seemed like a two-horse race between the Griffith and the Chimaera.

However, a funny thing happened when I went to look at them. Growing up in the ‘90s, the Griffith had always seemed like the iconic TVR, but in the flesh I couldn’t understand the considerable premium it commands over its bigger-booted sibling. Both sharing the same chassis, and being largely the same mechanically, I elected to try a Chimaera. Behind the wheel, its straight-line performance advantage over the V6-engined S was nothing like as dramatic as expected and it just didn’t feel as nimble or as communicative as ‘the entry level’ S3. I went home unconvinced.

Despite my reservations about the newer cars, I still didn’t feel like I’d done the TVR thing. So, after much deliberation and a chance meeting with a TVR S-Series suspension guru at the Autosport Show, the decision was made to stick with the current car for a while. However, I plan to carry out a few changes: The standard dampers are going in favour of Gaz Gold Pros, the original springs are being replaced with stiffer units and I plan to sort out a few of the car’s idiosyncrasies, such as the hood and the fuel gauge.

This leaves a more or less Griffith-sized chunk still sat in the bank – part of which I intend to squander on petrol and track day fees - hopefully the first of which will be the Car Limits Activity Day at North Weald in a couple of weeks. As for the rest, well I guess that'll go under the mattress for the time being - after all, money is much harder to come by in my new career. But at least the financial outlook could be worse… I could work for a bank.

2008

2008-12-31T13:29:00.007Z

Around this time, people across the country will be reflecting on what they achieved in 2008. It's a yearly ritual I'm often a bit reluctant to carry out, for fear that I haven't really moved on much in the last twelve months. But not this year.

Skipping back, almost to the beginning of January, I found myself on a desolate, wind swept, ex-RAF base on the eastern tip of Essex. I'd gone there, in place of my day job at Ford, to write an article on the Piper GTR track day car. The wind was icy cold, but I couldn't care less. I was about to step into a mid-engined sports racer for the first time, write one of my first 'proper' articles and experiment with my new digital SLR. Life was good.

The following month was dominated by the arrival of the TVR. It was the first time I'd really gone out and searched the country for a pristine example of anything. The long, loud, top-down drive back from Humberside set the tone for disrupting the peace of the countryside and, the best part of a year later, I remain utterly chuffed with the purchase.

There was a brief return to normality before things went into overdrive in the spring. In May I attended my first work placement at MSN Cars in London. The following month I had the great pleasure of revisiting them for the Lotus Elise versus Honda S2000 twin test, not to mention attending Autocar's drift school at Silverstone and acquiring my own garage (to secrete yet more cars in) with the new house. The pace didn't slacken for July and August either, which saw me attend further work placements at Evo and Autocar, carry out my first proper road test with the mighty AMS Murtaya and apply for my first fulltime job in journalism.

And so, in September, between road tripping around South Wales and making my first pilgrimage to the Nurburgring, I made the switch from automotive engineering to writing. It's since led me to Modenna, Maranello, Cologne and Florida to name a few. As predicted, it has entailed at least twice as many working hours and rather less than half as much pay, but you know what? I'm hooked.

If this sounds self-indulgent (even more than usual...) then that's because it is. I've marked too many New Year's Eves with the dull realisation that I haven't moved on in any meaningful way, but this time I feel justifiably proud of what I've achieved: Nought to journalist in sixty weeks... here's to maintaining that momentum.

Thunder in The Tunnels

2008-12-28T15:26:00.009Z

A 'small informal' TVR gathering comes to the streets of London

It's 4:30am on a dark, murky November morning and the roads are slick with their winter sheen of perma-damp. Normally I'd enjoy the idea of deserted tarmac, but right now, I'm just desperately trying to wake up on my way to meet the rest of the Hertfordshire contingent en route to the Thunder in The Tunnels TVR run.

A cereal bar and a healthy dose of caffeine at our South Mimms rendezvous does the trick and I'm soon part of the thunderous convoy into making its way into the capital. The general damp has given way to a full on downpour, but to my surprise the S3 remains bone dry inside and really rather civilised. There's plenty of time to check for leaks as an accident on the A12 - fortunately not one of us - holds up our arrival. As a result, once we're moving again and nearing the start point, there are already cars roaring past in the other direction. A group of us elect to perform a hasty u-turn and join the main part of the run.

For a while there’s nothing other than flame-spitting TVRs flying left right and centre in the dark, otherwise-deserted streets. There’s a sense of mischief about it – like Satan’s little minions let out for a night to wreak havoc. Confusion reigns and after a couple of runs through the Limehouse Link and Rotherhithe tunnels, we come round a corner to join a stationary bunch of TVRs regrouping. As one of the cars at the front starts to move I elect to join him, but rapidly it dawns on me that no one is following.

Maybe the guy I've chosen to follow isn’t on the correct route – for that matter, maybe he’s decided to go home for some reason? Still, having zero knowledge of central London I elect to tag along. We stooge round for a while before pulling over and (after brief introductions) hazard a guess at where we’re actually supposed to be heading. A few minutes later, driving down an equally unfamiliar road, we spot (or rather, hear) a silver Sagaris up ahead as it darts into a side turning. Upon approach the turning just looks wrong – narrow and well-concealed, it seems more like the entrance to a car park, but sure enough it's another tunnel there's half a dozen TVRs parked up inside.

I get out to stretch my legs, take a few photographs and meet some of the other tunnel runners – during which time the main group of cars shows up with a thunderous roar. First comes David Hughes, the organiser, in his bellowing supercharged Chimera 500, complete with flags and banners. Following him, a stream of Cerberas, T350Cs and Wedges come past, with an ear splitting burst of acceleration, followed by sheets of flame popping out the exhaust on overrun.

After looping back for a couple of more runs, David gives the order to move on. By the time I’ve got back in the car most people have already gone and then… silence. I try to start it but the starter motor won’t engage and it occurs to me that leaving the lights on wasn’t the smartest move. After sitting with the lights switched off for a minute and playing with the immobiliser I finally manage to coax the S3 back into life and head off behind an enthusiastically driven T350C that’s making one last run through the tunnel.

I follow it to the next re-grouping point in Battersea park, where bladders are drained and cars are dreweled over. Fortunately the rain has now stopped and the sun has just risen, making it an ideal time to survey the hundred or so TVRs assembled in this automotive art gallery beside the Thames.

The next leg takes us through the city. Again confusion reigns as the traffic lights conspire to separate me from the pack. I make an impromptu U-turn after spotting a Cerbera coming in the opposite direction and fortunately he appears to know where he’s going. We carry on to Whitehall – looping round around Parliament Square and Trafalgar Square. The police seem to be paying rather more attention to the proceedings now, but the good natured (if somewhat spirited) driving is treated with discretion – proof positive that we’re much better off with real coppers than revenue-generating cameras. In fact, I suspect they were largely there for the fun of it.

As the regrouping concludes, the entirety of Pall Mall is filled with TVRs on both sides. It's a fitting climax to our little early morning drive through the capital and a sight to behold. The final part of the run takes us underneath the gloriously echoey A40 elevated section, through West London and on to the famous Ace Cafe. The car park and beyond that, the road, the adjoining roads and every other available scrap of tarmac rapidly fills up with TVRs, while the kitchen goes into overdrive supplying cooked breakfasts and bacon butties to a couple of hundred hungry petrolheads.

Surveying the scene I can't help feeling pride in my six cylinder 'baby TVR'. It acquited itslef very well, both in terms of noise and performance, compared to its V8 bretherin - not to mention a couple of non-TVR interlopers. It performed faultlessly and remained a very pleasant, comfortable place to be in the cold, wet conditions. What's more the event had been great fun and a fine chance to meet some like-minded (and equally mascochistic) fellow enthusiasts. In the end it was more than worth crawling out of bed at such an ungodly hour. I would, however, recommend a can or two of Redbull before setting off next time.

My cars: Mazda Eunos Roadster RS-LTD

2008-11-24T22:07:00.007Z

I started off this blog looking at some of my previous cars, now we pick up the story at number five - no hairdresser jokes please.

Do you have a defining mental image of any car? I do, at least in the case of the Mazda Eunos Roadster, and it’s the one you see above. It was taken one Sunday evening as I was driving back to Chelmsford from London. I’d already decided to take the fun route across country, but rapidly forgot about my destination altogether and just began driving around the rural north of Essex. It was around 9pm by the time that photo was taken; the countryside was bathed in the last of the warm summer sunshine and I’d been driving for around two hours, completely lost in the experience. Somehow I’d only seen a handful of cars and a few enthusiastically ridden bikes in that time and I’d had a real chance to enjoy the Eunos Roadster.

And it wasn’t any old Eunos either. The car in question was one of just 500 hardcore ‘RS-Limited’ special editions – the most focused factory iteration of the Mk1 Eunos (or indeed MX5 or Miata depending on the market). It came with a raft of genuinely useful performance modifications including extra chassis bracing, a lowered final drive ratio, a lightened flywheel, a Torsen limited slip differential, Bilstein dampers and carbon fibre Recaro seats.

More fundamentally, the Eunos was Japanese giant Mazda’s attempt to recapture the fun factor of a classic British roadster. Legend has it that the design team were given a fleet of MG Midgets, Triumph Spitfires and TRs to drive, inspect and analyse. They are said to have spent hours just listening to recordings of the MG’s characteristic exhaust note in an attempt to recreate it on the new roadster. And, on the whole, you’d have to say they did a pretty good job. The rasp it emitted sounded perfect when bouncing off a passing wall, even if it arguably lacked that final degree of attitude. The engine, meanwhile, felt eager and snappy with a very linear torque curve and excellent responses. What’s more it was mated to one of the nicest mass produced gearboxes around complete with a very positive short-throw action and beautifully stacked ratios.

In the cold and frequently damp climes of the UK, the original Japanese-market tyres on my imported Eunos tended to dominate the handling somewhat. In the dry it frankly felt a little over-tyred on occasions, when the modest 140hp struggled to alter the balance of its impressive grip reserves. However, at the slightest hint of moisture, it became a very different story. The Teflon-smooth Bridgestones would conspire with the car’s trick differential to produce hilarious levels of oversteer at minimal speeds and throttle openings. This leads to my second defining memory of the Eunos – applying opposite lock with one hand, half asleep, coming out of the T-junction near my house on wet mornings.

While it was great fun and eminently controllable, the Mazda’s wayward manner could also be a pain in day-to-day driving. The wet-weather grip reserves were so low that you had very little safety margin at normal traffic speeds. Much of this would probably have been remedied by some more suitable tyres, but I was never entirely convinced that there weren’t a few more fundamental problems – at least with this particular example. In addition to the grip levels, and very much contrary to their reputation, the steering was curiously lacking in feedback, there was noticeable scuttle shake and the brakes offered little in the way of feel or stopping power.

Yet, given the right setup modifications, the Eunos would doubtlessly have proved an ideal every day sports car. To bolster its case it came with bulletproof reliability, a surprisingly ample boot and one of the few genuinely watertight convertible hoods I’ve ever come across. And recently I’ve found myself contemplating getting a decent example for daily transport (and possibly a supercharger to go with it).

Back then, however, there was always a nagging thought in my mind. Mazda truly had created a modern Japanese take on the 1960s British sports car and, in most quantifiable respects, they’d improved on it. But had they gone a step too far? The plastic-laden dashboard sometimes felt a little soulless; and the (admittedly competent) engine a tiny bit clinical. I couldn’t help thinking that some of the character of those cars which inspired it had gone at the same time as their oil leaks, their cold start problems and their dubious hoods. Perhaps it was with this in mind that the car I eventually replaced it with was an old school kit car powered by a 1960s Fiat powerplant… Needless to say, I rapidly came to appreciate the value of Japanese efficiency.

Motoring's axis of evil (sort of)

2008-11-22T20:18:00.003Z

Forgive me for sounding like an old git, but the one thing that I feel is missing from driving these days is manners. In the old days I dare say the good chaps in their ‘blower’ Bentleys and Aston Martin Internationals would pause to let people out of junctions when on their way to lap Brooklands or do battle with the hun. And you know what? I reckon they’d have acknowledged anyone who did the same for them.

However, these days – at least if you live near London - it seems the only people you’re on your way to battle are various idiots clogging up the roads. Despite this, I do try to be nice. If there’s no obvious end to the traffic behind me and I’m feeling so inclined I’ll stop to let people in. It’s a small gesture admittedly, but all it requires by way of thanks is the merest lift of a finger or flash of the headlights – it’s not difficult. And yet it winds me up no end when people can’t be bothered to do so. It is, without doubt, my greatest motoring pet-hate.

You may wonder what sort of person fails to do this – surely it’s arrogant yuppies in BMWs, boy-racers in dubiously modified Vauxhalls or white van drivers? Actually, no, the number one perpetrator seems to be a far more socially acceptable stereotype – the suburban housewife. Should you make the mistake of offering them some small kindness to ease their stress-filled lives, the female parental units of North London will blank you with a form of contempt that’s hard to fathom. They’re far too busy yelling at Tristan and Paris in the back seats to acknowledge the fact you’ve brought half of suburbia to a halt in order to help them. Instead, their X3 or Touareg just wafts past sanctimoniously.

So, I’ve resolved to leave them stuck in the middle of the road screaming at their spoilt offspring in the future, and this got me thinking about other driving stereotypes. Who else should I avoid at this hypothetical T-Junction? Maybe I need a list…

Right behind the yummy mummies on my inventory (and frequently overlapping them) would be suburban soft-roaders. It’s not an environmental concern, I just think they’re a pointless waste of resources. Next comes any one of the current ‘retro’ craze of cars, particularly when driven by an estate agent. And following that comes any modern BMW with less than six cylinders, cosmetically ‘enhanced’ hatchbacks playing house music and anyone with a really egotistical personalised plate (yes, B16 B0Y of Chelmsford, that’s you).

So who does get let in? Well, that would start with anyone who shows a bit of decency on the road (even if they otherwise fall into any of the above). Next comes the original Mini - you see, it’s physically impossible to dislike one of Mr Issigonis’ inventions. It may come bulging with bits of Halfords-sourced body kit or indeed it may cut you up horrendously, but a Mini can never be evil - at worst it’s simply a bit cheeky. Beyond that, the drivers of kit cars, TVRs (well, most sports cars to be honest), classic cars and Alfa Romeos also get automatic entry. Then last - although by no means least – you shouldn’t forget to let in those pleasant gents in their vintage Astons and Bentleys. After all, they would do it for you.

(Image shamelessly pinched from the superb SniffPetrol.com)

Cooler cruising in Cologne

2008-11-16T13:53:00.002Z

I spent last week at the Professional Motorsport World Expo in Cologne. It was a great chance to catch up with various people in the industry as well as to gather information and interviews for the magazine. Alongside the more technical exhibits it was good to have a closer look at the KTM X-Bow, the Corvette Racing C6R and the mighty Caparo T1.

Sadly, on this occasion, the above were all stationary. However, I did manage to blag an exclusive first UK drive (or should that be ride?) of the Cruizin Cooler SL500. Standing at a mighty 18” tall, the Cruizin Cooler is essential a motorised cool box, with space for a crate or two of beer, alongside its 500 watt electric motor. The German importers were all too happy for me to indulge in an impromptu road test around the exhibition centre’s foyer and first impressions are indeed positive.

The controls are very simple with a twist’n’go throttle on the right and a single brake lever on the left. Acceleration is surprisingly brisk and the top speed of 13mph felt more than quick enough when travelling through an enclosed space on a motorised beer cooler. Cornering was another matter, with the unladen SL500 showing a distinct tendency to role over when pushed to the limit in our highly scientific ride and handling evaluation. Fortunately, leaning inwards cured this and, bizarre as it sounds, the Cruizin Cooler proved rather addictive. It does however pose the difficult question of how much beer to leave in as ballast and how much to drink before you can fully appreciate the experience.

An inconvenient truth for Dr Hansen

2008-11-16T13:04:00.003Z

Cast your mind back a few months before the phenomenon that is the credit crunch and you may recall another major talking point: climate change. Back when the upwardly mobile could still afford a Prius, Al Gore was their main inspiration and his ideas principally came from one Dr James Hansen.

Recently Dr Hansen popped up again with the shocking revelation that last month had been the hottest October on record. Highs of up to 10 degrees more than normal had been recorded in parts of Russia and a new ‘hot spot’ had been discovered in the arctic. This seemed like unprecedented evidence of global warming, until that is, two well known meteorologists - Anthony Watts and Steve McIntyre – discovered a flaw.

Anecdotal evidence appeared to show that last month had, in fact, been unseasonably cold. There had been the first October snowfall in London for 74 years, Tibet had suffered its ‘worst snow storm ever’ (according to the Chinese News Agency) and there had been heavy snowfalls across America. Upon further investigation it transpired that Hansen’s figures for October were, in fact, those for September. The correct set of recordings showed it to have been only the 70th-warmest October in 114 years. Not only that, but satellite imagery showed Arctic sea-ice recovering so fast from its summer melt that it was 30 per cent more extensive than at the same time last year.

All very interesting, but what does this have to do with cars? Well, I like to consider myself a fairly open minded petrolhead when it comes to environmental issues, yet the message given out by champagne-environmentalists is usually far more black and white - superficial concessions to climate change are good; conventional cars (particularly fast ones) are bad.

These groups take the views of people such as Dr Hansen and Al Gore as absolute fact, with no question of error or misinterpretation. However, this latest blunder shows quite clearly that is not the case. Instead it appears that many apparently independent scientists will take their results, manipulate them to fit their own argument and then broadcast it to the world as an absolute truth, without pausing to consider the trivial matter of accuracy. Make no mistake, the study of climate change and any possible man-made influence is important, but the barrage of spin and dodgy statistics on both sides simply detracts from it. We can only be thankful that the Guardian readers out there were too busy worrying about their finances to take notice. That or they were out playing in the snow.

The click

2008-10-28T21:13:00.002Z

Maybe it’s just me, but I reckon you sometimes come across a defining point with a car; one where you suddenly get to grips with it and finally feel that everything is just right. Well that’s what happened to me with the TVR over the weekend. It just clicked.

Suffice to say I had a good drive on Saturday (as featured below), but what really cemented it was venturing out in the dark, damp conditions of Sunday evening. I co-organise the local Pistonheads meet and, aside from gawping at an array of interesting machinery and getting a ride out in a fantastic Austin Healey Frog Eyed Sprite, it provided the chance to go for a bit of a drive. Along with a fellow PHer in a Noble M400, I headed out onto the local lanes after the event.

It’s the first time the car has been out in the wet on its new tyres (fitted some months ago I’m afraid – the phrase Garage Queen springs to mind...) and it handled superbly. The Bridgestone rubber behaves very consistently and retains an impressive degree of its dry weather grip. The steering feedback remains well telegraphed and the car’s ultimate responses benign and well balanced. But this zen-like state goes well beyond trivial issues such as the tyre performance. There’s just a feeling of every last detail being pretty much how you want it. Everything suddenly feels natural and intuitive.

I also think the experiences you have with a car help to secure its position in your affection. And over three hours of driving on Saturday, followed by an intensely atmospheric night-time hoon on Sunday won’t quickly be forgotten. Neither, for that matter, will the sight and sound of the M400’s be-winged profile sling-shotting out of the mist as we reached the dual carriageway. The latter has earned the Noble a firm place in my fantasy garage, but for now, in reality, I can’t think of anything I’d rather have than the TVR. It just clicked.

Aston Maintained

2008-10-28T09:36:00.004Z

Just to prove I wasn't showing favouritism with the link to the Ferrari video the other day, here's another YouTube gem. This time it's Captain Slow in one of my all time favourite cars.

...Damn it, did I say no favouritism?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FuZx6Aie0hQ

It's good to be back

2008-10-26T14:26:00.004Z

Do you remember what it was like to be a kid on Christmas Eve? Well, that’s exactly how I was feeling for the entirety of last week. The call came through from Trimar Sports Cars in Barnet on Tuesday to say that the TVR was finally ready to be collected. And, from that moment, the countdown to ‘Christmas’ began.

Picking the car up yesterday I was too excited too think about the considerable bill (£860 for some exhaust fabrication, an MOT, service and front brake overhaul). Or the three weeks it had taken to accomplish it. Or the fact the car had been obviously been left outside without its cover to thoroughly moisten the interior. No, I just wanted to get out and drive it.

After I’d wiped the worst of the condensation from the inside of the windscreen I set off with the top down for a spot of blow drying. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that cold – the rear section of the hood (minus the targa panels) greatly reduces buffeting and the heater actually does a respectable job of keeping the cockpit warm.

I was mindful of bedding in the new brake pads on the quick cross-country dash to South Mimms, but already it felt good to have the car back. From there I headed up the A1 and to one of life’s simple pleasures – the experience of driving a TVR through a tunnel. Maybe it’s psychosomatic, but I could swear it sounds different since the work – a somewhat leaner, harder sound than before.

I could swear it’s more than just the noise which has changed in the past month or so too. The warm, grippy tarmac of late summer has been replaced by something altogether more entertaining and the series of roundabouts that take me off the motorway provide plenty of childish amusement. This time of year seems to strengthen the position of cars like the S-Series, which a mere mortal can exploit on the public road at sensible speeds. Any hot hatch worth its salt would leave it behind on a twisty road, but there’s nothing quite like the combination of modest grip levels, ample steering feedback and a well balanced chassis.

Continuing onto the B-roads of Hertfordshire the TVR feels firmly in its element. The roads seem to be uncharacteristically empty for early afternoon, which (along with falling petrol prices and a surfeit of affordable sports cars) leads me to believe the ‘credit crunch’ isn’t such a bad thing after all.

I press on, into Bedfordshire, which brings some fantastic roads and some very English place names. After getting stuck behind the first real traffic of the trip, I take a chance on a side turning signposted to Apsley End and discover a fantastic stretch of tarmac, full of well-sighted bends. As it passes under the trees, the car kicks up cloud of dry autumn leaves and I really, really wish I had a photographer. From there I randomly pick Higham Gobian as the next destination and get rewarded by an equally entertaining, if rather faster, exposed stretch which takes me all the way to Barton Le Clay.

I’ve driven here before, but never via this route and one thing becomes clear – there are many more fantastic roads to be found and many more side turning to be explored. In fact, a few miles north of here lies the A507 – allegedly an entertaining drive in itself, it eventually leads to the sensational roads of rural Essex. These two areas, plus all that lies between, add up to create an impressive playground for petrolheads, all just a short hop from the edge of London. Christmas, it seems, is here all year round.

Ferrari California

2008-10-23T09:11:00.002+01:00

Link to Andrew Frankel's video road test on Autocar. You NEED to watch this, preferably with the sound a long, long way up:

http://www.autocar.co.uk/VideosWallpapers/Videos.aspx?AR=235449&CT=V

I think I’ve found my new favourite car. Finally a Ferrari I’d forsake Aston Martin for.

On the road again

2008-10-19T15:27:00.003+01:00

My first trip with the magazine takes me right into the heart of Italian supercar country...

People sometimes question the car as a means of long distance transport, and you know what? They’re right. If you want to get from London to Italy by the following morning, nothing beats a plane. However, when it deposits you 300km away from your destination and well into the hours of darkness, things start to become complicated, as I found out on my trip to Modena.

I’d love to say something more glamorous was involved, but in fact, the transport that myself, one of my colleagues and a very large case full of exhibition equipment had to pile into was a 1200cc Fiat Grande Punto. Our collective knowledge of Italian geography was non-existent and our faith in the sat nav was about to prove misguided.

After a brief trip onto the autostrade that we assumed would take us all the way, a computerised voice directed us into the outskirts of Milan. I wobbled away at the helm trying to reconcile unlit roads, driving on the right and late-night fatigue. However, it soon became apparent that my driving was the least of our worries.

The first rule of driving in Italy is… there are no rules. In the entire trip I only saw one vehicle indicate and, even in the dead of night, lights were an option. So, it seems were speed limits – at one point I went to slow down as we were approaching a police car rather faster than the law allowed and the local drivers just kept streaming past. Overtaking was also somewhat of an art with Puntos and Pandas darting into the slightest gap left by the car in front.

We drove on, following the Tom Tom’s increasingly baffling instructions. Once clear of Milan all we could really tell was that the surrounding countryside was very flat. The route took us through a mixture of tree-lined rural roads, run down villages and dubious looking industrial areas. In my naivety it took a while to twig what all the groups of young women standing by the road were. Virtually the only people we saw in the next 250km were prostitutes – it seemed to be an interesting take on Catholicism.

The following day after a short, restless sleep we met up with our two bosses and went to set up the exhibition. That completed we headed off onto the road again and up to Maranello. We had been due to meet a friend in Ferrari Formula One team, but an end-of-season rush had put paid to that plan. Instead we took a tour of the Galleria Ferrari and drooled at decades of F1 cars, along with 288 GTOs, F40s and the new California.

That night we were invited to a dinner held by the organisers of the show at what was reputedly Enzo Ferrari’s favourite restaurant. Along with my colleagues from the magazine sat a well-known Nascar engine designer, an AMA Superbike rider and a former F1 driver turned IRL racer. It already felt a little strange, but the night was about to take an altogether more surreal turn.

As the meal came to a close, we were ushered out of the restaurant for ‘a surprise’. About 200 yards away from the main building stood what appeared to be barn. Here the owner stopped and proudly explained (via a passing Indy 500 winner acting as interpreter) that this building had once been a famous brothel frequented by none other than Benito Mussolini. He had bought the building in its entirity and transported it brick-by-brick to the new location and recreated the 1930s interior - as a museum apparently.

He showed us around with pride (after all not everyone has a pre-war brothel in their back garden), but something didn’t quite seem right. People started commenting on various things – half empty bottles of (contemporary) mineral water, an equally up to date DVD collection in some of the rooms and a less than pleasant smell. We began to suspect the ‘museum’ offered a very hands-on approach to history.

Having safely made it out of Mussolini’s shag pad we retired to the hotel. In the morning we left early for the first day of the exhibition. In between manning the stand and interviewing our fellow exhibitors for the magazine, I switched on my phone to find a voicemail from the garage I’d left my TVR with. Taking a deep breath I phoned them back agreeing to the quoted price. Maybe next time I should haggle.

The following day we left the exhibition early and entrusted the hire car to our corporate overlords who were making their way back seperately. Our transport back to the airport was a taxi. In most respects this made sense – he would surely know the roads better than us and avoid a repeat of our scenic route over. However, there was a typically Italian approach to booking the cab and it finally turned up an hour and a half later than intended.

To start with all was fine. We made good progress on the A1 autostrade with surprisingly little traffic for a Friday afternoon. Then, approaching the final toll, we came to a grinding halt. Nobody was moving forward as the road funnelled back down to three lanes from the huge width of the tollbooths. There was just a sea of beeping, nudging Fiats jostling for position. After about fifteen minutes even this ceased and people got out and started smoking and chatting. I half expected to see Charlie Croaker and a fleet of Mini Coppers flash past, but he failed to turn up.

Three quarters of an hour later we finally started to move – now seriously behind schedule. With just moments to spare we arrived at the airport scrambled onto the plane. From there the journey back was easy, but sitting on the plane I found myself reflecting on something: I’ve been to Italy several times before, flying to an anonymous concrete airport then taking a coach up into the alps, yet it felt like the first time I’d really seen the country. Without doubt our nocturnal road trip three nights before had been a less efficient means of transport, but it had given us the chance to really travel. The car, it seems, still has its uses.

Tackling the Nurburging

2008-10-12T19:18:00.004+01:00

It’s 7am on a crisp September morning and I’m about to catch a lift to Germany, because tomorrow I have an appointment with a Porsche 968 and one of the most famous stretches of tarmac on earth. My transport for today is a grey Seat Leon FR Tdi driven by Dan; an old friend and self-confessed speed freak. Beneath its standard exterior a Revo ECU remap and a few other choice tweaks lie in wait to silence the diesel critics.

With the roads mercifully clear of weekend-traffic we make good time down to the Channel Tunnel, where even the previous weekend’s fire fails to disrupt our progress significantly and we soon emerge into the sunlight at the other end. We head up onto the familiar tarmac of the A16 and, free of the British road system, the pace starts to rise rapidly. There’s a very marked improvement in observation and lane discipline on continental roads, which means speeds that would be reckless in Britain are comparatively relaxed. We cut across the flat plains of Northern Europe with the speedo rarely dropping below three figures. The Seat’s modified powerplant remains impressively civilised despite a GPS-recorded peak of 143mph and a cruising speed of around 120mph. Even driven with such enthusiasm it returns an indicated 31mpg.

As we head off the autobahn onto the B257, the landscape changes dramatically. Within a matter of miles it goes from wide-open farmland to the soaring foothills of the Eiffel Mountains. There’s also an increased feeling of Germanness. Steep roofs and gothic architecture start to lend the villages a Bavarian feel – none more so than our penultimate waypoint of Adenau – and yet it’s the road beyond here that really captures the petrolhead’s imagination. The L92 has a series of fast-flowing, well-sighted bends separated by alpine switchbacks. It’s almost hard to imagine a better driving road. A few miles ahead lies our hotel, The Altes Forsthaus. It was adopted as a local base for the Mercedes Benz racing team shortly after it opened in 1924. Since then, it’s seen the mammoth vintage SSKs, the breathtaking Silver Arrow grand prix cars and the graceful sports racers of the 1950s. And now… us.

Sometime before 6am the light is turned on and I find Dan standing by the switch already fully dressed. Like a kid at Christmas it turns out he’s been up for hours and got tired of waiting. And so, after hauling myself out of bed, we go out to check the oil in the Leon and then wander down to the circuit entrance. It’s barely dawn, but already a RUF 9ff and Nissan GT-R are burbling into the paddock. This just seems to typify the Nurburgring - a place that oozes petrol from every orifice.

After breakfast we head down to Haus Marvin – a small family run guesthouse, which just happens to own a fleet of high performance hire cars. My choice, the Porsche 968, looks pristine sat outside on the street and with a 10,000 Euro excess on the insurance policy I intend to keep it that way.

As we head back and queue to join the circuit, my pulse starts to quicken. I drive out as the barrier rises and almost immediately face the challenge of simultaneously trying to find my way round and keeping out the way of those who already have. My first impressions are that the circuit actually seems strangely unintimidating in real life. It’s much narrower and twistier than it appears on a computer screen, so driving a standard road car with some degree of self-preservation keeps the speeds reasonably sane in most places. Not that anyone seems to have told the supercar drivers that - various modified 911s buzz past, punctuated by the occasional BMW M5 or Weismann Roadster.

However, within a few laps it ceases to be a source of terror and just a point of mild annoyance. Normal autobahn rules apply and you’re obliged to pull over for faster traffic. Once you’ve slowed down to take a tighter line hugging the right hand curb this can easily spoil several corners. Even worse is overtaking slower traffic, where you have to go past on the left, which (on a clockwise circuit) is more often than not the outside. You also can’t take any of the risks you would do in competitive racing, so teetering around the dirty side of the track can be a nerve-wracking experience.

Fortunately the car isn’t a concern. It feels distinctly similar to my old Porsche 924S, with a few of the flaws ironed out. More to the point, the driving experience is nearly identical to the later 16-valve 944s. It leaves me even more baffled as to why 968 owners don’t just spend half the money on a good 944 S2. That’s not to say it’s a bad car. In fact it’s very good indeed. The free-spinning 3.0-litre four-cylinder engine, although barely powerful enough for a hot hatch by today’s standards, feels eager and responsive. The steering is direct and brilliantly precise with reasonable levels of feedback. Meanwhile the comparatively soft, but brilliantly damped suspension gives the 968 an almost supernatural ability to maintain complete composure; irrespective of what bumps, cambers or crests the Nordschleife chooses to throw at it.

When you do reach the limit it initially gives way to mild, well-telegraphed understeer. Push further and the 968 will tighten its line into a sort of four-wheel drift, but with ‘only’ 220hp combined with chunky aftermarket alloys and no limited-slip differential you can rarely provoke any serious oversteer. Which, on an unfamiliar track, suits me fine.

As the day progresses I start to gain a vague idea of where I’m going. I also start to notice a few stereotypes amongst my fellow ‘ringers. Most of the local drivers are humblingly competent – they hustle their BMWs and Porsches around at great speed and deal courteously with any traffic in front or behind them. But every so often you get one who appears to be out of control. They go past in a flurry of flailing hands and opposite lock, missing you by inches. Occasionally somebody gets it wrong in a big way and the traffic is either yellow flagged or stopped completely as the marshals scoop them up with typically Teutonic efficiency. On one such occasion I drive past a man who is walking away from the remains of his 997 GT3 RS. Going past slowly I can just make out the expression on his face – it’s exactly how I’d look too if I’d just written off a £100,000 supercar.

After this sobering experience I return to the paddock and let the 968 cool down while I ride shotgun with Dan. His Leon continues to impress out here on the track as it did on the autobahn. There’s somewhat more body roll than in the Porsche, but outright grip is very similar and the brakes are noticeably sharper. Even more impressive is the engine, which pulls like a train and responds with the sort of eagerness you wouldn’t usually associate with a diesel. It even sounds quite nice. Yet the soundtrack seems to be the last thing on Dan’s mind as he pilots the Leon with total commitment and considerable skill. I’m enjoying the roller coaster ride and waxing lyrical to this effect until politely reminded that it’s my job to keep quiet and hold the stopwatch. Dan, it seems, is on a mission.

At the end of the lap we head back to sit out another lengthy stoppage, at which point I spot an opportunity. As soon as the announcement comes over the tannoy that the track will soon be reopening I head towards the barrier. With the benefit of an empty road things finally start to come together. Apex follows apex and I feel at one with the 968. After around nine minutes I’m approaching the start line again, but, being on a roll, I decide to queue for the track side barrier instead of pulling into the pits. Once again someone else’s misfortune turns to my advantage. I’m a couple of cars away from the barrier as another stoppage is called and after fifteen minutes lounging in the late summer sunshine the session restarts in a carbon copy of the previous lap.

Immediately behind me a bright red 968 is joining the track and we set off down the straight. The other car seems to have somewhat more straight-line urge, so I pull over and signal to let him past. Going round the first set of real corners at the Hohenrain chicane I find myself catching up slightly. Building on my confidence from the previous lap I’m now able to judge the corner speeds better and the car is on its limit of adhesion virtually from the point I turn in.

Corner after corner, we concertina our way around the ‘Ring. A trio of bikes constitute just about the only traffic up ahead. Here, unlike a conventional road, the greater cornering speeds that cars can achieve hand them an advantage over all but the bravest of bikers. Conversely, the only people to catch us are a handful of the usual banzai 911s that blast past quickly, creating no real little distraction. It’s another perfect lap which sees our two 968s still separated by only a couple of hundred yards as it draws to a close.

Unfortunately my tank is virtually empty and my twelve lap ticket is about to expire, so I peel off towards the paddock. The other driver, meanwhile, gives a friendly wave and continues on to the track side barrier. I can’t deny I’m slightly jealous, but the day is rapidly drawing to a close, I’m completely knackered and the 15 year old Porsche is also starting to feel like it could do with a rest. It has, however, proved the ideal tool for learning the ‘Ring and it is with slight regret that I give the 968 back to its owners at Haus Marvin. I would highly recommend either to anyone contemplating a similar trip.

The journey home the following morning begins well with an enthusiastic crossing of the German B-roads in Dan’s Leon. However, as we join the autobahn the traffic thickens and it’s a trend that continues through into Holland and Belgium until we eventually grind to a halt on the Brussels Ring Road. In total, the journey back takes nearly three hours longer than the outbound trip. We’re not complaining though – it’s more than worth it for those fifteen miles of tarmac in the Eiffel mountains and one thing’s for sure – we’ll be back.

Road Tripping

2008-09-17T15:44:00.004+01:00

A fortnight after the trip to York I once again found myself heading to the hills with the Focus, except this time it was South Wales.

Before leaving I called into the dealers (Hutchings Motors in Goff's Oak) for them to have a look at the electrical gremlins. They were all too happy to oblige and within a matter minutes both were fixed for free.

I was very glad of my (newly) fully functional windscreen wipers as the heavens opened shortly after departure, yet it was bright sunshine again by the time I stopped to pick up a friend a few miles away. After packing both the bikes and a considerable amount of associated paraphernalia there was still room to spare.

The M25, at first, lulled us into a false sense of security. It wasn't quite the hellish gridlock I expected from half three on a Friday afternoon. No, that came with the M4. We slogged through eighty miles of stop-start traffic, before it suddenly dissolved around Bristol, only to reappear again at Cardiff. Some time later the moment finally came to turn off the motorway near Port Talbot. I welcomed this for two reasons – firstly we were overdue for some food and, secondly, I knew what was coming next.

The A4107 starts at a rather dodgy looking underpass beneath the M4. From there it snakes through the village of Cwmafan before the much-welcome national speed limit sign plunges you into the Welsh countryside.

The Focus started to come into its element on the smooth dry tarmac as the steep-sided Afan Valley got progressively more alpine. Despite still being hampered by the less-than-ideal front tyres limiting the overall grip, it steers very directly with a good level of feedback and relatively flat cornering. The comically vocal tyres only added to the amusement on the road's impressive variety of corners, while a decent length straight gave even our fully loaded 1.6 the chance to pass a dawdling MPV.

As we approached the first stop at Cymmer the car was presented with a slightly more unusual challenge. We swung down a series of tight hairpins before climbing up the opposite side of the valley and there – on one of the steepest sections of road I've ever driven up – was the B&B's parking. Conscious of the heat in the brakes after our enthusiastic drive over and aware of a motor-industry colleague who'd watched a development car roll off the edge of a mountain as its brakes cooled, I gingerly parked the car with the handbrake on as high as it would go… and with the wheels pointing straight into the curb… and left in gear. Then I walked away and offered silent thanks to the fact I wasn't in the TVR.

The following day after a brief, but entertaining drive retracing our steps to the forestry centre at Afan Argoed we rode the Penhydd trail. In fact it's such a sublime loop of singletrack that we rode it twice, after which the bikes needed a good clean. We put our rucksacks in the car and headed for the bike wash, except it was at this moment that a slight problem dawned.

The Focus allows you to open the rear hatch while leaving the two front doors locked. Quite why it does this (when you can easily crawl from the boot to the front or vice-versa) I don't know; clearly someone in product design at Ford thought it was a handy feature. However it also makes it particularly easy for the absent minded to lock their keys in the car. And at that precise moment my keys were in my camelback, which in turn, was securely locked in the boot of the car.

Much to everyone's relief my AA membership was still in date and I merely had to sit in the afternoon sunshine being lightly mocked for an hour or so until the van arrived. I know from experience that it's not hard to find someone capable of braking into a car in South Wales, but the professionals fortunately use a much more delicate touch. Having progressively used various devices to prise a gap at the top of the door frame our new friend used a three foot long stick to jab the central locking button and open the doors.

Much obliged and safely on our way, we drove back down the A4107 for one last time. Fortunately the stretch of the M4 that came afterwards as we headed towards our next destination near Cardiff was mercifully clearer on this occasion and we made good time.

Turning off the motorway we headed up a quiet stretch of semi-suburban dual carriageway. With so few people around and an array of roundabouts to play with it proved difficult not to be at least a little juvenile. Once again the Focus' chassis wanted to oblige and once again the Fateo tyres blunted its ability to do so.

It remains throttle-adjustable, but with such an overwhelming rear-bias to the reserves of grip the most it will do is tuck its nose in a little. It's still good fun and a very positive indication of how the car will handle with some better rubber, but boy does it need some.

As we turned off the dual carriageway the rural roads narrowed and dictated a far more cautious pace. We only continued for around a mile and a half, yet our destination felt completely removed from 21st century suburbia. The Rectory Cottage B&B nestles in a truly idyllic spot on the edge of the Brecon Beacons. If the alpine slopes of Cymmer had elements of Tolkien's Rivendell, then that spot with its lush rolling hills must have been The Shire.

Wandering to the local pub for dinner after a long day in the saddle (and the driving seat), I found myself lost in the beauty of the landscape again. It really is a stunning part of the world. To the north, the Brecon Beacons rise like a wall, but to all other sides the verdant farmland seems the complete opposite to the wild and windswept terrain I normally associate with Wales.

The following morning - without a hint of irony - we found ourselves about a dozen miles away on yet another windswept Welsh hillside. This time it was the Twrch trail. Home to a gruelling initial climb, some fantastic cross country singletrack and one of the best descents this side of the Alps.

Awesome as the Cwmcarn trails were, I was still concentrating sufficiently when I got back to the car to avoid a repeat of the previous day's hilarity. So with the keys safely to hand we headed back to England. Fortunately the traffic was flowing far more freely than it had been before and we maintained a reasonable cruising pace for the whole route back.

Under those conditions the Focus once again displayed its versatility. While its defining feature upon release may have been class-leading handling, its natural habitat was always going to be ferrying reps and the occasional family across motorways. It does so in a very civilised manner for a small and relatively inexpensive car. Admittedly the 1.6-litre engine lacks the torque required for truly relaxed motorway cruising, but that really is about the only thing that spoils the Focus' case.

I don't have to wait long for the next road trip – out to the Nurburgring at the weekend – but this time the Focus is staying at home. As for what I'm actually going to be driving, that's yet to be decided.

The Adrenaline Motor Sport Murtaya

2008-09-15T18:26:00.003+01:00

Last month I was invited down to Adrenaline Motor Sport's South East England agents Arden Automotive to sample the fantastic Murtaya.

Both the car and the two companies left me very impressed. They represent the best things about the small, but ingenious (and often very professional) specialist car industry in this country.

The Murtaya is, not surprisingly, an electrifying car to drive point-to-point. Yet what really sets it apart is its ability in other areas and outstanding value for money.

You can read some of my other thoughts on the car at:

MSN Cars (first drive)

Madabout-Kitcars (full road test)

And more about the Arden Automotive open day at:

Madabout-Kitcars (event write up)

And offline in Complete Kit Car magazine out on Friday 19th September (in the 'This Life' section)

The Focus: One month on

2008-09-15T18:14:00.003+01:00

It's been nearly a month since I picked up the Focus and, so far, things are going well.

I'd said from the start that my new car had to be a good long distance cruiser and a load-lugger. This was based on the possibly somewhat idealistic notion that it would be used to ferry mountain bikes and other paraphernalia as part of my 'active and exciting' lifestyle.

Actually, that's exactly what it has done. Since picking the car up, it's completed no less than four trips to the local mountain bike trails in Broxbourne Woods with two hefty full-suspension bikes in the back. It's been on a 500 mile round-trip to the North Yorks Moors, again with a bike in the back. And it's been used to 'roadie' equipment around for my pro-muso girlfriend.

It's covered over 2,000 miles already – demonstrating that I'd heavily underestimated my annual mileage. During that time it's averaged a somewhat disappointing 36.5mpg, but what's more surprising is how constant that figure has been. My normal weekly commute on the M25 draws fuel at a rate of around 37.5mpg. Yet on a more enthusiastic and slightly less law-abiding dash up the A1 with the air con on full blast and the headlamps ablaze, followed by two days enjoying the North Yorkshire B-roads it still returned fractionally over 35mpg.

Although this isn't bad as such, I'm slightly frustrated to admit that my TVR gets within about 10mpg of this figure and something like a sedately driven Elise would comfortably exceed it.

Still, while it may not be an Elise, the Focus has proved to be a very satisfying drive given its humble origins. In fact, in a funny sort of a way it reminds me of the baby Lotus. The free-revving Yamaha-designed engine fizzes not unlike the Toyota unit in the S2 Elise and there's something very reassuring about the steering feel as you turn in to a corner. You seem to know exactly what the front end is doing.

Unfortunately in its current state that is invariably understeer, especially in the wet. I suspect this is due to the combination of rather dubious budget tyres on the front and much softer premium-brand rubber on the rear. Once I've procured some new tyres it should be far more neutral and hopefully we'll see more of the throttle-adjustability for which the Focus chassis is renowned.

Other than that, the Focus has very much lived up to expectations: The leather seats are some of the comfiest I've sat in and will happily tackle London to York in one hit. The stereo system produces a powerful and pleasingly crisp sound for a standard-fit unit and the CD changer (although somewhat temperamental) is a handy feature.

The engine is very quiet at cruising speeds, even when pressing on. Wind and tyre noise are somewhat more noticeable, but it's still a pretty peaceful environment in which to cover miles and the latter may well be improved with new rubber.

The only real complaint I have about the design is a very minor one. The steeply raked windscreen seems to be perfectly angled for catching glare. It's sufficiently intrusive that I've taken to wearing (polarised) sunglasses pretty much all the time. It generates some odd looks at dusk, but saves squinting.

Finally, there are a couple of minor electrical issues that I should have spotted on the test drive. On the single wipe function the windscreen wipers only work while you are pressing the stalk down; release it and they just come to a halt in the middle of your field of view. Secondly, the remote central locking doesn't work. Time to speak to the dealer methinks.

SUCCESS!

2008-08-27T14:54:00.002+01:00

It's about ten months since my first serious car article (for Madabout-Kitcars) and it looks like I'm now going to become a full time automotive journalist.

As of the 29th of September I'm going to be an editorial assistant, covering the Race Tech and Moto Tech high street magazines, plus the Bernoulli aerodynamics journal.

I will be part of a close-knit team of just six permanent employees. As well as plenty of writing, this gives me the chance to try my hand at virtually every other part of the publishing process. I'm warned I'll have to be a Jack of All Trades, but frankly I'm relishing the opportunity!

So, there you have it. I guess I'm now a professional automotive journalist.

Alfa beaten

2008-08-14T12:15:00.003+01:00

Magazine road tests reveal too much electronic intervention, lifeless steering and poor driver involvement. The Alfisti sigh and continue to wait for the next truly great Alfa...

I've just read the first couple of reviews of the Alfa Romeo Mito and they seem a bit, well, mixed. After the disappointment surrounding the dynamics of the (standard) Brera it seems that the Italian manufacturer may have faltered again

Alfas remain gorgeous, highly-desirable cars, but how difficult would it be to do away with some of the mod-cons, lose some of the weight and bring back some of the driver involvement?

I can't say I'm in the market for either, but I was looking forward to seeing the Mito knock the Mini Cooper off the top spot and it just doesn't sound like it's going to. Maybe Alfa's hotly rumoured rear wheel drive revolution will sort things out. We can but hope.

The car chase Pt2

2008-08-13T20:42:00.003+01:00

Shortly after my last blog the insurance company finally confirmed I needed a new car. While the clarity was welcome, the fact that they’d left it until the day before the courtesy car hire period wasn’t. The hunt resumed…

After the two Alfa 156s I made a vow to be sensible and consider more affordable, practical transport. It was, after all, to be a load-lugger and motorway car to complement my TVR. This lasted around 24 hours.

The day in question started well. I’d made an appointment to visit a company with a selection of Ford Focuses - the leftover stock from an ex Ford dealer who’d sold up. The cars were all very smart, low mileage examples – perhaps a little too smart for my utilitarian requirements, as they were priced accordingly, so I pressed on.

The next car I was due to see was a 306 D-Turbo which, while showing a lot of promise as a design was clearly a knackered example. The dealer explained in reverential tones that it was his teenage daughter’s own car. And I don’t doubt it. It certainly felt like a strapped-for-cash student had owned it.

The next target was Renault Clio Dci, about half an hour’s driver away in St Albans. I headed off, but it wasn’t long before I got distracted.

I stopped at a petrol station on the way and something to the left caught my eye. On the edge of the forecourt was a bright red Prodrive-tweaked Alfa Romeo Brera S. After paying, I moved my hire car to the side and decided to have a nose.

It had taken me this long to realise that there was in fact an Alfa dealership on the other side of the fence. I had a quick look at the Brera - surely the most desirable car you can get (new) for the money in its 'S' trim - and then I wandered into the showroom.

Sadly my budget doesn't currently stretch to a brand new anything, let alone a top of the range Brera. However, they did have a gorgeous looking, very well specced 1.6TS 147 within my budget, so I asked if we could go for a test drive. The salesman sent me indoors to fill in some paperwork whilst he brought the car round to the front.

After about five minutes he returned looking rather sheepish to explain that his two year old, low mileage 147 wouldn't start. I stifled a bit of a snigger at that moment - I know the stereotypes are a little unfortunate, but I also suspect he spends a lot of his time trying to explain this to people and it seemed to be a little too ironic.

It was a final reality-check for me as I carried on to the diesel Clio, which proved to be a somewhat mixed experience. It handled well, went acceptably and promised extremely impressive fuel economy. However, it was just too small inside and the ergonomics left a lot to be desired… even my Westcountry gene pool hasn’t left me as a 5’2 hunch back with size-three feet.

With that final test drive complete and time rapidly running out, at last, I had a clear winner: The Focus. True, the 306 was cheaper, the Puma handled better and the Clio was more economical, but it offered an all-round ability that none could match. It was a spacious hatch back with 40mpg potential that would cost peanuts to insure and still prove a reasonably entertaining drive.

The example I’d seen earlier also had a variety of enticing options, such as air con, sports suspension, a 6 CD multi-changer and heated leather seats that were a huge improvement on the standard items. It was also barely run-in at 37,000 miles with a full service history and the fabled one lady owner.

I managed to negotiate twelve months free road tax and a small discount and arranged to pick it up the following day. Two weeks on, the car has proved faultless. The only minor annoyance is the choice of tyres that the seller had put on the front. They’re an oriental make I’ve never even heard of before and their performance is best described as amusing.

As I approach the second fill-up, the time is nearly here to calculate the first MPG figures and see whether it really was the sensible choice. Needless to say, I’ll post an update.

The Car Chase Pt1

2008-08-13T19:51:00.001+01:00

Thanks to stints at Evo and Autocar in quick succession it’s been a while since I last had a chance to blog on my search for a new car. Well, that’s all about to change…

The process that saw me arrive at this ubiquitous junior-repmobile was, predictably, a somewhat tangled one. When I last wrote about it there were a string of contenders besides the Focus, including the Ford Puma, the Ford Fiesta Zetec S, the Citroen Xsara, the Alfa Romeo 156 and its smaller brother the 147.

I came very close to buying a Puma. I scoured the local area and eventually found a good one, got an idea of price and then decided to sleep on it. This decision turned out to be (potentially) fortunate as I got a phone call from the insurance company telling me to hold off purchasing another car the following morning. It turned out the vehicle they’d originally said was a confirmed write off, might not be. I’d have to wait and see.

In the intervening time, something caught my eye. Something red and Italian – an Alfa Romeo 156 2.4 JTDm Sportwagon to be precise. It’s a vehicle that I’ve mentioned before: a front wheel drive diesel estate car that somehow manages to be genuinely desirable.

The first one I had hoped to see appeared to be going at a bargain price. Unfortunately, as is all too often the case, it was found to be, quite literally, to be too good to be true. A friend in the trade had spotted the same car at auction with crash damage a few months before and this blew the dealer’s assertion that it was pristine and 100% original clear out of the water.

Still, my next move was a virtually identical 156 Sportwagon. This car was a relatively well looked after and mechanically sound example owned by a chap on Pistonheads. It drove beautifully, but - cosmetically - it looked every one of its 90,000 miles and rather more than just four years old.

Something was missing too. Inside it just didn’t feel special enough to live up to the mystique. It was nearly twice the price of something like a low mileage Focus or 306, yet it felt pretty much as utilitarian. What’s more, this one wasn’t even red. I reluctantly decided to look elsewhere.

Evo Magazine

2008-07-29T23:09:00.003+01:00

Over the past week or so life has been interesting. The insurance company finally decided I did need to buy a new car... so I did; my TVR suffered its first (pseudo) breakdown; I had a taste of the true Alfa experience and I carried out my first solo-roadtest.

I'll no doubt cover all of these in due course, but for now I'm here to tell you about the other highlight from the past seven days: Evo.

I've been a reader since virtually the first issue and their epicurean approach to cars (excuse the phrase, but it just seems right...) plus the top quality writing and superb photography has always made it one of my favourite magazines. And last week I finally got a chance to work with them.

My two days at Evo Towers passed all too briefly, but in between picking Peter Tomalin's brains on all matters journalistic, debating my future car choice with Ian Everleigh and proving that a fully grown human being does actually fit in the back of the RX8 long-termer, I got a chance to publish some articles. Seeing my name on one of their pages was a real buzz and I have the following as a (virtual) souvenier:

http://www.evo.co.uk/news/evonews/225540/new_imprezas.html

http://www.evo.co.uk/news/evonews/225570/invicta_s1600.html

http://www.evo.co.uk/news/evonews/225567/bims_gallery.html

There was a strange sense of familiarity with everyone in the office. I'd never met any of them before, but the names (and in some cases faces) were already well known.

I almost felt a little star struck... Maybe that's a sign I need to get out a little more, but for me it was an exciting experience. They are, of course, simply professionals who are good at what they do, but the Evo staff - along with their counterparts on several other publications - are household names to petrolheads in a far greater way than the nobodies filling our screens on reality TV.

A fortnight with a Corsa 1.2 Club

2008-07-20T16:01:00.008+01:00

The fastest type of car, so they say, is a hire car. Well, I’m here to tell you that ‘they’ are wrong. At least when it’s a 1.2-litre Vauxhall Corsa like my current hack.

Initial impressions aren’t actually too bad. The Corsa bears the clean lines of a contemporary small car, with hints of the Fiat Punto and the new Ford Fiesta - nothing revolutionary, but a pleasant enough exterior. Inside, it’s much the same situation. The basic layout is fairly conventional, although there are some nicer-than-average materials and neon backlighting system for the dash that just about manages to avoid looking too ‘Fast and Furious’. For an entry-level car, the kit is fairly good too, with a decent stereo and air conditioning as standard.

It’s not all good news though, the front seat belts are positioned so far back that even tall drivers require a degree of contortion to reach them. The stereo volume control requires a million turns to produce any audible difference and the boot is one of the smallest I’ve ever seen. This car also has a distinct tendency to steam up in the wet, which only a good blast from the air con is able to cure.

Yet by far the most annoying thing has to be the indicators. The spring loaded stalks don’t actually stay in position, making it quite difficult to tell whether you’re in the short or prolonged flash modes and the self-cancelling seems to be a little hit and miss too. As a result, a typical manoeuvre begins as you indicate out, continues with you indicating for longer than you intend and ends with an unwanted flash from the opposite indicator as you try and cancel the original one. It’s a small matter, but a source of constant annoyance.

Once on the move, another issue presents itself... The Corsa’s rear windows allow for reasonable visibility to your left, but look over your right shoulder and the view is dominated by the rear pillar. This asymmetry of vision blocks off your view just where you need it in the blind spot, making the Corsa noticeably harder to manoeuvre than some of its competitors.

These gripes aside, it remains a car of contrasts. It cruises reasonably quietly on light throttle loads, but put your foot down and the noise can become harsh and intrusive. It’s not as if this is a rare occurrence either – the 16v engine needs to be revved to extract any power and yet it still never satisfactorily overcomes the Corsa’s mass. On several occasions I’ve ended up not in fifth or even fourth gear, but down to third on motorway inclines. The other downside is that fuel economy suffers when you have to drive it like that – fuel stops are more frequent (and indeed expensive) than expected. Not surprisingly I find myself longing to have the Saxo back – at 805kgs it was nearly a third of a ton lighter, despite having roughly the same power output.

Corners are a similar situation. The Corsa comes with rather lifeless power-assisted steering and rolly-poly suspension, yet somehow it still possesses a rather firm ride over small bumps and ridges. This isn’t bad enough to be a problem, but it seems at odds with the amount of body roll. It’s not a driver’s car then, but push the baby Vauxhall a little harder and you’ll discover it actually grips tenaciously. Perhaps there’s some hope for the VXR version after all.

But what of this 1.2 Club model? Well, despite having few areas where it truly excels, there’s not a lot which would disappoint you as a no-thrills run-around. The driving experience may leave somewhat to be desired on the open road, but there’s nothing that would cause alarm in its natural habitat of suburbia. As cars of this class go, the cabin aesthetics are pretty reasonable and, as long as you’re not going up hill, it’s a relatively soothing place to be on the motorway. There’s certainly more of a quality feel than the Vauxhalls of old, but it doesn’t really go far enough to single the Corsa out in this very competitive market.

Motorsport

2008-07-20T13:23:00.002+01:00

On the whole I’d say I’m a fairly conventional petrolhead. I like the usual things - rumbling V8s, perfect driving roads and absolutely anything that’s red and Italian. There is, however, one respect in which I differ from the stereotype… I’ve never been especially excited by Formula One. The last race I can really recall was Suzuka in 1996, when Damon Hill won the driver’s championship. Since then, the only thing about F1 that’s really entertained me has been Max Mosley’s fancy dress shenanigans.

I must admit I’d started to tar all motor sport with the same brush. I enjoy any chance to compete in it, but I’ve never been hugely inclined to watch twenty overpaid professionals mince around the track in a procession. I couldn’t really see its appeal as a spectator sport. Then, over the weekend, I caught my first British Touring Car Race in about ten years and it seems there have been a few changes.

Gone are John Cleland’s Vauxhall Cavalier and Rickard Rydell’s Volvo 850. What’s more, the dominant team this season have been running – wait for it – a diesel engine. There’s no doubt things have moved on from the late 90’s, however one thing remains; it’s still great fun.

I switched on during the first of the three televised races from Snetterton, right at the moment that privateer Seat driver Adam Jones overtook the BMW of Rob Collard through a borderline-existent gap on the entry to the Russell Bend chicane. At this point in F1 the drivers would have eased off and paused to conduct a brief risk assessment. Not in the BTCC however, as Collard retook the Seat with an equally bold move at the next corner and a further three cars streamed through. This wasn’t the end of it either – Jones came back to recover three of the lost places in a series of bumper-to-bumper clashes.

The next race played out in equally dramatic fashion. First I watched five cars streaming under the bridge side-by-side at The Esses, all vying for position as Tom Chiltern nudged Fabrizio Giovanardi off the track. Two laps later and it’s Tom Onslow-Cole and Andy Jordan’s turn as they piled into Sears three abreast with Adam Jones’ Seat. The scraps continued throughout the field. On the last lap, Giovanardi and Colin Turkington were still trading paint as the chequered flag fell. Jason Plato may have romped off with the win up front, but the director concentrated on the battle behind and the entire population of my living room were on the edge of their seats.

The top eight finishers from race two started in reverse order for the final showdown, with the all-conquering Plato in eighth place. He was slow off the line and dropped several places as lights went out, which would made for an interesting drive, had engine problems not put him out of the running shortly after. Up ahead, Tom Onslow-Cole was locked in battle with Stephen Jelley. After swapping places four times in one lap, Onslow-Cole came out on top and proceeded to have a go at Turkington in 5th place, overtaking him at the beginning of lap 12. Meanwhile, further down the field, Adam Jones and Rob Collard were at it again as Mat Jackson took the chequered flag ahead.

It was an hour of my life thoroughly well spent and far more entertaining the average F1 race. Yet some things, it seems, never change. As he answered the first question of his post-race interview, Jackson began with racing driver’s favourite coverall phrase: “For sure…” I’m not entirely clear what, if anything, they’re always sure about but it seems to be a standard opener to any racing answer. Maybe it’s some sort of involuntary response? A delay-tactic perhaps? Either way, I’m sure about one thing – real racing is more fun than Max Mosley in a gimp suit.

Decisions, decisions...

2008-07-15T14:21:00.004+01:00

The first week of my car buying mission is drawing to a close and, on the upside, at least I've reached one conclusive decision.

I must admit to having something of a car buying habit. I’ve never actually managed to kill one before, but I’ve never kept one for more than about a year either. You see, there are just so many exciting possibilities and so little time. With the Saxo gone, I need something to get me moving again before the insurance company ask for their hire car back.

This should be simple, but there are a few mitigating factors. Firstly, I have a 65-mile commute, which gives me a simple choice of either low fuel consumption or bankruptcy. Secondly, when I’m not driving cars, writing about cars or arguing about cars, a good percentage of my remaining time is devoted to cycling; so I need something big enough to accommodate my bike. Finally - although there is probably an oil-burning MPV out there somewhere which suits those needs - I also want something that’ll provide a bit of fun on those rare occasions I escape from the confines of the M25.

Looking into it a bit further, I set a target of 40mpg for petrol contenders; anything diesel would have to significantly better this, due to the difference in fuel costs. I also decided on a maximum budget of around £7,000 (second-hand). The rest, however, is all to play for.

My first thought had been some kind of warm-hatch. The idea of a Fiat Panda 100HP appealed, as did a Suzuki Swift Sport. Ford’s evergreen Sportka also sprang to mind along with the (previous generation) Fiesta Zetec-S and the Focus. I even contemplated an e36 3-series.

The list rapidly began to shrink. It became obvious that the Swift was going to be out of my price range to purchase; the consensus amongst BMW owners on the internet forums was that you’d be lucky to get 30mpg out of the six-cylinder coupes and the Sportka was deemed too thrashy for motorway miles. Meanwhile there were a couple of additions – the Fiesta’s coupe cousin, the Puma, caught my eye. Citroen’s Xsara VTR seemed to combine economy with low insurance premiums and the Alfa Romeo 147 JTD crept in… although largely because it was an Alfa (I’ll have mine in red please).

I’ve now visited a few dealerships and, on the whole, the test drives have yet to produce any startling results. The Focus 1.6 Zetec (chosen for its economy) comes with a large boot and handles well, but feels somewhat lethargic in a straight line. The Fiesta Zetec-S feels far more lively, but concedes a certain amount in running costs and comes with a slightly dubious boy racer image. The Puma meanwhile… feels like a Fiesta Zetec-S.

The big shock for me was the Panda 100HP. I’d expected to love this car and face a worrying dilemma about spending twice the price of the other contenders on something barely big enough to hold my bike. In reality, I found it a bit of an anti-climax. Its 1.4-litre 16-valve engine, although willing enough, is nothing exceptional, the cabin is awash with cheap plastics and, to me, the concrete damping is simply a step too far. While the crashy ride is merely an annoyance in town, on a bumpy B-road it becomes bad enough to genuinely spoil the Panda’s composure.

To be fair, our test route may not have helped: “Now you’ll really have a chance to get a feel for it on the back roads” commented the salesman at one point as he directed me down 500yds of pothole-strewn 40mph limit with a dawdling Volvo in front. I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic.

Even on a more suitable surface, the Panda felt good rather than great. For my purposes this rules it out. Being a relatively recent model, second-hand examples are still twice the price of something like a Puma, and it simply isn’t twice the car. It may be a great buy in the future, but for now I’ll resolve to let someone else take the depreciation hit.

So what about the others? Well, I remain undecided. An unmolested Fiesta Zetec-S would be a great car, offering a tempting combination of low running costs and reasonable space, but most look like they've ram-raided Halfords. The Puma is essentially a Zetec-S-R and good ones are easier to find, but it loses out on some of the hatchback's practicality. So far I've yet to try a Xsara VTR or Alfa 147. In fact, the list keeps growing as I've just seen an Alfa Romeo 156 JTD Sportwagon so gorgeous it's made me start dribbling.

Like I said: So many possibilities, so little time.

The great scrapyard in the sky

2008-07-10T11:15:00.003+01:00

It had to happen eventually. I’ve evaded them for years, but this week the North London Kamikaze Driving Squad finally found me, and my trusty Citroen was written off as I sat waiting in traffic.

The car proved no match for the current-generation Astra that collided with it; while the Vauxhall bore little more than a scratch, the Saxo was twisted, scarred and broken. Coolant gushed from underneath and the misaligned steering creaked and groaned as I limped it back to my house. The time, it seemed, had come for W169 OFJ. In contrast, I was physically unhurt, but the end to eight years of incident-free motoring and the loss of my no claims bonus was a bitter sting. The only small consolation was that the woman who had brought about its untimely demise was apologetic and very amiable – I couldn’t deal with an argument that early on a Monday morning. Fortunately, she too was unhurt.

And so, the following morning, the salvage company came to collect the first car I had ever driven. It had come from my mother and seen me through university, various house moves, several memorable holidays and a couple of less clearly recalled music festivals. It was like a family pet. Still, this didn’t seem to matter to the lorry driver as he thrashed it onto the top layer of the car transporter. Just as quickly as it had appeared on the forecourt all those years ago, it was gone.

I wasn’t deprived of transport for long however. Somewhere in the insurance application my inner-scrooge had forgotten to untick the hire car box and I was now rather glad of this. Frankly it wasn’t TVR weather (despite a hastily purchased outdoor cover in case I had to commute in the S3). Instead, I found myself presented with a Vauxhall Corsa, less than 24 hours after the smash. I’ll discuss the relative merits of that at a later date, but suffice to say, it has got me moving. What’s faintly disturbing is that even with the traumatic events of the previous day and a less-than-enthralling 79bhp to look forward to, I was still very eager to go and have a play. It’s just possible I need to get out more.

Looking ahead, I obviously now have a requirement for a new daily driver. In truth, the excuse to legitimately scour Autotrader, rather than just window shopping for once, has proved the biggest consolation… Now, like an automotive Jack Bauer, I have just twenty four days to locate my new car. That's likely to be a topic in itself, but rest assured I shall keep you informed.

RIP Saxo…

The good, the bad and a MINI adventure

2008-07-04T15:30:00.004+01:00

Despite my journalistic aspirations, I currently have a ‘day job’ in the motor industry and as part of this I get to attend an annual test day with various cars to play with. It makes for an enjoyable afternoon – that one day each year – and it also produces some interesting observations.

This year was no exception, and what’s more I found myself having to renounce some of my automotive prejudices.

BMW 120D M-Sport
The first thing I notice about the 120D, queuing to exit the car park, is the stop-start technology kicking in. It’s faintly unnerving the first time you come to a halt and the engine dies, but it springs reassuringly back into life as you go to pull away, cutting down on both fuel consumption and emissions as it does so. The next observation is the chunky, well-weighted feel to the steering. Unfortunately, once you get out onto the open road, it doesn’t offer quite as much feedback as you’d like – it feels reasonable, but strangely artificial.

It’s not just the steering either. The M-Sport suspension feels somewhat under-damped on the bumpy, cambered B-roads of our test route and then there’s the engine… Make no mistake; it produces plenty of power, giving the 120D impressive mid-range punch, but the delivery feels disappointingly ‘old school diesel’. The torque comes in one big lump with little before or after and rather lacklustre response. It’s not bad for a repmobile, but I’d expected my first trip out in a premium diesel to be something more. I can’t help thinking that the Ford Focus concedes very little to it overall (and betters it in some areas) for significantly less money.

BMW 320D Auto
As a sanity-check I try the 120’s bigger brother, the 320D, and despite being a larger (and presumably heavier) car it actually feels rather better. The floaty feeling is gone and ironically it doesn’t seem like such a big car. The steering remains somewhat aloof, considering it’s not dealing with the driven wheels, but suddenly BMW feels like it would better its competitors dynamically, which as ‘the ultimate driving machine’, is exactly what it should do.

The engine performs much the same as it did in the 120D, yet its torquey delivery works somewhat better with the auto-box; delivering crisp gear changes and a smooth pullaway. It’s not without fault though – there’s a rather clumsy kick-down and the manual mode is typically slow. Despite this, I was (as a fan of lighter, more compact cars) surprised to note it feels like a better overall package than its smaller sibling.

Ford Fiesta ST
Next up is the feisty Fiesta ST. From the word go, everything from the not-so-subtle bonnet stripes to the overtly sporty exhaust note feels like a statement of intent – it's certainly not a car for the meek.

The free-revving, responsive powerplant pulls eagerly and, while you'd hardly call it refined, it’s certainly entertaining. The same goes for the handling, which offers a sharp turn-in, decent throttle-adjustability and reasonable levels of steering feedback. It feels like an old school hot hatch, albeit with corresponding levels of traction and lateral grip available. I’m undecided as to whether this is a good thing – you see, while the Fiesta is good fun, it lacks the pace of today’s super-hatches. Its manic character sometimes feels like a sheep in wolf’s clothing in the era of 200bhp Clios.

Mazda MX-5 2.0i Roadster Coupe
It’s hard to believe, but the world’s best selling small sports car has been around in various guises for two decades now. The simple formula of engine at the front, driven wheels at the back and relatively little in between has certainly proved successful in the past – I used to own a mk1, but this is my first chance to drive the current mk3 version.

My initial impressions aren’t great to be honest. Come the first roundabout I find myself questioning whether they’ve left the dampers out – it certainly feels a lot softer than the old cars. The sharp turn-in remains, but somehow it no longer seems to follow up that early promise. The steering feels a little woolly and distinctly light on feedback. To compound matters, the ESP system is irritatingly intrusive. Fortunately disabling it not only cures the problem, but proves that (in the dry at least) there's plenty of extra grip when you venture beyond the confines of its nannying.

There’s nothing to fear when you do so either - it remains a fundamentally well-balanced car and the new chassis feels significantly more rigid than before, with none of the earlier models’ scuttle shake. The 2-litre engine seems to have lost the some of the earlier unit's character, but it makes up for this with noticeably more torque, particularly at low revs. It doesn’t just go better either – the brakes offer a significant improvement in stopping power – admittedly they also lose some of their precision, but the trade-off seems more than worth it overall.

So, the MX-5 may have lost some of its edge, but it remains virtually unique as a low cost, front-engined, rear wheel drive sports car. It’s frustrating that the new chassis and gutsy engine clearly have untapped potential, but it’s still an entertaining drive and the sort of ‘fun car’ we could do with seeing more of.

Toyota Aygo
There's something a little bit funky about the Toyota Aygo's interior. Admittedly, the cheap plastic faintly reminds me of that inside a portaloo, but the fresh design, complete with a curious bug-eyed tachometer is conspicuously contemporary. Let's not forget this is the product that sponsors Channel 4's youth programming and one that was famously given to assorted motoring journos to play football with. So, the Aygo is young and athletic then?

Fire up the 1.0-litre three-cylinder engine and, sure enough, it has a pleasingly sporty rasp. It revs freely too, but sadly, actually getting the car moving is another matter. It features quite possibly the most rubbery gear change I've ever encountered and just finding first is a challenge. Once on the move, its soft suspension and over-assisted steering conclusive dissolve any notions of it being a junior hot hatch. To be fair, that's not really what it's intended to be, but worse is to come. For a city car, the Aygo's long gearing makes it feel sluggish at low speed, and on the open road the engine's peaky nature feels strangely at odds with the stodgy chassis.

It's not fundamentally a bad car – at least not for the market it's intended – but it fails to be anything more. For anyone who really wants no-thrills city-bound transport that much I'd strongly recommend a weekly travelcard. For those seeking something a little more exciting (and indeed versatile) the next car may well hold the answer…

MINI Cooper D
The last car I decide to climb into is a MINI and, to be honest, I'm not sure what to expect. I've always had a soft spot for the original Mini and an equally strong distain for the current retro trend in car design, not to mention a healthy degree of scepticism about diesel performance cars. This is my first time at the wheel of the 21st century MINI and part of me hopes it won't be that good – secretly, I already doubt that will be the case.

Sitting in, I cringe slightly at the gigantic central speedometer – it's a stylistic link to the original car that seems to be growing with each passing year to emphasise its Mini-ness. Fortunately the rest of the interior is different - there's a quality feel to it which genuinely sets the car apart from the usual crowd of bland hatches. The engine buzzes eagerly into life and I make my way out onto the road. First impressions are of a pleasingly revvy powerplant by diesel standards. It's almost petrol-like in its responsiveness, yet still delivers a broad spectrum of torque. The noise isn't intrusive either – recognisably diesel, but reasonably refined.

However, it's when you get to a corner that the MINI really starts to shine. It has a very sharp turn in, which immediately banishes any ideas of a nose-heavy oil-burning hatchback. The steering is beautifully weighted, perhaps not as communicative as it could be, but still wonderfully precise. The firm suspension limits body-roll while effortlessly soaking up mid-corner bumps and pot-holes. Combine this with excellent traction and a degree of throttle adjustability and the Cooper D becomes a car that genuinely goads you on, yet one that still feels completely planted and firmly on your side.

When you want to play, it really is up there with the best of the warm hatches – not as showy as something like the Fiesta ST, but very nearly as competent. When you just want to get from A to B, it simply blows them away… Its superb tractability, civilised cabin and general refinement would make it a pleasure to drive on long journeys. Whatsmore it does all this while sipping fuel at the rate of around 65mpg and putting out only 118g/km of CO2. It's this all-round ability which really blew me away – it ticks very nearly all the boxes. The only area where it falls short is luggage space, but this is a criticism which could be applied to most small hatches and, let's face it, a student-chic roof rack would only add to the retro Mini appeal.

So, am I a convert? Well, yes and no… I still think they should have called it something like the BMW 0-Series, because, despite its Fisher Price styling, the links to the original Mini remain pretty tenuous. It is, however, a superb small car and an incredible all-rounder. It's also the first time I've driven a sporty diesel that genuinely felt like a driver's car, not just a compromise for economy. If I had to own just one car on a tight budget this would be a serious contender, if only they could badge it as something original!

Old is the new-new

2008-06-20T14:13:00.003+01:00

Are modern car aesthetics a step backwards? Has the industry simply run out of ideas?

Something slightly odd happened to the motor industry in the '50s and '60s. Its marketing divisions suddenly suffered a chronic loss of originality and started re-using names from several decades earlier. Monikers like Austin Seven, Morris Minor and Wolsey Hornet were all back in the showrooms and nobody knew why.

For some reason we've been seeing a similar thing recently. It seems that an ever increasing number of new cars have been, well, old ones. It all started with Volkswagen’s New Beetle in 1998, which brought retro motoring to hairdressers and estate agents the world over. Despite the name, the Golf-based fashion statement bears no mechanical resemblance to its illustrious predecessor. In most subjective respects that's a good thing – gone are the original car's lairy swing-axle handling traits and underwhelming performance, but is it really a Beetle, or just a bloated Mk4 Golf in a dress?

Next was the most successful retro car to date – the MINI. BMW launched its new-old small car, to almost universal praise in April 2001. Alec Issigonis' revolutionary design may only have been out of production for 12 months or so at that time, but the resemblance to its namesake was strictly cosmetic. The first thing that struck many people was its size. It dwarfed the original car. In fact, forget the Mini… in Clubman guise, the new MINI's wheelbase is fractionally longer an early Range Rover.

Like the Volkswagen, the 21st century MINI is, in many respects, much better than original, but however good BMW’s nod to the classic design may be, it’s never going to have the same impact. Austin's Mini revolutionised affordable transport in the UK and this made it more than a car, it was an icon. Of course purists will argue that the Mini was beaten to it – on the continent at least – by Fiat, in the shape of the 500. This time round it was a different story, but the Italian auto-giant wasn’t far behind and last year they launched a modern take on the Topolino.

It does make you wonder where it will end. Surely it's only a matter of time before Nanjing realise the huge, untapped retro-potential of a new Austin Allegro? After all, China has yet to discover the joys of the quartic steering wheel and the Roewe 75's front grill would make an excellent basis for the Vanden Plas version. For the full effect, sister-firm Shangai Automotive could release a direct competitor under the guise of the Morris Marina. There would be endless opportunities to mix modern technology with period features here too, such a contemporary DAB audio system that bizarrely only manages to pick up Radio 2 and a carbon-saving initiative, by which the car fails to start one day every week.

Should you get bored of driving your Allegro or Marina you could go for a ride on a Raleigh Chopper (re-launched in 2004); go to the cinema to catch King Kong (re-made in 2005), or maybe just watch some repeats on TV. So why the lack of the originality; have we run out of ideas? Has everything 'new' already been done? Personally it strikes me as a kind of sentimental nostalgia. People crave anything that offers comfort and familiarity when they're feeling down – a favourite song or a comfy old pair of slippers – and buying a car is no different. Perhaps we're all just hankering for an era before Gatsos, global-terror and climate change?

It's not all bad though. It seems that the retro concept works beautifully when it's used sparingly. Take Alfa's gorgeous 8C Competitzione. It's surely one of the most beautiful cars ever made and while there are hints of the company's previous offerings, such as the TZ and the T33 Stradale, it is fundamentally a fresh shape. Likewise, German sports car manufacturer Weismann's Roadster and GT models have a clear '50s and '60s influence with hints of the Austin Healey 3000 and Jaguar XK140, but they are nonetheless new designs which add something to the world of cars, rather than re-hashing a proven formula.

So, car makers… I implore you to follow their lead. Be a little original. It’s not the aesthetics as such - we want cars that have the character and feel of a masterpiece, rather than simply looking like a low budget fibreglass replica of one. By all means draw some inspiration from the past, but don’t forget to look forwards. That way, maybe the cars we’re building now will be remembered in thirty years too.

Transits, tribulations and traffic wardens

2008-06-16T13:23:00.006+01:00

Some stereotypes are cruel and unfortunate. Others, it seems, are spot on...

I borrowed an interesting toy over the weekend. It came with a 3.2-litre turbocharged five-cylinder engine. It was rear wheel. It had a six-speed gearbox… It was a van. To be precise it was a Ford Transit 350 SWB and it was helping me move house. What's more it came with a substantial quantity of free diesel – handy on a weekend when the nation's entire quota of numpties decided to block petrol forecourts following a single oil company's pay dispute.

Having collected my workhorse on Friday evening, I headed back round the M25 to North London. I've been told before how well modern vans handled and this one is supposed to be the cream of the crop. It certainly has excellent steering which would put many cars to shame. It also has a flexible, torquey engine; a very gentle progressive clutch and suspension so stiff (when unladen) that it feels positively sporty. It's an impressive achievement for a vehicle designed purely as a utility, yet you still become acutely aware of being sat several yards off the ground by the time you reach the first corner and adverse cambers can be a buttock-clenching experience. But that's fine for the Transit – it's a van – and in that respect it performs beautifully.

The following day my girlfriend and I began loading our possessions into the Tranny. It swallowed an impressive quantity of household detritus, which was fortunate as there was about three times as much to move as we'd originally anticipated. All in all, we were impressed. One person who wasn't so impressed was the local traffic warden. Now, I'd always believed traffic wardens must get rather a bad press… It can't be an easy job at times and it's not one that anyone will ever thank you for. Maybe they were just misunderstood?

I saw the aforementioned parking officer eyeing up our van from across the road and went to ask if anything was wrong. We were busy loading on a single yellow line and not getting in anyone's way; I couldn't see a problem. I began with a cheery hello. "I'm giving you a ticket" she replied with all the warmth of an SS drill-sergeant. I calmly and politely protested my innocence and she eventually explained that pulling onto the pavement had been our undoing. Apparently obstructing the traffic on the road would have been perfectly legal, despite the gridlock that would have ensued. I didn't know this – or atleast I didn't expect them to put legality over common sense – and I explained we were very sorry and we'd be on our way.

This didn't please the traffic warden, who seemed to be morphing closer and closer to her comedic representation in Little Miss Jocelyn by the second. In a last minute effort to reason with her, I tried to adopt a karma-based approach. "You could let us move on and not ruin our day – it was a genuine mistake we're not going to do it again or…" I was going to continue to the effect that ruining our day wouldn't make her feel any better (meant purely as that) when she interrupted. "Is you threatening me? IS YOU THREATENING ME?!" Fat chance I thought – not only was she somewhat bigger than me, she seemed to have rather more facial hair too – I wouldn't stand a chance.

Miraculously, after considerably more pleading (and strategically positioning myself in front of the van), I managed to persuade her to let me move on without a ticket. Even more miraculously, having dropped the contents off at the new house (about a mile down the road) and collected my other half we were able to find a legitimate van-sized space in the adjacent pavement parking zone for the next two runs.

With the new garage acting as a temporary holding station, work commenced ferrying bits up to the house to create a TVR-sized gap for my S3 to fit into. I took a break from shifting boxes to return the van this morning and, teetering along with no weight in the back again, I had a new found respect for the driving skills of White-Van-Man. My opinion of traffic wardens on the other hand has taken a severe battering.

Lotus Elise SC Vs Honda S2000 twin test

2008-06-12T19:35:00.005+01:00

Last week I joined the MSN Cars roadtesters for their Lotus Elise SC versus Honda S2000 twin test. I haven't stopped grinning since…

It's 9am at an anonymous looking service station on the M4. I'm munching a slightly optimistically titled all-day breakfast roll and waiting for Ian Dickson and Henry Biggs of MSN cars to arrive at our rendezvous. First to appear is Ian in the sparkling blue Elise SC. We've barely finished with the pleasantries by the time Henry appears. "This thing's fantastic" he remarks, emerging from the (equally blue) Honda. "It's so much fun."

After the arrival of photographer Jonathan Bushell, we head out onto the M4. Not surprisingly my 63bhp Saxo struggles to maintain pace in the middle of the convoy. I glance at the mirrors to see Ian waiting patiently behind, until a gap in the traffic allows him to unleash the Elise. It surges forward with visible ferocity – even from the outside it's clear to see that's one quick car. Henry, meanwhile, darts through the traffic in a flurry of VTEC revs. Today is going to be interesting.

I dump the Saxo in a lay-by just off the motorway and head for the photo shoot location next to Ian in the Elise. From the passenger seat, the car feels every bit as fast as it looks. The first thing that hits you is the soundtrack – it emits a sort of fizz – not an unpleasant sound, but rather different to the growl you get on the outside. Progress is brisk, yet it feels quicker still as the hedges blur past low-set cabin of the Elise.

Shortly we reach our first photo location and it's time to clean the cars before a few static shots. Up close the Elise SC looks purposeful, if largely like the standard car. Only a discrete boot spoiler separates the two. In contrast to the Lotus's vents and bulges, the Honda has a very clean shape. It possesses classic front-engined roadster lines and there's something very taut about its appearance – it looks purposeful; poised to attack.

Heading out to the tracking shots I get my first chance to drive the Elise. It may be a cliché, but this is undoubtedly a car your granny could drive. The clutch is progressive, there's plenty of torque and even at manoeuvring speeds the steering is reasonably light. The gearbox is beautifully precise in the forward gears, although there's a brief moment of comedy as I attempt to locate reverse for the first time.

On the move it exceeds all my expectations. Within a few hundred yards it's clear that the Elise is blessed with phenomenally good steering. Every dip and camber in the road is felt and there's a palpable sense of the front end hanging on through each bend. It has the sort of clarity that would be impressive on a level race track, let alone a bumpy, potholed B-road. Unlike some cars, which take time to load up the steering on the entry to a corner, it instantly lets you know how much grip remains… and in this car, the answer is invariably a lot. It's not just the steering either. The whole package gels beautifully with a smooth engine pulling to over 8,000rpm and firm, powerful brakes.

Car comparisons are put on hold for a while as we get back to the serious business of the photo shoot. I find myself at the wheel of Jonathan's 325i Touring while he sits on the tailgate taking shots of the test cars behind. As an encore he adopts an even more precarious looking position, part way out of the passenger side window, clinging to the roof, as we follow the other two cars. Fortunately, despite the hedges closing in, he remains attached and firmly intact, enabling us to complete the tracking shots.

Having done so, we now move on to the drive-by shots and my first chance to get behind the wheel of the S2000. It’s a rather different experience to the Lotus. It feels far more conventional – somewhat like a grown up MX5. Fire up the engine and at first it emits a quiet, unexceptional four-cylinder hum; the seats are higher-mounted and noticeably softer, while the cabin feels a tiny bit, well, Japanese. As we stooge around for the low speed shots it feels admirably civilised. However, when the gesture comes to speed things up, all hell breaks lose. Suddenly Dr Jekyll becomes Mr Hyde as the 80s-tastic digital tacho sweeps past 7,000rpm and the S2000 goes mad for the last part of its rev range. It just so happens there is a bridge just down the road from our photography spot, and going through the tunnel underneath, the Honda’s mechanical scream echoes off its walls like an angry wasp.

Oddly, it doesn’t feel that fast, but accelerating away after another drive-by and chasing Henry in the Lotus something becomes obvious… The two cars are actually surprisingly well matched in a straight line. At these speeds, the Lotus doesn’t quite seem to have the advantage the figures would suggest (0-60mph in 4.4 seconds as opposed to 6.2 for the Honda). It is, nonetheless, a markedly different experience - the S2000 is very much the logical progression of a classic roadster formula, while the Elise feels more like a baby supercar.

As the morning draws to a close, Ian and I go off in search of sandwiches in the Elise. With Mr Dickson at the wheel, it rapidly becomes obvious that I was far from extracting the best out of the little Lotus. Part way to the nearby village he enquires if I’m a nervous passenger… The truth is I’m not, but I do still prefer being in the other seat. Fortunately, on the way back that's exactly where I am. I still can't get over this car's handling - it feels progressive and compliant, yet utterly precise and blessed with pin-sharp responses. I'm busy waxing lyrical to Ian on the subject when I look down and notice the speedo. It was firmly into the sort of range I'm not going to publically admit to doing on a B-road and yet the car felt completely undaunted; my TVR at the same pace would have been a very different matter.

After lunch, Jonathan and Ian head off to do some more shots with the Lotus, leaving me to exercise the S2000. On a longer, twistier route than our earlier drive it reveals considerable talent. The steering is perfectly weighted and very direct. It may not offer as much feedback as the Elise, but it's rewarding nonetheless. Body roll is very well resisted and the whole structure feels impressively rigid. The downside is a rather choppy ride, which combined with the sensitive steering and hyperactive powerplant, make the S2000 feel a little fidgety. It's still a quick car across country, but it doesn't inspire confidence in quite the same way as the home-grown contender.

The beauty of the S2000 is that it does everything well. The engine may not really come alive until your ears are starting to bleed, but it's still perfectly tractable, and indeed quite civilised, at every day speeds. The gear change is fantastically slick and precise; the hood seems well thought out and it even has a half decent boot. One criticism of the earlier cars was a tendency to snap into sudden oversteer, but with the revised chassis you'd have to be trying very hard to do so in the dry. Even with the 'vehicle stability assist' turned off it took deliberate provocation in first gear to make the tail break lose and minimal correction to bring it back into line.

Returning to our photo shoot location for the group shots, it's time to reach a verdict. Henry really rates the live-wire nature of the S2000, but Ian prefers the Elise. It doesn't take me long to reach my own decision. In many respects the banzai Honda is every bit as exciting to drive as the Elise and it's definitely a more practical ownership prospect, but there's just a certain quality to the Lotus. It feels so intimately connected with the road and so cohesive as an overall package. It almost feels a little unfair to compare the two, as they feel very different, yet almost equally competent. However, for me, the lasting impression was that the S2000 felt like a car – a very good one, but still 'a' car; the Elise felt unique. It felt like a Lotus.