The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
New ’Vette doesn’t lose a step
Chevy’s Stingray shifts to world of automatics. Eight-speed is quicker than models with a manual transmission.
Every slinky Stingray at the old Steakley Chevrolet dealership in Dallas bore my sweaty teenage imprints.
As a car-dazzled dreamer, I’d go to check out Corvettes, pressing against their windows to make sure they all had stick shifts and clutch pedals.
No snorting, self-respecting ’Vette should ever be emasculated by some sissy slush-box automatic, I harrumphed.
Real Corvettes required strong arms and legs, demanding that drivers wrestle them down the road stabbing clutches as stiff as a leg press at the gym. Those days left deep marks. My semi-senior feet still dance daily across three pedals, moving to a faint melody I learned decades ago.
But in the push-button 21st century — when some folks view lifting a fork as aerobic exercise — automatics absolutely rule.
I knew the end was near for us left-legged drivers when Lamborghini and Ferrari quit offering manual transmissions. Then, Porsche began building its road-ripping 911 GT3 and 911 Turbo in automatic only.
And now, my thundering Corvettes.
Sure, you can still order a seven-speed manual in the 2015 Stingray. But the heavily redesigned ’Vette is also available with a new eight-speed automatic that most buyers will surely select.
Just go ahead and put me out to pasture — but leave the gate open.
Because here’s the deal: Like most modern, highly computerized vehicles, the new Corvette with the eight-speed automatic is slightly quicker than the manual-transmission cars.
Drat. Another illusion evaporates.
The screaming yellow 2015 Stingray I had recently with the optional ($1,725) eight-speed automatic certainly didn’t look short of snort.
Every line on the car cut like a laser. Radical, vertical-shaped headlamps — vaguely reminis- cent of some Ferraris — lay atop chiseled fenders.
A long, hard-looking hood with a power dome in its center stretched to a seriously laidback windshield and hatchback top.
Naturally, in a road racer like the new Stingray, the car’s black 19-inch wheels up front and 20-inchers on back were pushed to the corners.
The fronts wore 245/35 tires and the rears spun meaty 285/ 30s.
The 3,500-pound coupe’s razor-slash styling looked especially strong on the sides, with two character lines providing all sorts of edginess, as well as broad shoulders over the rear wheels.
Four exhaust pipes in the rear, each big enough to swallow the Soul’s dancing ro- dents, left little doubt about the ’Vette’s extra-legal intentions.
And the 6.2-liter, 460-horsepower V-8 beneath its radioactive-yellow hood could certainly fill those big pipes with real street music.
Mine was a Z51 model, equipped with a tighter suspension and the so-called multimode exhaust system — a nice way of saying it absolutely thundered beyond 4,000 rpm with a roar that sounded pretty much unmuffled.
In sport mode, the engine had a slightly lumpy, old-school growl at idle that sounded like a loosely leashed Rottweiler. Any sudden shoves on the accelerator produced immediate wheel spin that often kicked the rear end out a bit.
Hit the loud pedal hard and the car squirmed against its traction control before blasting forward with a roaring force that pinned driver and passenger deeply into their seats and threatened to stretch necks.
Sixty flashes by in 3.7 seconds, according to Car and Driver, with the new slush-box clicking off tight 6,000-rpm shifts.
Moreover, it automatically downshifted heading into corners as I eased up on the gas, holding the ’Vette in gear through curves.
Here’s the thing that was hardest for a 20th-century guy like me to believe, though: While the Stingray was rated at only a modest 16 miles per gallon in town, it carried a 29 mpg highway number and barely missed qualifying for 30.
By the way, the car also has a top speed of 180.