AN UNNATURAL SELECTION
Eleven cars must become three. The ilter? 500 road and track miles
EARLIER, EVERYONE wanted to lap Rockingham in the Elemental RP1. Feeling the carbonfibre track car suck itself to the ground through the super-fast banked Turn 1, the rush of performance as you ramped up through Road, Track and Race power maps towards 320bhp, the unbelievable traction and poise and tactility – we all made air-steering-wheel moves about that. But now we’re making a dash for Wales, and in moments there’s just the McLaren 720S and the ’Mental left. James Taylor and I are left standing in the pits; ahead, a three-hour trek that will definitely take us into darkness.
Clearly, the only reasonable solution is that I take the McLaren, but somehow I agree to share stints. Trepidation quickly gives way to enjoyment, though: I love the immediacy of the RP1’s feedback, the instant punch of its gearshifts, the way the four-piston Alcon brakes stop 595kg so crushingly. There’s also the hedonistic altruism of enlivening rush hour, and as the sun dips and we cross the border on smaller roads, I stick my cramped hands into the cool evening breeze for relief, smell the sweetness of fresh-cut grass and steak sizzling in pub kitchens. When I later swap into the McLaren, I know that chances are everything else will feel both overblown and insufficient. And, in some cases, a whole lot cheaper; the McLaren might be a £200k+ car but the barely-there Elemental costs an astonishing £99k.
By the end of my drive I’m struggling with darkness and the rain on my visor, but I get off lightly: next morning’s weather would have Noah knocking up a bigger boat, and as we head to possibly the best ribbon of B-road in the UK, me relieved to be in the Civic Type R, Tim Pollard gets water-cannoned in the RP1.
Like the NSX, there’s a serial-killer detachment to the way in which the Type R dismembers a road, but with its composure comes accuracy, driver confidence and involvement too. Point the steering – numb, precise, strikingly weighty – at a corner, flatten the accelerator and you hear the turbo roar as the engine punches for the horizon, feel the limited-slip diff lock onto the apex like a heat-seeking missile, and start to appreciate the steering’s refusal to go anywhere other than where you directed it.
Mostly the chassis is unflappably nose-led, but dig deeper and there’s a willing adjustability – lift the throttle in a roundabout and the Type R pivots around its middle, orbiting the perimeter like a satellite round the globe. It adds an extra layer of4
For an all-wheeldrive car weighing 1725kg, the GTR’s steering is standout fabulous
interactivity that’s complemented by short, tight gearchanges, and perfectly weighted pedals that encourage your best Fred Astaire; it’s so much more than a digital psycho in a superman costume.
Honda liked to stress that this car’s 2015 predecessor would rev to 7000rpm, but it gave its best long before that. The new car attacks the same redline much more vigorously, so you’re rewarded for every increment on the road, not just on paper. No, it doesn’t scream like those crazy old Type R motors, but the performance is on another level, and it does the daily stuff better too, with fantastically comfy and supportive seats, and a decent ride quality despite 20-inch wheels smeared with sidewalls so thin they needed a smaller font to write ‘Continental’ on them.
The Focus RS M400 by Mountune is the Type R’s closest rival here, but its exhaust is far more exuberant, so loud you constantly have to repeat your Big Mac order at the Drive Thru. But beyond that the Ford four-cylinder exudes more character, a fruity burble that recalls the layered sonics of previous five-cylinder models.
There’s fractional turbo lag, but also a whoosh of torque low down, and more of an acoustic transformation towards the redline than the Civic. It’s a very quick car, the RS, but somehow it doesn’t feel as rapid as the Civic, despite its 78bhp advantage, no doubt because all-wheel drive also brings another 167kg.
Then again, you could argue the GKN driveline hardware is worth the girth. Where most all-wheel-drive hatches feel frontwheel drive, the RS turns that on its head, with a rear bias in
extremis and the fronts only chipping in to keep the peace. But despite its crushing capability, the Focus doesn’t feel as together as the Civic, like its underlying structure isn’t as rigid. And it’s a shame this car’s optional seats perch you higher than the Gentle
Ben airboat’s, an issue on the standard car too. I initially select Sport and struggle to get in a flow, but Normal adds extra power-steering assistance and more fluidity, and I settle to a pace over these sodden roads that I’d struggle to replicate in almost all the more exotic cars, even though the RS’s optional Michelin Cup 2s are happier in drier weather.
Do you really need an LSD (a £726 option) on the front axle? I’m not sure you do, and it’s perhaps this and the extra power that explains why Chris Chilton complains of torque steer, but the reality is the Focus RS is still a point-to-point hero.
Unless it’s trying to catch the Nissan GT-R Nismo. Almost in secondary school, the GT-R’s constant model-year updates now merit a Mastermind specialist subject. Suffice to say, the Nismo is your ultimate Godzilla, with a £151k sticker – standard GT-R: £82k – that ludicrously makes this the second most expensive car on test before options, of which the Nismo has none.
You feel the depth of revisions, beyond the gritty character that defines all GT-Rs. For a front-engined, all-wheel-drive car weighing 1725kg, the steering is stand-out fabulous, with excep-
tional detail, perfect precision, and a modest weight that builds in direct proportion to the small amount of body roll; drive just a few hundred metres and already that alcantara rim makes this GT-R feel hundreds of kilos lighter, no matter that the Nismo sheds only 27kg over siblings. Go harder and you’ll note the body is brilliantly tied down, the chassis still absorbent.
Perhaps more noticeable on track, the rear end is also exceptionally keen to turn; it gives the GT-R a knife-edge feel that prioritises getting the lap walloped over mollycoddling nervous pilots. The all-wheel drive has a cut-throat edge too, with generous helpings of oversteer; all GT-Rs do that.
On track, you need to graft hard and stay alert to access the Nismo’s talents. On the road, in the wet, you still feel that ruthlessness, that spike of boost that’ll get the rear end yawing, but you can pedal it cross-country so quickly the sat-nav might wonder where all the wiggly bits went. You’ll need a few thousand rpm to properly fly, but hearing the V6’s warble drowned by the violent hiss of boost as it charges at 7000rpm makes the Nissan a pretty wild ride.
The brakes could be stronger, the gearchanges snappier, but really, nothing disappoints. Except perhaps the Dunlop SportMaxx GT’s huge outer treadblocks, which sometimes failed to clear water and understeered, spiking my pulse in conditions an all-wheel-drive monster should ace. But in the dry? There’s no doubt this thing is supercar rapid. Just more Audi R8 than McLaren 720S rapid.4
It’s hard to reconcile that the 720S is essentially a follow-up to the 12C; it feels more like a P1 hypercar replacement. There’s intimidation as I swing under the dihedral door to drive to Rockingham in the wet, but the sensationally crisp steering, sophisticated ride and inviting cockpit with its hunkered-down driving position and fighter-jet visibility soothe jitters. All McLaren’s daily-driver claims ring true, save for the rear tyre roar on this car – the second pre-production 720S ever – which is staggering, like canned applause piped through the speakers.
On track, it takes a lap or so for the front P Zero Corsas to switch on and stop understeering, and for the brakes to properly warm, but then it all clicks. The performance is ferocious, with an extra kick towards 7500rpm that’s almost sci-fi in its otherworldly force and fury – much of that oomph is managed by the rear tyres and the stability control, though the lobotomy surpassed all expectations if you can just give it full power without yelping when the boost starts brewing.
It’s not just the performance that’s a step on; the dual-clutch ’box also punches with so much more conviction, particularly on downshifts, and I love that the pedal set-up almost mandates left-foot braking. Complain all you like about the death of manual transmissions, but snap down through the ratios under heavy braking, then crank the steering and bleed off the brakes with your left foot as you blend in the throttle with your right; there’s involvement equal to heel-and-toe in that.
The McLaren is awesomely well balanced beyond the limit, too. Go deep on the brakes and throw it at the apex and it’ll eagerly oversteer, but the poise and composure with which it does so is spellbinding: it just sits there sideways, steering and suspension unflustered, awaiting further instructions. Summon the nerve to give it some welly and you notice the greater precision of the new 4.0-litre V8 turbo; lag still lurks below 3000rpm, but the response on boost feels sweeter, letting you play tunes more accurately on the accelerator to keep the rear end smoking. And then you stop mucking around and go hard and nothing but the Elemental has a hope.
The next day, though, on a sodden Welsh road, I watch from the Audi R8’s rear-view mirror as the McLaren is slowly sucked backwards into the murk. Very few cars with over 600bhp are as accessible as Audi’s supercar: the ride is superb, refinement strong despite a tent over the cockpit, the dual-clutch transmission can flick between comfort and speed like a bilingual kid between languages and, while you can make the rear end shift around under braking, the allwheel-drive system ultimately favours mild understeer.
Plus of course there’s all the cutting-edge infotainment that comes with leaning on the wider VW Group; it certainly puts the McLaren in the shade. The one very slight oversight is that I can’t sit inside a Spyder: the compromises necessitated in packaging the fabric roof next to a mid-mounted engine alter the rear bulkhead, meaning the seat doesn’t motor back far enough if you’re over six-feet tall. I hunch over the Spyder’s wheel like a nervy learner joining a busy roundabout.
Is the R8 exciting enough? Perhaps its polish robs a little attitude, perhaps you could strip away some of the padding and feel a litle more connected, and there’s certainly an element of corruption through the steering when you accelerate hard and the front driveshafts shoulder a bigger workload. There’s a reason Audi has just showed an R8 without the front driveshafts…
But then you drop the roof, open the taps and revel in the contradiction that forward-through-technology Audi has an old-school V10 bellowing behind your head. The response; the rich, exotic, multi-faceted melody; the way it pulls keenly from low revs and then stretches out at least
Very few cars with over 600bhp are are as accessible as Audi’s V10 supercar
2000rpm beyond anything you thought possible – that all makes it a bewitching ally.
The structure feels solid despite the roof-chop, but you pay a huge 215kg penalty compared with a coupe, and that blunts acceleration. ‘It just doesn’t feel as quick as my R8 long-term test car,’ concurs James Taylor.
So, if you want the ultimate naturally-aspirated headrush, you’ll need the Porsche 911 GT3. The new engine steps all over the GT3 RS and R’s boots with 493bhp from 4.0 litres, but if anything it feels even more visceral than those frankly insane motors, with extra response from 5000rpm and a searing yowl that almost – almost – makes you reach for the earplugs. Touch the 8000rpm high notes and it sounds like a possessed circular saw viciously attacking aluminium sheet. And then you realise you haven’t even pressed the loud exhaust button.
The great thing about the GT3’s ferocious response and relative lack of torque is the control it gives you over the chassis. There’s so much traction you can use all the power, yet so much performance it’s impossible to feel short-changed. At Rockingham the GT3 bleeds into understeer at the limit if you’re progressive on the throttle, or willingly oversteers if you’re late on the brakes, but these traits are tools to exploit, not weaknesses to admonish; lean lightly on the understeer to feel the limit, use the oversteer to pivot through turns.
Perhaps you’d expect a race-bred car to feel exceptional on a racetrack, but more surprising is how at ease it is on the road, the chassis’ compliance in particular worthy of praise. The latest Cup 2 tyres deal much better with standing water too, though watching Ben Whitworth rodeo over Lake Superior highlights the need for margin where standing water lurks. ‘Definitely awake now,’ he shudders.
The steering seems to have more on-centre detail than before, the optional carbon-ceramics are probably best-on-test, and that classic rear-engined layout makes it so stable under heavy braking – and now you can choose from either super-quick PDK or manual. We’re testing the PDK, but both have merit: the ruthless punch of the dual-clutcher versus the extra involvement of one more pedal and a tight, short gearshift.
That evening, I bag the Audi RS5 to drive back to the hotel. I really fell for this car on the first drive, but we thought hard about inviting it along to this party because it our spotlight here is on pure dynamics and excitement, and we worried the4
Come the irst corner, you also know this is so much more than an E Class with a V8 transplant. The steering instantly keys you in
RS5 would get lost in the bluster. The truth is, after a long day in the SCGT office, the RS5’s cocooning embrace is exceptionally welcome. The refinement, the state-of-the-art infotainment, the laser-aligned finish, the effortless surge of acceleration; it’s a smaller, lighter Continental GT and very satisfying for that.
The damping is just as not-quite-there for swifter driving as the first test car I drove, with a lovely waft to its Comfort setting but too much of a restless edge to Auto and Dynamic. It’s also disappointing that £6k of ceramic brakes make like pine needles in a heatwave when pushed on track, but the Dynamic steering is more convincing. That first RS5’s helm felt a tad dozy, but this car’s Dynamic set-up injects more energy, without feeling as unnatural as other Audi Dynamic systems can.
Nonetheless, a performance test like this does ultimately make the RS5 seem a little more S than RS. Quattro prioritises neutrality and traction over entertainment, and the gearshifts – while rapid – lack oomph and physicality in this context. But as a daily driver, a car that combines thumping performance and a good deal of engagement yet still soothes on a wet Friday rush hour? I’d have one in a second.
Unless I spotted that the RS5’s as-tested £92k is perilously close to the £102k-as-tested Mercedes-AMG E63 S, another luxury car with a wicked turn of speed. The first time I drove Affalterbach’s super saloon at a soaking Silverstone – notice the pattern, overseas readers? – I’ll admit I didn’t quite get it. But I’m struggling to understand why right now. Inside, it’s all luxury and sophistication, but drop low into our car’s optional and perfectly sculpted – though narrow for some – sports seats and already it feels serious.
Then the V8 rips through the quad exhausts, and you accelerate away knowing that AMG has mastered combining much of the aural excitement and response of a naturally-aspirated motor with the hammer blow of twin turbocharging. Come the first corner, you also know this is so much more than an E-Class with a V8 transplant. The steering instantly keys you in with its detail, perfect weighting and eager response, revealing the huge gulf between a standard E and the chassis wizardry worked here.
With rear-biased all-wheel drive, well-controlled suspension movements and Michelin Pilot Sports, the E feels Jon Snow unflappable, even in wet weather.
Then, when Wales dries out and I call up Drift mode, it makes Dr Jekyll/Mr Hyde look well-balanced. At first the rear axle feels more unstable than a last-gen rear-drive E63, and perhaps the diff is locking up early, but I swear the RAF aren’t as quick through this part of Wales. There is always, though, the option to pile into a corner like the Red Arrows. The E63 just becomes a completely rear-wheel-drive smoke monster. Brilliant. The rounded RS5 might lose some of its sheen in this context, but the E63 S doesn’t; no other car here can do so much so well.
Fundamentally the same 4.0-litre engine makes its way into the AMG GT R, and while the spec sheet says it’s down 27bhp4
and 111lb ft, the GT R hauls 320 fewer kilos. It revs with a far feistier anger, and makes a noise like unsilenced machine-gun fire with every throttle prod. In fact, in Sport Plus mode the throttle response is more cattle prod, making the GT R lurch forward viciously; dialling things back to Sport puts you back in full control.
It’s so much more focused and responsive than the standard AMG GT, an AMG freed to pursue driver interaction without sops to all that multi-disciplinary stuff. The steering feels weightier, sharper, and crackles with feedback; the front end swings for the apex almost like it’s forgotten there’s a lump of V8 metal up ahead, and the rear – with its four-wheel steering – follows with equal aggression. The broader brush strokes of the standard car make way for pinpoint accuracy.
The seat bases are perhaps borderline firm, but despite its focus there’s no reason to shy away from a GT R on the road. On track, it’s much more of an animal than a 911 GT3, more physical to hustle and with spikier responses. But then, that’s why the Big Yellow Knob is here. It stands out like an emergency beacon in an interior of piano black and leather and alcantara, but it allows you to gradually slacken the stability control in 10 stages until, finally, you pull the pin from the grenade and throw it at a corner. There’s no doubting that the 911 GT3 is a purer sports car, but there’s a fire and anger in the GT R’s belly that makes it compelling in its own right.
Crushing super saloons? Hardcore sports cars? A hypercar to play on F1 dominance? AMG’s recent product offensive must make BMW’s M Division greener than the GT R’s paint job.
More recently, we’ve put AMG’s C63 ahead of M4 in tests, but the M4 CS chassis and performance tweaks do much to address that. Most noticeable is the added steering weight and definition.
‘It’s so precise and accurate,’ comments Chris Chilton. ‘You can place it perfectly’. The more aggressive Cup 2 tyres up the tactility too; their grip and communication bringing clarity like sharpening a blunt pencil, which is saying something because all M4s grip hard and feel impressively rigid up front. Despite the sharper focus, comfort is impressive, with a rich pliancy to bump absorption that helps both daily refinement and cross-country shenanigans.
But the BMW’s Achilles’ heel remains its turbocharged straight-six, which growls like a diesel with a cold and threatens to overwhelm the rear tyres with its surplus of mid-range torque. It encourages you to short-shift when, really, you want to work an M engine for all it’s got. It’s perhaps surprising, then, that the CS actually manages its power well, but the sense that the M4 is delivering too much midrange too easily persists.
The competition is too strong to let that slide, and the M4 CS has as much chance of making the podium as Joylon Palmer on three wheels. Unusually, though, there’s consensus this year as to which cars should go through.
Time to hand over to Chris for the showdown…
With their grip and communication, the M4 CS’s Cup 2 tyres bring clarity like sharpening a blunt pencil