"It had better be", I mumble in my jet lagged state, grumpy not only because of my lack of (good) sleep, but also because of the extraordinary hassle of taking delivery of this week's car, whatever it may be.
"I thought you'd be more excited to review a four hundred and fifty thousand USD car", says she, hugging her messenger bag to her chest as she surveys my mood with a tilt of her head.
"You do this for long enough, these cars become as common as bread and butter. The Honda Beat we did was actually a hundred times more unique than any Lambo, McLaren..."
"This one should be unique, though. I hear you have to be chosen to even be able to buy one-"
"I am NOT driving ANY MORE Ferraris!", I explode and shout on the spot, causing what little people around us to all turn their heads and stare. It looks like inhibitions aren't a priority for my brain in power saving mode.
"Wh- no! It's... it's not! It's... a GT!", Esther recoils at the outburst, covering her mouth and staggering a step or two back.
"Do you have the slightest idea..."
...how little that narrows it down? Thankfully, I hadn't verbalised the latter half of the sentence, due to a glaring, instantly recogniseable colour combo coming round into view on the carousel. My luggage, wrapped in a cover bearing the colour scheme of the #55 787B, is almost as loud as the car it's based off on. Thankfully in time to cut me off mid sentence, as well, because I didn't mean to make Esther feel bad, especially since she gives me the impression that she doesn't know much about cars.
"Never mind. I'm sorry. I'm just... super cranky right now. I can't sleep at all on planes."
To meet our mysterious (and pain in the butt) contact, we've flown over to Illinois on a short notice, and are now en route to his residence via cab, where the contact wants to meet me in person to ensure my sanity and professionalism, and presumably hold my balls in a vice as a deposit, before handing me the keys to his 450k USD supercar to hoon and race for a review. As soon as we found ourselves in relatively familiar territory, on terra firma and four wheels, the sleepiness and grumpiness gave way to the more familiar feelings of anxiety as well.
I'll admit: I'm very nervous, not just because I'm not good with people to put it mildly, and also because I've serious doubts about my sanity. I mean, it takes a certain type of special people to want to race 1.5 tons of metal going 250km/h in close proximity to each other. In that sense, being essentially interviewed to assess my sanity to race and review a 450k USD asset just feels inherently conflicting, to me. I really don't know what I should be, say or do. I don't know what they want out of me. And that concern can perhaps be extrapolated onto prohibitively expensive performance cars as a whole, to say something about them, as well.
Chief among my reasons for being nervous however, is that I know next to nothing about American cars and culture. I've sampled a few here and there over the course of my career as a racing driver, but none really did strum any heartstrings. I tend to prefer lightweight, arguably underpowered cornering machines to dance with, and I can't name a single American offering that fits that bill. I guess my personal preferences are at a clash with American car culture, which is fine, of course. It just doesn't bode well for me to have to socialise with a rich tycoon/ celebrity, nonetheless, especially because this time, I don't even have my Viper around to make that good first impression for me.
As I watch the bevy of left hand drive cars whiz by me on the expressway, a ragtag mix of sensible family sedans I can't even name, your obligatory crossovers, pickups that must be a barrel of laughs to hoon, a few performance cars like Corvettes and Mustangs, and even the occasional... highly personalised and decorated Civics, my anxiety did swell with anticipation. What could I possibly be needed in America for? At least I can take solace in knowing that whatever it is, it's not a Ferrari.
It must've been a heck of a weird sight: a taxi, dropping off two tourists fresh from the airport at the front gates of a grand mansion nestled deep in the middle of nowhere. We identified ourselves to the no-nonsense looking guards in thick formal wear that makes Esther's usual garb look like school uniforms in comparison. They radioed into the teams deeper in the mansion, and once we were confirmed, cleared, and had our temperatures taken, we were welcomed into the mansion... just not with the warmth one might expect with a welcome, but rather, with a tone so stern and gruff, it almost didn't matter what words the voice was used to say; it couldn't have meant anything other than, "we dare you to try something stupid".
We were guided with the same sternness to one of the many garages at the end of one of the many driveways in the mansion, where a tall man of non native looks in casually adorned formal wear was standing right outside a garage door, overlooking proceedings inside. Upon noticing us, he smiles warmly and, with a somehow assuring zest, welcomes us to his home. "Lee! Mami! Welcome to America! Welcome to my home! You can call me Shad."
...Mami?
"Esther" gives a slight bow of the head in lieu of the now taboo handshake. I follow, saving my confusion for later.
"So polite, so polite! Thanks for agreeing to do this for me!"
"Not at all Mr. Khan. The honour and pleasure is all ours...", replies Esther, with somewhat of an attempt to sound more emotive than her usual self. It's amazing how rock solid her composure is, given her petite looks of young age.
"Now, now, no need to be so formal. Lee, have you been in one of these before?"
I walk up to Shad's side, occupying half the space he made for me upon asking me the question. When I turned to look at which not-a-Ferrari was awaiting me this week, I became slack jawed and my mind went similarly limp for a good while.
My eyes lit up to the unmistakable, instantly recogniseable, highly distinguished shape and stare of a second generation Ford GT that had greeted me. And at that moment, all the last minute travelling, jet lag, and social interactions had become more than worth it.
The original GT40, which this GT is a modern rendition of, is perhaps THE most famous racing car in the history of the sport, and pretty much the antithesis of a Ferrari, with a comeback story of underdog spite and success that couldn't have happened better if someone wrote it as a work of fiction. Since then, Ford has done an excellent job of protecting the GT name and the special feel it brings, only using the name once in 2003 on a concept car as a celebration of Ford's 100th birthday, to critical acclaim. The production 2005-2006 Ford GT remains one of the most beloved, desirable, and limited of American automobiles today, with many celebrities and car journalists seemingly willing to sell their souls to own one, most notably Jeremy Clarkson and Doug DeMuro, to name just a few.
This second generation of the GT certainly looks the business, and then ten times more. It's low, it's wide, and it's long, and it oozes a sense of purpose and uncompromising focus that you would only find maybe in the top echelons of trims and special editions of hypercars today. Every surface, every square millimetre of the car's body appears built with a purpose of directing air over its body, so much so that this car, with its "wind tunnels" for the lack of a better term, both obvious and obtuse, barely looks solid. Every surface of the car looked like they were hand crafted to serve some purpose. Even its iconic, circular tail lights for example, are used as a path to extract heat from the car.
Hypercars chase numbers not only on the spec sheets, but also in profitability, as well. That's why most of the super and hypercars meant for more general consumption come with creature comforts, conveniences, and psychological aesthetics to make the owner feel fancy and established to be able to afford such a fancy pantsy car. Not so in the GT. It has clearly no interest in being anything other than a barely road legal racing car, as evidenced by the black hole that is its interior, surfaced only with hard, uncovered materials, and lack of anything that isn't a requirement to keep the driver alive long enough to commandeer the car. Cubby holes? Cupholders? If you won't hear the term in the world of motorsports, you won't find it in the GT, either. You get an air con. That's... good enough, right? And that, ironically, makes me lust after it more. It doesn't beg or appeal to you hoping you'd love it; rather, it knows what it is, and it knows you'll love it.
With aggressive intakes, splitters, skirts, and diffusers, coupled with its already squat and taut looks and spitefully minimalistic, purposeful interior, this car genuinely looks like a pair of tow hooks, roll cages, a fixed wing, and a set of centre lock wheels and racing slicks away from being a GT3 or GTE spec racing car. Even special, limited homologation models of most racing cars don't look half the business as this.
There's a saying that's popular in the world of motorsports that goes, "form follows function". Yet, for how much purpose and functionality the body of the GT screams, it nonetheless looks so. stunningly. beautiful. It blends form and function together so naturally and cohesively, it makes me wonder if there was at all any conscious effort to design the car to look good, or if it looks good simply as a natural byproduct of how purposeful and focused it is. It has a beautiful mix of sharp angles and smooth, transitional curves blending different sections of the car and different design elements together. This is a car that leads your eyes through its body as effortlessly and naturally as it does opposing air. An impeccable blending of slim, sexy, and muscular in all the right places, without ever feeling like there was a blemish anywhere in the theme of "purpose". And while most cars struggle to keep their original design elements and theme in the face of ever stringent safety standards and softening customer trends, the second generation Ford GT looks like it couldn't be anything other than a Ford GT. The shape and spirit of the original GT40 is visibly intact in shapes and proportions, while incorporating modern tastes and performance within said shapes and proportions. It's a car that is shockingly, instantly recogniseable even with a glance, and Ford has done an impeccable job with the styling of this car. I really don't think there's anything I could even nitpick on this. It makes me want it, all else be damned, with just with one look at it. And that, I think, is the biggest strength of any super and hypercar, and arguably, their biggest selling point, as well.
"I-I'm sorry, did you... say something?", I snap back to reality after the mesmerising trip of laying my eyes on the GT.
Shad laughs. "Have you driven one of these before?"
"N-no... not even the first gen car."
Shad then gives me some basic specs of the car. In contrast to its predecessor that had a 5.4L supercharged V8, this second gen car too, was bit by the downsizing bug, now sporting a more compact 3.5L Twin Turbo V6... out of a pickup. The smaller engine does contribute to the shocking kerb mass of this car however, weighing in at 1,385kg (3,050lbs), anorexic figures for a car punching out numbers like 655PS, 0-100km/h in 2.9 seconds, and 347km/h (216mph) top speed. Together with a 7 speed DCT however, it's easy to see why this car is a little divisive among Americans, who traditionally prefer big NA or supercharged V8s going through manuals. As an outsider with no real context or history however, the raw numbers this car puts out on paper is already enough to tickle my pickle.
Of course, another important number this car comes attached with is 450,000, that being the cost of this car in USD when brand new, and will likely only appreciate further after the two years chosen owners are legally disallowed to sell the car. To this end, I was threatened in a very kind and friendly manner that it's... not advisable for me to damage the car in testing and racing. Shad got to where he is today owning several sporting teams, and his son founded an upstart, highly successful wrestling company. I may find my family jewels suddenly and aggressively introduced to a 2x4 wrapped in barbed wire, and in that hunched over state, I may undergo a "Paradigm Shift", as he puts it, and also very specifically on the carbon tub roof of the car for some reason. He laughs after he says all that, implying it's a joke. But it's... a very elaborate, thought out, and obscure joke for something he just cooked up on the spot. Are all wealthy people so good at... subtly, yet firmly, asserting themselves?
*********************************************
To get myself familiarised with the car, and most likely to ascertain my sanity and ability, we flew over to California's Willow Springs the next day, where if you got something wrong, the only things to hit are the vast amounts of nothing as far as the eye can see. Of course, that's not to say it's safe; this is inherently a dangerous sport, like wrestling. Hit the desert dunes at a wrong enough angle with enough speed, and you have every possibility of damaging the suspension of the car, or flipping it entirely. It's a possibility more real than one might expect, looking at the rather simplistic layout of Big Willow, nestled in the vast openness of the desert, and the sub 1:20 time needed to lap it for most modestly powered sports cars. But the big, sweeping corners that each go on for an eternity and a half with almost no reference points, some even with changing radii, makes this a deceptively challenging track to consistently nail laps with. Moreso than most sanctioned, more sane F1 tracks, I'd argue.
More than anything though, I just don't want to be the poor chap that has to wash out all the sand from the endless crevices and tunnels of this car should I beach it. Ugh.
Initial driving impressions of the car... weren't very good at all, to say the least. Weight transfer is numb, ambiguous, delayed, and I never know what the tyres are doing at any given moment, no matter how hard I attempt to press on them with weight transfer. It's amazing how numb the car manages to feel; even with a full tank, there never seems to be weight over the front tyres, and they seem to want to bite only in full braking zones. That means it was impossible to alter the balance of the car mid corner with minute adjustments, and the tyres in turn never feel like they want to do anything. It was extraordinarily difficult to nail apexes with this car as a result. I really don't know what the car wants or expects of me, other than slow to a near crawl for every corner.
One would expect from looking at its spartan build and purposeful body that this would be an absolute weapon on the track, unforgiving, intimidating, and with nigh unapproachable limits even for racing drivers, much like other track day toys like the Zonda R. One would then be led to think that the difficulty and numbness in weight transfer might be due to the stiffness in the suspension setup, as a result. Yet, the GT somehow finds, or carves out, a niche in suspension travel grey areas. It's way too soft for what it is and what it can do, yet, for all the softness and uncontrolled body movements mid corner, it... somehow doesn't manage to press on any tyre enough to dig any grip out of them. It's honestly amazing, astounding, even, how Ford has managed to perfectly set up the suspension in this car to achieve precisely NOTHING in this car. It's soft enough to cost you control and grace mid corner, and stiff enough to ensure you never put adequate weight over any tyre. I did not even know that this was somehow possible, for all my years of driving experience.
(Yes, that's the front left tyre phasing through the ground on default Sport Hard tyres, to give you an idea of how FREAKING SOFT the car is.)
It doesn't even end there. The steering is numb and imprecise, as well. Coupled with the astoundingly incompetent suspension setup, precisely placing this car at speed was a nigh on impossible task. More than the suspension, actually; everything in this car feels precisely engineered and set up to work together to create the worst experience you could possibly imagine. The engine, for example, puts out raw numbers that are nothing short of astounding, but it has such ridonkulous power in the mid range, the throttle pedal feels almost like an on-off switch for the engine, especially in lower gears and speed. It always felt like the first 10% of the pedal travel gives you 75% of the torque, perhaps because there's... no weight over the rear tyres when one would think there would be. I also wish the engine had a higher redline, as most of the power is set up to be delivered on the top end. Yes, I understand that the power curve is tapering off even at the redline of 7,200rpm, but for exiting slower turns in 2nd and 3rd, I very often find myself wishing to ride out a lower gear for longer before having to upset the car with an upshift, especially when the car isn't fully straightened out yet.
One would also think, given the barebones, intolerable on a daily basis interior would mean everything in this car is geared towards track use, yet 7th for some reason is an overdrive that bogs the car at 300km/h (186mph), when 6th was still pulling strong and getting you all excited for more. Truly, the engine, the gear ratios, the suspension, and the steering... everything comes together to form a symphony of tailor made displeasure and mismatches in this car, almost as though conflict was an art form.
Over the ten laps I did of Big Willow, I never did find myself comfortable with the car at its ambiguous limits. I survived said laps by essentially crawling and tiptoeing through them. I got out of the car, angry, disgusted, and disappointed, only to be greeted by a beaming Shad, anxious to know my thoughts on the car.
And this is why I hate meeting owners of cars I'm reviewing.
"It was..."
I hesitate. I keep telling myself honesty is the core principle of this job, yet instincts of self preservation and political correctness hold me in a limbo, kind of like the suspension in the GT holding the car in indecision mid corner.
"...a load of shit."
*********************************************
For this week's meet, I was surprised to find that we were adopting racing slick tyres in attempt to tame the GT. The hardest of racing slicks, but racing slicks regardless. No road car really has any business, need, or for some, even the ability to safely wear racing rubber. As can be seen from the above photo taken at Big Willow, the car was bottoming out even on sports tyres.
The Ford GT however, remains undeterred in its quest of being an awful drive, racing rubber or not. I still could not get it to do anything, nor could I get a read on it. Because I never felt comfortable with the car at all, AND also because of a combination of the car's cost, along with a personal need to redeem myself for my bad driving last week, I was taking it extremely easy during this week's meet with fellow COTW drivers. I never did actively race anyone, and if someone wanted to pass, I'd let them with no drama.
It did however, make me feel guilty. After all, Shad hired me, an ex racing driver, to show off his baby in full light, to drive it like it was meant to be driven, at the car's limits where no non-racing driver can really explore. After the first race, I asked Shad what he thought of my performance at Gardens. He seemed thrilled, nonetheless. Maybe to the untrained eyes, it was difficult to tell when a car is being driven at the limit. All the more true without telemetry and hard lap times, I suppose, even for us racing drivers. Or maybe he's just putting up a polite front. It's hard to know people when you can't push them to the limit like you can with cars.
But it still bugged the crap out of me that I was... being "dishonest"? Not giving my all?
Near the last leg of our weekly world tour, we found ourselves at Spa. I was one of the few who voted for Spa, actually. Spa being a high speed track heavily favouring MR cars, it was the last chance I'm willing to give the Ford GT to win me over. If it isn't good here, it won't be good anywhere else.
An outsider, but not a stranger, showed up for the Spa race as well, and magically had a Ford GT of his own to pull out of his butt. It was McEwen, whom I knew of, and even had a chance to briefly speak with, back when I was an active racing driver. He's insanely quick, easily top split material in the Oceania region.
Bruxelles was one of the only two sections where the car's rear wing would retract, dipping below the speeds of 70mph (~112.7km/h), the other being Bus Stop.
And, well... I kinda wanted to see if I still got it. I kinda got a bit... too excited. It's time to earn my paycheck. You watching this, Shad?
Arguably because I've more experience in the GT, I was closing the gap to McEwen in the lead. A mistake by him into Bruxelles saw me pull side by side with him, me on the outside of No Name. An undercut later, and I had the speed and inside of Pouhon for the pass.
Of course, drivers of McEwen's calibre don't give up just because they've been passed. Now with my slipstream and the pressure switching between drivers, I could not keep outpacing him like I had before making the pass, all while small mistakes kept rearing their heads in the nigh uncontrollable GT between the both of us. All this fighting also meant that Nat, drunk as all hell this week, was closing in on the pair of us quick.
Shad looked to be absolutely enthralled by the performance of his GT, telling me how, in spite of everything, he's really glad that his car could finally be driven at the limit and fully exploited, and that it was a real treat as an owner to see. So much so he's thinking about expanding into motorsport teams as well, instead of just American football. I... had no idea prior that we racing drivers had this sort of value, and could provide this sort of service for society. Hired to play with the toys of the rich and famous? It's almost like I myself have become a toy just like the cars. Jinba-Ittai, I guess.
Race results aside, how did the car perform at Spa?
It felt a little more at home than at the tighter, twistier courses, but by and large, it was same old, same old. In spite of appearances, the car really didn't feel like it was producing any downforce through Eau Rouge, and still required hard braking for both Eau Rouge and Blanchimont, which are both taken near flat out in GT3 cars on equivalent racing hards, weighing only slightly less. At this point, this car was looking like the textbook definition of a Beater: a car that sets up lofty expectations, only to betray them when actually driven.
I have NEVER seen sidewall flex like that before.
But, now that I'm finally home alone, free from threats from celebs and tycoons, I'm free to make an admission.
All the GTs in the meet were stuck in "Sport" mode, which is the exact middle child of the GT's five driving modes, which are Wet, Normal, Sport, Track, and Vmax. Track is the setting I really wanted for the entirety of this week, as Vmax is simply a top speed run mode.
As proof of us running the cars in Sport mode, have a GoPro photo:
As you can see both from the digital dash and the physical knob on the left of the steering wheel, we were in "S" mode, with a "N" and "T" directly above and below. And if that somehow isn't enough proof, I managed to sneak a peek at the setting sheets of the cars.
Of all the cryptic and obtuse numbers, the only one of interest right now is the easiest to understand: Ride Height. As you can see, with modifications locked, the car sits stock with 4.13 inches (104.9mm) of ground clearance, which is the ride height for Wet, Normal, and Sport modes. This Road & Track Article by Bob Sorokanich explains and corroborates this.
The reason I highlight the ride height of this car is because it is definitive proof that the car was NOT in its most aggressive setting of Track mode as tested. In the same article, it's explained that the GT drops a whole 2 inches (50.8mm) when engaging Track mode; not that you'd need an article to explain that to you if you've ever seen a GT hunch down and spread its wing in a split second when engaging Track mode at a standstill.
So, what does this mean, and why am I making such a big deal out of it? It simply means that the GT's true capabilities were locked away from us in testing, which would explain away almost every. single. problem. I found with the car. Track mode not only lowers the car, but it of course stiffens it as well. The rear wing permanently stays up, and because of this, the air channels in the front end of the car are free to open up and, get this: actually start generating downforce. That's right: for all the bombastic looks and unspoken promises of suspension crushing downforce the body makes, it actually doesn't do much of anything by design until you engage Track mode. This complete lack of downforce is also represented in the setting sheets above, as well. It's a somewhat understandable decision, as you want a slight rear downforce bias for a more stable drive. But this, all this, means that I can't give you a definitive verdict on the car, because I haven't driven it the way it was meant to be driven. I haven't been near the limits of its capabilities all week long.
All I am qualified to tell you after a week of testing and racing is that, like a certain something else sharing the same initials, Sport Mode in the GT is a broken, undriveable mess that achieves absolutely and precisely nothing but frustration, danger, and anger. It is complete garbage that no one should bother with. My verdict this week isn't Beater. It isn't Sleeper. It isn't even a Neutral. It's a big, fat question mark, because I haven't seen this car's true capabilities, character, or tendencies at its bleeding edge limits. I therefore am willing to go as far as to say that I know next to nothing about the car. The only thing I know for certain this week is that I have utterly wasted a week to test a car stuck in an entirely worthless middle child mode to write this entirely worthless review that you hopefully haven't spent too long to read. And believe you me, more than anyone reading this, I am PUH-HISSED at this HUGE missed opportunity.
Why were we disallowed from using Track mode then?
......
Who knows?
*********************************************
The last race of the week was held in Toukyo East. I haven't any more comments to add, but it was a rather closely contested three way that might be an entertaining watch, especially if I hadn't fudged up the live recording. At least it gives me an opportunity to present a race to you in cockpit view this week.
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