GT7 W4: Jeep Willys MB '45

"Congratulations, Es! You just saved your company hundreds of thousands of credits in medical claims, because I was THIS close to caving in XSquare's kneecaps with a shovel and waterboarding him with the roof of a Jeep before you called!", bellowed out Sarah on the phone. While usually bursting with positivity and cheerfulness, recent events have granted Sarah her long harboured wish of dragging out that uglier side of her she had kept locked away for so long, she had long since lost the keys to.

"I uh... I'm sorry for not calling sooner. It appears I was too late, but please, Rahrah, don't take this personally, ok—"

"DON'T TAKE THIS PERSONALLY?!" Twirling a full sized steel shovel with suspiciously adept motions with just one hand up to this point while talking, Sarah pokes the concrete floor of the garage with the pointy end to cause a deathly cold clang to ring out in the garage, so loud that no noise canceling technology could hope to hide it. "He just told me to shut up! After all the smiling I do and acting as a cheerleader for him, THIS is how I get treated?!" Perhaps it was her own odd way of expressing trust to someone, but finally being able to let loose felt so, so good. Almost too good.

"Rahrah, Rahrah, listen, please, Lee has an awful history with militaries, okay, so for—"

"And now I have an awful history with him, and he's about to have an awful history with this winch when it pulls the testicles out his crippled body!"

"Please don't! He's hurt enough! Please!"

That struck a chord with Sarah. She's never heard her best friend, the almost criminally cool and collected Esther, sound so desperate and concerned for someone before. "What are you even talking about? I haven't started! Your phone call let him bolt!"

"Lee, he... *sigh* Look, it's... really not my story to tell, so you're gonna have to keep this a secret, okay?"

Letting go of the handle of the shovel and causing it to fall over onto the ground, Sarah regains her gleeful personality, as though a switch had been flipped. "Well, Esu–nee, you sure know how to calm down an angry kid! Now I'm interested! Come on, spill it! What are friends for?" She skips her way over to rest her body on the slanted front left wheel arch of the 1945 Jeep Willys MB; the car that had instigated this whole ordeal. Only this time, her gleefulness needn't any exaggeration or forcing. Maybe she was genuinely happy for once, or it had already become a bad habit for her.

Esther hesitates. She's successfully diverted attention from the crisis at hand, but at the price of having to show the ill–gotten dirt on hers: "Lee... is a Singaporean male. They're made to serve in the military for two years by law when they turn 18—the most important time of their short and fast careers. I think it cost him his career, basically."

"The heck are you talking about? He seems to be doing just fine. He has two 2–door sports cars in his garage, and I'm willing to bet each of them have more money thrown at them than a whole new S Class Merc!"

"That's... only recent events, Rahrah. I feel like he... made an exception that time. He doesn't think he's good for much else other than driving, but at the same time, he's been trying to learn to live a life without being embroiled in competition and validation from the podium. Learning every week to lose gracefully. To live a normal life starting in his mid twenties, basically. He's not doing so good at it, but we're trying our hardest. I apologise on his behalf for his childish outburst—I'll give him a proper bop on the head later... um... with a... uh... magazine. Not the military kind! The paper kind... you read. His neck can't take any more."

That snapped Sarah out of her trance, and suddenly, her world became more than this elaborate knot she's taking her time tying around the stem of the left searchlight. "He has neck issues?"

"He sustained a very serious injury in that two–year time frame, which may go some way in explaining why he stopped racing at a high level. Hard to say from documentation alone what caused it—you know militaries and their secrets—but he never could get back to his usual pace after the two years. He used to be unstoppable in the fastest machinery of his age group, but now he putts around in slow cars and holds his neck in pain when no one's looking. Mentally, I... wouldn't know what it must feel like to have your hopes and dreams ripped away like that."

Sarah slowly pulls on her end of the rope with glee, tightening ever so slowly, but surely, the knot she made. "You... got all that from editing his reviews?"

"It helps to know your employer, you know?"

"You scare me sometimes, you know that, Es?"

"You're scaring me more right now, Rahrah."

"Nnmm? Why oo you fsay jaat?", asked Sarah in between nibbles of the rope with her soft, painted lips.

"I don't know if I'm wrong, Rahrah, but I sometimes feel a very similar anger and dissatisfaction emanating from the you too when we talk about... things. You and Lee... are a lot alike, despite appearances."

"HEY!" Sarah snaps up into a standing position, her fists clenched so tightly it almost towed the Jeep in park. "Watch your mouth! Don't compare me to... I'm the victim here! He abused me verbally! You're supposed to comfort me, Es!"

"*sigh* Look, Rahrah. We both know Lee won't go anywhere near the Jeep, much less review it. Do you think you could step in for him this week?"

"ARE YOU INSANE?!"

"You wanted to see how close you were to his skill level, didn't you?"

"I...!" And just like that, the Sarah that couldn't keep still the whole phone call froze in a daze, almost dropping her phone entirely. Flashbacks of her very recent crash with Lee flooded her mind, washing away any anger and resentment she had been feeling and replacing it all with guilt, still too fresh.

"It's in much slower machinery than last week, at sanctioned racetracks with paramedics on hand. It's a safe environment, I promise. Why don't you put on his racing suit and see if his friends notice anything? Our drivers are gentlemen... on their good days. I can vouch for most of them... sometimes. Okay, you know what, nevermind, scratch that, I spoke before thinking, and—"

"YES! YES! YES! I'LL DO IT! SEND IT OVER! I'll show that jerk!"

"Oh crud..."

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

Jeepers Creepers! The Driving Experience of a 1945 Military... Sports Car?

by Sarah Çuhadaroğlu

Edited by Erina "Esther" Mami

May 1, 2023

富士サファリパーク by z12-ragingbull Style Link

Did you know? Rumours abound that Enzo Ferrari once called the Jeep Willys MB "the only true American sports car." Of course, evidence of this is hard to come by, but if you ever find yourself deployed into the hard, padded seats of an MB one day, you might well find yourself believing it with your butt more than your ears!

With reportedly only 60 Gross HP (54HP Net) from a 2.2 Litre NA Inline 4 going through a 3–speed manual gearbox as standard issue, one would be pardoned for not believing that at first glance. That being said however, the MB is still good for a rather surprising 118km/h (73mph) when unfettered by loose surfaces or rough terrain, which is plenty for a car without doors, seatbelts, or airbags. Despite the low top speed, the Jeep gets up to it rather quickly, and being exposed to so much means it often feels faster than it is. On the handling side, the Jeep may only be armed with primitive leaf spring suspension and live axles, which would quickly make many dismiss it on–track. However, these leaf springs have very little compression travel in them, making the off road specialist surprisingly taut and agile on a paved track, as though a soldier at attention. Any pitching and rolling that the Jeep undergoes is done with in an instant, making the Jeep feel more poised and immediate than many sporty and GT cars. In fact, despite the fact that it has 1,113kg (2,454lbs) being propped up at an ample 222mm (8.74in) above ground by skinny Comfort Hard tyres and leaf springs, the Jeep I daresay corners slightly faster than my 2002 Copen on modern Comfort Medium tyres—imagine that! Its cornering speed is comparable to that of a lightweight Kei sports car, some 60 years younger than it with three quarters its weight! Being completely unable to reach 120km/h in clean air, the meek looking 180.18PP of a showroom condition Jeep is utterly misrepresentative of its absurd on–track capabilities: It will obliterate any car within its PP range, most notably the Abarth 595, so badly that the Geneva Conventions might have to step in and take a look. Below speeds of 70km/h, it will still outperform many civilian sports cars, such as Britain's beloved Mini Cooper. In other words, the Jeep is more Mini in spirit than the Mini itself!

The Jeep, a sports car? I can certainly see the reason why that intel spread, even if the source cannot be verified.

Time to see how it fares in racing conditions, then! The Jeep may not have been built for that purpose, but there's another saying I quite like: "adapt and survive", and this week, we're going to see how well the Jeep adapts to the racetrack! Recon has already established that it can corner well, and its low speeds often mean that most corners won't involve the brakes coming into play; partial lifts are all that will be required for most corners, especially if in the high rev ranges of the 4,200rpm capable engine. This results in a car that places extra heavy emphasis on being smooth and measured in your driving to preserve every bit of speed you've built. The leaf springs may not have much travel in them, but the setup is still very soft within their travel, and so the Jeep can often find itself tangled up by quick, sudden asks by a driver, and because of its live axle setup and passive transfer case, one tyre losing grip and slipping quickly brings the others with it if not immediately eased, paralysing the whole car. My advice to driving the Jeep fast, therefore, is to not only be very smooth with your inputs, but also to make sure you use every millimetre of the track on offer; the Jeep is surprisingly narrow by modern standards, and you as a driver sit far further to the edge of the car without a door, and so oftentimes you can bring yourself much, much closer to the walls than your brain is likely wired to think is safe. Ditto for competitor cars!

In practice, the racing may look incredibly tight quarters and closely contested, with us drivers often getting close enough to bop the other over the head with our shovels if we so chose, but it's extremely difficult to actually overtake a comrade in equal machinery owing to the very poor top end acceleration once past 70km/h. There isn't much gaining on a competitor even with a solid corner exit, especially outside of slipstream. A lot of times, races in the Jeep end up with everyone in a straight, orderly file, with nobody being able to step out of line, lest they get dropped from the battalion. The only chance for a promotion then, is to hope that someone ahead makes a costly mistake and gets dishonoroubly discharged from the pack, or by forcibly engineering an opportunity for yourself like a true gentleman on a good day.

While cheap, cheerful, modest, and maybe a little meek on a pretty racetrack, the MB does have a VERY lethal side to it if even lightly provoked by the right conditions. You might think a vehicle built primarily to handle rough terrain would be adept at landing from jumps, but its stiff leaf springs will very often launch the car from mild kerbs, and the MB lands from jumps with all the grace of stepping onto a landmine, often bouncing every which way there is a barrier or a spectator instead of following the road. Mind you, this is a car with no seatbelts, airbags, or even doors, and so a high impact landing can fling a driver clean from the car... in the best case scenario. I highly recommend at the very least, a properly fitting helmet for anyone looking to drive the Jeep; ask your local friendly GT Auto or logistics department for a custom fit if you don't want your soul shaken loose from within an ill fitting helmet! Another point of caution to note is that the Jeep came at a time way before ABS was invented, and while the drum brakes on the Jeep aren't strong enough to cause a skid on their own, they are strong enough to make the entire car extremely nervous under full braking, and it's nigh impossible to use more than a mere fifth of the brake pedal's travel with any sort of steering lock applied. The rear end also becomes incredibly airy on downhill sections, lacking any damping in the springs, and so braking your Jeep willy nilly is a surefire way to cause the car to go rouge and get oneself K.I.A..

But don't let any of that discourage you from trying the Jeep for yourself if you're able to one day! "Know thyself, know thy enemy, and victory shalt be yours". You have to know what you have to be able to maximise it and avoid its weaknesses, right? The Jeep may look incapable based on its exposed hardware and meek numbers on the spec sheet, but it has an unbelievably violent bite for both its competitors and its own driver alike if anyone dares disrespect it. It blends together an ease of access with difficulty of mastery, something even video games struggle to get right. GT Auto, to this day, still has a wide array of period correct parts for the Jeep, and I had an utterly otherworldly experience being able to superimpose the MB into photographs of the world with the help of my friend, Oliver! Tom Matano, head of Mazda design US with a hand in designing some of the brand's most influential and beautiful cars, even approached me to talk about the Jeep in GT Café! Now, you didn't hear this from me, but I've been hearing whispers about people somehow slipping Hellcat engines into this thing, but the stiff necks at Car of the Week won't let me cover it! Something about insurance not extending far enough for a temporary staff? Boo!

That little bummer aside, I think the Jeep Willys MB '45 is a certifiable Sleeper of a car. I think it really suits me :)

ACS091022: Connections

I was woken up today by some sort of old ass tacky Chinese songs blaring out in the streets. I was ultra annoyed by that. I'm tired. I'm irritable. I wanted to scream at them to shut the fuck up. I don't know what their deal was, but it was simply selfish of them to disrupt the neighbourhood like that and assume everyone's into that shebang.

There was some vague direction in my head when I thought to mention that in writing that would maybe tie into the point I wanted to make later in this post. When my fingers hit the keyboard though, all of that just vanished. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. I feel like I'm getting too used to having an end when I write, a point I wanted to make, and how to lead up to it, thanks to all the car reviews I'm writing. But sometimes, in wanting to make a piece coherent or flow well, I forget that shooting from the hip honesty can help express myself better, which is especially important in personal writing in a diary.

When I left my house to buy lunch and was more awake, I thought about me wanting to shout at them. I thought maybe there wasn't a need to be such an asshole. I thought about how that negativity only serves to tear down everyone, myself included. Entering the lift, the thought that it's not the world that's broken, but me, scares me. No way in hell a parade like that happened without official permit in Singapore. I mean, we could close public roads for a week so people infinitely richer than me can wank on our roads for almost a week in their high downforce machines, what's a little karaoke parade lasting an hour? Maybe I'm too stressed, too tired, too depressed, to be able to breathe in the happiness around me. Maybe I'm constantly in fight or flight mode. Maybe the world is broken and crazy and it's okay with it. Maybe I'm broken and crazy and I should be okay with it. Maybe I never feel at rest. Maybe I'm just dead to the world, and the world to me.

Why does everything tire and annoy me so much? I hate everything for little to no reason. I just want this all to end, for it all to disappear. I want to see it all in smithereens. I just want to be left alone. My feelings no longer have a traceable source. I just feel them and they become who I am. They start to define me. They become my character trait. I become one dimensional.

I was more awake when I left my house, but I wasn't awake awake. When I got to the stall that sold the meal I wanted, their Kopitiam card reader was broken and I had to pay by cash. Filthy, disgusting, germ ridden, probably been up a hooker's ass cash. And coins. The filthy, disgusting 5 cent coins that go nowhere and do nothing. I was even contemplating not bringing my wallet when I left my home. Good thing I brought it, I guess.

The cashier started by asking me if I wanted to pay by cash instead. I, not thinking straight, just shot her a curt "no". Maybe if I had been more awake, I'd have realised that she was trying to tell me the reader was broken. I didn't think that far and she had to spell it out for me. But like, motherfucker, can't you just have told me that from the start? I don't have my game face on, I'm not at my job where I have to put on a polite, mind reading mask. And so I just took her words at face value and shot from my hip. Hey, everything has to be so quick and convenient nowadays, why not our words, of all things? Because it's rude, I guess, boo hoo. I'm not your therapist, I don't want to deal with your bullshit. Give me what I asked for or fuck off.

I know I sound like an asshole, but I really didn't mean to be rude or cause trouble to anyone. I got my food, thanked the cashier, and left. I think I'm good at internalising my turmoil, maybe too much so because now I feel no point in expressing my feelings, to the point where I don't even know how to talk or write about how I feel anymore.

It's probably not a good indication of reality, but when I see romance dramas or people my age getting married, I feel like I'm watching a freak show completely disconnected from reality. A car sprouting wings mid race and teleporting seems more plausible to me than people finding love and sharing a connection with each other. I truly don't know how people meet one another in a setting that lets them socialise and put down masks. I don't know how they can have their jobs not drain them entirely and have their finances sorted out well enough to be able to afford weddings costing five figures and houses costing six. I don't know how transactional and "现实" it is, if they genuinely love one another, or a mix of both. Me personally, I don't even know how to sustain a conversation with a person, let alone feel a meaningful connection with them.

It's not for the lack of trying, either. In fact, the reason why I can say I've no idea how to sustain a conversation with someone is precisely because I've tried. I don't know what it is about me, maybe I'm a boring person, maybe I'm someone that people intrinsically hate for reasons beyond me. Would at least explain why I was bullied as a kid in a class that's self proclaimed to be "the most united in our batch". I tried talking to —. I tried continuing to talk to —. I tried talking to —, and I'm ignored every single time.

It's a fucking mad world I live in. Or maybe I simply don't belong.

GT7 W3: Chevrolet Corvette Stingray '20 (C8)

I never thought I'd be doing this whole "racing driver" thing again.

The money is good. Especially when you win. I went from the high life of fine dining, fast cars, crazy parties, interviews, seeing the best of each country, to sipping canned coffee all by my lonesome here at the lookout point of Haven Mountain in the black of a chilly night. Don't get me wrong, all those racing driver things I listed are just chores for an introvert like me, but there is one thing that the glitzy life has afforded me that was so incomprehensibly brilliant and mind blowing, the addiction, that sensation, stayed with me through retirement, and didn't stop hurting me for a minute without it. It changed the way I look at things. Reset every yard stick and standard I had in my mind. It almost makes everything else life can offer seem trivial and trite. Is that a blessing or a curse? I can't really answer that. All I can tell you for certain is that I finally feel like I've gotten back a piece of my soul, now that I'm once again holding onto this Porsche key fob.

I guess, I'm effectively an addict now, and I'm being dragged back into the game to sate that addiction. It feels like I'm just being bounced around two lives, and not being entirely happy with either.

The distant V8 growl that had initially snapped me out of my trance is now almost here, and soon enough, a set of headlights slashes through the maze of darkness and trees to arrive at the small parking lot of this lookout point. I can't quite make out what it is from the glare of its headlights, but whatever it is does a 180 burnout to face away from me, stopping right at the exit of the car park. The left side door opens, and a familiar sounding voice calls out into the darkness, familiar enough to make me feel like I ought to know it, yet filled with so much hatred that I can't help but feel a fresh sense of apprehension and dread: "How much of that 600k did you spend on that car?"

Out steps a female silhouette, about the same height and build as Sarah. Not getting an answer from me, she continues, "100k? 120?"

"...Sarah? That you?"

"Answer the question!", she barks, slamming the door of her car shut. Judging by the tail lights, I want to say it's a... C8 Corvette? Hard to make out details on black cars even in broad daylight.

"130k, why?"

She scoffs with a bladed sharpness I have never felt sheathed by a scoff before. "Figures. All you do is throw money at problems, including your personal ones, it seems."

"HEY!"

"How much power that thing's got?"

"379? Hell if I know."

"HAH! WEAK! You wanna know what I paid for Fade? 85k! And she's got 494HP! You spent 130k on a car with less than 400HP? What next? An old fashioned stick shifter and cloth strap door handles?"

"I love this car a lot, okay? What's your problem?!"

"Then maybe you should get your head out your ass and see that it's a shit car and you've pissed away good money for it!"

"Sarah what's gotten into you?! I thought you were ridiculed for your taste in cars as a kid! How could you—"

"I just thought it was high time for a change, is all."

"What's this all about, then?"

"I didn't even recognise my car when I got home! Is that what it takes to be successful in motorsport? A large sum of money?"

"The prize money was more than worth it, isn't it?"

"What if I hadn't met you? What if you didn't have that money? Was I just... supposed to live like that for the rest of my life?! Does my passion, my pain, my talent, my sacrifices, not mean anything?!"

I really didn't want to answer that. I know I got incredibly lucky to have even gotten off the ground.

"Race me down the mountain!", she suddenly demanded.

"Hell no."

"Prove to me that it was your skill and not your money that won that race, pro driver."

"Pro drivers don't race for free."

"I'm going to sit here until you decide to drive back down, then. Unless you decide to leave your spanking new money pit and walk."

"You...!"

She turns her back to me and slides back into her car, firmly closing the door. She's actually serious about this.

I unlock the door to my 981 Porsche Cayman GT4, and the crowning achievement of the internal combustion engine roars to life with a furor just a few moments later, shattering the few fleeting moments of tranquil peace I had originally come up here to seek. The Corvette of Sarah soon joins in to create a duet of battle cries. She lets me go ahead of her out of the car park, but once out, her Corvette tailgates me so closely that I can't even see her headlights in my cabin mirror, only the clear coated carbon panels of the Stingray dully reflecting the red of my tail lights. I refused to respond to her honking and flashing of the high beam, all the way until she gives my car a light rear end tap, suddenly raising the revs of my NA Flat 6 engine and making it sound as though yelping in surprise and pain.

"That bitch...!"

Dropping into 2nd in one fell swoop of the manual gearbox, I awaken the full furor of the baby Porsche with barely anything atop its factory break–in mileage, and, while a little slow to react, the hulking 6.2L V8 in Sarah's Corvette had no trouble at all closing right back up to the tailpipes she just hit. I know she's right about my car. That it's overpriced and underpowered. But there's no way in hell my Cayman is losing to some lumpy V8 stuffed in an awkward first attempt at a mid engine chassis. On these nefariously narrow and torturously twisty mountain roads, the Stingray is almost literally a fish out of water. We might have something that appears a close match for a short while, but after a few corners getting some heat into the factory carbon ceramic brakes and Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2 tyres, that 'Vette is just going to be lost to the shadows.

Hard on the brakes for the first corner, and the angry, angular face of a rapidly approaching Corvette in my mirrors, illuminated only by the red glow of my brake lights, was the last thing I saw before everything went to black for what I'm told is eight days.

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

It's never easy walking away from one's comfort zone, and that holds doubly true if you're making a publicly consumed product, like the engineers at Chevrolet. It started with a Lotus V8. Then, fixed headlights. Followed by the omission of four round tail lights and the greenhouse rear glass. Just when things couldn't seem more sacrilegious, the entire architecture of the Corvette was rearranged with the eighth generation Corvette, the C8.

In fact, aside from a naturally aspirated 6.2L V8, there is just about nothing on the C8 Corvette that would've tipped industry spies off a few years ago that this rear mid–engined monstrosity was to be the next iteration of America's premier sports car; no manual gearbox, no shoddy interior, not even semi decent styling, and you'd actually have to rudely ask the car to kill you before it would consider doing so. But the car is here, and it's wearing unmistakable Corvette badges to let everybody know that America is finally getting serious not just about giving its snobby European rivals a bloody, broken nose up front, but now also about leaving a stinging sensation in the rear to remember them by.

Me personally, I've always liked Corvettes. Not to the extent that I can give you an extensive history lesson of the 70 year strong journey of the Corvette, name every body colour and head engineer, or even know the reasons why Corvette owners have the stigmas that they do. They just look cool, sound amazing, and drive terrifyingly in a terrific way. In other words, I'm a casual fan: I like Corvettes, but I'm not super invested in them. And oddly enough, I think it's fringe fans like me that can best appreciate the C8 Corvette—in my eyes, a car I liked has gotten better. I don't know why Americans are so obsessively fixated on an FR layout. I don't care how many cylinders it has. On–track, I don't even care that it doesn't have a manual gearb–oh, sorry, transmission. All I know is that the C8 is the first ever 'Vette to be legal in my home country of Singapore, and seeing one in the flesh here was just surreal.

Unfortunately, one area which I'm with the critics is the styling of the car: The Corvette's usual front–heavy aggression has been cut up, rearranged, and sprinkled over a mid–engine chassis, which is almost literally putting the carriage in front of the horse. I prefer my mid–engine supercars to look sleek, elegant, poised, and confident, but the C8 looks almost like an alien AI generated caricature of what a fast mid–engined supercar ought to look like, with a cartoonish, hard to take seriously aggression facilitated by its endless creases that all fight each other for dominance and attention, making the body of the car feel more like a war–torn territory than a purposeful, cohesive statement of intent. This being the first Corvette to ever be made available as a Right Hand Drive model and sold in export markets, I had really hoped that the Corvette would finally come with sensible, bespoke amber turn signals, but it still uses the same brake lights in the same red colour in the same hazardous cost cutting fashion. Even Vipers came with sensible amber turn signals, c'mon now, GM. Opening up the front bumper of the car reveals a bent, downward facing squarish plate, making it a nightmare for livery creation, and slapping a rectangular inline European plate on the car requires the Stingray to grow a pig stout. The whole car is just awkward and inelegant to look at. A Pontiac Fiero with a rocket strapped to its back looks better than this!

A mid–engined supercar not looking good is certainly a shame, but a mid–engined supercar is primarily built for driving, yes? So how does it drive?

Unlike some other mid engine car makes who imbue their showy creations with crippling understeer, utterly defeating the point of a mid engine supercar to begin with, the C8 'Vette handles extremely neutrally, with neither under nor oversteer dominating the driving experience. They're certainly there, but you'll have to really abuse the car for any of it to show. The oversteer part of that is particularly pleasant, as the chassis doesn't normally want to slide out the rear end, being rock solid and on–rails at all times, so the only way to get any oversteer out of the car is to turn off TCS and gun it like a goon; the 494HP capable NA LT2 V8 is as immediate and proportionate as a light dimmer hard wired to your right foot—ask it for torque at nearly any rev range from nearly any gear, and it's there in exactly the requested amount faster than you can even think. Even with chunky 305mm Michelin Pilot Sport ALS tyres in the rear without the Z51 Performance Package, or simply Sport Hards in–game, the LT2 engine will break grip and start smoking tyres at the drop of a shoe. And when the rear end lets go, it lets go with plenty of buildup and warning, giving drivers ample time to either correct it, or encourage it. You could pull off some big smokescreen shows with relatively little effort in this thing.

The other end of that equation, understeer, is a lot more nuanced to find. When driving the car on my own, I didn't notice any understeer; I just thought the car handled extremely neutrally. Instead, that understeer only appears when going wheel to wheel when racing others in equal machinery like we do in our weekly meets, despite the car being bone stock on fresh tyres and a full tank both times. Why the difference, then?

You see, the reason why I love having to race someone in equal machinery, especially someone who always faster than me, but always makes themselves an attainable goal, like Vic, is that it helps me undo a sort of subconscious limiter in my brain. I think I always drive the car at 90–95% of my capabilities when testing alone, because there's quite simply no reason to push it past that. I think I have a good idea of how a car behaves and what to do to get the most of it just like that. I could probably write a full length review just based off running it by my lonesome. But our weekly meets gives me a reason to try to push the car beyond its and my own limits, to perhaps try riskier, less consistent, slightly "cheatier" lines through corners, etc.. It forces me to re–evaluate my braking points and lines through corners. It makes me press the throttle pedal earlier and earlier and the brakes later and later, oftentimes with slower results, but it's only by repeatedly undershooting and overshooting that theoretical "100%" of the car's limits can one slowly get to know where that "100%" truly is, and more consistently stick close to it. And that "push" to risk it and experiment isn't present when testing alone, hence why I like to write only after our weekly meets: I feel like I get dragged by the ear to do things I normally wouldn't do to a car, in doing so getting to know the car more than I'd otherwise be able to.

Unfortunately, that ear pulling has soured my opinion on the C8 after really liking my initial drive with it. The C8 Corvette feels like it was set up to be a 9 tenths car. It felt amazing when I ran it by my lonesome, but when subject to that subconscious limit break to find that last tenth of performance during race day, the car completely came apart at the bonded seams and tapped out the moment I put some pressure on it. It was just understeer, understeer, understeer. I think a lot of that neutrality I praised the car for comes via deliberately making sure the front end always goes before the rear by limiting front tyre grip, thereby ensuring that no driver can turn the car hard enough to even mildly challenge the rear end. For reference, the front tyres are only 245mm wide in comparison to the rears' 305. What I had thought was my and the car's 9 tenths was, in fact, the car's 10 tenths, and what that unfortunately results in is a car that doesn't engage or enthrall like a mid engined sports car should, because the car feels slower than me as a driver. To be clear, this has NOTHING to do with the car's speed; I love slow cars. The C8 just feels dead and done past its front tyres' grip, and offers no drama or alternatives. "Come on, just shave off that extra two centimetres from your turning radius, you can do it! Come on!" "Just rotate a bit more at the apex, oh why won't you?! Urgh! God!" It doesn't tease, it doesn't play, it doesn't bite, it doesn't give ultimatums, it doesn't threaten, it doesn't scare; it just gives up. And that's no fun.

To add insult to injury, cutting corners by taking a bit too much kerb or going into the grass, as a desperate man is wont to do, seems to give the E–Differential of the C8 Corvette an E–aneurysm. In fact, even taking some fairly innocuous, barely raised rumble strips on the inside of turns tends to cause the C8 to suddenly spin towards the inside barrier, and even if you do manage to save it and get it back on the paved stuff, the car seems to need a slight pause before it can sort itself out and start putting down power; force the issue by administering power in this state and the rear end just goes anywhere but straight.

In spite of my misadventures pushing the C8 though, I have absolutely zero doubt whatsoever that the shift to rear mid engine is a much needed, highly beneficial one. I can say this with absolute certainty because I brought the C7 Stingray to the track against the C8, and, aside from the C7 being a slightly^ lighter car, there is nearly nothing on it I prefer to the C8.

Not that the C7 is an incapable lunk in its own right; it's just that, when pit against the C8, the C7 feels... an incapable lunk. I cannot overstate how big a cheat being rear mid engine is on a racetrack; the C7 in direct comparison feels more lethargic in finding and biting apexes, and it has a harder time putting down less power. I even brought the C7 to Mount Panorama, the only track in the world I think that flips the script and gives the advantage to FR cars by being deeply upsetting to RMRs, and what I found there was that, the C7, despite being FR with less power, was no easier to drive than the more powerful RMR C8. The C8 was just a lot more stable, a lot better sorted, and of course, with the extra 41HP going through the 8 Speed Chevrolet Doppelkupplung gearbox, completely destrolished the C7 in a very unsportsmanlike and unfamilial showing. The only slight thing I preferred on the C7 is that, because most of its mass is concentrated up front, the driver is always made cognizant of the understeer in the car, which builds up a lot more gradually and predictably, as opposed to the C8 being great at 9.9 tenths and then immediately going limp at 10.1 tenths.

I also brought a 981 Cayman GT4 to race the C8 Stingray at Deep Forest. I'll save you the read on what has already been an incredibly long piece: there was nothing I could do in my top trim, much more expensive Porsche to fend off the much more powerful, lightened^ "base model" Corvettes. But I found myself being indifferent when winning in the C8, while smiling ear to ear losing in a Cayman. And that to me justifies almost any price hike Stuttgart can extort from me.

It's just such a shame that modern mid engine supercars have to protect their drivers from spins and manufacturers from lawsuits like this. I had hoped that, if anyone were to break this trend, it'd be balls to the wall, fearless America. Instead, it seems like it's the Germans of all people that's showing the world how to have fun. It's an American performance car, isn't it? It's America's premier sports car, right? Isn't half the fun of them is to be panicking? Aren't other people are supposed to see me in one and get sucked in by the gravitational pull of my titanium balls? But there's nothing to be afraid of in the C8 Stingray aside from falling asleep behind the wheel and braking too late because of it. That is to say, America's premier sports car isn't 'MURICA enough, and even someone living on the other side of the globe can see and feel that. It feels to me like GM is finally trying to make something for general consumption people over the world can get into, and it's a lovely, lovely car when driven on its own. I just don't like it when I have to push it hard to find those extra tenths of a second on a racetrack bone stock. It's a very, very exacting use case scenario, yes. One that most people will never experience. And to that vast majority, the C8 ought to be a fantastic car.

But for me personally, I'm a bit of an 95/5 rule kind of guy: 95% of my appreciation for a sports car lie in how it behaves in that last 5% of its handling envelope, because that's where the purpose of a sports car lie, and where most of the work has to go to. If driven on its own, the Cayman feels like a soulless, boring car devoid of personality. I daresay one doesn't "get" the car if they don't push themselves in it; it's like a tour guide of the unknown, scary, and exciting. It felt more natural and consistent. I could play with it. It would play with me. It pushes me to become a better, faster driver. It duly threatens me when I do something stupid, and deservedly bites me back if I take things too far. It lets me make mistakes. It doesn't ever give me BS about dry weights. You don't ever need a stopwatch in the car; if you set a blazing lap in it, you'll know it in your head and heart. THAT, is what I'm looking for from a rear mid–engined, rear drive sports car. The fact that I wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen in one is also a very, very big plus.

Overall, I deeply respect the balls of GM to have made the switch to a mid–engine platform. It was a move they didn't have to make; Corvettes will sell regardless, GM could've just rested on their laurels. But yet, they did it, knowing it will turn off many people. They haven't gotten many things right in their first try, in my estimation, some of it easier to fix than others, but hey, no one gets it perfect on their first try, right? As I said, being rear mid–engined is such a cheat on the track. I just wish they loosened the leash on the car a bit for future editions of the car, give it a bit of personality, let it scare drivers a bit, be more of a plaything. With the C8 possibly being the last internal combustion Corvette, it'd be such a shame to close that chapter with such a wet fart of a car.

^I found out post race while writing that Chevy gave us specially lightened versions of the C8 Stingray for racing and review. We were given cars that weighed in at 1,530kg (3,373lbs), which is the dry weight of the car. Kerb, we're looking at something more like 1,654kg (3,647lbs). All driving impressions were done with the lightened cars. Yes, Chevy has gone full Italian supercar on me, and yes, I take offence to that. What next? Are they going to tell me I can't get ahold of this bargain world beater without a 20% dealer markup? Is that 494HP merely the gross power of the LT2? Hey, I weigh 30 kilos without all my bodily fluids! I'm sure that's useful and interesting information to someone out there, right?

Why the hell do manufacturers keep doing this nonsense? They do realise it makes them look like vain schoolchildren, right? And the cars still didn't impress in spite of it all.

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

"Es... Esther?"

"Sarah..."

"I'm sorry! I didn't... I wasn't..."

"It's okay. You've apologised enough. I called to say... I'm sorry too. For all the awful, awful things I said to you the other day. I feel I owe you an explanation."

"You don't have to, Es. I know I did something incredibly stupid, and it's obvious Square is someone hugely important to you, and I almost..."

"It's... um... obvious?"

"Yeah? I think so. It looks normal enough on the outside, but anyone who knows you knows you don't put up with that nonsense and incompetence from just anybody."

"H-hey, don't get the wrong idea about us! He just... He.. helps me feel the closest I've ever been to understanding my brother, is all..."

"You have a brother?!"

"I hope and pray with all my heart that I still do. He's... been in a coma for years. From a crash."

"Oh my god!"

"When I heard about the accident... I felt like I had lost my brother all over again. I-I...!"

"It's okay to cry, Es. You must've been holding it in for so long, right? I can tell."

"I've always wondered... what would possess a man to do these stupid things. It's why I... took this *hic* this job."

"I'm so sorry. I never knew..."

"I feel like I'm so stuck in the past, I can't see what's ahead of me at all. Sometimes I stop and wonder if I too, am in a coma."

"I... I can't even imagine..."

"I've spent my whole life supporting my brother and his expensive hobby. I've never had any direction or talent my whole life. Without him, I've been so lost for so long, it feels like darkness is all there is left to find in the world."

"It isn't like that, Es. I'm sure—"

"I hate you sometimes, Rahrah! I hate how jovial you can be. I envy your optimism. It disgusts me how everyone loves you. I begrudge the fact that you have hopes and dreams. I hate myself for not being able to be more like you. I'm the worst person alive you could call a friend!"

"It's not... that easy, Es. I wish I could be as honest as you too, all the time."

"But then when I saw Lee win that race in your Copen... I genuinely felt happy for you. It was such a painful, nostalgic rush. And I hate that all the happiness I can feel is for others, but never for myself."

"You're doing great, Es. We all love you for who you are and what you do, regardless of what happened in your past we can't see, or how it's been affecting you. It doesn't change the fact that we met after all that had happened to you, and I'm willing to call you my best friend in the world, and will be no matter what happens."

"Even after I said all that? How could you be so... you?"

"It's... not really the real me that you hate. But you're still my bestest best friend. Maybe we'll get to know each other again over some affogato like last time."

"Mm! Just... don't... leave me alone like that again, please. I don't know what I'd do if you or Lee..."

"I won't! I promise!"

"Take good care of him for me, please. He's... a deeply damaged soul, too."

"Heehee, now I know why you always felt like a big sis."

"S-stop it! You're embarrassing me!"

"How do they say it in Japan? Esu–nee chan?"

"Don't you DARE call me that in front of Lee—or anyone else—or I swear!"

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

"You know, I never thought the day would come where I would have my own car."

Esther walks up slowly to the reborn alien almost as though in a dream, making sure to take it all in with excruciating detail in case she ever wakes. She runs her fingers through the right profile of the car as she walks around it. It's surreal to see Esther so interested in a car for the first time. She usually just throws me the keys and then disappears back into the office.

"Remember, it's only half yours", I jokingly quip.

"Still half a car more than I thought I'd ever have, and that other half is only yours on paper because they needed someone with a driving licence. And... I do need it in your garage. I plan to pay you back fully for your investment in this partnership when the time comes. I trust I won't have to draw up a contract to bind you to that."

"Wanna tell me why you're doing this?"

"I don't want that incident to scar Sarah. Park this here, let her aspire to it. I know she'll want this back one day. Give her the spare keys only when you feel she's worked her way up sufficiently to a car of its performance, understand?"

"What are you, her mom?"

"And you, holding onto the car with half the lease? Her dad?"

Ooh. The turnabout. Damn, my burns are good.

"Amazing how you can say that about Sarah without having seen her that night. She's willing to do anything to herself and question everything to win. Whether she realises it or not, she has a real racing driver's mentality. She just needs to pace herself a bit more."

"Do racing drivers... crash? A lot? Would that be like an editor making lots of grammar errors and spelling mistakes?"

"Not at all. All the fastest drivers have had to walk away from prolific crashes. It's not in the JD for the job, but it's almost a requirement. I guess it'd be like the printer jamming for you. Not your JD to get it unstuck, but you'll have to learn to do it one day. Let's just be glad Sarah walked away from her first crash relatively unscathed, off camera. She'll only get better from here."

"What if... that printer has been stuck for a very, very long time? And no one can get it unstuck?"

"Then... get a new printer?" The hell kinda question was that?

She stands there head down and hands clasped together at her waist, not saying anything for a good while. But just as I was about to leave, she speaks up again: "Seeing as this is our car and all, can you pick me up in this next time I have to visit?"

"Haaaah? Why don't you just get Jack o' Intern to ferry you? He'll probably learn more in a car ride with you than his whole tenure in the office."

"Hey, don't make me get my legal team to chop this car into half to ship into my custody... preferably without plasma cutters... oh god." She takes a brief pause to bury her face in her palms, slicking back her untied hair when coming up for air. With her eyes closed and head in the clouds still, she murmurs: "I'm... actually really terrified of being in a motor vehicle... driven by strangers." She lowers her head back down to level and opens an earnest set of eyes, almost tearful, to look at me as she continues: "Please. Could you please ferry me next time? In our car?"

Esther, expressing emotion? Wow. It must be serious. "Urgh, I GUESS I'll have to set aside some prime real estate for a 6.2L mid engine carbon body supercar so that some pretty editor without a driving licence can boss me around!"

Esther half pushes, half punches me in the forearm in response.

"OOOOUUUUCH! Oh! That broke something! I'm going to need to be hospitalised for another week!"

Esther pulls the arm she punched into her gentle, almost unsure embrace, resting her forehead where she hit me, using my arm almost like a rolled–up towel.

"Esther?"

She hangs onto me quietly for a while, only to quickly let go and scurry to the passenger side door of the C8 Corvette, all without letting me see her face. Pausing to collect herself before she opens the door, she folds herself away into the cockpit with a systematic display of prim usually reserved for origami, shutting the door with a dignified, yet satisfying thump.

GT7 W2: Daihatsu Copen Active Top '02

Systematic shouting and rhythmic beeping backed by a constant, low hymn of a diesel engine chugging along tells me that work is about to begin for the second time since I moved to Seven Haven, and hopefully it'd be something much more pleasant to sleep in than a weathered and wrung 1990 Mazda.

Clawing the sand from my eyes, I felt my way around the walls of the pitch black, unfamiliar garage, trying to get the door. The year long moving process has taken its toll, and embers still remain from the utter train wreck—

"Good morning, XSquareStickIt!", came Sarah's cheerful voice from the other side of the door before it was even fully open. Her usual, uncanny excitement meant she barely even had to raise her voice to be heard over the trucks and truckers. The morning sun pierces my ill adjusted eyes, causing me to recoil into the familiar, yet fleeting darkness of the garage. Urgh, why'd they have to build the door facing the freaking sunrise...

"Morning, sleepy head! The next car's here! Aren't you excited? I can't wait to see what it is! Why don't you go take a look?"

This is already too much adrenaline in the morning for my retired racing driver bones to handle.

"Mnng...", I mumble in feeble attempt to return her greeting. It's always tiring trying to match Sarah's tempo, and so I decide to do as she said and mosey on over to where the cargo had just been lowered. It was still covered in a tarp way too big for it, with the whole thing looking no wider than a Queen size bed and not much taller than a kiddy pool. I guess it's another week of sleeping in the Mazda, then.

"Shall I?", Sarah eagerly lifts a corner of the tarp to her chest with both her clenched fists, glimmering eyes locked in my direction and beaming her sun rivaling smile squarely at me. I gesture for her to just "get on with it", and she tears away at the tarp with a twirl of her entire body, wrapping herself up with it in the process, which does nothing at all to hide her boundless zeal. "Ta–daa~!"

"Urgh Esther WHAT THE HELL?!", I awake with a furor. Of all the colours and liveries she could've sent for testing, reviewing, and photo shooting, THIS was the best she can do?!

"What's wrong, don't you like it?" Sarah quizzically quips. It's really annoying how bad she is at reading the room and situation, but at the same time, it's impossible to hate someone with a pure heart and smile like that. I try my best to not drag her down, but as you can probably tell, I'm not very good at it, especially when I'm exiled out here to the purgatory that is Seven Haven, and my office keeps sending me stuff like chip computers and exhaust pipes for cars I don't have with me, expecting me to review them. Am I supposed to smash them together and tell you how well they function as a loudspeaker?

And this was the last straw the broke the camel's back. "IT'S FUCKING PINK!"

"Hey, it's got a four cylinder engine—rare for a Kei car. And I love the fully automatic roof of this Active Top model!"

"That adds thirty kilos to its kerb mass!"

"It's got a five speed manual!"

"Geared to the moon!"

"It revs to 9,000rpm!"

"It dies past 7,000!"

"Hmph! You have no idea how much attention you'll get parking this at the GT Café—the gathering spot for enthusiasts the world over, mind you!"

Sarah, "Hmph"ing me? That's... so out of character for her that it's downright eerie, despite her cartoonishly playful pout, like a pissed off caterpillar in its cocoon. I wonder if it's something I said?

Trying to find something nice to say about the car, I open the driver side door to find...

"EWW! It's an automatic?!"

"Well, this is a surprise! I can't say I've seen one with an automatic gearbox before in Seven Haven. Wouldn't it be good to review one in automatic, after your initial review of a manual two years ago?"

After a prolonged, exasperated sigh that was more a cry for help than a sigh, I whimper, "if I have to".

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

Race day came as it always does, and one thing very quickly became clear simply by listening to the cars from the pit lane: my peers were mostly driving manual Copens, including but not limited to Obelisk, who brought his darling spec cup car to the meet, and Vic, who may or may not be a malevolent AI coded with a singular purpose of destroying any racer on the track with humanly impossible pace. Still trying to figure that one out after three years.

I'm no stranger to losing races to such stiff competition, but if we are to test for the pace difference between an automatic and manual, shouldn't the faster guys be saddled with the automatic instead? "An Automatic Win! Retired Racing Driver Tries To Beat The Algorithm: Lap Number 5 Will SHOCK You!!!" is a title that practically writes itself. As stated earlier, Vic is a malevolent AI whose literal and singular purpose in this world is to humiliate us with equal machinery, and you'll have to surgically remove the 5 speed manual gear lever from Obelisk's rectum with a plasma cutter to seperate him from his beloved Copen, and I doubt even our handy fireman, Yard_Sale, has either the hardware or expertise for that.

I might be a retired racing driver, but one thing that refuses to get left behind is a competitive fire: When I see someone else doing what I do, but better, it burns me up inside. It could be anything: driving, writing, being happy... doesn't matter: I want to win. I can't explain it. That's all there is to it.

"ESTHEEEEER!", I bellow out the moment the call connected, the pit walls adding a demonic echo to my agony. "WHY'D YOU SEND ME AN AUTOMATIC?! EVERYONE BUT ME AND BARON HAS A MANUAL!"

"We ran out of manuals", was her calm to a point of dismissive reply.

And that was that, really. What more do you want me to say to that?

"If you insist on a manual...", she unexpectedly continues after my dejected silence. "You'll have to source one for yourself in Seven Haven. You should have about 4 minutes and 27 seconds before race start. Your best bet would be to ask the locals."

"What are the chances that someone here just randomly has a bone stock 2002 Copen with the rare 5 speed stick, charitable enough to loan it to a total stranger that has 0 Credits in his racing suit?!"

"I don't see how I can help you with that over the phone."

Translation: I don't see how that is my problem.

"May I hang up now? I have my job as an editor to attend to."

Translation: Shut up and leave me alone.

"Hello, XSquareStickIt!"

"YIIIIAAAARGH!"

*click*

"Would you like to borrow my Copen?"

"Can you please stop calling me by my full— wait, what?"

Sarah leans in towards me, ripping my radio earpieces from my ears, and playfully raising her voice, "WOULD YOU LIKE TO BORROW MY COPEN?!"

I clamp down on her forearms in sheer excitement and likewise lean in towards her face, bringing us closer than we've ever been. Shouting even louder back at her, "YEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!"

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

Debuting in 2002, the diminutive Daihatsu Copen was almost a lone lighthouse in a very dark time for the car enthusiast. With stricter emission laws that year dealing the final blow to beloved classics like the Supra, RX-7, GT-R, GTO, and Silvia, the light, cheap, cheerful, peppy, and very agile Copen proves that not all sporting spirit is dead in Japan. As history has now shown us with various martyrs like the AZ-1 and S660, sporty Kei cars are a packaging paradox that don't tend to sell, but the Copen defies this trend by still being in healthy production today, some 21 years after its debut, out–lasting its sporty brethren regardless of size. Clearly, Toyota has gotten something very, very right with the Copen that other manufacturers aren't privy to. But what is it exactly that makes it so special?

To me, it's the fact that the Copen is sensibly front wheel drive, instead of its other sporty Kei companions that try to adopt rear wheel drive like a full sized car. With a wheelbase that short, the cars inevitably become incredibly snappy and tail happy things, and that's before some manufacturers go the extra inch to sling the engine aft the cockpit or freaking turbocharge them, turning them into widowmakers wearing a Kei car smile that would even cause seasoned racing drivers to express concern over driving on the public roads. The sensible front wheel drive layout coupled with the meticulous reliability and build quality Toyota are known for results in a safe, cheap, economical, fun, agile, and solid car that reliably puts a smile on its driver's face, on or off the track.

That is, if you spec your Copen with a manual gearbox.

The most immediate thing that strikes one when driving the Copen is, well, how slow it is. With only 62HP, I could slip into and wake from a several boredom induced comas before the Copen hits 100km/h from a downhill standing start with tailwind. But, there's a slight trick to that 62HP; said 62HP only happens at 6,400rpm, and so you think, "wow, that's high up. It's a rev–it–out engine, then?" Except, you'd be wrong, because 6,5 is mere middling range for the minuscule JB-DET engine, which can spin all the way up to a Supra surpassing, S2000 rivaling 9,000rpm before fuel cut! Not that there's much of a chance anyone experiences fuel cut in the Copen, as the high revving engine isn't rev happy at all, terminally hyperventilating past 7,000rpm. With the rather wide ratios of the 5 speed gearbox, 7,500rpm is the highest the engine will realistically see on the racetrack before the clutch pedal is pressed in. The power loss is so severe that first timer drivers who rev their Copens to near redline will get gapped by several car lengths by a driver who shifts the Copen correctly. Well, several Copen car lengths, but several car lengths, nonetheless.

Even when specced and driven correctly however, there is nothing a Kei car can do to hide its lack of speed on a racetrack. While full sized cars with their full sized power look to smoothly connect out–in–out lines to maximise turning radii and minimise speed loss, the to–do list in the Copen is instead to simply find the shortest distance through a ribbon of asphalt, as its low speed and narrow body often mean that it will have turning radius and grip to spare through many of the turns of the wide, smooth, sanctioned racetracks meant to facilitate battle among GT3 and LMP1 machines. If the 203HP FC RX-7 from last week found most of these sanitised racetracks way too wide and smooth, then putting a Kei car on them feels like putting a paper plane on an actual runway. In fact, it's only at cumbersome, undignified bottlenecks of certain circuits where racing drivers have to damn near stall their racing cars, like the pit entry of Autopolis, that the Copen feels in its element. Suffice it to say that the Copen doesn't give that sensation often, and it's such a shame. I can only hope to imagine what these Kei cars must feel like at racing pace going door to door with each other in more confined spaces, such as the GT Arena nestled inside a stadium, or even the claustrophobic streets of Citta di Aria. Even Tsukuba feels too big and wide for these cars!

One track that did feel a good fit for the Copen is the rallycross layout of Catalunya, and driving the Copen there was a real eye opening experience! Simply equipping Dirt tyres on the Copen shoots its PP value up from 292.88 to 338.58, and that's because those Dirt tyres are much, much more grippy even on the paved asphalt than the car's default road tyres! I could crank the wheel so much farther and with so much aggression that the car almost felt like it'd tip over before the tyres let go in the tightest bits of the circuit. Even on loose dirt surfaces, the Dirt tyres offered such an abundance of grip that one could Scandi Flick the car with the smallest amount of brake input. Between the short wheelbase, supple suspension, and gobs of turbocharged low end torque, the Copen felt remarkably like a pint sized rally car!

On paved tarmac though, that soft suspension setup can become a slight problem, even with miserable Comfort Medium tyres. Under hard braking loads, the rear end can easily become rather detached from the road, and aggressive trail braking can transform the Copen Active Top into the Copen Hyperactive Rear. While this is very helpful for tight, low speed corners, it can be quite a harrowing experience at higher speed turns taken at triple digit km/h speeds. Of course, the car can't possibly carry a slide elegantly through to the corner exit, being FF, and so what tends to happen in these scenarios is that the car can go from oversteering into the apex of a corner to suddenly understeering into the outside barrier of the turn. Obelisk has already mentioned this in his deep dive into the Copen, but I'll restate it here because it really is that damn important: Do most of your braking in a straight line and only chuck it into a turn when you're almost fully off the brakes. In a momentum car such as the Copen, preserving speed through corners is tantamount to a good time, and nothing bleeds speed quite like snappy weight shifts or a meeting with the barrier.

Annoyingly for a car with notably soft springs, the Copen is confoundingly bad at dealing with bumps and kerbs on the road. With a car this small, you'll often find yourself riding rumble strips whole to maximise the course, but the Copen has a very pronounced pause after being flung airbourne by these rumble strips before the springs and tyres find grip back on terra firma, instead of simply wafting past these road imperfections like most cars I complain about being soft. I'm guessing this is the one case wherein a car's lightness works against it? This problem is most prominently felt at the Inner Loop of Watkins Glen, though other tracks like Alsace Test Course can also bounce this problem into the limelight. I'm not saying to avoid these bumpy shortcuts; they're very much still the fastest way around the corners. Just make sure to leave a bit of buffer room in the "landing zone" to give the car some time to find its footing.

Overall, the Copen is an inoffensive, solid all rounder of a sporty Kei car. With just a few tweaks to its engine mapping and a bit of beefing up to its suspension, I think it could've been something really spectacular. As it comes from the factory though, I think it's better for cruising around a tight city than it is tackling even the narrowest and winding of racetracks.

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

"You beat Vic in the race! Well done! I knew you could do it, XSquareStickIt!", boomed Sarah's voice on cue with the sound of the door bursting open. Good thing I was taking off the top half of my suit and not the bottom.

"Eh, I got lucky. I started near pole and he got caught in traffic."

"I think you really might have what it takes to be someone really special here in Seven Haven, XSquareStickIt!"

"A-are you... listening to me?"

"How was the car? I bet it was great, wasn't it?"

"It was alright. Fun for one make races, but I don't think it'd be something I seek out again in the future."

"Ehhhh? But why not?"

I sigh. "You remember the day I first got here and you pulled some tendons out my socket dragging me around town? The Honda Fit I drove that day would run circles around it. And the events in Seven Haven have only gotten faster and faster since then. I really don't know what I ought to be doing with a car slower than that Fit."

"Why, enjoy it, if course! Cruise around the beautiful nature with the top down, soak in the sun and the attention you get when you roll up at GT Café, connect with new people..."

Yeah, maybe I ought to. It's just ironic how cars have become a stressful, transactional thing ever since they became my jobs. I suppose the surefire way to make yourself hate something is to make it your job. Maybe I ought to learn to relax a little before I burn myself out.

"...make you a millionaire, you know, the list is endless!"

"Yeah, maybe one day... hey, uh, are you... free? To grab... a MILLIONAIRE?!"

"Mm hmm! You heard me! There's this annual endurance series for Kei Cars held at Autopolis for Kei cars up to 400PP. The top prize is a cool 1.2 million Credits!"

"What's the competition like? Moves, Storias, Wakes, Midgets?"

"Beats and S660s."

"You're insane."

"...oh. You too, huh?"

Uh-oh! This conversation got real serious, real quick! What did I say? What did I do? I feel like I've accidentally put out the sun by sneezing or something, WHAT IS GOING ON? How can Sarah be sad? What did I do? What do I do?!

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

"Well now, ain't that a cute sight, that is, right there. What can I do yer for, stranger? Turn it into a top fuel dragster?", said the big, bald, burly man in betraying blue under the company's really red banner as he chuckled at the sight of a fat old man tumbling out of a car way too hip for him.

"Argh! Oof! Ahh... Ugh, seriously? Calling a tuner shop 'Understeer'? What next, a tyre company calling themselves 'Triangle Tyres'? An insurance company named 'Ham Kah Chan'?"

"A rose by any other name, son. Ya here to pimp yer ride, or pick a fight? I've got High Lift Camshafts lubed up ready to stick up yours and grill over anti lag flames."

"I'm here to tune a car to pick a fight."

"Music to my ears either way, sonny. You got a benchmark or budget?"

"I'm told... to get this car as close to, but under... (I'm getting pranked, aren't I?) 400PP"

"Iiinnnnteresting, son. I think your best bet would be a power build, being a FF and all."

"Unfortunately, nah. I need a more frugal setup. It's going to have to last an hour on full tilt."

"400PP for a whole hour, eh? I'm startin' to get the picture, son. I'd recommend you start with weight savings, yeah. Weight is the main enemy to longevity, see-"

"Yeahyeahyeahyeahyeahyeah, I know. How much can you take out of the car?"

"For Stage 1, we swap the car's batteries for a lighter variant. We also remove the car's weighty air con and stereo systems. Once we do this, the changes can't be undone, so make sure-"

"WHAT?"

"Ya hard on hearing, son? Need me to speak up?"

"Which goon of a mechanic can't put back batteries and air con after they've ripped them out?!"

"If you have a change of heart, son, you can always buy a whole new body for the car at... 21,600 Credits."

"THAT COSTS MORE THAN THE WHOLE CAR WHEN IT WAS NEW!"

"Logistics don't always work out for the end user for a small company such as ourselves, who hire only the most talented technicians that take the utmost–"

"Y-Y'know what? Nevermind the weight. 830 kilos is plenty light enough. Can I have a cage and some lightweight wheels?"

"Them's GT Auto's bidness next door."

"What? They're a car maintenance shop, and you're a tuning shop, why are you—"

"Them's the breaks, son."

"An AWD swap?"

"Only at our Mexican Branch."

"God's sake... Tyres. You have tyres? Comfort Softs? Do you weld them to the wheels and driveshafts? Can your mechanics take off a worn set, or do I have to buy a whole new car at inflated prices for fresh tyres?"

"You're looking to enter the Autopolis One Hour Kei Endurance for lil' Sarah, ain'tcha?"

H-how did he... That came out of nowhere!

I stood there, still with a dumbstruck look on my face. One moment this guy looks like a complete moron, and the next, it's like he has psychic powers. "You know Sarah?"

"Ain't a person here in Seven Haven who dunn' know her, son. But at the same time... hardly anyone here in Seven Haven knows her, either."

"What... are you talking about?"

"Lil' Sarah's not that good at talking 'bout herself. Unless you got special treatment?"

"N-no, nothing of the sort. I know nothing about her, either."

I never did stop to think about it.

"Well, either way, have a good package tune for the Copen, actually. Low ratio manual transmission, sports suspension, a smarter chip, freer flowing exhaust, more resilient brake pads, lighter flywheels, a fuel controller, and Stage 1 weight reduction... basically, what the spec car folks run. Battle tested base tune, easy to build further upon. We've done this for a great many folk."

"Hmm? Nah. I want full customisability for the Suspension, Diff, and Gearbox."

"You sure that's not overkill, son? We have 'em, sure, but they'll 'COST MORE THAN THE WHOLE CAR WHEN IT WAS NEW' y'know?", he says with a chuckle. Sigh. And this is why the end user loses out in a monopoly.

"You get what you pay for, right? They're more worthwhile in the long term in case she ever gets serious about this."

"Ain't your first rodeo, I hope?"

"It's been a while since my last."

"You got the Credits?"

"No discount for the Understeer decals on the car?"

"I'll throw in the fuel controller and your second set of tyres for free."

"Fair enough."

At checkout, this is what my shopping list looked like:

Comfort: Soft: COMPLEMENTARY

Comfort: Soft: 1,120

Fully Customizable Suspension 12,000

Fully Customizable Differential: 5,250

Full Customizable Computer: 3,500

Fully Customizable Manual Transmission: 11,000

High–RPM Turbocharger: 17,200

Racing Intercooler: 3,100

Racing Air Filter: 2,000

Racing Muffler: 7,000

Racing Exhaust Manifold: 2,450

Racing Brake Pads: 1,000

Brake Balance Controller: 1,500

Power Fuel Controller: COMPLEMENTARY

Grand Total: 46,420 Cr.

Power: 62HP→115HP

Weight: 830kg (1,830lbs)→830kg (1,830lbs)

Performance Points: 292.88PP→399.80PP

...plus another 4,000 Credits for a set of lightweight 14–Inch Yokohama ADVAN Racing GT wheels from GT Auto. Yes, downsized from the stock 15s. I hear large wheels aren't that good for fuel economy. Wouldn't want a puncture at the 59th minute, either. I think 14s are much more proportionate to the rest of the car, anyway. I wanted a roll cage, but I literally cannot contort my fat body enough to get into and out of the Kei car with the cage, so I guess the strat come Sunday is to "just not crash". Or get crashed into. My experience tells me that's more often than not the optimal strat to win races.

With this being someone else's car, I wanted to make sure that I only did bolt on mods, so that they can be easily removed or undone if not to Sarah's liking. With this being her only car as well, I wanted to retain the car's usability as a road car, which meant that the air con and stereo had to stay, and I opted for the adjustable manual gearbox instead of the sequential, keeping the car's stock clutch and flywheel so it doesn't stall easily. It's also for this reason that I didn't opt for the carbon ceramic brakes. That, and, well, the OE brakes on this thing work just fine, honestly. I think putting carbon ceramics on this thing is liable to fire off the car's airbags on full braking. Only change to the braking system are uprated pads (because they're cheap) and a brake balance controller to shift as much braking load to the rear as possible to preserve front tyre life. And after that, all that remained was adding power while keeping within 400PP... whatever that means. To this end, a high RPM Turbo kit replaces the wanting stock blowers. The full racing, straight pipe exhaust looks stupid as a single exit pokes out of a rear bumper with cutouts for two, and it sounds like a sexually aroused moose with anal cancer passing gas, but it's a necessary part with the big turbo. I'm definitely taking them off first thing after the race.

"Ain't every day I get a nutjob cruise up to my humble shop ready to drop BMW i3 money on parts alone, lemme tell ya! Whoo! This calls for a drink!"

"I don't like half assing things. Often works to my detriment."

He turns his back to me, half bottle in one hand and grabbing tool after tool off the wall with the other, knowing full well what his next job would entail, and exactly which tools in which sizes he'd need for said job. "Ain't my tale to tell, but if you're dropping this much money to risk life and limb for her out on the track, I figure ya oughta know."

"Know what?"

"That it ain't easy being a car girl. She used to get mocked a lot in school by the hardcore kids for liking the Copen. You know, the Skyline, Supra, VTEC crowd. They think she says she likes cars just to be popular with the boys. Kids are cruel like that."

"I know."

"But Sarah liked what she liked. No a'changin that. Kids have a way of fixating on the first thing that catches their attention, y' hear? Sometimes it even ends up definin' their whole lives."

"I know."

"She had a rough go at it, growing up. That's why she's so bright and bubbly, y'know? She dunn' want no one to feel what she felt. You could tell her you like a total toilet of a car like the MiTo and she'd be all like, 'Oh, that's a great car, I'm happy for you! I'm sure you'll have many special moments and memories with the car!' Or some generic crap like that."

"I know."

"But, see... hrragh! That there's the problem if you ask an old tuning shop fart like me. You don't recognise faults and fix 'em, you never improve."

"I know."

"S'ppose you can see it in her car: it's her ideal Copen; perfect the way it is. Just the way she saw it in magazines 'n blog posts way back when. Her keepin' it bone stock must be like a middle finger to the pops and bangs crowd. It's one thing standin' up for yerself and what you love, but lil' Sarah—maybe it's not my place to be sayin' this—I think she's stuck where she stood firm in the past. Ain't no way to be livin' life, 'specially not a car life."

"I know."

"I don't know who you are, stranger. But I'm glad you sparked sumthin' in Sarah. Girl's been radiating a million watt smile from a dead battery for years. Can't even imagine what it's been doin' to her soul."

Just as he finishes saying that, a trolley full of boxes; big, small, and everything in between, is pushed up to the side of the Copen, along with a bevy of tools ready to intrude. "Competition's got its way of forcing change in folk, lemme tell ya. High time 'lil Sarah grew up a little. Methinks this Copen's been waiting to have its cherry popped for a long time."

"I kno—wait, WHAT?!"

"GAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! Don't worry too much 'bout it, son. I think she'll be plenty happy just to have someone stand by her and take 'er seriously. Just don't crash and you'll be fine."

"At Autopolis? In a Copen? Not likely."

"Ahh haha! Those're fighting words backed by pro experience, ain't they."

Aw crap, now I'm the one who spoke too much.

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

I'll be extra honest when saying this: I have severe doubts about this whole shebang from the start.

Strolling through the pits, I feel like I've somehow mistakenly driven into a S660 vs Beat grudge match: those were all the cars I've seen in the paddock thus far. Is there a clearance sale for these cars I missed, or what? It's enough to make me doubt my sanity and check again and again the official paperwork that I've shown up at the right time and the right place with an eligible car. Then again, I'm showing up to an endurance race with an FF car—almost literally the one legged man in an ass kicking contest. I don't think sanity is quite in the cards for me.

The Honda Beat, despite being a brilliant car in its own right, I'm not so worried about; those damn things are death traps even with fresh tyres. Rather, it's the Honda S660 that concerns me: Not only does the Copen weigh the exact same as the much more modern midship, but the damn thing has a 6 speed mated to a highly versatile powerplant. Plus, most of these cars have GT Wings and sequential gearboxes from the sound of it. Seriously, a GT Wing, on a Kei car that struggles to hit 160km/h on the downhill back straight of Autopolis? Anti Lag in a fuel constrained race? Had the event regulations not limited our cars to 400PP and Comfort Soft tyres, these guys would have thrown their souls into the bin if it meant making them a car that looked or sounded faster.

In other words, I think I rolled up to a typical Honda meet with a Daihatsu Copen.

And, of all the tracks to have this Kei car grudge match on, Autopolis was their great idea? The track that's renowned for boring, impossible to overtake races even with the blistering, incomprehensible speed of Super Formula cars? Yeah, that track, and not even the mercifully self aware shortcut course, either, but the full 4.7km bonanza of boring. This is a track with a million different feasible lines through its non flowing corners, and none of them feel right.

All of that works perfectly to my advantage in the Copen.

Due to the handling deficit of being FF, my Copen was allowed to have more power than the rest of the field. Being a full sized course usually hosting faster machinery, this track is WAY too long for Kei cars... which means many, many prolonged seconds of full throttle simply waiting to get to the next corner, during which I effortlessly sailed past the sequential Hondas with the full force of 400 primed peepees pinning me to the back of my seat... whatever those are.

The car as a whole felt immense! I'm not sure what Sarah or Understeer did to the steering of the Copen, but it felt WAY stronger with much more granular feel than the last Copen I drove two years ago, which allowed me to feel almost literally with my fingertips the condition of the front tyres as the event wore on. With the uprated springs and shortened ratios, the Copen felt like a lighter and angrier supercharged Mini. It's one of the very few, if not only FF car I've driven that genuinely wants to rotate mid corner instead of simply turning and dragging its arse along. I hardly even did anything to the default settings of the fully customisable parts I bought, either; they're set up out of the box to give a comfortable, capable base, one that only requires tinkering to suit personal tastes, but it's plenty good enough for me as it is.

The only slight complaint I had during shakedown was that the only thing high about the High RPM Turbo Kit was the person when they named it; peak power is still squarely in the stock car's region of ~6,500rpm, and the car still dies past 7,5. And to think, this stupid snail is almost the cost of the entire car when brand new! However, those complaints quickly evaporated when the COTW technicians told me that the turbo was generating its peak boost of 0.5 Bar from as middling as 5,500rpm, though it's a shame that neither Toyota nor Understeer had a turbo gauge to fit in the car. With torque that far down and gear ratios that short, I was even taking the slowest corner of the course, the hairpin turning away from the Shortcut Corse, in 3rd. Because my car retained the 3 pedal setup, I could even skip shift from 3rd to 5th on the downhill back straight to save fuel, and the car's stupid mid range torque just made it seem natural.

All this meant that I kept the revs low and could save fuel where the peaky Hondas had to rev out their VTECs, and they still couldn't match my pace on the straights! The quickest of those even had to make two stops for fuel within the hour, whereas I made do with just one stop with a slightly lean fuel mix. Yes, I was getting out braked and out cornered. Yes, my front left tyre was almost completely out of tread when I pit for a new set. But after a dominant few opening laps, the Honda drivers fell back, almost as if they gave up. Even as my lap times went off a cliff witb my front tyres, they never did catch up. They just could not cope with the Copen.

And, you know what? I'd be lying if I wrote that I didn't have the goofiest smile on my face the entire time. The 1.2 million winning prize was just the cherry on the Active Top :)

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

"ES! ES! ESSSSSSS! HE DID IT! HE WON! MY COPPY WOOOOOON!"

"I was watching. Congratulations are in order!"

"C'mon Es, I just got 600k for that! Lemme treat you to some Affogato at the GT Café. You HAVE to come! You can't say no to Affogato!"

"I'd love to, Rahrah, but I... ah sh— YARD! PUT THAT PLASMA CUTTER DOWN! We have procedures— OBELISK! OBELISK RUN!"

"Heehee. Is everyone at Car of the Week like this? Es? Es, you there?"

"Haaaah... god's sake... No, no not really. Honestly, if you just wanted your Coppy to win, I'm sure all you had to do was to ask Vic. Would've been way easier than doing all this."

"I just hoped that the ride in the Copen was what he needed, Es. I've never seen someone so sad in Seven Haven before. I mean, gosh, it's right there in the name, isn't it?! It's illegal to be that gloomy here!"

"Still can't stand seeing people sad, huh?"

"Yeah, but honestly, how did you do it? Everything went exactly like you said it would!"

"I've edited that man's diatribe for 3 years now, I think I know the way his brain works."

"You're so evil, Es!"

"I'm just good at my job, Rahrah. Lee—XSquareStickIt—is a critic. He tends to see the negatives first. Sometimes he doesn't get past that. I think that's especially true for how he sees himself. He often needs those around him to pull his head out his ass to see the bigger picture. I... probably shouldn't have sent him alone to Seven Haven, in retrospect. It's just... this new writer, he..."

"Maybe... maybe I'll tell him to... um... 'get his head out his ass' next time we meet. Did I say that right?"

"Y–you will? Sarah, that's... wow."

"I know. I need to change. As do you, and everyone else."