GT7 W38: De Tomaso Mangusta '69

As can probably be surmised from my livery of the Mangusta, I too, didn't have a good first impression of the car. I had even wanted to have my special challenge entry to just be the review of the car, but seeing everyone dog pile on the Mangusta made me want to play devil's advocate a little.

Taken on its own, the Mangusta is a torrid drive. It's a pricey LCD exclusive, flops about like JTG selling The Cobra, and takes longer than a bobble head accessory to stop, making it extremely difficult to coax any consistency out of, if not an outright hazard to drive. The steering wheel feels less connected to the front wheels and more to a binary light switch; past a certain steering angle, the rear end just lights up and gives out, and once this car starts sliding, good luck getting it back with its 32:68 weight distribution propped up on the expired pasta they call "springs". But this is precisely why I always like to bring comparison cars to pit against the Car of the Week: context.

The Shelby G.T. 350 is a stripped out homologation model, and it still weighs more than the Mangusta. It takes a similar age to stop, flops about as well, and it will shred its inside rear tyre out of a turn just to keep reminding its driver of its wide open diff. The Mangusta in comparison, has a monstrous launch thanks to its extremely rear biased weight distribution, and keeps pulling at speed with its extremely close and short 4th and 5th gears, the latter of which an obscure rarity among its contemporary peers. While the suspension setup is soft enough to make the Mangusta stargaze on power, what that also means is that the Mangusta puts down its power really well if treated gently and set up for corner exits properly, its explosive power, rear mass bias, and a locking rear diff always inviting the driver out for just a bit of fun.

At roughly 333k, the base Mangusta is by no means cheap, especially if one fancies the tan interior of the Dior version that costs a whopping half a million. But, among the cars I've shortlisted to be interesting comparisons, the base Mangusta was the cheapest by quite a margin!

De Tomaso Mangusta — 333k

Dior Mangusta — 500k

Shelby G.T. 350 — 500k

Mazda RX500 — 600k

Porsche 901 Carrera RS — 745k

*Prices are as of time of writing when the car last appeared in the LCD. Like, duh.

And here's what a quick, impromptu time attack around Laguna Seca yielded for me:

Porsche 901 Carrera RS — 1:43.0

De Tomaso Mangusta — 1:44.0

Mazda RX500 — 1:45.3

Shelby G.T. 350 — 1.47.4

So, first cheapest, second fastest. Not bad at all, I don't think!

But why did I shortlist these few cars in particular to pit against the Mangusta? Well, the G.T. 350 is simply the Shelby that's closest in performance to the Mangusta, and seeing that the Mangusta was implied to be named as such after Carrol Shelby pulled out of a collaborative effort with De Tomaso, it just seemed like a must. The RX500 is similarly a RMR LCD exclusive from the same time period, even having gullwing doors for its engine compartment like the Mangusta. The 901 is... well, most probably the single best sports car in the game, and I really needed to find something that can beat the Mangusta. It took a car costing well over double the Mangusta to beat the Mangusta and gripper CS tyres by default to do it!

The Mangusta may be wont to go the full 180 on me during those comparison tests, and yet somehow, my opinion on the Mangusta similarly 180–ed after these comparison tests gave me some context of the performance of its contemporary peers. See what a little context can do? I know you haven't clicked on that link earlier showing JTG selling the Cobra. Here it is again. Watch it now. I'm watching you. From behind. Always.

I think most people expect, prepare for, and more readily forgive classic muscle cars for their very upfront flaws. The De Tomaso Mangusta, wearing a relatively unknown Italian badge and slinging its NA V8 aft the cockpit, doesn't beget the same understanding and preparedness from its driver. Treat it as though a rear mid–engined muscle car with Italian styling, though, and I think the Mangusta will really start to shine, especially if treated with the same fear and respect that comes with classic pony and muscle cars. And hey, it will keep pulling beyond the quarter mile, and comes with a locking diff as standard! Granted, it's not a car that I will wake up one day yearning to drive, but at the same time, I'm willing to drive it for more than one race, which is more than what I had been willing to do for the Chaparral 2J and Dodge Demon.

GT7 W36: Dodge Viper GTS '13

Vipers have always been nostalgia capsules on wheels, and the last of its kind, debuting in 2013, is no different. Except, instead of unwieldy death traps of the 60s, the 5th generation, "VX" Viper reminds me of some of my favourite sports cars of the fabled 90s era, like the RX-7 and S2000.

Quite an unexpected comparison I'm making here, isn't it? After all, Vipers, regardless of generation or trim, have always been characterised by being utterly horrifying to drive at the limit, and in spite of the begrudging inclusion of basic electronic nannies like ABS, TCS, and ASC, the 5th and final Viper will still require a set of carbon fibre balls the size of its enormous clamshell bonnet to properly tango with, owing to it being the lightest and most powerful base Viper yet: a bowtie ripping 640HP shoving around a mere 3,430lbs of venom (477kW, 1,553kg) in GTS trim without the SRT Track Pack, easily making it the quickest base Viper, which means the driver has to be even quicker to dodge any potential bite backs the car might fancy.

Of course, by 2013, technology has enabled the power wars of automakers to go well beyond the comprehension of mere mortals, and even the improved numbers of the VX Viper aren't especially outstanding in an era of 638HP Corvettes and 900HP hybrid hypercars. Instead, the Viper preserves its terrifying tendencies by being entirely traditional and mechanical in its suspension setup: the VX Viper doesn't have racecar–stiff springs nor the downforce to crush it into powder, instead letting the car lean in naturally on its gargantuan 295–355 tyres to get grip. The problem with this traditional approach, of course, is that it puts the idiotic, fleshy bit somewhere aft the middle of the car in control, and if mistreated, the Viper isn't shy about snap oversteering completely and going after its own tail like a nostalgic game of Snake. This is especially problematic because there's something about the Viper's Pirelli P Zero Sport Hard tyres that make the rear end let go rather arbitrarily with little warning on power, leading to a near–unrecoverable fishtailing session thanks to the soft suspension. The brakes are insultingly and dangerously weak for a car of its power and mass, too, taking a good 30 to 50% longer to stop than would be intuitive, while barely activating ABS in the process. A freaking 2 tonne Challenger Demon would comfortably out–brake this Viper into a corner! Despite the spec sheet claiming that the VX Viper has a perfect 50:50 weight distribution, the Viper feels laboriously front heavy when trail braking into corners, requiring braking and turning to be almost entirely separate affairs. All told, there's probably a very good reason why other cars with the Viper's power aren't set up like the Viper, and it's only things with half to a third of the Viper's power and mass that let the driver have full control over the car.

And so, at this point, you might be thinking as you read this, "so, Viper terrible car, then? Why do you compare it to some of the best handling cars in this industry?" Yes, the Viper GTS is a terrible car for outright pace, but what it offers in exchange is a blast from the past in the form of an extremely raw, mechanical, involving, and engaging drive. There is almost no such thing as a casual drive in a Viper; the driver has to be awake, cognisant, and deliberate in everything that they ask of a Viper GTS, and can't rely on computer wizardry or crippling understeer to bail them out of trouble. I never get the impression driving a Viper that its makers were setting up the car to protect themselves against lawsuits from inexperienced punks. Its makers know that the Viper is a car whose reputation precedes it, and no one would go into it not knowing what to expect, and they made us a car that LETS responsible adults be kids again, and that I think is an ailing niche in a vilified industry. The reason why I say that the VX Viper reminds me of some of the best handling sports cars in history like the RX-7 and S2000 is precisely because those revered handling benchmarks were never easy to drive, either; they all had minimal electronic aids, lacked any downforce, emphasised cognisant and skilful weight shifting with soft suspension setups, demanded the driver to intuit mechanical feedback to be driven to their full potential, and made sure to have their drivers' full attention, unhesitating to snap off on inexperienced drivers. All that results in an intensely intimate and raw driving experience, just like the Viper. And for as much as the soft springs of the Viper let it move around that much more under cornering loads, they still somehow feel proportionate to the car's power and mass. Sudden tail happiness on power aside, it never once felt unfair or unpredictable, and the naturally aspirated 8.4L V10 finally feels like a proper sports car engine, wanting to be revved high in spite of its abundant mid range torque, shedding that lazy feeling that had defined Viper V10s up to this point. And it only comes with a 6–speed manual gearbox! Aren't those descriptions apt for some of the best drivers' cars out there? Why shouldn't the Viper be considered a great drivers' car, if it fits all those descriptions?

The VX Viper GTS then, feels almost like a comical exaggeration, the logical evolution, the next step, or the "hard mode" of raw, pure drivers' cars of the 90s, and at the 640HP range, I daresay it is entirely unique in being able to offer that combination of power and raw handling that comprise said "hard mode". Almost like a ridiculously difficult exam, you don't go into a VX Viper expecting to learn from the experience; you go into it putting yourself to the test to see if you have learned from past experiences, and any gratification that can be gained from doing well in it is entirely personal; no one but you is going to know what a big deal it is.

As such, even someone who loves Vipers as fervently as I do finds it extremely difficult to recommend it to others, even in a virtual setting. Just as I'm sure nobody flaunts their exam grades at a bar to pick up a partner, it's extremely difficult to say, "it's a good exam car" to recommend picking it over the swathes of other faster and easier cars to drive at this performance level, some of which include the R35 GT-R, a 458 Italia, and even the sonorous LFA. And while SPD may cite a Top Gear saying as the thing that stuck out to him the most about the VX Viper, what stuck with me the most was a different automotive media outlet with a much more sour opinion of the Viper's venom...

https://youtu.be/S3KTN6Eua_A?si=9oh-mQPEBIaV44YD

...and that would be Motor Trend's Head 2 Head Episode 24, pitting the (then) new VX Viper GTS against an outgoing C6 generation Corvette ZR1. In spite of both cars sharing very similar specs on paper, racing driver Randy Pobst not only set the faster time in the older Corvette, but he also said it was the better handling car. Quite a way to introduce the world to a brand new car, isn't it? Granted, it was a test that pit a "base" Viper GTS against the top–of–the–line ZR1 Corvette, but still.

In the game, this difference in performance is duly represented; the C6 ZR1 is some 10PP above the Viper's performance rating, and even Vic on a Hail Mary run struggled to close the gap to my Blue Devil around Suzuka. The ZR1 felt a lot more balanced, slightly more nimble, and didn't waddle around in the twisty bits as the Viper. As for whether the C6 ZR1 is more fun than the Viper to drive, though? That's... up for debate :)

I recognise that there isn't a lot going for the Viper in this game, but as a Viper fanboy, I still had a lot of fun with it, even with the limited seat time I've had with the car, and I really enjoyed the challenge it brought to the table of taming it, rarely ever feeling uncooperative or unfair. I think it's exceedingly rare nowadays for a car to be so self–assured in its identity, and it comes off as refreshingly honest to me. But its playful nature and the resultant loss in pace just highlights the sore omission of an ACR trim Viper in this game. I would've loved to see what Dodge did to fully extract the potential from this capable base of a car, and what it can stand up to in a much more focused trim. But for now, the VX Viper is, sadly, a beater.

But it is a beater I very badly need in my life.

ACS060123: VDD-005: Misfit

As I'm sure my close friends and family can attest to, I get very angry when I drive. I'll be very vocal with my critiques of other drivers in the presence of close friends and family, sometimes to the point of pissing off those trusted people in my car. It's not even opinion; it's objective facts—I'll whine about cyclists not keeping to the side of the lane, motorcyclists straddling lanes, assholes not signalling, pedestrians blatantly crossing where and when they shouldn't, etc.. It's so bad that I can start mouthing off within minutes of leaving the carpark, because Singaporeans are all that bird brained. And that's almost "play anger", where I mask my anger with satire. I haven't even gotten to the downright dangerous bits where I scream and shout and want to drag their families to the stake and beat them for the amusement of a watching gallery.

Aside from █, I'm actually a stickler for road rules. I can be █, but I'll still signal and check my blind spots when changing lanes, and I will never tailgate anyone. When other people don't reciprocate, I get very angry, because to me it feels completely disrespectful to me, akin to a slap across the face. Yes, maybe that makes me a hypocrite, flaunting rules while chastising others for breaking them, but this is my personal writing and you can sod off if you don't want to indulge my self serving fantasy for a bit.

To me, it's like someone taking your office stationery without permission, someone openly picking their nose in your presence, or someone taking your pen without your permission to pick their nose with it while staring you in the face. On their own these little things may not mean much, even if they're blatantly disrespectful. And as such maybe it makes sense to some to not get angry at these little incidents. But what does it say about the place you inhabit if the vast majority of people think it's okay to do such things? Doesn't that make you angry at the world, or at least, sad at your own situation for being stuck in such a place? People almost change when they drive, granted some slight anonymity and absent immediate, direct verbal confrontation from others, and just like the internet, some people's assholic side comes out on full display the moment they have that veil to hide behind. My endless anger every day when I drive tells me that Singaporeans are rude, callous, uncultured, stressed, angry, clueless fuckwits by and large, and yes, I inferred all that from a collection of asswipes not signalling to turn in a lane that allows turning and going straight. I inferred that from having multiple cyclists think they have the right of way at a junction, cussing me out loudly enough for me to hear in my insulated car. I inferred that from PMD riders just zooming across zebra crossings without even giving me a glance, or a chance for me to see them and slow down. I inferred that from the 3 or 4 accident sites I see on a daily basis on the job. It gets to me because I know that any of them could have easily been me, no matter how careful or responsible I think I'm being. I inferred that from that time I was stopped at a junction and got rear ended at speed that sent my two passengers to the hospital.

I'm struggling with depression and genuinely wish I could be dead, and even I am more picky about how I want to die and who I want to bring with me. I genuinely cannot fathom the mindset of the general road user here in Singapore and what drives them to be more suicidal than me.

All that anger and dissatisfaction almost comes full circle back to me, because I'm only one person and I can't change the world. Hell, changing myself is difficult enough. Case in point: I wish I could let it go. I wish I could just go with the flow. I wish these small, everyday irritancies don't grate on me as much as they do. I wish I don't feel so angry every day so it stops draining me so much so quickly. I wish I could stop expecting basic fucking courtesy from people, and just accept that I'm poor, have to work to earn a living, and as such I have to swim in the same shit infested sewers with these clown fishes. I get it: every job, no matter how isolated and secluded, has moments like these aplenty. The whole point of a job is that you be of value to others, and to be of value to others, you have to interact with them. Even in a wordless scenario like on the public roads, I get "spoken to" enough to get massively angry. It's not a job thing. It's not a country thing. It's a me thing.

Sometimes I think I'm born in the wrong place, the wrong time, on a wrong planet, or maybe to the wrong species. Sometimes I think I'll never fit in or understand people, and other times I think I truly could be somebody special had I been born into the right circumstances and given some opportunities that played to my strengths. What I'll never know is how people can be okay with other people. I'm sure it's not a me thing. I'm sure it's not a problem exclusive to this job. I'm sure most people working your typical 9–5 hate it and most of their colleagues.