Chris Evans: My best car EVER
Stunning Porsche is the best modern driver’s car ever made
TO GET me in the mood for CarFest North, taking place today at Bolesworth Castle in Tattenhall, just outside Chester, those lovely people at Porsche, God bless ’em, sent me the most rawsome, awesome, ridiculously amazing car I have driven since I began writing this column over a hundred years ago. The new 911 GT2 RS is a vision to look at, a dream to drive, heaven to smell and irresistible to the touch – in short, it’s the best version of everything it could possibly be.
Its physical form reminds me of the outlandish but mystically alluring Maserati MC12. Mind you, the MC12 always reminded me of a stretched Porsche GT in the first place, far more than anything to do with the Ferrari Enzo with which it shares its platform and engine.
The side scoops, the louvred wheel arches, the twin engine cover bulges, the lowered roof with its Zagato-style matching pods, the way the nose drops down to sniff the road – all classic MC12. All absolutely stunning. Even my usually unimpressed wife couldn’t resist enthusing about this automotive sensation. ‘Now that really is something,’ she texted me after it arrived at home while I was still at work. Such unsolicited, spontaneous praise is rare indeed, believe me.
Everything has to be 100 per cent spot-on for a car to be considered quite so wonderful. Take its Miami Blue colour, for example, perfect in the sunshine and which somehow hypnotises the observer into thinking the car is lighter than it actually is (it’s surprisingly heavy for a stripped-down GT race/road car, weighing in at a substantial 1,470kg). The Hockney swimming pool blue also works a treat up against the various carbon-fibre frames and trim panels. Such unbridled ambition could have turned out lurid and loathsome, but has instead conspired to create a celebration of audacious pizzazz.
Practicality, on the other hand, is unashamedly secondary. For whatever one might deem necessary for a GT2 RS road trip, there is a small cubby hole underneath the bonnet, but that’s about it, apart from the additional (and very clever – but still extremely teeny) extending door cards and impressively engineered telescopic cupholders. The latter extend out from deep within a narrow cavity where the glove box would be if this car had one – which it doesn’t. Ha!
So what we have here is a very pretty little thing with a fantastic paint job, but one that is otherwise a deafening echo chamber of racepedigree authentic austerity. That is, stripped down to within an inch of its life in the name of maximising the power-to-weight ratio to replicate a genuine GT Series race car – a Ferrari F40 for 2018, if you like. Well you see, here’s the thing – nothing could be further from the truth.
Creaking in and out of the genu- ine GT bucket seats may not be the easiest task for us over-50s currently carrying a little more around the waistline than we’d like to admit to. But as for the rest of the cockpit interior and equipment, everything is reassuringly standard 911, save for the odd quirk like the strap door handles, which only add to the whole GT vibe anyway, without compromising comfort or convenience for the sake of the purists.
I remember Charlie Watts, he of The Rolling Stones, telling me once that although he doesn’t have the first clue how to drive, he bought a 1937 Lagonda Rapide to have in his garage just to look at and sit in. Well, Charlie, if you’re reading this and you fancy a second car, the GT2 RS could be the next set of wheels for you – we could look at them and sit in them together, without ever turning a wheel. That said, this is what happened when I did fire up the more modern of those two beauties.
The 3.8-litre flat six engine exploded into life, waking up the whole of Berkshire, Buckinghamshire and Surrey in the process (please note, this thunderous cacophony is what the engine sounds like BEFORE Sport mode is selected and/or the exhaust amplification system is turned on). It’s both ridiculous but brilliant at the same time. After which comes the interesting part, the calm before the storm, if you will. The bit where you know you’re sitting in a rocket ship but you’re not quite sure what type of rocket ship because you’ve yet to put your foot down. I love this
I NEVER WANT TO GIVE THIS CAR BACK
pre-transition period, as you can tell a lot from the way a supercar pootles out of the gate with regards to its DNA. Some cars are born rasping, rabid in their impatience to be let off the leash. To the extent one barely dare touch the accelerator for fear of suddenly becoming acquainted with a random brick wall half a mile down the road.
Not so with this tacit titan, however, as even at 20-30mph you can sense the undertones of what is a beautifully balanced and graduated monster bit of kit. The moment when the first signs of that ‘I never want to give this car back’ manic grin begins to tighten the corners of the mouth. Then it’s breathe. Wait. Wait. Wait!
Whoosh – and bye-bye world. Byebye Brexit, bye-bye Trump, byebye all the useless leaden nonsense of a world gone crazy via the ecstasy of 700 horses at 7,000rpm, red-lining in every gear, in manual or auto, normal or sport (it really doesn’t matter). This is an absolute weapon, but more crafted longbow than AK-47. The linear acceleration curve from this rear-engined work of unadulterated and absolute genius is pure artistry, eminently smooth yet brutal and raw at the same time. If you happen to own a lesser 911 and get the chance to have a go in one of these, my sincere advice is, please don’t. Unless you can afford one and there is one left to buy (there isn’t – and it’ll cost you twice as much secondhand), you will be miserable for the rest of yor life. And this is before you even contemplate a high-speed corner, a cheeky chicane-style mini-roundabout or the first of a million track days.
Porsche’s lightweight suspension set-up is flawless. Firm, of course, but nowhere near as uncomfortably so as one might expect. But here’s the important bit – Porsche has still managed to make the car feel more real than the vast majority of the usual rich blokes’ faux road-legal race cars seem to have become.
There is an overriding authenticity about the whole GT 2 RS experience. Like the fact the engineers have still been able to ‘deck’ the car to the road. Like the fact that they’ve still managed to fill the wheel arches with massive 20in wheels (21in at the rear) and yellow-calipered carbon brakes without having to employ one of those silly, driver-activated, adjustable suspension systems that a) is a pain in the neck and b) makes you look and feel really stupid.
Obviously, being rear-wheel drive and sitting on a combined rear footprint of 650mm of rubber while laying down 700hp means there is always going to be the potential for some squeaky-bum moments. Therefore (especially with traction control and stability control turned off) straight-line braking is pretty much mandatory when it comes to the fundamental issue of preservation of life. Talking of which, those huge brake discs are fantastic but ceramic, which means they need to be warm before any serious (or emergency) braking is even contemplated. I’ve been caught out by this in the past and had to throw my trousers away as a result.
If the new 2018 Bentley Continental GT from a few weeks back is the best all-round luxury production car ever made, this GT2 RS is the best modern driver’s car ever made. It is simply spectacular, overwhelming the opposition of luxury supercars (including Porsche’s very own 911 Turbo S that I found weirdly unexciting a few years back in this very column) because it simply feels more connected. In all aspects of performance, poise, power and prowess, the feedback to the pilot is so much more physical than any of its rivals. It reminds me a lot of the McLaren F1 (see panel), where every manual input elicits an immediate response, as instant as tapping on a window or flicking a fly off the back of your hand, there is no suggestion of a virtual brain getting in the way and digitally depriving you of all that visceral, old-school, analogue wonder. For example, every time I loosened my grip on the wheel, the contours of the road immediately took over the driving (to know one’s daily commute via the sinews of one’s fingertips is almost mystical.) This is a car that talks to the driver, a car that purrs with contentment one minute while screaming with adrenaline the next.
The only thing GT2 RS owners will need to be wary of is the love/ hate reaction from their fellow road-users. Vehicles like this tend to polarise opinion. They even cause people who wouldn’t usually look at a car twice to gesture what they think. One particularly conflicted individual made a point of pulling up next to me and beeping her horn while simultaneously scrunching up her face before sticking her fingers down her throat and pretending to vomit. She then promptly returned to smoking her stinking cigarette with all the windows up. Heigh-ho!
IT’S A WORK OF ABSOLUTE GENIUS AND PURE ARTISTRY