Road Tests

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2022 Porsche 911 GT3 Road Test: Exactly the hero you expect it to be

DETROIT – “Whoa, that’s a GT3,” shouts a kid from the truck next to me as I roll to a stop on Woodward Avenue. At the next light, happy Woodward watchers — yes, people just sit on the side of the road and watch cool cars go by here in Michigan — enthusiastically gesture to rev up the engine. Approving thumbs-ups seemingly rain down from everywhere. Sometimes, it’s fun being the center of attention.

This car needs no introduction. It’s the 2022 Porsche 911 GT3, and the world already knows it’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. You’ve been fed exactly this from every single written story or video you’ve consumed about it. That’s why it garners the attention and awe that it does from even the youngest car enthusiasts just setting out into the world of automobiles. This Guards Red coupe isn’t just a Porsche 911. It’s a GT3, and that’s all it takes to move it into an entirely different level of relevancy and awe.

I too felt starstruck upon first laying eyes on it. Yes, I put the car journalist cap on tightly before entering the driver’s seat, but it would simply be inhuman to not have a visceral reaction to knowing you’re soon going to be driving a 911 GT3. It’s cliché, but this is a bedroom poster car, the likes of which any young enthusiast — like that kid at the stoplight — grows up hoping to drive one day. If my experience driving other Porsches is any indication, it’s that meeting your heroes isn’t a problem if they wear Porsche crests.

And so, I go about meeting this particular hero. Despite the massive GT3 aero on the outside, looking out from the driver’s seat of a GT3 isn’t a life-shattering experience. At its core, it’s everything that’s good about all the other 911s. The seat sits low to the floor. Its small-diameter steering wheel nestles into your hands just right. Porsche’s slick manual gear lever is placed ergonomically in the center console, and the view out the windshield is stupendous. Visibility is one of the most underreported elements of sports cars and supercars, but you’ll never complain about your sightlines in a GT3. That is, unless you look out the back. Porsche’s downforce-inducing new wing may push up to 840 pounds down onto the back end of the car, but it blots out most of the 911’s otherwise useful rear window. Of course, considering how cool it looks, I can’t complain. Plus, there’s a solution: Just buy the GT3 Touring if it’s that bothersome.

It’s when you look closer around the GT3’s interior that the specialness of this car begins to sink in. Number one on the list is the analog tachometer with its 9,000 rpm redline. Then there’s the lack of a rear seat, which is a big omission for a vehicle like the 911 that can double as a family car if said family is limited to two small kids, two small dogs or just two folks up front who routinely like chucking shopping bags in the back. And finally, there’s the yellow “GT3” badge that sits just south of the shifter that subtly reminds you this 911 costs more than most folks’ homes. It was $177,780 as tested, and yes, it would probably be more than that given the state of the car market, but even before today’s madness, GT3s were difficult to scoop up.

Twist the big key fob-like protrusion to the left of the steering wheel, and the 4.0-liter naturally aspirated flat-six with its new individual throttle bodies awakens with a smooth but violent stir. Tap down on the Sport Exhaust button, which you should do before every drive, and the octave being emitted from the stainless-steel exhaust drops a bit at idle. This driveway performance doesn’t venture into obnoxious territory, but the neighbors will definitely notice something special has been awakened next door. And if they have a keen ear, they won’t need to see it to know what kind of car it is – there’s nothing quite like the deep, thunderous clatter of a Porsche flat six.

Muscle the shifter left and up into reverse, and a pitiful backup camera pops up. Somehow, Porsche fit a potato cam to the 911 GT3, while all the other 911s get a high-res and eminently more useful backup camera. Perhaps Porsche saved a few grams of weight by using a worse camera? At least you can still get the front axle lift system to save the low front end from scraping. The memory lift control worked like a charm for every location I frequented, and it’s a perfect backup in case you forget to hit the button coming home late at night to your steep driveway.

Making the left turn off my street and onto the main road is when the GT3-ness of this car really slaps me in the face. The front end darts to where I point it with an alacrity I wasn’t prepared for. As I trundle along uneven neighborhood streets, the rigidity of the chassis can be felt in every bump and pothole. Little rocks ping on the wheel wells thrown up by the GT3’s massive rubber.

I’ve always felt that particularly special cars reveal themselves and their potential in the first mile, and the GT3 fits this bill. The cabin is practically buzzing with sensations from all over. Each gear shift clicks into place swiftly and simply. The rise and fall of revs from the 502-horsepower flat-six is enticing and beckons for more at low speeds. Against logic, the electric power steering system is full of feel. That can admittedly be said of any 911, but only GT3 has a double-wishbone front suspension adapted from the Le Mans-winning 911 RSR, plus ball joints in place of various rubber suspension pieces. The result is a car that reacts to the road and communicates back unlike any other electric steering system I’ve used.

The harsh ride smooths out around cruising speeds above 40 mph, but the sense of oneness with the car and cohesiveness of the chassis never departs. Between the steering, rev band and noise coming from the rear, the GT3 starts to feel much less like its Carrera siblings, and more like its own beast entirely.

If you’ve never been behind the wheel of a GT3 before, there’s almost no way that you make it to the end of the tachometer the first time giving it the beans. Plenty of cars do the 0-60 mph sprint around the 3.0-second range these days, but very few do so with an engine that revs and builds power like this one. There’s a recalibration period the brain needs to go through as you wind past 7,000, 8,000 and then 8,500 rpm. The high-pitched symphonic yowl coming from behind you is telling you it’s time to shift. Your brain is really saying it’s time to shift. But you’re still rushing forward with a downright brutal sense of accelerative Gs.

I hated physics, but the best way to describe this engine is by utilizing it. Plenty of cars — namely turbocharged ones — will smack you off the line with a totalitarian rush of acceleration, and then continue along through a gear offering a similar amount of high G forces till it’s time to shift. However, the sense of increasing acceleration subsides, as your actual acceleration rate doesn’t feel like it’s constantly escalating. Meanwhile, the GT3’s accelerative force never seems to settle into a maximum. Until the next shift, that sense of acceleration — the force pushing your head back into the headrest — never has interest in slowing down as you gain speed. It’s simply spectacular.

Arcing the GT3 into a corner can be described with the same word: spectacular. The 992 generation of 911 is genuinely large and takes up a lot of room on the road, but the GT3 is remarkably light at just 3,126 pounds with this tester’s manual transmission. Add in the quick steering, and you can flick the GT3 through corners with the speed and confidence of a much smaller sports car. That double-wishbone front suspension design, and the endless list of other changes Porsche makes to the GT3 versus a Carrera, result in a very different 911 in the corners. You can swap the dampers between “Sport” and “Track” modes, but no street surface necessitates stepping up to Track. All four tires stay glued to the ground around corners as though you couldn’t break their contact if you tried, and while I feel like I’m driving briskly, the GT3’s limits can’t even be touched on the road. You need speed, beyond what our speed limits allow, to use that giant rear wing to compress the chassis into the pavement and truly exploit the car.

Even without a racetrack, though, the sheer sense of stability and agility afforded by this chassis is second to none. Every 911 grants you an unnatural amount of grip as you accelerate out of a corner, but the GT3 just makes it even better. The predictability of the engine’s torque, a dummy-proof rev-matching downshift feature, and this sophisticated and unflappable chassis make pushing the GT3 both easy and a nonstop joy. That is, so long as the roads are indeed roadworthy, which isn’t something Michigan is always adept at providing. Find yourself on some less ideal pavement, and the aggressive wheel/tire setup and alignment results in tramlining that you just can’t do anything about. It’s the only thing that’ll break a smile in the cockpit of this car.

Practically beaming from corner to corner with the revs never falling below 6,000 and 7,000 rpm, and that Formula 1-like wail echoing off the forest around you, is what the GT3 is all about. It’s a tall bottle of pure performance and another tall bottle of pure joy combined, and the result is a driving enthusiast’s cocktail of choice. And while you may not know it to be your cocktail of choice today, I can promise that one taste of GT3 will be all that’s needed to make it so.

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August 2, 2022 / Comments Off

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McLaren 765LT Spider Road Test | Clearing the air on Angeles Crest

LOS ANGELES — A sunny L.A. spring day is the ideal complement to taking possession of a nearly $500,000, Ambit Blue McLaren 765LT Spider. Add to that an hours-long midday stint on a nearly empty Angeles Crest Highway and a recipe is crafted for a nearly utopic automotive experience.

The presence of my boyfriend in the right seat was the proverbial cake frosting, save for the fact that he dislikes convertibles and driving quickly. We compromised. If he would join me for the ride, I would attend a museum tour with him at the Lanterman House in La Cañada Flintridge – a suburban town at the road’s western terminus – and treat him to lunch afterward. Drive, Discover, Dine: Date Day.

Dr. Jacob Lanterman moved to sunny Southern California from dreary western Michigan in the early part of the 20th century, seeking and espousing the health benefits – and relief from pulmonary illnesses like tuberculosis – believed to be offered by the lovely weather and fresh air. He became a major landholder in the Crescenta Valley, at the base of the San Gabriel mountains, built himself and his family a 10,000-square-foot Arts and Crafts-style home out of concrete and steel in 1915 to defend against the fire and earthquakes he’d witnessed in San Francisco, and began subdividing and selling parcels. But the valley’s lack of access to a year-round water supply choked the process.

His grandson, Frank, who lived in the house for his entire life, became a long-serving Republican California state assemblyman, and managed to pass legislation allowing the town access to the same fresh water supply that served Los Angeles, ushering into his pockets loads of cash, and ushering into the valley sprawl, traffic, and smog. Rep. Lanterman countered by introducing the nation’s first legislation mandating pollution reduction devices on cars. California thus became the first state to create tailpipe emissions standards, and require the componentry needed to scrub (some) harmful soot and fumes from the always-inefficient burning of fossil fuels. (Frank sponsored many less helpful initiatives as well.)

Speaking of the inefficient burning of fossil fuels, the McLaren 765LT Spider, which is able to pump 91 octane through its mid-mounted twin-turbocharged 4.0-liter V8 and produce 755 horsepower. And while it sports four gargantuan exhaust portals – lined up (and sounding) like the business end of a mortar – it at least spews far less air-corrupting garbage into the atmosphere than your grandmother’s LeSabre thanks to those tailpipe emissions standards, which allow the air surrounding Angeles Crest, while not perfectly clear, to generally no longer feel like grime stew.

This was a bonus for me during my reverential drive up and down the highway, as deep breathing is requisite when piloting a half-million dollars worth of peak British exotic through about 1,000 hairpin turns already occupied by hostile bicyclists, ripping motorcyclists, tumbling granite and suicidal wildlife.

It is difficult to enunciate the perfection of the 765LT Spider. I could critique the extortionate pricing like the $730 car cover, the $5,500 paint color or the $2,120 carbon fiber front license plate plinth. I could gripe about the fact that a car that costs this much doesn’t include Apple CarPlay. I could note that clambering into the car, and its highly-bolstered carbon-shell seats, requires contortions that would challenge a champion ecdysiast. I could whine that once you’re in there, there’s literally no place to put your stuff except a little webbed pocket on the firewall. But that would be nitpicking.

This car is an absolute blast, in the literal and figurative sense of the word. Acceleration is blistering – 0-60 mph arrives in 2.3 seconds, 100 in just twice that – enthralling and eminently repeatable. Though the car’s belt line was around my neck, forward visibility is shockingly ideal; one can practically see the road as it appears just beyond the front bumper, important when attacking the aforementioned blind curves. The braking, with ceramic composite discs, and calipers borrowed from the trackable Senna hypercar, is immediate, wonderfully balanced, and perfectly modulated.

The seven-speed dual-clutch transmission works telepathically in automated mode, but is far more alluring to rifle off shifts with the steering wheel-mounted paddles; in the sportiest setting they replicate a chiropractor’s adjustments. Grip is nothing short of agglutinate, aided by Pirelli P Zero Trofeo R tires, developed especially for McLaren, in sizes 245/35/R19 (F) and 305/30/R20 (R). Approaching their limits is like approaching the limits of the universe. And the engine, while not the most melodious, certainly sings. There is not so much a power curve as an inexhaustible reservoir of omnipresent vigor. One can mash the accelerator any time in any gear and experience the exhilaration of takeoff.

The last time I drove this road was in the Ferrari SF90 Stradale. The experience was very different, and it helped me understand why billionaires have more than one exotic. The Ferrari’s plug-in hybrid powertrain and all-wheel-drive grip made for even more astounding acceleration and handling. But the McLaren was more engaging, more of a connected partner. The Ferrari drove better, but the McLaren made me feel like a better driver. (Don’t ask my boyfriend if he would concur. He said his eyes were closed most of the time.)

Also, the McLaren is a convertible, which – despite the protestations of bitter naysayers who despise joy – makes every road car better. It allows occupants to be immersed in the world, to exhilarate in life-giving energy as the scenery rips by. And it allows them to enjoy the air. We can thank Frank Lanterman, in part, for that.

March 10, 2022 / Comments Off

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2021 Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet Road Test Review | The supercar as defined by the 911

If you can afford a supercar, do you want it to be a Porsche 911? That’s the question you ask yourself when considering the merits of the 2021 Porsche 911 Turbo S Cabriolet. Do you want one of the highest evolutions of the 911 as opposed to a loaded Audi R8, Lamborghini Huracan Evo or something else exotic? It’s a lot for the fortunate to consider.

Short of the race-bred GT3 line, the Turbos are as much Porsche 911 as anyone could ever desire. As one of my colleagues notes, the Turbos themselves are basically racecars, though he only tested the “regular” Turbo. I spent a week blasting around town top down (mostly) in the Turbo S. With 640 hp and a sprint to 60 time of 2.7 seconds, it’s the variant you simply can’t catch.

The high performance efficacy of the Turbo S comes from the 3.7-liter boxer six-cylinder, which produces a stunning 60 hp more than the previous generation. Torque is up 37 lb-ft to 590, helping the S shave 0.2 seconds off its 60-mph run. The Cabriolet is only a tenth slower. They both have top speeds of 205 mph. Additionally, Porsche’s Traction Management All-Wheel Drive system can send 368 lb-ft to the front wheels, depending on conditions.

The unit is part of a new family of Porsche engines, and it has a new air intake system, larger intercoolers and larger symmetrical turbochargers than found in the old Turbo S. The intercoolers were moved from the rear fenders to right behind the engine to increase cooling 13%. The air filters are now in the fenders and there are two more air vents underneath the deck wing. The direct-injection system has Piezo injectors, which Porsche says increase output and responsiveness. The engine’s bones are found in the 3.0-liter 911 and a lesser-powered version is under the hood of the 911 Turbo (572 hp, 554 lb-ft). The Turbo S powerplant teams with the eight-speed dual-clutch PDK transmission, and the lofty top speed is reached in sixth gear.

The 2021 Turbo S features evolutionary new looks based on functionality. There’s a new rear wing, new front end and LED matrix-style headlights. The Turbo S isn’t a dramatic departure from its predecessor, but it’s 1.65 inches wider up front and 0.39 inches wider in back, with wider tires and front air vents, creating a more defined stance.

The Turbo S is now considerably more capable, and its looks reflect those chops. Still, our test car casts a subtle vibe, clad in Gentian Blue Metallic paint with a black cloth roof. The forged center-lock black wheels (20 inches in front, 21 in rear) have a polished gray 10-spoke design, and even the brake calipers are polished black, lending an understated feel to the aesthetic. Similarly, the truffle brown leather interior with chalk-colored stitching has a mellow feel with patterns that Porsche says recall the 930 Turbo. The optional Burmeister sound system ($3,980) with silver speaker covers accents the cabin and produces a dulcet sound.

Driving the Turbo S Cabrio is a mix of emotional and mechanical impulses. Porsches demand and reciprocate precision through engagement, and the steering immediately communicates a sense of the car’s exacting nature. Same with the brakes, which are carbon ceramic composite and 0.39 inches larger than the previous model. Rear-axle steering and Porsche Dynamic Chassis Control are standard. The Porsche Active Suspension Management ($1,510 option) lowers ride height 0.39 inches and is offered as a factory option for the first time with improved shock absorbers and software calibrated for the Turbo S that adjusts damping continuously — allowing the car to be sportier and more comfortable. Our model also has the optional front axle lift feature that can raise the front of the car 1.6 inches and adds $2,770 to the sticker.

The Turbo S offers a formidable array of performance tools. Everything has its purpose, logically added for an assigned task. The emotions are stirred when these tools are put into use. Twisting the steering wheel drive mode selector to Sport, we enter a winding road lined with the summer’s complement of greenery. The exhaust grows louder, angrier, throatier. It already barks at shift points in the Normal setting, but Sport has the effect of poking the Turbo S with something sharp. This car has the Sport exhaust, a $3,490-option that’s worth it. Porsches, Jaguars, Ferraris and a few select Corvettes and Mustangs summon this kind of pulse-quickening sound that few others can match. Simply lifting off the throttle or downshifting produces a growl or a pop that’s better than some sports cars make at full roar.

Pausing under an overpass, the top comes down in seconds. Launching hard, we’re pulled back in our seats as we weave through the twists and turns leading through to Woodward Avenue. A hard right turn onto M-1 and we’re heading north. The sun breaks through and the temperatures sit around 65 degrees making this an idyllic summer day with echoes of fall. It’s cool for late June, but perfect convertible weather.

When caught in a downpour, Wet Mode detects water on the road and tunes the stability control and anti-lock brakes accordingly. Stating the obvious, the 911 then warns us to drive cautiously, which is appreciated. Plodding around town we notice the little things the car offers. The leather-covered steering wheel is large, fairly thin and has grips at 10 and 2 o’clock. The infotainment system is simple enough to use; contemporary and customizable but not too layered. In total, the 911 provides a flexible experience. For instance, you can drive in Normal or Wet and still turn on the Sport exhaust via a button or touchscreen. We drove in Normal with the exhaust pipes up — and Sport with the spoiler down, just to try different things. Obviously, it’s enjoyable to play around, but it’s logical to want to keep the Turbo S performance at heel yet still announce your arrival with an exhaust note.

With the brown leather, sport exhaust, fancy speakers and a few other options, our test model stickers for $234,570, including destination and a $1,000 gas-guzzler tax. As noted in our 911 Turbo review, the 911 is already more car than you’ll ever need. Perhaps that’s the smart play, as the additional power isn’t necessary and the performance increases the S brings to the table are too small for mere mortals to notice.

Enthusiasts with this kind of buying power often stop thinking metrically around $100,000. It becomes an object of uber prestige. They want the car because it’s the most expensive and the most powerful. Assuming the GT3 is simply too raw, this is the Porsche 911 in its highest form and you’re approaching future collector status. It’s living in the moment and investing in the future, and using that logic, there’s simply no substitute for the Turbo S. The convertible? Well that just makes it even more fun in the summer.

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July 1, 2021 / Comments Off

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Ford GT Road Test | Driving is believing

I finally got to drive the latest Ford GT. And everywhere I went, people were just as excited as me to see one – on the road, not on auction stages where the Faberge-rare Ford has fetched as much as $1.5 million.

Driving Ford’s 660-horsepower, 216-mph missile in New York was like being a street-corner dealer, handing out potent, “Code Orange” capsules of automotive bliss to car fans. People pulled cars over or formed eager knots every time I stopped. Two questions were on every quivering lip: “Where’d you get one?” and “How’d you get one?” And that was before the inevitable queries of what the car cost.

“I can’t believe it’s a Ford GT!” said one young man, just after I’d rocked the Ford on cliff-hung roads overlooking the Hudson River near West Point. These crazy reactions and the hypercar-style performance also softened my heart toward the GT.

Many people, including me, had only ever seen a third-generation GT during its surprise, daylight robbery of the Detroit Auto Show in 2015. Auto scribes scoured the Internet thesaurus for superlatives. But like the only sober person in a room full of drunks, I was strangely unmoved. A $450,000 Ford? With an Ecoboost-branded V6, and its whiff of Eau de Dearborn?

Also, my heart still belonged to the second-generation GT of 2004-2006, pictured above. The retro-style, V8-powered GT nailed the underdog charm and Motown menace of the LeMans-winning racers. That included the Ford’s one-two-three podium sweep in 1966, the feel-good story given (finally) its mainstream due in last year’s Ford v. Ferrari. The crowd-pleasing film paid sepia-toned homage to car builder Carroll Shelby and British racer Ken Miles, breezing past the fact those original GT chassis were built in Britain. But following Miles’ death in August 1966, it was Shelby’s all-new Mk IV car that A.J. Foyt and Dan Gurney piloted to 210 mph on the Mulsanne Straight to win LeMans in 1967. That Mk IV, powered by a Ford 427, remains the only all-American entry – design, build, engines, drivers – to win the 24 Hours. It also birthed the first street-going version: The oddball Mk III, with 306 horsepower from a Holley-carbed, 289-cubic-inch V8. With a 2,200-pound curb weight, the Mk III could still rip to 60 mph in 5.1 seconds.

Only seven GT Mk III’s were built, ostensibly “priced” around $18,500 (or $138,000 in 2020 money). But there seemed a direct line between all previous GTs and the 2004-2006 model, with 540 horsepower and 205-mph peak from a supercharged V8. Ford asked me to drive that one from Detroit to New York in 2005. And its proud American-ness came in handy when I got pulled over in Pennsylvania for making mincemeat of the local speed limit. The Ford-driving cop totally let me slide, too busy enthusing over the car. It helped that this GT was priced from $143,000 – rich for a Ford, yet comfortably in Porsche 911 Turbo territory – and that the company built a reasonable 4,308 units.

Today’s GT seemed to break that historic link, psychologically and financially. To Ford’s credit, as with the latest Mustang, it didn’t simply rehash past glory with another retro take. Admittedly, the interstellar, carbon-fiber catamaran on display in Detroit looked amazing, from its scissor doors to its racing stripes. But when Ford started talking a $450,000 price, a 1,350-unit production run, and vetting buyers like fathers grilling a daughter’s prospective date, they kinda lost me. I thought Ford wanted to beat Ferrari, not join them.

It all seemed a hermetically sealed marketing stunt. Was Ford out to satisfy real customers, or to bask in its own nostalgic reflection? That sense grew when Ford sent the GT back to LeMans for a dominating class win in 2016, its skids so greased by race rulemakers as to seem nearly pre-ordained. Ford decreed that owners would be prohibited from reselling their cars for two years. But it was Ford that poured gasoline on the secondary market and lit the match in the first place, via the air of unobtainium. Suddenly they were shocked (shocked!) that buyers might consider selling their appreciating cars to the highest bidder? Ford even sued Mecum Auctions and a few rogue owners to halt transactions, even as it trumpeted its own, track-only GT Mk II edition – a mere $1.2 million, limited to 45 copies. Hurry, billionaires, before they’re gone! Apparently, seven-figure GT sales are fine, as long as the money is going into Ford’s pocket.

It all seemed reminiscent of Lexus and its $375,000 LFA, another unreasonably exclusive, overpriced supercar that was more like a theoretical particle: Flashing into view like a Higgs-Boson, then disappearing back into the shadowy, quantum realm of collectors’ garages, never to be seen again.

And yet. The 2020 Ford GT I drove was the kind of wicked, transgressive fun that few modern supercars deliver. This press car, with nearly 16,000 miles on the odo, felt like a racecar that got lost en route to LeMans. The twin-turbo V6, now with 660 horsepower (up from 647), throbs with raw promise at idle. After a beat of turbo lag, it catapults the GT with thrilling focus, making occupants feel like a baseball from Clayton Kershaw’s hand. It fills the cabin, with its 43.7-inch-low roofline, with a thrash-metal shriek that drowns out conversation and human thought. The engine may as well be in your lap. The seven-speed, dual-clutch transmission isn’t the most sophisticated, but it still snaps through gears, as LEDs in the steering-wheel rim signal the 7,000-rpm redline, at which point the GT seems bent on sampling that 216-mph apogee. The rear-drive design helps handicap this car to a relatively modest 3.0-second sprint to 60 mph, despite sticky Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 tires. But a 10.8-second catapult through the quarter-mile, at 134 mph, tells the truer story.

Acceleration is a given among hypercars – yes, hypercars, as the GT reminds me far more of early Koenigseggs than run-of-the-mill Ferraris and Lamborghinis. What separates the GT is steering and handling. In an era of electronically mediated performance, the Ford’s is beautifully pure and unfiltered: Quicksilver steering guides the GT with millimeter-accurate precision, while transmitting every pavement ripple and nick through its Alcantara-wrapped wheel. Yet the car never feels darty or hair-trigger. Tire adhesion is ridiculous. The faster you go, the more the Ford bolts itself to the road, including its burly aero wing that pops up above 70 mph, and also acts as an air brake, in cahoots with carbon-ceramic stoppers. That rear wing, on hydraulic stanchions thick enough for service-bay duty, can be fixed in up or down positions. The adaptive suspension, with its trick Multimatic spool-valve shocks, is taut, yet it didn’t pound car or occupants to jelly through the gantlet of Brooklyn and Manhattan. It’s Multimatic that actually builds the GT in Markham, Ontario, including roughly one copy per month of a new Liquid Carbon edition. Its exposed carbon-fiber body adds $250,000 to the price.

After an epic driving day, I was simultaneously spent and giddy from sensory overload. Then, one last sensation: A firecracker boom as I wound through Harriman State Park, so loud that I thought the engine had blown. Ears ringing, I hopped out and found the glass panel, separating the engine bulkhead from the cabin, cracked in multiple places. I restarted the car, and though it limped the remaining 48 miles home to Brooklyn, it had almost no boost, and emitted a moan like a tubercular cow. I suspected the GT was running on one turbo or less, and the hunch seemed right: Ford later said a boot connecting a throttle body to a turbo had come loose. Violently, in terms of that busted window, but no lasting harm done.

The accessible, “everyday” supercar is the new industry target, from the Acura NSX and Porsche 911 Turbo to the various Ferraris and McLarens. That is not this car. Sensation aside, the Ford GT doesn’t care about your tender feelings. A shower of pebbles and road schmutz, kicked up by near-slick performance tires, churned through wheel wells, sounding like 100 rainsticks taped inside the cabin. The cabin, with its aggressive teardrop shape, is more like a space capsule. Strapping on a helmet would have forced me to scrunch down in the Sparco racing seat to fit my noggin inside. Press a switch to lift the bumper to clear steep driveways, and instead of the usual elevator hum, the Ford snaps crudely upward like the head of a Rock ‘Em, Sock ‘Em Robot. It does the same when dropped into aero-boosting Track mode, so low that a squirrel couldn’t limbo underneath. It looks badass, and unlike many “Track” modes, Ford’s really is for track only.

The interior is mostly crap for a $500,000 car. It proudly exposes the carbon-fiber monocoque, but it also has Garmin-like displays, an afterthought infotainment system and some switches that might pass muster in a Mustang. Seats are carbon-fiber buckets with no fore-and-aft or height adjustment, only a fabric strap that yanks the foot pedal box into proper range. And there’s essentially zero cargo space, only a bin aft of the engine that might fit a backpack, if it wasn’t already half-filled with a tire-inflator kit. The hardcore GT makes a Lamborghini Huracan seem like the family Audi in terms of luxury, comfort and versatility.

For all that, I now absolutely understand why a filthy-rich guy would park a GT next to his vintage racers, the Riva yacht and fourth wife. The GT drives like a Hollywood dream, one in which Ken Miles looks like Christian Bale, and Matt Damon was born in a Stetson. It’s a track toy no other boy has, an Ariel Atom times 10, but with a better backstory and a potential investment upside. I just hope said guy actually drives his GT, at least on fourth-wife anniversaries.

Is Ford’s “pinnacle of performance” really worth $500,000-and-up? The market says yes. Should Ford feel even a little bit ashamed of itself? I’ll let you answer that one.

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November 3, 2020 / Comments Off

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2020 Acura NSX Road Test | The cerebral supercar

The 2020 Acura NSX is the kind of car you’re pumped to drive. You think about it the night before. You read up on it. You tell your friends and family. You notice passers-by admiring it in the driveway. They try to be sly. Some gawk. There’s anticipation.

But is there satisfaction? The NSX immediately raises two questions. Where does it fit among its contemporaries and does it measure up to its legendary predecessor?

Seeking the answers, I slip behind the wheel on a sunny morning. The NSX is a welcome respite from the cares of the world and concerns of the coronavirus. I’ve got a few hours ahead of me in a $203,000 supercar. It’s a good time to reflect.

Immediately, I have a sense of déjà vu. I drove an NSX in 2017 at Pebble Beach, but my senses take me farther back, to the fall of 2014 when I drove a 1991 NSX. I had the same anticipation, nerves even, as I prepared for that drive. Getting situated in the 2020 model, I’m struck by the simplicity of the NSX. A McLaren or a Lambo take a minute to figure out, but everything is easy to read and use in the Acura. Like the ‘91 NSX, it looks striking on the outside, but the inside is almost plain. I’m OK with that. Simple works for Porsche, which will happily sell you a six-figure 911 with a spartan interior.

I’m underselling the NSX’s cabin — which is actually quite nice inside — understated yet cool. My tester has a black interior with carbon-fiber accents and semi-aniline leather seats with Alcantara, though the big steering wheel is the focal point. Looking to my right, the infotainment anchors the center stack, and there’s a knob for tuning the drive modes and the push-button gear selector. The outward visibility is outstanding. Driving a supercar can be intimidating, and being able to see things is helpful, especially when you’re inches off the ground.

I accelerate onto a surface street where the speed limit is 45 mph. There’s a low growl, and then the NSX gets a bit angrier. It’s never quite uncouth, even when the revs spin up on the expressway. It’s surprisingly gutsy low in the band, around 2,000-3,000 rpm, and the soundtrack gets louder and better from there. Anticipation building, I near the onramp to Interstate 75 in Detroit’s northern suburbs, where I run into cones. And blockades. Construction work is a staple of summer in Michigan. More time on the suburban slow road, and I find myself growing more comfortable in the NSX. Unlike the Lamborghini Huracán, Audi R8 or even some Mustangs, the Acura is civilized, docile even. It reminds me of my first time in that ‘91 NSX, where my nerves gave way to cockiness. The old NSX was so drivable, agreeable even, that I’ve long believed it made the cliché “everyday supercar” a real notion.

Acura tightened the suspension, retuned software for the Super Handling All-Wheel Drive and made the steering more responsive for the 2019 model. It feels more buttoned-up than the car I drove in Pebble Beach before these updates. There’s more feedback in the steering, which previously felt a little light. The Continental SportContact 6 tires provide plenty of grip. The brakes return stopping power with little pedal travel — not as immediate as McLarens I’ve tested, but more balanced for daily driving. This NSX is equipped with the optional carbon-ceramic rotors, which look great with the silver calipers visible through the gray Y-spoke wheels.

The other 2019 updates changed the grille accent to match the body color (it was silver before) and added gloss black trim in place of matte. Those sports seats I like so much and the tech package are now standard equipment.

The NSX is a striking car, especially in Valencia Red Pearl with the optional carbon-fiber elements, including the decklid spoiler, front chin spoiler, engine cover, rear diffuser and side sills. It’s beautiful, and in this shade it reminds me vaguely of recent mid-engine Ferraris. While I like the silhouette, the NSX is also a little angular and even busy, which is in contrast to the original NSX.

The expressway opens up as I make my way across town, sampling the driving modes. Sport mode is the basic setting, and Sport+ tightens up the chassis and makes the exhaust louder. I spend a decent amount of time in Quiet mode, which is actually all electric at speeds of less than 50 mph for brief periods. A couple of neighbors on bikes didn’t see me coming, then did triple takes trying to process what exactly was coming at them.

That stealthy capability belies the NSX’s raw power. Between the 3.5-liter V6 and electric motors, the NSX puts out 573 total horsepower and 476 pound-feet of torque, enabling sprints to 60 mph in 2.9 seconds en route to a top speed of 191 mph. The sequential paddle shifts summon all of this power into your fingertips, and pulling the paddles at high speeds while gripping the steering wheel with traffic parting gives even the novice performance driver a bit of a Senna streak.

The NSX is a car that you discover as you drive. There are layers to its personality. I learned a lot about the NSX, and Acura, simply by running errands. That’s not something every car gives you. Critics point to the “everyday supercar” label as a discredit, that the NSX is somehow watered down. It’s not. It’s cerebral yet passionate. What it lacks in flash it makes up for with a breadth of capability.

Let’s return to my original questions. How does the NSX compete against modern exotics, like Audi, McLaren, Ferrari and the like? It’s a peer. And that’s enough. It’s not the best of the bunch, but it’s competitive and interesting.

More weighty, how does the 2020 NSX measure up against the first generation? It does not break new ground in the way its predecessor did, which is not necessarily a demerit. When the New Sportscar eXperimental debuted in 1989, Ferrari and Lamborghini were making erratic cars that were at times as dangerous as they were exclusive. The notion of actually driving your supercar as I did on this bright Saturday was inadvisable. The NSX changed all of that. In that era there was room for improvement. Now the market is more mature, and even mainstream American brands like Chevy and Ford offer mid-engine performance.

It’s tough to compete against your younger self, but that’s not the point. The point is Acura chooses to make an NSX, and it’s excellent in the ways a modern supercar should aspire to be. The NSX crashed the party once. Now it’s simply accepted as part of the establishment.

September 14, 2020 / Comments Off

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2020 Chevrolet Corvette Road Test | The hype is legit

The $59,995 2020 Chevrolet Corvette exists. This one isn’t it. Chevy sent me the complete opposite of a base Corvette, as the sticker on this Accelerate Yellow 3LT model came to $86,860. Yet, after a week in the tight bucket seat, I’m convinced it’s still a bargain.

Raw performance, sophistication, luxury, price. Pick three, because combining all four of these elements in a sports car or supercar is like trying to find Waldo when he’s been torn out of the page. Chevy is turning this conundrum upside down with the new Corvette. Equipped properly, the C8 checks all four of the boxes emphatically.

Performance is a no-doubter. The 6.2-liter V8 makes 495 horsepower and 470 pound-feet of torque in this Z51 pack car, rocketing it to 60 mph in just 2.9 seconds via an excellent launch control system. The magnetic dampers make for a sophisticated ride and handling balance. It can go from forgiving and plush to racetrack stiff at the twist of a dial. The interior is more luxurious and tech heavy than anything else GM makes, save for a loaded-up Cadillac. And then there’s the price. How Chevy priced this car below $100,000 still baffles me. Almost nothing is missing, but let’s dive in a bit deeper, starting from the best place to be: the driver’s seat.

Reaching beyond the highly-bolstered suede, leather and mesh Competition GT3 seats in this C8, everything I touch feels of quality. Yellow accents are splashed about the interior in thoughtful locations. Even the removable roof has yellow stitching woven in. Before I even get on the road, this attention to detail and level of customization reminds me of Porsche — the Chevy options are just cheaper. The spectacular view forward over a low nose keeps the Porsche theme on track, but it trails off when I begin to take in the interior design language around me.

No car takes the jet fighter cockpit theme as seriously as the Corvette does. I’m cocooned in my own bubble, completely walled-off from the passenger, and the passenger from me. Wide, swooping armrests are swathed in suede and placed at perfect elbow-resting height. The square-shaped suede-covered ($595) steering wheel isn’t weird to use, but spokes at 9 and 3 would be preferable over their current 8:30 and 3:30 positions. My passengers kept accidentally adjusting my seat and temperature controls on the vertical climate control stack (driver on top, passenger on bottom), but I became accustomed to the design quickly. It beats putting the climate controls in a touchscreen. There’s a general feeling of busyness inside with all the sharp angles and its multi-tiered dash design. GM may be trying a little too hard to make it exotic, but functionality doesn’t suffer for the styling, so I accept the flair.

The push-to-start button presses in with a satisfying click, but even more satisfying than that is tapping the remote start on the keyfob when standing near the loud pipes. Since the Corvette saves its drive mode from the last engine cycle, you can remote start your engine with the exhaust in Track mode (thank you to the engineers who did this). It is thunderous and guttural and all the things you want the startup to be.

The drive mode dial has proper heft, and the digital instrument cluster quickly animates through layouts with each new mode. Ergonomically, the interior is brilliant. My seating position is spot on with the seat set to its lowest point. Being able to see out the back with a standard mirror would be nice, but the digital rearview camera mirror on this car is a revelation for a mid-engine layout. You can see everything, and glare from taller cars’ headlights in the dark is a non-issue — even the driver-side mirror is auto-dimming. All this, and my butt and back are cool via the ventilated seats.

Setting out in Tour (comfort) mode, GM’s Small Block LT2 clacks away quietly behind my ear, sounding every bit like a Camaro or the previous Corvette. A thick piece of glass separates the cabin from the engine bay, allowing driver and passenger to look back at the pretty V8. It’s far more sedate and normal to cruise around in than you might imagine. The steering wheel flies left or right with ease at low speeds, the brakes are comfortable but not touchy, and those magnetic dampers are damping out the bumps. The big engine and eight-speed dual-clutch gearbox never fully fade into the background when casually driving around, but there’s no drama at low speeds. Ferraris or Lamborghinis never stop telling you what they are when cruising through town. If it weren’t for the incessant staring and pointing, I could’ve forgotten I was driving the hottest, most-anticipated car of the last several years. Credit to Chevy for making this beast so livable on a day-to-day basis.

Not to say the Corvette is quiet inside (it’s not), but that level of refinement in the cabin in casual driving isn’t always conducive to noise and personality when the right pedal is flat. Even with the supplemental exhaust noise being pumped into the cabin via the speakers, the Corvette isn’t as loud inside as I imagined it would’ve been with the performance exhaust. It’s opposite what’s going on out back, too. This Corvette sounds like NASCAR thunder from the roadside as it pounds through the forest, barking and snapping at each quick gear change. Problem is, the driver is only getting a fraction of this in their eardrums. I have a certain expectation for theater and aural wonder from a mid-engine car. The Corvette could use a tinge more of both.

Now, enough with the nit-picking. Power (so much of it) is simply here. It’s like a light switch. The speed at which this updated V8 revs — get the full download in our First Drive — is one pivotal aspect that stands out. Whether you’re banging through first and second or free revving for a demanding onlooker, it goes from idle to 6,500 rpm (redline) in a flash. The steady increase in shove keeps coming all the way to the top despite peak torque hitting at 5,150 rpm.

There isn’t much fuss in the power band. Everything is business as usual if you’re accustomed to GM’s Small Block V8. It’s glorious in its simplicity, and brings a sense of normalcy to the gob smacking acceleration. I’m not wanting for any more forward thrust — there is zero letup at legal speeds — but I’m already looking forward to the shriek of the flat-plane crank Corvette headed our way soon. This engine is an ode to the traditionalists, but the flat-plane crank ‘Vette will be an ode to people like me who love high-revving, exotic engines.

Once I make it out to some proper driving roads, the brilliance of this chassis comes into plain view. It doesn’t feel like a company’s first go at a mid-engine supercar. No, it’s well-tuned and strikes a wonderful ride and handling balance the likes of which Porsche has been perfecting for years with the 911. The magnetic dampers on this car deserve many thank you notes. Turn-in is crisp and quick. The nose is happy to be pointed in a different direction at a moment’s notice, and there’s zero uneasiness coming from the rear end. As the Gs build, the Corvette remains a wonderfully balanced rock. I’m waiting for the rear end to step out on me as I apply more and more throttle coming out of turns, but it wriggles, then sticks with the weight of the engine keeping it planted. This car will happily go sideways if you intentionally goose it, but it’s incredibly well-behaved when speed is the priority.

The steering weight is just about perfect in Sport mode, but turns a smidge too heavy in Track mode. Bumps and bigger undulations in corners are shrugged off. I can feel what’s going on at the wheels through the seat and steering wheel, but the Corvette reassuringly trucks on without skipping a beat. Lesser chassis will bound around and send the car skipping on my testing roads, but the Corvette handles them like a champ. The $1,895 you spend on these dampers will be the best $1,895 you ever spend.

A manual transmission is the only item missing. My tester car may be supercar-quick, but it’s not too much of a handful that a manual would ruin the experience. Take the three-pedal version of the 911 Carrera S as an example. It may be slower to 60 mph than the PDK, but the car is still plenty drivable and doesn’t turn into some hot mess with too much horsepower. I think there’s room for a manual to work the same way in the Corvette. This is no condemnation of the eight-speed dual-clutch transmission in the Vette today, though. It’s as quick to respond as the best of them. If Porsche held any advantage here it would be in smoothness, as the Corvette is less refined in manual mode when you’re not pushing. I’d move the paddles up by about an inch, too, since they’re just out of reach at my preferable 9 and 3 hand position.

It’s staggering what Chevy put together here — nothing less than a generational milestone. The last no compromise supercar that truly shook the segment up was the 1991 Acura NSX, but even the NSX was pricey. Chevy’s new Corvette is just as important, but in a different way. McLaren and Ferrari buyers will keep buying McLarens and Ferraris. Lamborghini isn’t going to make a budget model. This car won’t force the old guard to change what they did the way Honda did in the 1990s. No, what the new Corvette does is bring that exotic level of performance to a price bracket that’s never had this opportunity before. It’s a supercar for the people, assuming the people have over $60,000 for a toy. But don’t worry; in three years depreciation will have them down in the $40,000 range.

Raw performance, sophistication, luxury, price. Somehow, all four deliverables are present and accounted for. At $59,995, nothing can beat it. At $86,860, nothing can beat it. The Small Block isn’t holding this car back from greatness — it’s already great with it. But this chassis, and the car as a whole, begs for more. More character, more revs and an exotic yowl that matches the chassis’ greatness. When Chevy adds such an engine, the Corvette can transcend beyond the performance bargain moniker to being one of the greatest of all time. It’s nearly there already.

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September 1, 2020 / Comments Off

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2020 Ferrari F8 Tributo Road Test | Finding joy

There is a Ferrari F8 Tributo sitting in my driveway, casting the unmistakable silhouette of a mid-engine supercar. There’s no mistaking the lightness of a hood, nor the fecund swell of the aft. This is no ordinary car.

Not to frame everything around this super-weird era, but things are super weird, right? Irony doesn’t hold up in a world where even a basic connection makes you want to break down and cry.

So what do you hope when you drive a new Ferrari? The answer is joy. Unadulterated, unmitigated, unjaded joy. And if a brand-new Ferrari can’t bring it, I’m pretty sure I’m a zombie inside.

The F8 has a twin-turbocharged V8 making 710 hp and 569 pound-feet of torque, the same powerplant found in the 488 Pista. It replaces the 488GTB in Ferrari’s line of “regular” mid-engine V8s. Price? It starts at $270,530, and as tested comes in at $360,796.

This is hardly my first Ferrari foray, and the mid-engine, V8 configuration is the formula that most tickles my fancy. Keep your Superfasts and Romas and Californias: I’ll have the nimblest of Prancing Horses, thanks.

But a worry nips at me. When the 458 line sunsetted out of showrooms and into the garages of collectors, so too did the halcyon days of the naturally-aspirated V8. The 488 was quicker than the 458, but it was not necessarily better. A measure of that Ferrari joy was diluted when it lost its natural-breathing soundtrack.

Another generation along, can the Tributo bring it back?

My first experience in a mid-engine Ferrari was at the wheel of an F430, experienced at Lime Rock racetrack and the local roads in Connecticut. It was me and another wet-behind-the-ears journalist, and when the 4.3-liter V8 opened up behind our heads, all previous personal expectations about sports cars shattered. I simply didn’t know a car could move along a two-lane road with such motivation and élan. That it did so making that sound from back there? Even better.

We switched seats, and my colleague wound up getting nailed by a local cop as we neared the gates of Lime Rock. I sincerely suggested that he frame the ticket. It’s not every day you get pulled over in a Ferrari.

Later I drove the lighter, livelier version of the F430 on the racetrack — the 430 Scuderia. It set a high mark for me when it comes to track-focused road cars. It went wherever you looked without hesitation, a car linked to your optic nerves.

Then, the 458 Italia. I tested an early model in Italy, driving it out of factory gates in Maranello. I posited afterward that few mortal, regular drivers could handle a car that transported you so far down the road with a sudden shove of the accelerator. Too fast, maybe. A few years after that, I raced in the Ferrari Challenge series at Watkins Glen in a 458 Challenge car. Add in racing slicks and an even-further-stiffened body and you find yourself testing the limits of both traction and your own bravery.

And finally came the 488. The first forced-induction version of the Platonian ideal. It was faster, colleagues insisted, and they were right. But the noise, no matter how hard the engineers tried (and they did, they told me in that deep and non-ironic Italian sincerity), just wasn’t the same. It was a bridge to a whole new world; one I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross.

And so, today, finally, the F8 Tributo.

Just sitting inside, you are surprised by the overt simplicity, the low dash, the 1970s-throwback starkness. We’ve become accustomed to the rampant proliferation of digital screens, bulky central tunnels, and cockpit-style seating. By contrast, the Tributo’s sport buckets are low and flat, the area separating driver and passenger uncluttered. It’s an open and even friendly space.

This level of simplicity began in the 458 and continued into the 488, but in the F8, it feels like the interior designers have decluttered even more. All the frippery is gone and it’s just dead simple and gorgeous — a clarion declaration that focus should be paid to what’s happening outside of the vehicle.

Out onto the network of two-lane byroads that thread throughout the Pocono Mountains of northeast Pennsylvania, the Tributo is pliant enough to skim over pitted asphalt and even — at low speeds, with nose raised — gravel roads. The “bumpy road” suspension setting is brilliant when you’re feeling speedy on less than pristine tarmac.

As befitting its layout, there’s no Normal mode: just Wet and Sport and further ludicrous notches up the Manettino dial. Still, even in Sport, the F8 is surprisingly relaxed when you’re not trying to trammel the pavement. A thumb and two fingers on both hands is enough pressure on the new and smaller steering wheel to guide the F8 along at both around-town and extra-legal speeds.

There’s no induced heaviness, and the twitchiness of the 458 is gone. Turn the wheel too much in the Italia and the Ferrari would take a hard set and jar you in that direction, like an irrepressible hound after a rabbit. By contrast, the F8’s steering is a fine-tuned thing — perfection.

The bated breath of the 488 is gone, too. Engineers of the era worked hard to mimic the gradual build of a naturally aspirated engine, but there was still a moment when the GTB would experience a wallop of power — often more than you expected, and perhaps more than needed, and you’d have to catch up to the steering.

The intervening years have allowed the minds at Maranello to better integrate the turbo and the suspension. Everyone is playing together beautifully, a reintegrated orchestra. The sound isn’t the thing of old, but it’s a new and vibrant thing, and after about an hour’s drive, I let my previous reservations go. This thing is a mid-engine V8 Ferrari, and it is a joy.

And with that began days and days of driving and giving rides. There’s a bridge out of town that’s been shut down, leaving a long section of road without traffic. That’s the place for launch control and hard braking. The 2.9-second rush to 62 mph is a thing to be experienced, and any long and sustained sprint easily allows you to believe the claimed 211-mph top speed.

Straight-line speed isn’t the F8’s reason for being, though. Rather, it’s the road that coils up a mountain ridge, with decreasing-radius turns and followed by a set of downhill sweepers. There is nothing artificial feeling about this car. There are lines of code running in the background, handling wheel spin and yaw control, of course, but they never pop up their heads from the digital ground to bother you.

There are even days of rain that force me to turn the dial to Wet. I take the Ferrari out anyway, just for the feel of the steering wheel in my hand.

And, lastly, even when it’s just parked in the driveway, I sit on my front steps with a coffee, enjoying the way the light plays on the exterior bodywork. The design is simplified, undiluted.

In all of the heaviness of the world and its recent enforced stillness, the F8 allowed me to reconnect. To be part of the outside world again. That’s as much as you could ask of any car.

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June 29, 2020 / Comments Off

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