Car of the Week - Week 108: Lamborghini Countach 25th Anniversary

"Please try to be nicer this week", she finishes off her lecture by saying.

This week on Car of the Week, we've gained a surprising lot: A roof and seatbelts, for a start. Locking diffs, radial tyres, and as a bonus, the engine was even in a sensible location! Lamborghini! Sensible! I guess the train of thought was that, even though the Porsche 356 from last week had almost every ingredient to become an al dente coffin, it was missing the most important spice in the recipe:

Power.

"For the last time, nobody at COTW is trying to kill you. Some of us enjoy your presence here", Esther the Editor reaffirms. "If it's any assurance, this week's car was chosen — and provided by — a very rich fan of COTW. Higher management hasn't spent a cent this week endeavouring towards your demise — if you crash it."

"IF?!"

"Well...", she begins, a hint of cheeky smile flashing across her face. "Just don't crash, then", she regurgitates what higher management told me last week with a barely stifled laugh.

"Flip off...", I retort in resignation as I fumble around for the downward facing button that opens the scissor doors of the Countach. I'll admit, despite my usual barbaric language and the indignity of having to grope a door panel for a button, I felt like a rock star simply because of the cool way the cool car opens its cool doors, as though the automotive equivalent of a middle finger. "Screw you, I'm going into my Countach", is what this car proclaims for you every time you open its doors and get in it.

As I reach my fat old arm up for the upward swung door from a seated position, I spot Esther leaving. "Hey!", I shout. "Don't you want to know more about the car?"

"Hmm? No, I have no desire to be in the vicinity when you're operating this dangerous piece of machinery".

"So you admit this is a death trap!"

"I said no such thing."

I slam the door shut downwards in anger, and the resulting slamming sound made me immediately regret it. I hope I didn't break anyth- Esther's walking towards me. Why is she walking towards me. WHY IS SHE WALKING TOWARDS ME?! Did I break something?

I wind down the pathetic bottom half of the window, which only opened halfway. Oh god, I broke the window, didn't I?

"I trust you", she leans in and tells me through the mailbox of a gap, before turning and leaving just as quickly.

Winding the power window back up and shutting her leaving silhouette out, I explain in my head to an imaginary Esther in the passenger seat. The Lamborghini Countach should need no introduction; even if you're not a fan of cars and don't know its name, you most likely are familiar with its unmistakable silhouette. It was the poster car of many kids and adults in the 70s and 80s alike, and not only defined its generation of supercars, but also pop culture as well. You've seen it in video games. You've seen it in movies. Even a manga simply titled, "Countach". If asked to picture a vintage supercar, this shape is probably what first comes to mind for most. Not only that, it went a long way in solidifying Lamborghini's identity as the wilder, crazier, unhinged rival to Ferrari.

https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Infernus#Grand_Theft_Auto:_Vice_City

https://youtu.be/evA3_NV7cPM

https://myanimelist.net/manga/19156/Countach

It's a death trap. That, along with its iconic styling, is widespread, common knowledge.

"Please try to be nicer this week", she says. Bah. The saying, "never meet your heroes" is coined almost specifically to describe this car. It may have been the bedroom poster child for boys everywhere at one point, but the very few who did manage to have lives lucky enough to subsequently find themselves in the driver's seat of one of these things will unequivocally tell you how garbage the seating position is, requiring you to actively twist your legs to reach the pedals. Annoyances like the how the fuel gauge is directly behind your right hand on the steering wheel, how hopelessly rubbish the windshield wiper flopping about in the wind is, only swinging up to half of what's in front of you as a driver, how negligible the rear view out the rear "window" is, and, of course, how utterly uncontrollable the damn thing is. The whole car reeks of negligence, apathy, and thoughts of "eh, good enough". "Does this part work? No? Is it falling off the car? Can we be sued for this? No? No? Eh, good enough."

As kids grew up, they never stopped looking at the Countach, only except instead of a lofty fantasy to aspire to, the Countach is now what you'd find in textbooks as the cliché example of "show over go", which would explain away many of the car's ill thought out designs, as well as the famously useless rear wing that the owner of this car had not opted for. It was a very different time with very different priorities. About the only thing that really mattered was how it looked, how it sounded, and how much power it had. And it has power. This thing I'm told has 455PS, passionately belted out through a 5.2L NA V12, which was enough for a claimed (emphasis on "claimed") top speed of over 200mph. In a car weighing 1,490kg (3,285lbs) with a drag coefficient of 0.42? Yeah. You work that out yourself.

Given all this power, of course the sensible thing to do was to test this "200mph" car in a suffocatingly tight and technical racetrack like Interlagos, such that when things go sideways, forensics might still be able to salvage some teeth to ID your extra rare body, so that the owner of the car can sue the appropriate family members for the total loss of their 500k USD car. And while every Countach came factory standard with the rare feature of instant on site cremation in the event of a crash, no amount of high octane fuel or batteries exposed to the rain can burn away the shame of being "that guy" that crashed a priceless collectible special anniversary edition of an iconic supercar, even if simply driving one required balls the size of testosterone fueled bulls.

https://youtu.be/WVp5a38WT_0?t=467

It took all of Senna S in the pit lane to dissuade all my fears of uncontrollable snap oversteer, as even at pedestrian speeds, I was having to fight the understeer from its enormous 345 section rear tyres and the tight differential. With only 225 section front tyres to rotate the car, this has got to be the single most disproportionately staggered tyre setup ever put into production. And with no power steering to help you, there really is no getting the rear end to come out without doing very, very naughty things to it, like misusing certain sticks or high speeds, where the car might just become aerodynamically unsettled enough to give you a hint of a slide.

The highly irregular pit lane of Interlagos dumps drivers onto a rather sizeable straight leading to the second of only two good overtaking spots: Turn 4. As with any good overtaking spot, there's hard braking involved from quite a speed leading into a tight corner, and this required the brakes of the Countach to come into play. At full tilt, you'll be braking for corners just before you even reach the first distance markers for these turns, placed 150m before the bend; rather jarring if you've long since been accustomed to driving GT3 and GT4 racing cars these distance markers seem to be tailored to. The brakes are "eh, good enough", and it's considered anorexic by 2020 standards in our ever fattening world. What I think is the cause of the horrific stopping distances of this car is that it has horrendous understeer on turn-in, requiring a lot more speed to be scrubbed off, and that there's only so much you can ask of economy sedan sized 225 section front tyres when it comes to slowing down, let alone juggling turning and stopping.

That said, because there's only 41% of the Countach's weight over the front tyres, the car stays shockingly flat through corners, displaying confidence and assuredness that, dare I say, made me think this is what a racing car would feel like if there was a class below GT4, ran on street tyres. Corner exits however, expose just how freakishly soft the damping is on this car. What this results in is... you guessed it: unrelenting understeer on power. The problem is at such a comical scale in the Countach that even lightly brushing your feet over the accelerator pedal sends this car jerking outwards, the magnitude of which is enough to make a modern hot hatch blush, making throttle management with your foot an exceptionally precise and precarious feat of labour. For the sort of driver that envies the thought of understeering and having to lift on Interlagos' home "straight" if a proper racing line isn't taken, there is no other car than the Countach for you.

The Lamborghini brand famously began as a tractor business, only starting their automotive venture as a rival to Ferrari after Ferruccio Lamborghini took issue with the clutch of the 250 GT, and that DNA is still very apparent even in the company's third full production car; the gear ratios are impeccable, yet the gear changes themselves make me feel more like a farmer than a racing driver. First gear is good for 96km/h (59.6mph), and second picks up right where it leaves off right in its peppy, ample powerband with gusto, something Porsche really should take notes from. However, 2nd to 3rd has a significantly larger leap in ratios, and the car is horrendously reluctant to change up from 2nd. To give you an idea of how long it takes for the revs to drop from 2nd to 3rd and how hard it is for the gated dog leg stick shift to slot down into third, this review has been specifically and meticulously formulated, trimmed, and controlled in length such that the time it takes to read it at the rate of an average Joe is closely matched to how long it takes to go from 2nd to 3rd in the Countach, and the dryness from my lack of writing talent probably makes your average Joe just as reluctant to get through it as the stick in the Countach is to slot into gears.

So far, everything I've described has been merely a regurgitation of common sense: the Countach is a terrible car to drive. At this age with the internet and many wannabe celebrities propagating the same crap over and over, there isn't any wonder, any surprises left in the world anymore, is there? We all already know how every car handles, don't we? We've already subconsciously placed cars in a rigid hierarchy in our heads, and start arguments when someone else's opinion doesn't line up with what we think we know, right?

Well, yes and no.

I had expected this thing to be an unruly, snappy, tail whipping bull before having driven it. Against my expectations and common sense, this is a bad car for the exact opposite reasons. But, as I drove the car more and more, the bigger surprise subtly began to emerge: I could not stop driving it. I drove it round and round the desolate track, trying to improve my times, trying to improve my lines, trying to get to know the nuances of the Countach better, and, yes, I even enjoyed having to fight it at every turn, at every gear change, at every off centre pull of the wheel, at every interaction I had with it.

The car may be unruly and uncooperative, and ergonomics may be an entirely alien concept to it. But while the car is difficult to get into physically, it was surprisingly inviting and easy to get into mentally. It sucks you into its own immersive world and makes you play by its own rules, what with its dog leg gearbox, long braking distances, lack of ABS, off centre pedals, horrendous power understeer, and having to short shift it. Stepping into the Countach then, felt like crossing over into a separate reality, a very different time. You don't drive a Countach like a car; you Countach a Countach like a Countach forces you to Countach it. It's not a car you can simply bring conventional expectations into and drive reactively based on said expectations, but rather, like any foreign country, the Countach is best enjoyed when you leave all expectations at the scissor door and go in only with an open mind to learn about its customs and try to go along with their ways of doing things, in effort to understand it more. It forces you to be fully awake, grabs your full dedication, and demands pre-emptive knowledge of how to drive it in the way it wants to be driven. It's a car that always challenges you to be sure of what you're doing and resolute in what you ask of it, as there truly is no taking back bad decisions in this car: it will not adjust its line mid corner if you cock something up in the bullfight against this car. And my god, it makes for a very, very compelling cartoon character, the likes of which you will never again see in today's climate, even from Volkswagen Lamborghini themselves.

If you manage to adapt to its rules and understand how to goad it into doing things you want it to do however, it becomes an incredibly engaging, communicative, stable, and dare I say, able car, one that never went back on its word or betrayed the trust it earned in me without me realising it, all while it belts out the most passionate and iconic of soundtracks right behind you, and endless call to attention to your every achievement and, indeed, your every mistake as well. If you extend the courtesy of making the time, dedication, and mental space for it, it becomes an engaging, communicative, rewarding, and adrenaline filled affair, not unlike an actual fight. It makes every interaction with it its own special event, as though you really were bullfighting in the presence of an audience, as though both you and it were stars performing on a stage. It never stops being a theatre of drama. Taming it, even getting it to trace just that beautiful line in any bend, is a hard fought victory worth celebrating. This car truly is an event, a theatre, in and of itself. And because of that, it's special. It's... fun.

I was so engaged, so absorbed, so mesmerised by the driving experience of the car, I began to choke the engine with hard g loads on low fuel levels, which was the only indication I had that I should probably stop in the pits for a refuel, seeing as the fuel gauge is flipping useless in this car. Finally coming to a stop in the pits, I wiped away the tears in my eyes from all the excitement, and the planet cried along with me as the car with the 120ℓ fuel tank drank its fill. I went out again, came back again, went out again, and had another drinking session with the car in the pits. When it came time for my fourth refill, Esther dragged me out of the car, slammed me to the asphalt, ripped off my helmet and stuck a bottle of water straight into my teeth, which was the only reason why I stopped driving. I mean, the tyres were shot to hell and back too, but pshh.

An autopsy of the tyres revealed that I had burnt through more than half the tread depth of the bespoke Pirelli P Zero tyres for the front, but only about a fifth of the rears, proving just how hard the fronts have to work to rotate the car, probably not helped by the fact that I had been making them scream in every braking zone with the absence of ABS. Hey, at least that means that the car remains stable even when the tyres go.

During the weekly meet, the aftermarket ABS system installed by the owner (singular) of these cars (plural) were all switched on, out of respect for our fellow friends and colleagues on the racetrack. Believe it or not, I actually think fitting ABS onto the Countach made it worse to drive; the front end goes completely numb, and the understeer makes trail braking a largely fruitless task. Even with ABS, I found myself pumping the brake pedal still, because that seemed to be the only way I could get the nose of the car to bite an apex. I had to almost let off the brakes entirely, let weight slosh over to the front outside tyre, turn to get the nose pointed somewhat towards the apex, and then brake semi-hard again once it does hook up, before repeating the process to meet the apex. You essentially have to trail brake twice back to back for every corner entry just to get the car to roughly nail an apex.

I never liked these aftermarket ABS systems, because I always find them too binary; you're either stopping, or turning, and it's difficult to modulate and transition between the two. It robs all feeling, feedback, and control from the car, and it only makes me marginally faster in the Countach. I find that I can actually trace a neater, smoother line without ABS, and honestly, I think the Countach meant to be driven with that fear and responsibility of, "it's all in your hands. Brake late if you dare" mentality. Putting ABS on a Countach only makes me complacent and lazy, and I paradoxically overshoot corners more with ABS than without, simply because the car isn't grabbing my attention and threatening me the same way as before. Just as ABS being mandated on all production cars hasn't reduced the number of traffic accidents, ABS doesn't make you any better a driver in a Countach, nor does it make the Countach any better to drive. For a car like a Countach that asks of you everything you have to give you the most immersive of experiences and theatre, for such a special car with so much to say, fitting ABS onto it is akin to censoring it, and I'm willing to go as far as to say that it positively ruins this car. It's meant to be driven. Drive it. Yourself.

The reason why I love cars and reviewing them is because cars are the perfect mix of the logical and the intangible. The cold, hard, engineering facts moving people in an organic way. There's no denying the Countach is, logically speaking, an awful car, even if you physically fit in it while being paradoxically strong enough to drive one. Even like minded petrolhead friends of mine don't seem to like it that much when we got together for our weekly races. But... I don't know, I just feel a special connection with this car. I can't explain it. Against common sense and widespread knowledge, I really like it. It really clicks with me. This car really surprised me with how much I enjoyed it, and sparked some wonder back into my jaded mind.

Older cars (not too old) are all very special to me, because cars nowadays aren't allowed to suck anymore. They all have to be luxurious, safe, (somewhat) economical, and fast. No one today would pay supercar money to suffer like they would in a Countach. As a result, they all feel so... samey. They've no character. They barely have an identity. This right here, is something special, and it's an experience everyone who loves driving ought to sample at least once in their lives.

Maybe I just have a thing for cartoon character cars that have huge NA Lamborghini engines producing about 450PS that need to be short shifted, have stick shifters, gigantic rear tyres, weighs about 1.5 tons, have no driver aids, spiteful ergonomics, and a reputable appetite for murder. I know I definitely have a thing for pop up headlights. I love the Countach, whatever the reasons may be, most of which I can't explain well.

See, if editors and higher ups weren't constantly pressuring me to "be nicer" in my reviews, this conclusion might seem less fabricated and suspicious.

Countach 25th Anniversary Specifications taken from www.lambocars.com

https://www.lambocars.com/countach/countach_25th_anniversary_specifications.html

Car of the Week - Week 107: Porsche 356 A/1500 GS GT Carrera Speedster '56

To err is to human.

I don't expect any sympathy from anyone when I say this, but reviewing cars is hard. The old adage of "never meet your heroes" is well known and often propagated, yet, when the time comes to step on some toes in the name of journalism, many are put off by the fact that the dream cars they spend their entire lives idolising, lusting after, chasing, believing, sacrificing for, and that shape their lives is a load of crap. There seems to be no way of expressing discontent and disappointment - even rationally with supporting evidence - on the internet: someone's going to be upset by having their idols go through a mud facial under a boot in a review. I'm not above admitting that I may have made mistakes in my review; my day job was being a racing driver, and writing is only a hobby. And so it's not entirely inconceivable that I've expressed my disappointment in a few cars in the wrong way, and some higher up in COTW saw it fit to punish me for it.

Why else would I be subject to a fate so utterly despicable, inhumane, senseless, and cruel as being forced to race a Porsche 356 and be publicly humiliated like this this week?

I also don't expect any sympathy from the internet when the higher ups of my very fun and well paying job with a mostly flexible schedule tell me to flexibly bend over a table for some well paid fun. The sensible thing a sane person in a sane world would do would be to report it to HR and perhaps sue their employer, but this is a very, very different world, hence why the sensible thing to do for me is to bend over said table and ask what I should scream and how I should scream it. You may not guess it from how much I complain, but I really love my job. At the time, I wondered who it was that I had offended in my previous review; was it the childlike Ferrari? Supra fanboys? Stuck up BMW drivers? Mustang boomers? People who never drive cars at their limits and therefore can actually like the NC1 "NSX"?

https://www.gtplanet.net/forum/threads/car-of-the-week-week-107-porsche-356-carrera-speedster.381420/page-66#post-13260879

"Yes, I do love racing dangerously! Oh daddy, give it to me raw, please! I don't need racing harnesses, seatbelts, roll cages, fire extinguishers, or even common sense-" *slapped* "Oh, airbags and locking differentials are just added mass! I love the older type of tyres, brakes, and such fine, precise footwork trained by driving without ABS! Such strong, heavy, muscular rear ends, swinging back and forth like a wrecking ball! Why yes, I do love it so when I can't see where I'm going and what I'm doing when I have a chrome, glaring metal rod at eye level! Being unable to see makes all my other senses perk up and the whole experience that much more enjoyable! Really!"

The answer, as it would appear, was me critiquing the (lack of) safety measures in the previous week.

To cover the scars on my body, I will at least have my fire retardant racing suit, and to cover my irreversibly scarred ego, my racing helmet with a mirror finish visor. Oh, and because safety is first and foremost, a personal responsibility, I'm also... fitted, with the very technologically advanced safety feature of a very strong suggestion to "just don't crash, then". Beyond that, I have a useless looking... hoop, over the rear seats that serve gosh knows what purpose, and a bucket seat to hold me in place; not even the crotch belts you get at dodgy traveling carnival rides to prevent you from going eyes first into the windshield frame in the event of a crash. And GT3 RS owners have the gall to whine about having straps for door handles.

I sigh as I lean forward - unrestricted by any seatbelts - to turn the key stuck right into the flat dash of the Porsche 356, invoking a sound somehow both mechanical and organic, as though you can hear the car physically draw breath when idling. Fuel Injection has long since wholly replaced carburetors in the automotive industry - evident by how I can't even spell the word without spellcheck - but driving so many old cars in COTW has really made me appreciate the sound of a carbureted engine breathing mechanically. The Flat 4 engine purrs irregularly far, far behind me, the vibration of which jittering the key tag to match the state of my nerves. As I completed the tyre warming parade lap, I took my second to last place on the grid, lining up against five other 356 Speedsters on the oddly dry British morning, essentially forming a 6 million USD pendulum set in some obscenely rich and masochistic kid's needlessly complicated physics experiment.

"Just don't crash, then", I guess.

To err-

*lights gone green*

is not an option.

The Porsche 356 is a rear engined car without locking diffs, modern springs, radial tyres, disc brakes, ABS, TCS, AWD, rear wheel steering, or advanced aerodynamics to help mask its inherent flaws like a modern 911. It therefore handles precisely like anyone would expect: it's an inconsolable tail wagging monster, and driving it at speed is incredibly frustrating. I mean, I don't know what else I'm supposed to tell you.

That really could've been the end of the review, but apparently it's not enough nowadays to just point out what should be common sense; I have to explain in detail why common sense holds true, like the kid in physics class that has to prove a theory in the textbook, and I'm surprised I wasn't in a school uniform prior to or during the race. I suppose then, my job this week is to provide you, dear reader, with the novelty and comical juxtaposition of driving this 64 year old car at its bleeding edge limits, and maybe survive enough to bring you some footage as evidence to supplement my argument of common sense, which, if not for word count padding to fill the page like any school assignment, can be summed up simply by, "it sucks".

Kore de ii, sensei?

We really are all slaves our entire lives, regardless of jobs, aren't we?

You have to be sure to apply some throttle to shift weight over to the rear before you turn too hard for any corner, as otherwise the rear end will swing out. This makes setting up for a corner vastly different from conventional wisdom, as instead of full brake, partial brake and partial turn, engine brake and full turn, gas right before apex, and turn gently out, it's instead: full brake, engine brake and slight turn, slight hint of gas while waiting for weight to return to the rear and turning not too hard, and then hell for leather gas and hope you don't understeer too wide on corner exit.

While the comparatively heavy rear end of a RR car being a moody mess is common knowledge by now, what often gets drowned out by that is how soft the front springs on rear engined cars have to be to allow for weight transfer over the featherweight front end, already being pulled up by the see-saw effect even at a standstill. What this softness translates to in hard driving is that there is an incredible amount of squat under braking, which causes the rear end to become unhinged, and the understeer on power is quite hideous even with just 108PS. It's not at all an uncommon occurrence for a driver to viciously and violently snap between chronic understeer and apocalyptic oversteer several times in one bend, never being able to find that knife edge balance of neutrality in this toggle switch of a car. If you're at home and wondering how driving this car feels like, it'd be like trying to hold a light switch perfectly in the middle between on and off; it's flipping impossible because the switch just wants to snap to either side, just like this car just wants to snap between under and oversteer. Of course, this usually results in a passionate meeting with another competitor, or just a wall if you're feeling particularly responsible and self isolating. Safety is, after all, first and foremost, a personal responsibility.

N-NANI?!

DOITSU DORIFUTO?!

There might be an argument to be made for a tail happy car being fun to drive, but I can assure you that this car is not at all fun to slide. Applying the throttle to shift weight over the rear after they break loose does a grand total of jack all, as the open diff means all the power will be sent to the inside wheel, which will be lifted so much it struggles to even generate smoke, much less do any slide adjusting, drift holding work. Given that it's impossible to drift or correct the car when it goes sideways, you have to make every effort into ensuring the car never breaks loose to begin with; a tall task given that even turning the wheel hard on full throttle makes the impatient rear end want to overtake the front. The only option you're therefore left with as a driver is to "just don't turn too hard", and I guarantee you every racing driver will be as happy to hear that as, "just don't crash, then".

Well, why don't you just stop a Tsunami by standing right in front of it and politely asking it to stop, then? Because that's exactly what trying to correct a slide in this thing feels like. It's going to happen, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it. The best you can do is to just brace for and make room for it to minimise casualties when it happens. Or, you know, you could drive really slowly - that works too in the sane world.

The car, especially for something conceived in the late 1940s, has a surprisingly aerodynamically slippery looking teardrop shape to it, with an implicit, striking beauty from its simplicity not found in cars today, with minimal protrusions and creases, exuding such a sense of slipperiness that it could almost make one feel velvet at their fingertips just by looking at it, even with the factory's flat paint, and especially when bathed in metallic paint like Rob's car. This teardrop shape however does unfortunately mean that the edges of the car, where the tyres are, are narrower than the width of the body at its centre, where you sit as a driver, and this width disparity is immediately obvious when you see the tyres from an angle that looks towards the centre of the car, so much so they look inset.

I really do wish the rear wheels can be set wider apart for more track and stability. As it is, precisely placing this car a unique challenge as well: on wide open racing tracks such as Goodwood, you'll want to make the most of the road width by running your tyres right up to the edge of the asphalt, which overhangs your car body over the grass. On walled in corners such as the very creatively named "The Chicane" on Goodwood, or even urban tracks, the definition of "making the most of the track" changes, as now the limiting factor isn't your tyre placement, but instead making sure you don't hit the wall with the protruding body of the car.

While the 356 looks vastly different from anything else Porsche has ever produced, there are some instantly recogniseable bits of DNA that has very prominently survived to the modern day, such as the twin bug eyes popping out of its surprisingly sleek and smooth body, and a flat engine that is, for reasons beyond my limited imagination, overhung out the rear. The gearing on the 356 also feels familiar to me as a proud, loving owner of a 981 Cayman GT4, in that 1st gear is in Stuttgart and 2nd is in Singapore. The gauges of the 356 too, show promising DNA that Porsche has knowingly built upon, being large, clear, and easy to read at a glance... provided that the sun isn't at an angle that strikes the chrome highlights of the dials, windshield, or steering wheel such that it casts a glare, which is an eventuality as unavoidable and dangerous as the rear end of this car stepping out, given that that the Speedster has no roof, and no tinted rear windows to filter out sunlight or high beams from other drivers from blinding you in your mirror.

A rather amusing overkill touch on the tachometer is that the rev range is separated into colour coded zones to tell you where the engine makes optimal power, exactly like you would find in modern diesel buses, except it really doesn't take being Lewis Hamilton or Ernst Fuhrmann to figure out that if you want good things to happen with this engine, rev the nuts off this NA 1.5L Flat 4 engine. While the tachometer suggests anything from 4,000rpm and above is useable, ideally I'd say you want to be above 5,000 for it to really feel like it's doing anything, and it really comes alive only at 6,000. Official specs claim that max power of 108PS happens at 6,500rpm, and peak torque of 123N⋅m happens at 5,000rpm. I know I just said this engine is lifeless at anything below that, but with how horrendously long the throws are, each gear change takes about an eternity and a half, and it might be faster to just lug the 840kg (1,852lbs) car around a track than to row it across with frequent gear changes, despite its canoe shape suggesting otherwise.

While I try to be of firm opinion in my reviews as much as is possible, I really do hesitate to critique historic cars. And with the Porsche 356 being the marque's first mass produced car, it's all the more precarious a task to critique it. I get that the first time is always special, but just as is getting bent over a table, there's no practical use for a RR layout: the rear seats of this thing are useless and the frunk is largely taken up by a spare tyre, anyway. Critiquing this car and holding it to modern standards and expectations is akin to asking your grandpa to work a 9-5 job and call into question his outdated views: it's entirely pointless. He's earned his respect and right to be who he is, and he knows it. The best you can get out of him is to sit down and calmly listen to his stories, how things were back then, and perhaps learning a few things from him, never talking back or challenging him because you're dedicating time to give him to talk, with quiet knowledge that his views and methods have worked for his time but may not today, and just nod along with him.

Before you ask, this grandpa car still kicked my butt when I challenged it in a rental Demio.

And that I feel is largely the same with classic cars as well: you have to dedicate a lot of time and resources to their upkeep, and once you look past their very glaring faults like the engine and its stupid placement, and stop heckling it to go fast, that's when I feel that the strengths of this car really comes to light. Despite me complaining about the massive squat under braking, the suspension of this car is surprisingly taut, darty, and responsive. It also handles bumps and road imperfections really well. It has a really good 160mm (6.3in) ground clearance to make travel room for its aforementioned soft front end, meaning you never have to worry about scraping like you would a modern supercar. The car may evidently be old, but it doesn't feel nearly its age when I was behind the wheel. Had the engine been put in a more sensible place, this would be right up there with the Mark I Golf GTI with how enjoyable it is to drive. On a wide open road in a T Shirt, shorts, with a small enough driver and just the right weather on just the right day, I think this would be one hell of a stylish, enjoyable cruiser, with its ever delightful engine never being rude or obnoxious, while still oozing character. Despite the word "Carrera" in its name, I never once felt comfortable with this car when driving it near its limits, and I would never want to race this again.

Rear engine cars is a stupid idea that never had any practical application, be it on the road or for the racetrack, and I genuinely believe the 911 is a dinosaur of a car kept alive by the... *er-hem* enthusiasm of its fans, and bleeding edge technology that would've done more in a mid engined car. I can excuse the 356's rear engine layout because, come on, it's 1948. People didn't know better. But the important part about mistakes is that you learn from them, and make your future actions better than your past mistakes. Every Porsche that changed the game since have been mid engined; the 959 in 1986, the Boxster in 1996, Carrera GT and 2004, the 918 in 2013, and even the 911 RSR was finally forced to sensibly relocate the engine before the rear axle in 2016. And if Porsche can keep making mistakes to this day at the behest of their fans with the 911, then I should be able to keep ruffling feathers with my reviews as well as long as I'm still enjoying my job. If you don't like them, there are always other reviews, just as I've a Cayman GT4 in my garage instead of a 911.

I'm not apologising for a word I wrote, and I'd take more than bending me over a table to change my mind, because unlike when I was bent over the table, I actually felt something in the car that failed to get me killed.

Car of the Week - Week 106.5: Corvette C7 Gr. 4, 458 Gr. 4, Supra "Gr. 4", and Who Knows What Else

My phone buzzes on a Tuesday afternoon: usually a message from Racer telling me the next Car of the Week. Instead, it was Esther the Editor, simply asking, "can you talk?"

An affirmative answer later, she calls. "Hey Esther, 'sup? Been a while."

"Since you could last hold a verbal conversation, yes", came a scratchy, electronic voice through my phone's speaker. Ahh, yes, I missed her cold, biting, slightly condescending for no discernible reason voice. It sounds like things truly have come back to normal. Nothing like getting slapped across the face figuratively with the usual indifference after a vacation to really drill into a person that the dream is over.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"I have next week's car", she quickly reins me in before I could deviate from the usual work matters.

"Really? What is it?"

"It's the Ford Mustang Group 4."

"Another Must- wait, wasn't that the exact car from last week?"

"The very same."

"Why the heck?"

"The turnout was low, and so were ticket sales, live stream numbers, ratings... Lots of reviewers left comments saying it wasn't a COTW broadcast if Vic wasn't there humiliating everyone throughout the week. So we're giving the fans what they want."

"You've got to be joking."

"I'm not."

I sigh. I've already submitted my review of the Mustang Gr. 4 to Esther, vacation and all. Even though it was shorter than what I usually write, I've said everything I needed to and haven't anything else to add. It wasn't a bad car, per se. I just didn't enjoy driving it that much, and there are alternatives aplenty in Gr. 4 that I'd pick over the Mustang any day. There may be comfort in familiarity, but the news that I'd be driving the same Mustang for a second week that I was completely done with was not the pick-me-up I needed to get back into the working groove.

"Do you... know, how big a draw Vic is?", she gingerly leans into the question, as though trying to be as inoffensive as possible while trying to ascertain if I'm mentally handicapped.

"Of- of course I do...n't". Even when being led with my hand held into a question, I'm stupidly incapable of lying.

I hear a quick, sharp, but quiet rush of air from the other side immediately before she replied, "of course". She sounded a little more upbeat for just those two words. She's laughing. At me. Probably.

"So... do I get this week actually off? I've already written a review and returned the car, so..."

"Oh no you don't. Upper management specifically asked to keep numbers up this week."

Reduced to being mid pack fodder again so the winner gets to look even better, huh? Yeah, sure, I can do that, I guess. It was the bulk of my racing "career", after all.

"Don't worry. I've made arrangements. I'm making sure you write your fingers off for the three weeks I haven't seen you."

"Spiteful."

"The otorhinolaryngologists in Fortune Valley aren't cheap, you know."

"The what?"

"...ear doctors."

Stupid editors and their fancy pantsy fangly mangly big words...

"Yeah, well, it's not hard to see or hear why. On my first day there I've seen a house with a 240Z explode for no reason. I swear every car there came factory standard equipped with an infinite nitrous tank, and cop car ping pong is almost a national sport there. Ooh, and I've even seen Exiges, Cayman GT4s, Regeras, and 918s in showrooms! If I had more time to sort out export paperwork, I would've bought them all! Okay, maybe just the Exige and Cayman, realistically speaking, but still! I really wish we could test them all at COTW!"

She sighs in response. "Figured you'd like the place. Everyone there has a gambling problem. Should've never sent you there. So what if travel expenses there were free for the month..."

She seemed really irate for some reason, prattling on for way longer than her usual curt and business minded self would've led anyone to expect. "For someone who's as ostensibly suicidal with his conduct as you, you're ironically indestructible. Life really is unfair."

"What was that?", I ask, shocked. I thought she was just venting, but things got too real all of a sudden.

For a while, there was only silence. And this is why I hate talking over a phone, without body language to read. What the hell is going on?

"I'm sorry. I was hoping you didn't catch that. That was way out of line of me."

I suppose it can also be said that it should be easier to lie over the phone, without body language to give one away.

"Catch what?"

"Tomorrow, 7 a.m. Singapore time, Terminal One. Flight to Italy on our usual airline, same tour bus to Maggiore Circuit. Just show up. You'll have cars. Don't be late."

Maggiore again for the first race? Yep, things really have gone back to normal.

*********************************************

Upon my arrival at Maggiore, I was directed to the by now familiar pit building of the racing circuit, although noticeably more crowded than usual. Well, I suppose with a group as small as ours, even one extra person or one extra car would stick out, let alone three cars.

"Ms. Mami will be with you shortly. Here are your cars for this week", an intern parts me with.

Just the three cars before me represent a shockingly wide variety of continents, drivetrains, shapes, and colours, most of which puzzling. The most straightforward of the bunch is the yellow car, the Corvette C7 Gr. 4. I may be a proud owner of a Viper, but I've always had a thing for (modern!) Corvettes as well. While most seem to think that one must always choose a side, Apple or Android, Coke or Pepsi, Viper or Corvette, I like both of the cars. I love the very outspoken competition between them, something I find uniquely American, and seeing how each forces the hand of the other is an absolute treat. I've once said that I see the Viper as the most compelling cartoon character in the automotive world, but what is a character without a show, without a story, without an opponent? Whichever is the "good" or "bad" guy in the story is open to interpretation, but I love them both. To me, choosing between the Viper and the Corvette is akin to having to choose between bras and panties; both are sexy as all hell and life wouldn't be complete without either of them.

https://www.gtplanet.net/forum/threads/car-of-the-week-week-106-ford-mustang-gr4.381420/page-61#post-13180852

For as big a leap forward for the Corvette brand as the C7 had been in terms of build quality, performance, and shockingly, technologically as well, Gr. 4 strips the Corvette down to its raw essentials: big NA V8 up front going through six forward gears to the rear (I mentioned the C7 has 7 gears in my previous Mustang review; I was wrong), exhaling through quad exhausts each so big they push on the limit of sensibility of even caricature. Seriously, I think I could fit my fat arm though those pipes. With GM claiming that they've hit the limit of what is physically possible with an FR platform, I could be looking at what is possibly the last of what can be considered a "real" Corvette, even if it doesn't have round tail lights and pop up headlamps. For as shouty as race cars tend to be, trying to stand out to sell themselves and their sponsors' products, the C7 Gr. 4 is, on the exterior, rather subdued, simple, and restrained. This is, of course, because the C7 Z06 and ZR1 have long been market and bedroom poster mainstays by now, which makes the C7 Gr. 4, based off the base Stingray, look... basic. Castrated. The road cars make the race car look under specced. Let that sink in for a minute.

I briefly mentioned the Corvette being a better American alternative to the Mustang in Gr. 4 in the conclusion of my previous review, and I'm really glad that it's here. Perhaps more than glad, I'm shocked at how frighteningly effective Esther and the head honchos of COTW can be. What I had hoped that they'd have picked up by now however, is my utter disdain for Ferraris, which has clearly gone unnoticed despite my best efforts as I'm staring down a 458 Gr. 4 as well in the trio of cars presented to me today. What, have I not been enough of a jerk in my writing to get that across? And Esther keeps telling me I lack subtlety. Pfft. What does she kn-

"How do you do?", came a familiar voice behind me, accompanied by a samey sound of her heels clacking against the concrete.

"Esther what the hell?", I ask, irritated. "Are we seriously reviewing another Ferrari?"

"Yes, it's a previous Car of the Week. I've assembled a collection here of previous Cars of the Week to get you caught up on reviews. Is there a problem?"

https://youtu.be/WQVY0RbDbGw

https://www.gtplanet.net/forum/threads/car-of-the-week-week-106-ford-mustang-gr4.381420/page-56#post-13104585
https://youtu.be/YB7P6QPXMSg?t=34
https://www.gtplanet.net/forum/threads/the-ridiculous-downforce-values-for-road-cars.395864/#post-13227533

"It's a Ferrari!" And with that, I've said all that I needed to in what should be a very self explanatory answer, but my anger wasn't satiated by just that, especially since it had been painfully obvious that I had been too obtuse with the topic at hand. "Have you already forgotten the utter crap storm that was Week 100 after I submitted my review? The threats! The cease and desists! The lawsuits! The blatant, decades long practices of overstating their power and understating their mass! How we can never test a car as it would be delivered to customers without Ferrari execs trying to stick their spanners into our business! These guys are too busy getting off to the image of themselves they put out to the public to be interested in an honest review and the truth! I would make better use of my time reviewing toilet rolls than Ferraris!"

https://jalopnik.com/how-ferrari-spins-5760248

Esther closes her eyes and sighs, being made to remember the legal tussle she had been dragged into as the editor. "I understand. And I'm making sure that doesn't happen again today."

"How?!"

"Just drive and write. Do your thing and trust me."

"You sure about this? As much as I dislike Ferraris, lots of people evidently do love them, and I don't want us to be blacklisted by-"

"Very. Legally. Sure."

"It's... amazing, the strings you can pull as an editor...", I trail off, bewildered.

She sighs with slight exasperation and a flash of anger, probably from the untold mountains of paperwork and arm twisting she's had to do in the office to make this happen. Though, just as quickly as it appeared, it was buried by her usual emotionless face, and with it, she says: "Don't make me pull yours."

I am actually scared.

"So... what's this car? I don't think I've ever seen it before", I decide to change the subject before I get strung up for asking too many wrong questions, motioning towards a white car sitting amongst the Gr. 4 Corvette and 458, almost trying to disguise itself as one.

Supra, but it's accurate by ChyzyBros Download Link.

https://www.gran-turismo.com/us/gtsport/user/profile/4217685/gallery/carLivery/livery/4217685/1/4899929666187427897

"Oh, this...", she hesitates a little, this time doubt cracking the calm in her usual demeanour, and more than slightly, though I'm starting to expect it. "I was hoping you could tell me more about it, actually. I don't think I've seen a BMW like this before. Logistics must've messed something up, because I specifically ordered a Toyota."

"OH MY GOD!" And just like that, everything clicked into place, and the punch line fired. I did a complete 180 and broke down into uncontrollable laughter while Esther stands there, oblivious.

"Is that a Supra?!"

"Um, that's what I ordered, yes..."

"Who did this? Give them a raise!", I continue through gasps of air and hysterical fits of laughter.

"I don't... get it."

After I calmed down, I tried my best to explain to Esther what the car was. The Supra name is perhaps the most synonymous with the monstrous fourth generation car, chassis code A80, perhaps better known as the Mark IV. Its natural and handsome looks made it an instant hit in its starring role in the Fast and Furious movie and Gran Turismo franchise, inspiring an entire generation of kids and implanting them with a fondness for the Supra better than any marketing ploy by any automaker could. It hid an engine so ridiculously under stressed under the hood, it rivaled "Godzilla", the R34 GT-R, as an aftermarket tuner darling as well, capable of quadruple digit power figures just as readily as the R34. I think that in the eyes of Supra fans, the A80 is ironically the definitive Toyota sports car, for being the only rebellious, certifiably insane member of the rich lineage of the Toyota family of cars: usually sensible, discreet, cheap entry level cars that are made to blend in and be as inoffensive and out of thought as much as was mechanically possible.

トップシークレット湾岸スープラ by bancho666 Download Link.

https://www.gran-turismo.com/us/gtsport/user/profile/1584183/gallery/all/livery/1584183/1/6998593821151887377

The A80 died off with the emerging set of emissions law in 2002 that, in one fell swoop, killed off much beloved, legendary Japanese sports cars such as the R34 GT-R, S15 Silvia, and FD RX-7. As soon as it was discontinued, fans had eagerly awaited a successor for Toyota to show off their uncharacteristic, never before or since seen rebellious side again. But, just as the A80 had subverted expectations for what its name signified, the A90 Supra arrived as barely more than a badge-engineered BMW Z4, sharing the same platform, same engine, same assembly lines, and even many instantly recogniseable infotainment and interior bits. I'm not even sure if the turn signals work on the A90. It was a a master class showcase of the rift between manufacturer and market, despite repeated aggressive claims about how Toyota has closely collaborated with Polyphony Digital to develop the next Supra for fans of Gran Turismo. But perhaps the A90 being so rebelliously different from the A80 is a sign of the times. A conscious decision by Toyota knowing that even they cannot risk the financial burden of developing a Straight 6 engine from the ground up for a niche at best market. Or it might simply be the realisation that most fans who gotta ask for a Supra, can't afford a Supra.

Given this debacle of "subverting expectations", I expect the A100 Supra to be an all electric Daihatsu Kei truck, and the A110, a pen.

https://www.gtplanet.net/forum/threads/car-of-the-week-week-106-ford-mustang-gr4.381420/page-17#post-12637464

https://www.gtplanet.net/forum/threads/car-of-the-week-week-106-ford-mustang-gr4.381420/page-60#post-13172657

But perhaps its the fans and their misconceptions about the A80 that has led to the outrage over the A90. As many previous COTW reviewers have pointed out in Week 22, and later echoed by Nat in Week 94, the A80 Supra is far from the all conquering sports car that its fans seem to think that it is. It is a lofty, heavy, grunty grand tourer carrying an engine for GT500 homologation purposes; it's not a sports car. I guess that's to say that the A90 only really stinks to fans of the A80 who misunderstand it; taken on its own, the A90 is an okay car. I think its looks are a little underwhelming, though it's at least inoffensive and entirely subjective. I found the production A90 an inconsolable tail wagging little monster in my short test drive of it when it first launched, just like the F82 M4, actually, which means I'm as apathetic towards the Supra nameplate as ever before.

It's excruciatingly rare that we review aftermarket, modified cars in COTW, so when we do, the car is usually a pretty big deal. I'll admit, I don't know much about the Supra culture, so I'm going to have to do my own research about what's the big deal about this aftermarket Supra that's sitting amongst the two Gr. 4 cars today. The road car can wait, however - we're racing Gr. 4 Mustangs today, and given that we're on an Italian circuit, of course the only logical choice would be to bring out the Corvette for race 1.

As mentioned in my review of the Mustang Gr. 4, the Corvette Gr. 4 is a way better balanced car. Its mass balance is still skewed towards the front, sure, but nowhere near the extent of the Mustang. And while stable as all FR Gr.4 cars are, the Corvette is more skittish when its limits are exceeded, either via bumps, or if you brain fart and dip one side of the wheels into the grass - it certainly won't pull itself back into a straight line like the Mustang seemingly would with its ludicrous stability - a more than fair trade for the sharper turn in the Corvette has over the Mustang and the acres of difference in stopping distances, while having way less understeer on corner exit.

The Corvette does have a slightly taller gearing than the Mustang and less power with BoP applied, meaning it does lose out slightly in the straights to the Mustang. Why the C7 in Gr. 4 trim doesn't have seven forward gears when the road car came with either a 7 speed manual, or an 8 speed auto, I will never know. Gr. 4 cars seem to inherit the number of gears from their road going counterparts, being more strict in regulation in comparison to Gr. 3 and enforcing cars to be closest to their production guises than any other category; it's why the Evo X has a paltry 5 speed box and the 458 and M4 have 7 speeds, after all. Not only would more gears help with acceleration, but it would also help with fuel efficiency as well.

As is with the Mustang, the V8 in the Corvette does need to be slightly short shifted to make the most of its powerband, also at about 6,500rpm, and because it makes peak power and torque lower than what you'd expect of a racing engine, it's just as receptive to short shifting to save fuel as the Mustang as well, though you really shouldn't be counting on either to sip fuel. Because the 'Vette is better balanced and weighs less after and especially before BoP, it is better on longevity. So, unless you find yourself in the ridiculously exacting situation of racing in a ludicrously wide open track with long straights for a short enough duration that pitting isn't necessary, the Corvette is the much, much better race car than the Mustang.

...as if you needed anyone to tell you that.

Race 2 was at Spa, and Spa being a racetrack that heavily favours a MR layout, I decided to go with the 458 of the duo of cars that had been presented to me this week.

While many people flock to and fawn over any car bearing the Ferrari badge, petrolhead or not, me personally my initial, immediate, and only response to them is to either fight or flight; I'm either racing them, or I am staying the HELL away from them. However, now that I'm being forced to put aside that initial and would be only response, I have nothing preventing me from admitting publicly that the 458 is balls achingly beautiful. It's so well penned and well designed that I think it speaks to the 2 year old kid inside every petrolhead as coherently and compellingly as someone going through a mid-life crisis. Something about its shape is just inherently evocative, all without resorting to unsightly, shouty, tryhard styling exercises. One look at it, and you know it's a Ferrari. This, along with the 488, is the pinnacle of mid engine supercar design, oozing organic "soul" and "passion". It makes the aforementioned C8 Corvette and the NC1 "NSX" look like chumps, complete clowns in comparison to this exquisite form. This I daresay is mid engine supercar design bible. This is how it's done. And this is the standard to which every other MR supercar should be held.

I love the looks of this so much that even the minimalistic aero bits of Gr. 4 competition spoil the clean lines and looks of the 458 for me somewhat. The Gr. 4 car is at an uncomfortable middle ground between the classy looking road car and the balls to the wall GT3 racing car, which only improves on the base design with flared fenders and more aggressive bespoke aero parts. In comparison, the Gr. 4 458 seemingly uses off the shelf go fast bits, and as a result of such practices, feels very unlike a Ferrari to look at, if I may make such an assertion without knowing much about the brand.

Inside the car, you get a very weird mix of the 458 GT3 and the road car: you have a clear rear window through which you can actually see the engine displayed in full glory; a rarity for racing cars, but you also have a rear facing camera fed through a screen in the centre console à la 458 GT3, as are the gauges, steering wheel, etc.. Upon starting the car, the passionate swan song of the NA V8 of the car is more than enough to purge every other car from your mind. This is a songstress of an engine, and it by proxy alone makes every other car on the grid sound like unrefined cavemen breathing through teeth with dirt and stones in them. Most drugs will require repeated use to become addictive, but the engine note of the 458 is addictive as a greeting. It's the sort of noise, the sort of car, that gets kids to love cars and turn adults into slaves of the brand barely capable of rational thought.

I'm going to need to turn up my prejudices and biases to eleven to save me from this session at Spa...

To drive, the 458 is as sublime and natural as the exterior like I had hoped. Turn-in isn't quite effortless, but what it is is engaging. The steering feel of the 458 is, quite simply, sublime. It is incredibly direct, immediate, and sits right in the happy medium between being lightweight and communicative. Going down Brock's Skyline at Bathurst in my own testing, I felt like I was running my fingers over the asphalt, and at no point was I ever left to guess what the front tyres were doing or feeling. It's one of those cars that is so readily capable and fiendishly persuasive, I can't help but to clown around a little each and every time I drive one.

Like the C7 Corvette, the 458 is the last of it's kind, being the last NA flagship Ferrari, replaced by the turbocharged 488. This engine, as much a treat as a NA V8 revving to 9,200rpm may be, has a narrow powerband, especially right after jumping out of American V8 muscle. This engine is so hopelessly gutless in low revs that it doesn't even engage traction control at launch on Hard tyres with BoP applied. I haven't driven the road car yet, nor do I plan to, but if this torque curve is in any way representative of the road going 458, suddenly the turbos don't seem as evil as before, even if it muffles the sound a bit. Not only do you have to rev the nuts off the car, but it runs out of breath just as you get to the good stuff. I keep bouncing off the limiter just as the car really starts to pull, and think to myself, "that's it?". Shifting this thing at the absolute limit still feels like short shifting the car. Looking at the torque curve of the car, it looked almost as if some intern tried to photocopy the torque curve it should've had, but misaligned the paper on the scanner, and the result was what we got in the 458 Gr. 4:

I didn't think it was possible, but I found an NA engine peakier than a Rotary.

Thankfully, the gearing on the 458 is spread out more like a normal road car, meaning it has taller ratios than the rather unnatural feeling Mustang and Corvette. For some context, you'll hit 94km/h (58mph) in 1st gear, which is 3rd gear territory for the Mustang. This makes 1st not only useable on the track, but an absolute requirement. The tall gearing of even just the first gear alone makes corner exit out of tight corners, such as the Bus Stop Chicane and La Source of Spa a pleasant breeze, with 2nd to 6th being appreciably short ratios, ensuring it pulls all the way to 7th. In conjunction with the sky high redline of 9,200rpm, making peak power at 9,000rpm, and actually having seven forward cogs like the road car, top speed is a very strong trait of the 458. Despite having seven forward gears, you won't ever go near it even in a high speed track like Spa, and is there mostly as an overdrive gear for fuel saving rather than top speed runs.

And, this is only what I've heard from other racers, but the 458 Gr. 4 is DISGUSTINGLY good on fuel if you short shift it, so much so it's in the same fuel economy conversation as the Mégane Trophy. When I revved each gear out however, I've shockingly managed to achieve even worse fuel economy than the Viper in this. And unlike its moody, twitchy GT3 cousin this is halfway based on, the 458 Gr. 4 will burn its front tyres faster than the rears on the default Brake Bias, meaning it's a stable and predictable drive even in an endurance event, in contrast to the urban horror story that is the 458 GT3.

Between the left nut and kidney parting good looks of the car, its addictive soundtrack, its sublime steering, sweet gearing, competitive cornering capabilities, and overall stability of the car, the 458 is truly one of the best Gr. 4 cars in my opinion, missing out only in straight line acceleration, because if it had that, this category wouldn't be called "Gr. 4". It'd be called "Gr. 458 and Friends". This isn't me being bribed to sing praises for the car, and no one has me at gunpoint. The car is genuinely that good. You can disbelieve me if you want. Hell, I wouldn't even believe me if I were you. There's no real point to reviewing a Ferrari. It's just that I got to drive and race a car against my talented friends. And that's at least half the fun every week.

Race 3 was at Dragon Trail Seaside, and Race 4, Laguna Seca. I drove the RC F Gr. 4 and the Viper Gr. 4 for those races, respectively. I know those cars weren't previous Cars of the Week, but they made for interesting and close comparison to the Mustang in their own ways, and I couldn't resist the temptation of variety, especially since Esther already readied them as backup cars in case something (legally) went wrong, so to just quickly touch on them:

The RC F is a FR NA V8 like the Mustang, and with a luxury coupé silhouette, it's more similar in dimensions to the Mustang than anything else I've pit against the lone pony car in Gr. 4 thus far. It can hold its own against the Mustang in the straights, while being much more pleasant to manoeuvre through corners. The RC F's V8 makes everything up top, like a racing engine should, and it was really pleasant to wring each gear out while enjoying the full spectrum of sounds of the endangered species of an engine. Both the brake and accelerator pedals are wonderfully proportionate and predictable to operate, and it will outbrake a Mustang any day of the week and hang around the outside of turns alongside Mustangs no problem, even if driven by Vic. It hides its front heaviness well, but when push comes to shove, its front end will be the first to go, and you may or may not be prepared to deal with it when the time comes because of how well it masks the front heaviness under optimal driving. I may or may not have had a mishap at the Chicane of Death and choked away the battle of the week due to this. Simply to drive, I'd take the Japanese option no question, but the RC F is so ugly that it's probably the only car I'd prefer the Mustang over, simply as something to look at.

When driving the Mustang last week, I thought it was already quite an extreme case of a tyre shredder and fuel burner, but the Viper one ups the Mustang in both departments, thanks to its trademark 8.4L V10 engine bulging through the snake's front end, which likes to be revved out, making shifts a no brainer affair. Ironically, despite having to swallow a way bigger engine, the Viper actually feels the most balanced of America's big three, perhaps due to having its cockpit set so far back. Because of this and the tiny windscreen of the car however, visibility out of the Viper is like trying to peek out of a piggy bank. It's quite the monster in a straight line in its own right, albeit with a very low top speed due to having woefully short gears comparable to the Mustang and an even lower redline. It's a very capable sprint racer, but the Viper has a shorter life expectancy than the Mustang not only in the market, but I suspect on a racetrack as well.

And then, Race 5 is held at Toukyo East. It was finally time to bring out the Zupr4... at least, some higher up at COTW thought it'd be a good idea to.

I opened the left side door of the Supra out of muscle memory, half in a trance from the tiredness of having driven so many cars back to back to back. I plopped into the plush red leather seats, fastened my seatbelts, still in a trance, and then put my hands on the steering... wheel?

...where the heck is the wheel? Instead, I'm staring down a leather clad glovebox and air con vents where the steering wheel should be.

Oh, silly me, I must've been given a JDM spec Supra to further differentiate it from the German Z4. Now I feel out of place and stupid for having worn my racing attire to drive this road car. As I rounded the car from the front, Rick's Mustang Gr. 4 blasted past the driver's side door of the temporary pit lane of this section of Toukyo Expressway, angry V8 growling, popping, and echoing off the tiny two lane tunnel, the high pitched whine of the straight cut gears of the racing car perfectly in sync with the engine, almost as though a hyena possessed by the unholy gargle of the V8. Then an "NSX" Gr. 4 did the same. Then a GT-R Gr. 4. Then another Mustang Gr. 4. Then a 458 Gr. 4. And then a Cayman GT4 Clubsport.

I'm just not going to be able to get into this car, am I? Why am I scheduled to be on the track at the same time as these Gr. 4 cars?

I radioed in to reconfirm my testing schedule... well, there wasn't much to confirm, as we only have one race in the one time slot we've managed to bribe the Japanese officials into closing the public expressway for our reckless personal amusement the Japanese government has granted us to promote tourism in Japan by hosting a sanctioned, publicised race on closed off Japanese expressways to show off the beauty, grandeur, and bustling nature of Japan's cityscape.

"What do you mean I'm running this car together with the Gr. 4 cars in the same race?!"

*sounds of bona fide, sanctioned, regulated racing cars blasting by at speeds in excess of 250km/h*

"Do you have ANY IDEA how dangerous that is?!"

*muffled radio noises*

"This is a road car!"

Once I actually got a window big enough to hurriedly slip myself into the driver's side seat of this RHD car, I'm greeted by the pinnacle of grand touring luxuries in lieu of roll cages, shift lights, racing displays, fire extinguishers, killswitches, harnesses, bucket seats, and other such necessities one might expect to find and hope to have when driving fender to fender with GT4 machinery. All I had to ensure my safety were the stock car gauges, full colour HUD displaying my instantaneous speed, automatic rain sensing wipers, heated 14 way power adjustible sports seats with memory and 4 way lumbar and 2 way bolstering adjustment, gloveboxes, charging sockets, cupholders, leather steering wheel, carpets, an 8.8 inch centre screen, lane departure warning with steering "assist" when racing on public roads, and a whole host of other useless crap on a racetrack. In spite of being a tuner model, the only thing that didn't look stock are the addition of a rear wing, extended front lip, front canards, dropped ride height, and racing slicks. Without roll cages to protect me or buckets and harnesses to hold me in place, or a racing spec Kevlar composite fuel tank to resist punctures in a bad crash, I guess I have to rely on the most tried, tested, and foolproof safety practice of "just don't crash, then". At Toukyo. E A S Y.

Once the disastrous practice period was over, I pulled over back into the pit lane, miraculously still alive with minimal damage to those around me. We at COTW are oddly stringent on the most random of things, such as following FIA regulations specifying all cars must start the race with a full tank of fuel, which is 100ℓ - even if the road car doesn't come with a 100ℓ tank. They'll find a way to compress a hundred litres of fuel into the car, and you'll just have to hope and trust that nothing explodes when you drive the car. The safety of their drivers, though? まぁ、死んじゃったら、死ぬ。

Anyway, I pull up for the refuel, sitting there until the pit crew gives me board flip. It was as automatic and boring a procedure as waiting for your scheduled appointment of psychotherapy when the inconsiderate butthole with the slot before you is bawling their hopeless, pathetic, insignificant little eyes out half an hour after their session is supposed to end. Or at least, it would've been just like that, if the pit crew didn't have to manually jack my car up at all four corners with trolley jacks to swap out the wheels for fresh tyres. Through the PTSD inducing wiggle of my car as I shook endlessly in a tunnel, I could just about make out my peers in their sanctioned, fully up to spec racing cars simply pushing a button and extending their pneumatic jacks of their Gr. 4 cars, and the realisation of how unfair life truly could be made me long for psychotherapy all over again.

Le Brocq by Pickle_Rick_1974 Download Link

Many more Aussie V8 Mustang Liveries on his profile.

While listening to my car getting drilled in all four corners five times each by teams of men, I saw in my not very aerodynamic side mirror the refueling guy, fuel tank in both his hands, hesitate motionless for a moment, before he approached my driver's side door. I couldn't hear what he might've been saying through the sounds of the tyre changes and other racing cars driving by, already done with their pre race preparations, nor could I see if he was indeed speaking or not through the helmet he was wearing. The only way he could communicate with me was through motioning with his head, with both his hands hugging the monstrously heavy looking tank of fuel. Already frustrated at my own plight and invoking my right to be an butthole as a BMW driver, I press on the very luxurious plastic switch to wind down my very-much-glass and not-at-all resin windows to hiss, "WHAT?"

"Your fuel cap isn't open, man."

"My WH- OH!"

With all other hands busy, I was forced to partake in my own pit stop. I turned off the engine, undid the three point seatbelt, and stepped out of the car to press on the fuel door and unscrew the fuel cap before he could refuel with his ludicrously impractical looking tank, letting gravity alone pump the car. I got back into the car as the tyre changing crew stood around watching the car get pumped full of fluids after they had done drilling her and letting her fall limp on all fours onto the ground. When all was said and done, what should've been a sub seven second affair for racing cars took about two minutes, quite a time loss if this were an actual endurance race, and a gap I'd like to think even Vic can't close on me in the four laps we were about to run.

Once I took my place on the grid, I was greeted by what can only be assumed to be angry stares and stifled giggling of my competitors behind the helmets and closed visors that followed me as I took my 9th place on the grid. Joke's on them, because while they've had to sit on the grid for two minutes, their tyres must've gotten cold, while mine were fresh from my parade lap! Pro strats!

Rather shockingly, or rather, spitefully, we had a stacked grid of 12 for this race, myself included. I know the office wanted a fuller grid this week to pump numbers, but having to dodge drivers of dubious skills when I'm in a tuned road car was not very... what's the word... safe? Smart? Ideal? Prudent? All four?

Delivering on the Supra's tradition of subverting expectations, the tuner Supra has ZERO straight line speed. When the lights went green, I could've sworn it was a 2.0L Inline 4 under the hood of the car instead of a turbo Straight 6, as the cornering cars like the NC1 "NSX" blew past me with the same nonchalance as established straight line monsters like the R35 GT-R. If the Supra is supposed to give people who played the original Gran Turismo games on the Playstation 1 a nostalgia hard on, then the "Gr. 4" Supra might as well have come factory standard to endlessly loop Soul Coughing - Super Bon Bon from its 500W 12-speaker JBL 81 HiFi Surround Sound system: "Move aside, and let the man go through, let the man go through."

Move up, and let the man go, let the man go.

https://youtu.be/80O6qCCr9Xc

While the road car has eight forward gears, the straight cut, non-synchronous sequential gearbox in this car identical to what's in the Gr. 4 cars my opponents were driving has just six, which might excuse its abysmal straight line performance, if the aforementioned "NSX" and GT-R didn't also make do with six forward gears. And while both of the flagship sports cars of Honda and Nissan don't sound particularly amazing, they're at least distinct and instantly recogniseable. The Supra's engine note is just... a muffled, generic noise, the engine equivalent of having the synopsis of a movie read to you by Microsoft Sam instead of actually watching the movie for yourself. It tells you what revs the engine is doing, and nothing more. There are no pops, no bangs, no sense of occasion, no sense of identity, and the only whines and whooshes you'll get are from the straight cut gears and the twin scroll turbo. It's not exciting, it's not distinct, not outstanding, it's not... special. And it's always an especially sad moment when a sports car, inherently a special thing, whose selling point is in being special, has an engine note that falls flat and sounds completely uninspired. It's a bit too serious, a bit too suited up and proper. A bit too refined. A bit too... BMW.

Kinda reminds me of Esther, actually.

The real strengths of the Supra are solely reserved for the corners, as was already apparent in my testing session, and will be immediately apparent when you brake for your very first corner. The car stops astoundingly well, and it shows no letup in the retardation at any travel speed, at any engine revs. It. Will. Stop. And because of the car's impeccable balance as well, you can brake ludicrously late and chuck the car into a corner at comical speeds, and it will cling like a psychotic ex-girlfriend you haven't seen since 2002. The tyres are surprisingly gradual with how they let go in this car, and even when you overspeed into a corner, the car doesn't simply go limp and understeer wide; it will squeal gently and mostly hold the line, giving you plenty of time and room to back off the throttle to subvert disaster. On power for corner exit, it maintains the same composure and assuredness, never showing excessive amounts of on power understeer. It is shockingly neutral, so much so that it's probably what a Gr. 4 FD RX-7 would feel like to drive if it existed... and had thrice its body rigidity. It's that good. I can't find a single thing to even nitpick about this car's cornering capabilities and behaviour. It's shockingly capable, while offering a degree of tractability and neutrality that I have never felt in any car before. It's a proper cornering machine, this.

Also, in the heat of the race, I performed the ultimate test to ascertain if the A90 Supra is indeed a BMW. I therefore turned on the hazard lights to thank Nismo for a bump draft that gifted me TEN kilometres per hour, to give you an idea of how slow this thing is in a straight line:

The hazard lights work! This is certifiably not a BMW! Where else would you go but COTW for such in-depth, thorough testing and review?!

(Also, Nate, don't think your subtle flex of having tyre stickers on your Gr. 4 car went unnoticed...)

So in summary, it's a 2 door Toyota coupé that's hopeless in a straight line, sounds as exciting a to ride as a German engineering textbook, and is impeccably well balanced and craves corners. It's basically an 86, then? Acceleration aside, this "leather-clad elephant in the room" is surprisingly capable of dishing it out to the Gr. 4 racing cars, especially in the twisty bits. And THAT'S saying something. This is a seriously impressive bit of kit, especially with how little it has changed from the road car visibly. Fit this thing with street tyres, a lift kit, and a gearbox for street use, and I reckon you could drive this racecar humiliating stunner of a car on public roads without anyone batting an eye. If the production A90 were even remotely like this, I might've actually become a fan of the Supra.

https://www.gtplanet.net/forum/threads/car-of-the-week-week-106-ford-mustang-gr4.381420/page-43#post-12962297

Now to just find out which tuning company was responsible for this, and find out the price of converting a regular Supra into this spec...

"You can't buy it", says Esther.

"Wait, WHAT?"

"I'm sorry, did I stutter? I was under the impression you have fully recovered your hearing. You were describing the sounds of the Supra in quite the detail."

"Then what was the point of me reviewing it?!"

"You can't exactly walk into a dealership and buy a seventh generation Chevrolet Corvette or a Ferrari 458 now either, can you?"

"Y-yeah, but I mean- at least..." *confused noises*