A few weeks back I went to the Autocar Drift School event at Silverstone. You can find the full story here: http://msnukcars.spaces.live.com/blog/cns!9147D27F85A04C56!2925.entry
However, just for this blog, you can also watch my talent running out in glorious technicolour in the following clips...
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
My cars: MG ZS 180
Arguably Longbridge's finest hour - the mid-sized MG just need a tiny bit more time.
It would be an exaggeration to describe the ZS 180 as 'meeting one of my heroes'. However, while it was never exactly bedroom wall material, I distinctly remember taking note when this car first appeared . Roadtesters raved about it - Tiff Needell described it as "the best front wheel drive car I've ever driven". It was also affordable, British and just a little bit different. I’d just learnt to drive when it was released in 2001 and although I never lusted after one like a GT40 or Cobra, I quite fancied the idea of getting a ZS.
Five years later I did exactly that. I was actually on the lookout for a Peugeot 306 GTi-6, but I went to see a locally advertised ZS180 and the owner made me an offer I couldn't refuse. A few days later I found myself driving it home.
Coming down a quiet stretch of the A12 on the way back, the car was in its element. The silky smooth V6 emitted a pleasing thrum and pulled strongly, well into license-losing territory. If you were to be cruel you might suggest the slightly over-the-top factory body kit also looked rather at home on the so-called Essex Autobahn, but the ZS possessed impressive high-speed stability, suggesting that the big wing’s presence was indeed justified. It also provided a strong, stable braking platform that meant speed could be shed as effectively as it was gained.
Out on the back roads the MG put out slightly mixed messages. Its structure felt extremely stiff and this was mirrored by very precise, direct steering. It gripped well, particularly in the dry where the chunky 17in alloys shod with Michelin Pilot Sports provided excellent traction. Their low profile, combined with reasonably stiff springs led to a firm ride, but no more so than other sports saloons. There was very little body roll
during cornering and yet the car also remained pleasingly composed over mid-corner bumps, aided no doubt, by MG's bold choice of solid polyurethane suspension bushes.
However, despite its impressively low kerb weight of 1285kg, the V6-engined ZS felt a little nose heavy at times. It had a marked tendency to understeer and the turn in, whilst respectable, was never quite as positive as some of the smaller hot hatches. Worse was to come with the steering, which, for all its precision, felt oddly lacking in feedback. That's not to say it was terrible – it just represented a frustrating flaw in what was, on the whole, a very competent car.
The end result was something that felt a little uninvolving at everyday speeds. In order to make it play, you had to pitch the car more violently into bends than really seemed wise on the road. When you'd done so, the lightly-loaded rear end could prove surprisingly skittish. It was a trait which once again left you feeling the ZS was just on the wrong side of greatness.
Despite this, the MG was far from being a lost cause. As well as offering similar performance to its hot hatch contemporaries, the ZS had the advantage of being a full size 5-door saloon. The interior may have felt somewhat dated, but all the major controls were suitably tactile and it was by no means a bad place to be. Air conditioning, part-leather seats and a good quality stereo all came as standard. To cap it off, the saloon featured a large boot and reasonable rear seating. The only major downside to this was a factory fitted strut brace that went across the back of the rear seats and effectively partitioned the boot
even when they were folded down. This once prompted a last minute rethink when embarking on a mountain biking trip to Wales. We eventually had to abandon the ZS in favour of a friend's diminutive Citroen Saxo - hardly the last word in load-luggers.
In truth it was probably a few hundred hours of development time behind cars like the Renault Clio 182 and the Honda Civic Type R, but not (as some of its detractors would like to claim) a polished turd. MG Rover's collapse in 2005 and various unfounded fears over reliability and parts had pushed the 180's price down to half that of its continental and Japanese rivals by the time I bought one in 2006. It might not have represented quite as much car outright, but it was an awful lot more car for the money.
Five years later I did exactly that. I was actually on the lookout for a Peugeot 306 GTi-6, but I went to see a locally advertised ZS180 and the owner made me an offer I couldn't refuse. A few days later I found myself driving it home.
Coming down a quiet stretch of the A12 on the way back, the car was in its element. The silky smooth V6 emitted a pleasing thrum and pulled strongly, well into license-losing territory. If you were to be cruel you might suggest the slightly over-the-top factory body kit also looked rather at home on the so-called Essex Autobahn, but the ZS possessed impressive high-speed stability, suggesting that the big wing’s presence was indeed justified. It also provided a strong, stable braking platform that meant speed could be shed as effectively as it was gained.
Out on the back roads the MG put out slightly mixed messages. Its structure felt extremely stiff and this was mirrored by very precise, direct steering. It gripped well, particularly in the dry where the chunky 17in alloys shod with Michelin Pilot Sports provided excellent traction. Their low profile, combined with reasonably stiff springs led to a firm ride, but no more so than other sports saloons. There was very little body roll
during cornering and yet the car also remained pleasingly composed over mid-corner bumps, aided no doubt, by MG's bold choice of solid polyurethane suspension bushes. However, despite its impressively low kerb weight of 1285kg, the V6-engined ZS felt a little nose heavy at times. It had a marked tendency to understeer and the turn in, whilst respectable, was never quite as positive as some of the smaller hot hatches. Worse was to come with the steering, which, for all its precision, felt oddly lacking in feedback. That's not to say it was terrible – it just represented a frustrating flaw in what was, on the whole, a very competent car.
The end result was something that felt a little uninvolving at everyday speeds. In order to make it play, you had to pitch the car more violently into bends than really seemed wise on the road. When you'd done so, the lightly-loaded rear end could prove surprisingly skittish. It was a trait which once again left you feeling the ZS was just on the wrong side of greatness.
Despite this, the MG was far from being a lost cause. As well as offering similar performance to its hot hatch contemporaries, the ZS had the advantage of being a full size 5-door saloon. The interior may have felt somewhat dated, but all the major controls were suitably tactile and it was by no means a bad place to be. Air conditioning, part-leather seats and a good quality stereo all came as standard. To cap it off, the saloon featured a large boot and reasonable rear seating. The only major downside to this was a factory fitted strut brace that went across the back of the rear seats and effectively partitioned the boot
even when they were folded down. This once prompted a last minute rethink when embarking on a mountain biking trip to Wales. We eventually had to abandon the ZS in favour of a friend's diminutive Citroen Saxo - hardly the last word in load-luggers.In truth it was probably a few hundred hours of development time behind cars like the Renault Clio 182 and the Honda Civic Type R, but not (as some of its detractors would like to claim) a polished turd. MG Rover's collapse in 2005 and various unfounded fears over reliability and parts had pushed the 180's price down to half that of its continental and Japanese rivals by the time I bought one in 2006. It might not have represented quite as much car outright, but it was an awful lot more car for the money.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
My Cars: Porsche 924S
The classic front engined, rear wheel drive GT has to be one of the most evocative profiles in motoring. It conjures up images of playboys in continent-crushing Aston Martins and Ferraris howling around alpine passes to the sound of Matt Monroe. It's all so exotic and unobtainable. Or is it?
Whilst I had my 205 GTi up for sale, I began considering a replacement. I wanted an affordable sports car that would not only introduce me to rear wheel drive, but also serve as a genuinely realistic mode of every day transport. I considered various options, but in the end I homed in on either the Porsche 924 or 944. I eventually choose the 924S, which technically speaking is an amalgamation of the two - arguably containing the best bits of both.
Porsche designed the original 924 for Audi using various bits from the VAG parts bin including the two-litre, four-cylinder engine used in the Audi 100 and the Volkswagen LT van. When Audi backed out of the deal, Porsche bought the rights to the project for £40million – a cool £6million less than they'd charged in development costs. Upon its release, the car met with a lukewarm reaction. Porsche enthusiasts took a dislike to the use of a water-cooled engine – in particular its location at the front of the car and modest 125hp output. However there was no denying that the company was onto something with the beautifully balanced transaxle layout and pretty, yet practical, body. Its eventual successor, the 944, was released six years later with a 2.5 litre, 165hp engine developed in-house from the 928's V8. It featured an all-new body shell along with a whole raft of improvements to the suspension, transmission and brakes. Curiosity rapidly got the better of the Porsche engineers, who began experimenting with the improved mechanics of the 944 in the lighter, slipperier shell of the 924.
The result was the 924S and initially it seems to have worked a little too well – the cars were noticeably quicker than the base model 944 and production models were fitted with low compression pistons to reduce their power output. Even so, 0-60 took around 8 seconds and the top speed was in excess of 130mph. It wasn't until the final year of production – with the eight valve 944 safely out of the way – that the full specification engine was put in. There was little doubt that the performance of the 924S eclipsed that of the 944, however to this day the stigma of the original 'van-engined' car remains and the prices have never really recovered. This is, however, great news for the budget-conscious buyer, which is exactly where I fit in… In April 2006 I part exchanged my troublesome Pug for a 1988 924S, costing a grand total of £1,900.
The first thing that struck me coming from a hot hatch is how differently the performance was delivered. The 924S' long gearing and low coefficient of drag ensured it could hold its own on the autobahn, but it lacked the initial punch of something like the Pug. Once on the fly, the smooth, torquey engine delivered impressive real world pace, even if its reluctance to rev sometimes felt like someone had set the red line too low.
The car's real trump card was its balance. Thanks to the rear mounted transaxle it had a near-perfect 50:50 weight distribution, the benefits of which rapidly became clear. When provoked, the tail end would break away slowly and progressively. Correcting the slide was an equally relaxed affair; the beautifully direct steering allowed you to respond with precision, while the forgiving chassis meant you didn’t strictly need to. Sadly the feel was never quite there to back up the steering poise and a floaty ride further reduced the confidence that the excellent chassis would otherwise have generated. The brakes were also a little inert, with neither the stopping power nor the modulation that you might expect. These three points may well have related to the mechanical condition and tyre choice of my particular example; whatever the reason it seemed unfortunate that they were allowed to spoil such a competent chassis.
The story was much the same with other areas of the car. With the rear seats folded it had a truly huge loading area, which the hatchback allowed you to make maximum use of. Two mountain bike frames in the back? No problem, try that in an MX5… However actually accommodating adults in the back was almost impossible without some form of amputation. Likewise, its high gearing, torquey engine and respectable fuel consumption theoretically made it an ideal long distance tourer, but in reality its pint-sized fuel tank required repeated stops. Everywhere you looked, the 924S was full of contradictions.
All of these things led to a car that was frustrating, not for its shortcomings, but because it so obviously had the potential to be truly great. Its fundamental spec was a relatively compact, two plus two, rear wheel drive sports car with sublime balance, hugely practical boot space, cheap running costs and impressive reliability. What more could you need? It even had a removable targa panel in the roof, which made a surprisingly close approximation to open air motoring. The only things the fundamental concept lacked were a bit more power and some beefier brakes. I was sorely tempted to take the car on as a project and address those, but there was one problem, or rather there was already a solution…
For the cost of modifying a 924S to my requirements, there was already a car that fulfilled them all; the 944 S2. This used a version of the 944 engine that had been fitted with a sixteen valve head and bored out to three litres; it revved far more freely than the original unit and gained no less than 50hp. It also featured up-rated ventilated discs all round combined with an ABS system, the larger 944 fuel tank and the options of stiffer suspension and a limited slip diff.
So, why didn’t I buy a 944 S2? Well, simply the cost. It may have been more economical than modifying the existing car, but a decent example would still have been two or three times the price. And that's not really what the 924S was about – while they do have their foibles, they also offer a huge amount of car for the money and a very affordable entry into the sports car market. My example may be long gone, but I do sometimes find myself considering a return to Porsche ownership. If I did it would undoubtedly be a 944 S2, but this isn't due to hindsight – it's simply a result of having the means this time round. For the money, nothing beats the 924S.
Whilst I had my 205 GTi up for sale, I began considering a replacement. I wanted an affordable sports car that would not only introduce me to rear wheel drive, but also serve as a genuinely realistic mode of every day transport. I considered various options, but in the end I homed in on either the Porsche 924 or 944. I eventually choose the 924S, which technically speaking is an amalgamation of the two - arguably containing the best bits of both.
Porsche designed the original 924 for Audi using various bits from the VAG parts bin including the two-litre, four-cylinder engine used in the Audi 100 and the Volkswagen LT van. When Audi backed out of the deal, Porsche bought the rights to the project for £40million – a cool £6million less than they'd charged in development costs. Upon its release, the car met with a lukewarm reaction. Porsche enthusiasts took a dislike to the use of a water-cooled engine – in particular its location at the front of the car and modest 125hp output. However there was no denying that the company was onto something with the beautifully balanced transaxle layout and pretty, yet practical, body. Its eventual successor, the 944, was released six years later with a 2.5 litre, 165hp engine developed in-house from the 928's V8. It featured an all-new body shell along with a whole raft of improvements to the suspension, transmission and brakes. Curiosity rapidly got the better of the Porsche engineers, who began experimenting with the improved mechanics of the 944 in the lighter, slipperier shell of the 924.
The result was the 924S and initially it seems to have worked a little too well – the cars were noticeably quicker than the base model 944 and production models were fitted with low compression pistons to reduce their power output. Even so, 0-60 took around 8 seconds and the top speed was in excess of 130mph. It wasn't until the final year of production – with the eight valve 944 safely out of the way – that the full specification engine was put in. There was little doubt that the performance of the 924S eclipsed that of the 944, however to this day the stigma of the original 'van-engined' car remains and the prices have never really recovered. This is, however, great news for the budget-conscious buyer, which is exactly where I fit in… In April 2006 I part exchanged my troublesome Pug for a 1988 924S, costing a grand total of £1,900.
The first thing that struck me coming from a hot hatch is how differently the performance was delivered. The 924S' long gearing and low coefficient of drag ensured it could hold its own on the autobahn, but it lacked the initial punch of something like the Pug. Once on the fly, the smooth, torquey engine delivered impressive real world pace, even if its reluctance to rev sometimes felt like someone had set the red line too low.
The car's real trump card was its balance. Thanks to the rear mounted transaxle it had a near-perfect 50:50 weight distribution, the benefits of which rapidly became clear. When provoked, the tail end would break away slowly and progressively. Correcting the slide was an equally relaxed affair; the beautifully direct steering allowed you to respond with precision, while the forgiving chassis meant you didn’t strictly need to. Sadly the feel was never quite there to back up the steering poise and a floaty ride further reduced the confidence that the excellent chassis would otherwise have generated. The brakes were also a little inert, with neither the stopping power nor the modulation that you might expect. These three points may well have related to the mechanical condition and tyre choice of my particular example; whatever the reason it seemed unfortunate that they were allowed to spoil such a competent chassis.
The story was much the same with other areas of the car. With the rear seats folded it had a truly huge loading area, which the hatchback allowed you to make maximum use of. Two mountain bike frames in the back? No problem, try that in an MX5… However actually accommodating adults in the back was almost impossible without some form of amputation. Likewise, its high gearing, torquey engine and respectable fuel consumption theoretically made it an ideal long distance tourer, but in reality its pint-sized fuel tank required repeated stops. Everywhere you looked, the 924S was full of contradictions.
All of these things led to a car that was frustrating, not for its shortcomings, but because it so obviously had the potential to be truly great. Its fundamental spec was a relatively compact, two plus two, rear wheel drive sports car with sublime balance, hugely practical boot space, cheap running costs and impressive reliability. What more could you need? It even had a removable targa panel in the roof, which made a surprisingly close approximation to open air motoring. The only things the fundamental concept lacked were a bit more power and some beefier brakes. I was sorely tempted to take the car on as a project and address those, but there was one problem, or rather there was already a solution…
For the cost of modifying a 924S to my requirements, there was already a car that fulfilled them all; the 944 S2. This used a version of the 944 engine that had been fitted with a sixteen valve head and bored out to three litres; it revved far more freely than the original unit and gained no less than 50hp. It also featured up-rated ventilated discs all round combined with an ABS system, the larger 944 fuel tank and the options of stiffer suspension and a limited slip diff.
So, why didn’t I buy a 944 S2? Well, simply the cost. It may have been more economical than modifying the existing car, but a decent example would still have been two or three times the price. And that's not really what the 924S was about – while they do have their foibles, they also offer a huge amount of car for the money and a very affordable entry into the sports car market. My example may be long gone, but I do sometimes find myself considering a return to Porsche ownership. If I did it would undoubtedly be a 944 S2, but this isn't due to hindsight – it's simply a result of having the means this time round. For the money, nothing beats the 924S.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
My Cars: 205 GTi
My second car purchase was hailed as a star of the hot hatch world, but was it worth it?
Over the next few months the pug proved to be a very versatile car. Its taut chassis and smooth torquey engine proved entertaining over b-roads, whilst the back would seat up to three adults, or alternatively two full size mountain bike frames. The drawbacks were a hefty fuel economy penalty (struggling to make 25mpg) and a rather unpleasant resonance in the cabin that caused it to hum loudly at motorway speeds. The biggest issues however, were yet to materialise.
French cars of the 1980s do have something of a reputation for unreliability. Initially I dismissed this as the same sort of motoring stereotype that demands all Alfa Romeos must break down and all kit cars must fall apart, but bit by bit my pug started conforming to type. First the gear selector mechanism developed a habit of popping off - most notably whilst I was in the middle of a 4-lane roundabout coming off the A127. Next the alternator needed to be replaced. Shortly after that the mass airflow sensor packed in and then to compound matters it developed an intermittent immobiliser fault. By this time I was getting itchy feet and the prospect of something rear wheel drive appealed. After one grazed knuckle too many I part exchanged the car for my next purchase – a Porsche 924S.
So is the 205 GTi as good as it's made out to be? In most respects, yes. The handling and performance were a cut above its competitors, but perhaps not by as big a margin as the legends would have you believe. Its trump card was combining these attributes with a spacious, practical layout. There were no shortage of sportscars that could outperform a 205 GTi, but very few that you could truly use everyday. However, I can't help feeling that the Golf GTi of the same period may be a better solution – purists will argue that it isn't quite up to the standards of the pug dynamically, but it is undoubtedly close. Whatsmore it offers greater space, teutonic build quality and a more forgiving driving experience. The pug may be a great car, but looking at it with my head (if not my heart) I think the mk2 Golf Gti might just have been a better choice.
Cars that reach iconic status tend to fall roughly into one of two categories. You get lavish offerings from people like Lamborghini with giant spoilers, huge engines and staggering performance; then you get the working class heroes of the automotive world – affordable cars with a hint of genius attached to them. The Peugeot 205 GTi is frequently banded around as an example of the latter, but is it really that good?
My 205 GTi ownership began more or less out of necessity. The Quantum was proving somewhat impractical for everyday transport and we were entering a horrendous winter, which thoroughly highlighted the shortcomings in its ageing soft top. To make life easier I decided to put the car into storage and get something more spacious … and watertight. At the time a colleague was selling his 1.9 Peugeot 205 GTi and it seemed like the ideal solution. It was a genuine four seater, a hatchback, a fixed head and reputedly good fun to drive.
The test drive was a little underwhelming. Sure, the Integrale owning car-nut who was selling it took me out to some b-roads and drove like an Italian (he was), but my own experience behind the wheel was less hair-raising. It went reasonably well and performance was probably on a par with the Quantum I'd stepped out of, but that somehow didn't live up to its legendary status. Still, it cornered smartly, everything looked tidy and it ticked all the right boxes for practicality. After a brief and not entirely successful spot of haggling I came away with the car.
I took my time getting accustomed to the 205, given its widow-maker reputation, but in honesty I think this is a little overstated. The famously mobile rear end was in most cases entertaining rather than shocking and despite letting go somewhat quicker than most hot hatches it would usually come back into line promptly given a little opposite lock. Driven with delicacy and respect it seemed to reward with the same qualities - turn in smoothly with a slight lift and the nose would tuck in without drama. The steering felt precise and beautifully linear, giving a good indication of the remaining grip. Sudden mid-corner braking may well have sent you into the undergrowth, but fortunately this was something I managed to avoid. The closest I ever came to hedge hunting was ironically whilst going in a straight line – driving down a dual carriage way one night I was about to overtake the car in front when they decided to change lanes. With traffic on one side and a substantial looking barrier on the other, my only choice was to hit the brakes. Even without locking the wheels, some minor imbalance in the car's chassis or road surface sent me into an almighty tank slapper. Luckily I had just about enough space to regain control and slow down before any lasting harm was done. My headlights made a frenzied trail in the dusk as the tail wagged from side to side and I got some very apologetic gestures from the car in front; personally I was just glad to be in one piece. There was little that could have been done to avoid the experience, but it served as a reminder that the 205 could still bare its claws.
My 205 GTi ownership began more or less out of necessity. The Quantum was proving somewhat impractical for everyday transport and we were entering a horrendous winter, which thoroughly highlighted the shortcomings in its ageing soft top. To make life easier I decided to put the car into storage and get something more spacious … and watertight. At the time a colleague was selling his 1.9 Peugeot 205 GTi and it seemed like the ideal solution. It was a genuine four seater, a hatchback, a fixed head and reputedly good fun to drive.
The test drive was a little underwhelming. Sure, the Integrale owning car-nut who was selling it took me out to some b-roads and drove like an Italian (he was), but my own experience behind the wheel was less hair-raising. It went reasonably well and performance was probably on a par with the Quantum I'd stepped out of, but that somehow didn't live up to its legendary status. Still, it cornered smartly, everything looked tidy and it ticked all the right boxes for practicality. After a brief and not entirely successful spot of haggling I came away with the car.
I took my time getting accustomed to the 205, given its widow-maker reputation, but in honesty I think this is a little overstated. The famously mobile rear end was in most cases entertaining rather than shocking and despite letting go somewhat quicker than most hot hatches it would usually come back into line promptly given a little opposite lock. Driven with delicacy and respect it seemed to reward with the same qualities - turn in smoothly with a slight lift and the nose would tuck in without drama. The steering felt precise and beautifully linear, giving a good indication of the remaining grip. Sudden mid-corner braking may well have sent you into the undergrowth, but fortunately this was something I managed to avoid. The closest I ever came to hedge hunting was ironically whilst going in a straight line – driving down a dual carriage way one night I was about to overtake the car in front when they decided to change lanes. With traffic on one side and a substantial looking barrier on the other, my only choice was to hit the brakes. Even without locking the wheels, some minor imbalance in the car's chassis or road surface sent me into an almighty tank slapper. Luckily I had just about enough space to regain control and slow down before any lasting harm was done. My headlights made a frenzied trail in the dusk as the tail wagged from side to side and I got some very apologetic gestures from the car in front; personally I was just glad to be in one piece. There was little that could have been done to avoid the experience, but it served as a reminder that the 205 could still bare its claws.
Over the next few months the pug proved to be a very versatile car. Its taut chassis and smooth torquey engine proved entertaining over b-roads, whilst the back would seat up to three adults, or alternatively two full size mountain bike frames. The drawbacks were a hefty fuel economy penalty (struggling to make 25mpg) and a rather unpleasant resonance in the cabin that caused it to hum loudly at motorway speeds. The biggest issues however, were yet to materialise.
French cars of the 1980s do have something of a reputation for unreliability. Initially I dismissed this as the same sort of motoring stereotype that demands all Alfa Romeos must break down and all kit cars must fall apart, but bit by bit my pug started conforming to type. First the gear selector mechanism developed a habit of popping off - most notably whilst I was in the middle of a 4-lane roundabout coming off the A127. Next the alternator needed to be replaced. Shortly after that the mass airflow sensor packed in and then to compound matters it developed an intermittent immobiliser fault. By this time I was getting itchy feet and the prospect of something rear wheel drive appealed. After one grazed knuckle too many I part exchanged the car for my next purchase – a Porsche 924S.
So is the 205 GTi as good as it's made out to be? In most respects, yes. The handling and performance were a cut above its competitors, but perhaps not by as big a margin as the legends would have you believe. Its trump card was combining these attributes with a spacious, practical layout. There were no shortage of sportscars that could outperform a 205 GTi, but very few that you could truly use everyday. However, I can't help feeling that the Golf GTi of the same period may be a better solution – purists will argue that it isn't quite up to the standards of the pug dynamically, but it is undoubtedly close. Whatsmore it offers greater space, teutonic build quality and a more forgiving driving experience. The pug may be a great car, but looking at it with my head (if not my heart) I think the mk2 Golf Gti might just have been a better choice.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
TVR World Excusive
April 1st 2008, Moscow
The announcement this morning that TVR were to release a new model sent shockwaves through the automotive industry. It transpires that the apparently-dead car makers were in fact closing down production to focus on the development of their new model, The Cyclops. The car, due to be unveiled at the prestigious Murmansk Motor Show in July, features a six litre twin turbo V10 hybrid power plant, capable of running on bio-ethanol. Whilst in town it uses a lithium-ion battery pack charged by a combination of regenerative braking and roof-mounted solar panels. Performance calculations suggest a top speed in excess of 260mph and a nought to sixty time of around two seconds.
A company insider using a not-entirely-plausible Russian accent was heard to remark: "This is the greatest car ever built. Well, when I say built – we mean designed. It was sketched on the back of Nikolai's history homework to the very highest standard. My only regret is that we had to delete the twin laser cannons and the anti-gravity device due to a cost save."
Amidst rumours that the new range would be built in Italy or Croatia, TVR have surprised the world by announcing plans to shift production to Monaco, citing cheaper labour costs than their native Blackpool as the main factor. However all models will now feature the union jack badges originally ordered by the Poowong Automotive Corporation for use on their range of Shanghai-built Austin Allegro derivatives. This is intended to emphasise the company's British heritage, along with dodgy electrical earths and tweed upholstery.
There's no word on price yet, but we expect it to cost around £399,999.99 when it finally goes on sale on April 1st next year.
The announcement this morning that TVR were to release a new model sent shockwaves through the automotive industry. It transpires that the apparently-dead car makers were in fact closing down production to focus on the development of their new model, The Cyclops. The car, due to be unveiled at the prestigious Murmansk Motor Show in July, features a six litre twin turbo V10 hybrid power plant, capable of running on bio-ethanol. Whilst in town it uses a lithium-ion battery pack charged by a combination of regenerative braking and roof-mounted solar panels. Performance calculations suggest a top speed in excess of 260mph and a nought to sixty time of around two seconds.
A company insider using a not-entirely-plausible Russian accent was heard to remark: "This is the greatest car ever built. Well, when I say built – we mean designed. It was sketched on the back of Nikolai's history homework to the very highest standard. My only regret is that we had to delete the twin laser cannons and the anti-gravity device due to a cost save."
Amidst rumours that the new range would be built in Italy or Croatia, TVR have surprised the world by announcing plans to shift production to Monaco, citing cheaper labour costs than their native Blackpool as the main factor. However all models will now feature the union jack badges originally ordered by the Poowong Automotive Corporation for use on their range of Shanghai-built Austin Allegro derivatives. This is intended to emphasise the company's British heritage, along with dodgy electrical earths and tweed upholstery.
There's no word on price yet, but we expect it to cost around £399,999.99 when it finally goes on sale on April 1st next year.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
My Cars: Quantum 2+2
I'm going to be looking at all the cars I've owned to date in a series of posts. First up is the Quantum 2+2.
Everybody remembers their first car. Technically speaking I had driven others before (we'll come to those later), but the first car I ever actually owned was a Quantum 2+2. So named because of its (slightly optimistic) two plus two seating layout, the Quantum was one of the success stories of the 90s kit car industry. It used Ford Fiesta running gear allied to a tough and pretty GRP monocoque. Most, like mine were XR2 based, but there have been examples built with the later Zetec engines, turbocharged CVHs and even the occasional Diesel.
Inside, the car's humble origins become apparent; you sit somewhat lower than in a Fiesta, but the dashboard is instantly recognisable. On the flipside, so too is was an excellent heating and demist system, electric windows, a decent stereo and a large glove box – all considered luxuries on a kit car of the time. Add to this some space in the back and a comparatively huge 450 litre boot and it really was as usable as the donor car.
The Quantum interior - puppy not included.
So far, so good, but usability isn't really what sportscars are about. Fortunately the stiff tub combined with Quantum's own suspension geometry and spring rates provided a very entertaining driving experience. True, the unassisted steering was a little heavy at parking speeds, but you could forgive that once on the move. Prod the throttle and the Vulcan-built engine would suck air rather vocally through the K&N air filter, past its enlarged ports and valves and then out through the exhaust. A lumpy cam provided a suitably sporting burble at tickover and a lightened flywheel gave instant throttle response, ideal for scaring passers by with blipped down changes! However it was the chassis' balance that really made the car come alive when pushed; it maintained a very neutral stance only really giving into understeer when wet. In the dry it proved very throttle adjustable and a deliberate lift could easily bring the back end into play, yet it never felt nervous in the way that a 205 GTi could. In honesty it lacked the Pug's last degree of steering feel and turn-in ability too, but it remained playful, whilst never quite giving you enough rope to hang yourself. It was the perfect combination for an enthusiastic young driver.
Whilst the Quantum was a genuinely capable and versatile car, the other things that make your first car stand out are the experiences you have with it. I was lucky enough to be living in Devon at the time and my memories of the car will always be intertwined with the county's rural roads and those of neighbouring Somerset and Dorset. I did my first trackday with it at the Haynes test track in Sparkford; I used it to drive to my first serious job interviews in London and when I finally moved to the other side of the country it was the car that took me there. However my defining memory will always be of driving it back from a friend's house late one summer evening. It was about 1am and I'd just started the car on the street outside when I heard an interesting noise. An enthusiastically driven TR5 buzzed pass heading in the same direction and I pulled away behind it. Within yards the road went into national speed limit and I was just about able to keep up. And so for the next half hour or so we flew through the lanes of Somerset and Dorset in convoy under the stars. With the hood down I could hear the Triumph's straight six echoing off the hedgerows and had a perfect platform from which to see the driver threading it through corners with just a hint of four-wheeled drift. We continued like this unhindered by traffic until we reached the main road, then with a wave we headed off in opposite directions. It remains one of my all time favourite driving experiences.
The Quantum at Wiscombe Park Hillclimb
So what of the other cars before that? The first car I actually drove after losing my L-plates was a Citroen Saxo belonging to my parents and I did eventually own that too. Recently in fact, which is why I'll come to that one in the future.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Special Delivery
The following was written when I picked up my TVR in early February. It's the story of my first 200 miles or so with the S3 and was originally posted on the Pistonheads.com TVR forum.
After about an hour on the A1 I was starting to loose feeling in most of my extremities; whilst I still had a broad 'village idiot' grin, on my face, the shivering that was starting to accompany it was less becoming, so I pulled in to the services for my first attempt on the hood. I went for the previous owner's suggested technique of balancing the targa panels in the windscreen and rolling the rear section up to meet it. Despite fears of broken glass and ripped canvas, all went smoothly. That was until I came to restart the car atleast. A single relay clicked with no other signs of life and I began to suspect this was where my TVR experience really began. After a quick phone call to the seller who re-iterated his earlier advice on the idiosyncrasies of the immobiliser system, I was (much to my relief) back on the road.
So, after possibly the longest week of my life and a certain amount of insomnia I picked up my S3 on Saturday. Mr Livingstone and co were clearly conspiring against me as my train was first delayed by an hour and then, having only travelled a handful of miles, spent the next 15 minutes reversing back towards Kings Cross to clear a broken down service. Finally, five and a half hours after leaving the house I made it to Brough and with glorious sunshine it was far from grim up north. The formalities dispensed with, then a quick explanation on how to work the immobiliser and I was away. Hood down naturally.
The fuel gauge was firmly set on zero, so a couple of miles down the road I pulled into a garage and tentatively filled it up, trying my best to avoid tripping the auto-cut-off on the pump whilst simultaneously attempting to guess the quantity that was left. I gave up at £40's worth and headed off again. The fuel gauge still read zero, but frankly I didn't care as the sun was out and I was heading down a slip road in a TVR.
Cruising along the M18 I came across an interesting looking mini with flared arches and a roll cage. I slotted into a gap in the traffic just after him until the road cleared and then (easily up to temperature) I dropped down to fourth and gave it some beans. To my surprise the mini was still right behind me, accelerating hard at the sort of speed a standard A-series car would struggle even to reach. Accompanying it was a banshee wail, suggesting a bike engine or VTEC lurked within. That's what I'm choosing to tell myself anyway. Discretion kicked in shortly afterwards and we both pulled in to resume a more law abiding rate.
After about an hour on the A1 I was starting to loose feeling in most of my extremities; whilst I still had a broad 'village idiot' grin, on my face, the shivering that was starting to accompany it was less becoming, so I pulled in to the services for my first attempt on the hood. I went for the previous owner's suggested technique of balancing the targa panels in the windscreen and rolling the rear section up to meet it. Despite fears of broken glass and ripped canvas, all went smoothly. That was until I came to restart the car atleast. A single relay clicked with no other signs of life and I began to suspect this was where my TVR experience really began. After a quick phone call to the seller who re-iterated his earlier advice on the idiosyncrasies of the immobiliser system, I was (much to my relief) back on the road.
With the hood up the car suddenly became a very civilised proposition. The heater now had some effect, I was regaining feeling in my arms and the wind noise was virtually gone. Fortunately the engine note wasn't and it burbled on along the final stretch of the A1 sounding even better than it did with the hood down. As the Hatfield tunnel approached I couldn't resist winding the window down and listening to the exhaust note echo off the walls. Naturally I went through exactly the same routine in the Enfield and Holmesdale tunnels on the M25 - it would have been rude not to.
Emerging from the final tunnel with aching cheek muscles, I took a diversion up the M11 and onto the A414. This particular stretch is quite twisty in places and great fun in daylight with a car with that you know. Despite covering over 200 miles in the tiv by that point it had been almost exclusively straight and darkness was now upon us so I had to exercise some self-restraint in the corners. On the straight stretches however the S proved to have about the best overtaking pace of any car I've owned. The power delivery is so effortless compared to the 4 cylinder screamers I'm used to that it could have been left in top, but instead the schoolboy within demanded 4th if not 3rd and full throttle. The torque of the V6 makes real world progress feel very rapid - I'd love to know what the V8S is like.
As I finally pulled up outside my garage in the outskirts Chelmsford one of my old worries resurfaced. Would it fit in? I edged up very nervously, drove the front in and then got out to check for clearance on the back (the wing mirrors had long since been folded up). The eventual clearance between the rear wheel arches and two particularly vicious looking metal plates that stick out from the door frame was about 2" on either side. No worse than the average London parking space perhaps, but a nerve racking experience when parking the most expensive thing you have ever owned for the first time. Once the car was safely in I began the equally precarious task of getting me out. In the confines of the garage this involved removing the driver's side targa panel and squeezing out over the top.
Safely extracted, I got a lift back to the house and that evening I slept far more soundly than I had previously. The grin however, remains.
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