ADAM TOWLER
Towler chooses the cars that really moved him – and occasionally scared him
THE MORE I THINK ABOUT THIS, THE MORE impossible a task it seems to be. While ten slots should in theory give more than enough room, my initial shortlist required the sort of substantial and traumatic pruning that would reduce Alan Titchmarsh to tears if tasked with administering it to a rhododendron bush.
My salvation, in part, has been to focus on the personal: my list isn’t necessarily made up of the greatest cars I’ve driven, but rather the ones that affected me the most. They are the cars that made me smile the widest grin, made me laugh out loud to no one in particular, gave me a robust kick in the stomach, a stab of fear in the chest and a tingle afterwards – sensations that could be relied upon to resurface should even the merest prospect of driving one again be a reality.
So, in tenth place comes the 1954 Mercedes-benz 300 SL Gullwing. It was Portugal, by the coast. I was given the keys and a few hours to enjoy myself. The fabulous lines, the other-worldly interior, the race-bred dry-sumped straight six, the swing-axle rear suspension – I was sweating at the thought of binning it and walking back to the Mercedes museum staff with only a bent steering wheel in hand. There will never be a car as ‘special’ as the Gullwing, a piece of art that happens to move.
Ninth is the TVR Sagaris: the most spectacular Trev, but also by a country mile the best to drive. Small, hilariously angry, and a properly sorted chassis. Inspired.
Eighth is a modern: the simply brilliant Alpine A110. So many times have I perused the online configurator, mulled over the finance, then stepped back. It appeals in a way virtually no other contemporary car can, especially with Life110 mods fitted. It’s the salvation of the performance car, if only more people would realise it.
In seventh I’ve gone for a Lambo, and for me it needs to be a V12 – a Bizzarrini V12 – but one without the big wings, carbonfibre and Ring time, and with the big chromed lever connected to a manual ’box instead. The soft khaki green LP640 with silver wheels on the model’s launch at Mugello stalks my dreams to this day. Donckerwolke lines, that engine, that experience – that’s the Lambo for me.
Sixth is another supercar: the Pagani Zonda S with the 7.3-litre AMG V12. From a time before all the limited-run stuff and ostentatious carbon nonsense, I found this car bewitching, terrifying and enthralling in equal measure.
I’ve put a BMW fifth, and this really did cause an internal argument that threatened to blow a fuse. E30 M3? An E60 M5 for the last 3000rpm of the rev band? The peachy 3.8-litre E34 M5? An E39 – still the best M5? That drive in the original M1. Oh man... do you see what I mean? But in the end, and in spite of the ’box, it has to be the E46 CSL, because when that melon ingester of a carbon intake trumpet is open, my world is a better place.
Fourth goes to my Ferrari choice. Frankly, I got lost here for hours mulling over 512Ms (that flat-twelve with the titanium rods!), the 246 GT (just perfection), 458 Speciale (unforgettable aggression), 360 Challenge Stradale (I love it so much), but in the end, of all the cars with the prancing horse I’ve been lucky enough to drive, it’s the early 2.7 Motronic F355 Berlinetta manual for me. For extra sauce on the sundae, it would be one of the original batch of RHD Challenge cars, made road-legal. Now that really was a car.
Third? Renault Clio Williams 1. Peak French hot hatch, it has it all and I love it down to its little gold Speedline SL675 rims. And this from a die-hard Peugeot 205 GTI fan.
As for second place, it’s the Mak attack. I miss cars like this so much, whether Impreza, Evo, GT4 or Cosworth – they will always be at the heart of my passion for cars. But if I had to have one, it has to be the extraordinary Evo 6.5, a car that melds the purity of a great sports car with the turbocharged traction and specialness you only get from
a rally homologation special. I know the powers-that-be had good intentions, but the day the Group A rules ended was a bleak one in my view.
Finally, that leaves my number 1: the original 997 GT3, the plain vanilla Gen 1. There hasn’t been anything else troubling this spot for years, and I’m absolutely certain there never will be. For me, this has always been the car that gets closest to my imaginary ideal: the way it looks, the size, the sound of it, the way it drives, the history of the marque, the authenticity of it and its closeness to a successful competition car, a car for long drives, track days, or just looking at it in the driveway with a cuppa. I don’t need the RS, or a 3.8, or a 4-litre. I just want this car. Full stop. With luck, just maybe, one day I will succeed.