Mark Walton: focus on the driver, not the car
Lance Armstrong, the infamous sporting anti-hero and serial cheat, called his 2000 autobiography It’s Not About The Bike, which was a clever title. Because the book, Lance’s life story and professional cycling in general aren’t about the two-wheeled machine he happened to be sitting on; it’s all about himself, his inner strength, his determination to overcome a steep mountain climb or cancer.
I have a lot in common with Lance Armstrong. We’re about the same age, we both love road cycling, and neither of us has ever won a Tour de France. And when I’m out for a ride, I’m not thinking about my bike either. I’m thinking about my own body and my ability to keep those pedals turning. I’m looking down at my legs, mumbling to myself, ‘Faster, my beauties! You are my big guns, my pistons made of steel! I am a charging bull, I am unstoppable!’
Delusion and self deception can get you a long way on a bike. Ask Lance. Anyway, a lot of people think that when you drive a fast car, it’s all about the car. But it’s not – I mean, not always. I’ll concede, driving a Lamborghini Aventador has a lot to do with driving a Lamborghini Aventador. Am I making sense? Who could drive a Lamborghini Aventador without looking at your own reflection in shop windows as you drive by? To remind yourself: ‘Wow! I’m driving a Lamborghini Aventador!’
But other cars aren’t like that. The new Porsche 911 GT3, for example – I’d be happy taking a GT3 out on a country road at 5am, when no one is around to see me drive it. I don’t care what I look like and I’m not thinking of my reflection. Because – to mis-quote Armstrong – it’s not about the car. When you drive a GT3, it really becomes about you, about testing yourself. Not in terms of speed: ‘How fast can I go?’ I’m talking about smoothness, flow, anticipation, mechanical feel. Like the bike, your brain is completely focused on your own body, your timing, your hand-eye co-ordination. Can you brake just the right amount? Turn in at precisely the right moment?
And that’s why the manual gearbox is so important. As a no-cost option, the new GT3’s six-speed manual ’box means you’ll lose one gear (compared to the seven-speed, twin-clutch PDK) and the claimed 0-62mph time will slow from an absolutely blistering 3.4 seconds to a still-absolutely-blistering 3.9. But what you gain, in terms of engagement and personal challenge, is impossible to measure.
The gearchange in the new GT3 is so sweet: it’s a short mechanical throw, hard-edged in the tight H-pattern. The clutch is beautifully weighted – it’s quite a long pedal movement, but it’s smooth and measured. On the move, despite the 503bhp raging through the car (and I do mean ‘raging’, because at 8500rpm the engine is howling like it wants to climb into the cabin and kill you) – despite all of that, you can snap that gear back from third to fourth as fast as your hand will move.
So the change itself isn’t a challenge. But getting the timing right, getting it to flow serenely, requires all of your concentration. Changing down, the GT3 has a Gear Shift Assist which automatically blips the throttle to match engine to road speed – I tried it and it works, making you sound like a heel-and-toe boss. But then I don’t want anyone to hear me. I’m doing this selfishly, remember. Blip the throttle yourself and the system disengages – now if you get it right through a 90° left, you can pat yourself on the back, like you’d just potted the black or aced a tennis serve.
Driving the manual for your own sake, testing yourself as a driver, the gearchange actually becomes the epicentre of the whole experience. The GT3’s steering, guided by the radical new double-wishbone front suspension (radical for a 911 anyway), is precise and rewarding, but pointing the car in the right direction is no longer a challenge like 911s of old. In older 911s, just keeping it pointing in a straight line was dicult enough, the car’s wayward nose always keen to wander off. Nowadays, the gearchange and the orchestra of noise that it controls is what this GT3 is all about. Choose the PDK automatic and I reckon you’re missing the whole point. It’s like Armstrong: why make it all about yourself and then cheat?