Welcome to The Piston Ring!
This is a blog dedicated to all things automotive, whether its the newest supercar, a classic icon, or simply the car culture itself, you can find it here. I update The Piston Ring regularly, and try to keep content as original as possible.
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For me, the name ‘Vanagon’ conjures up images of a
strung-out family camper, struggling to reach the crest of the hill on some
Colorado backroad. I wouldn’t be far off, considering the most powerful engine ever
available in a factory euro-spec model was a wheezy 112 horsepower Flat-4. Couple this with the nearly 2-ton curb
weight, and the Vanagon is no drag-strip rocket.
The T3 (Vanagon) redeemed itself in other ways, however. You
could get it in nearly every variation imaginable. Its massively roomy interior
design allowed the T3 to serve as a Camper, Multivan (passenger), pickup, and
even spawned an all-wheel drive version called the Syncro. Sure, it was not
hill climber, but it was a fun runabout for a family vehicle. You could get all
the kids, cargo, luggage, and the dog in the back, and still have room to
spare. Spec it out right, and you could
have a seriously fun van. Think how much fun it would be to take a T3 Westfalia
Syncro Camper down some trails with the family. It offered something for
everyone! Why, you could even buy one with a Porsche engine.
Wait, what?
Believe it or not, 11 T3s left the Zuffenhausen factory
floor with Porsche badges. Called the Porsche B32, the very existence of this
astounding van is shrouded in rumor and legend.
As the legend goes, Porsche was running their epic Group-B
959 in the Paris-to-Dakkar rally, and found themselves needing a support
vehicle. Relations were strong between VW and Porsche at the time, so they took
two Syncro T3s, and made some performance modifications.
Source: Autobild.de
First and foremost, they swapped out the motor. They could
have played it safe, and provided a modest power bump with the powerplant from
a 944. Instead, in typical Porsche
fashion, they went all-out and slipped a 3.2 Flat-6 from a Carrera into the
engine bay. Power went up to 230 horsepower, and top speed raised to a
terrifying 130 mph. Power was transferred through a 915 gearbox out of a 911 SC/914-6,
wheels and brakes were off a 944 S, and some photos show a steering wheel off
of a 964 C4.
Source: Autobild.de
Not content with keeping the B32 to themselves, they made
roughly 9 production models as an exercise in engineering. Prices were rumored to have been far above
that of a normal 911, and only a select few European dealers got their hands on
them. Rumors circulate that they were prepping a cleaned-up production model
for a Geneva Auto Show debut, but plans fell through.
What a shame. Imagine how much fun it would have been when
the aftermarket community got their hands on the B32. Someone would swap in a
3.3 from a 930, RUF would have made a ‘YellowBrick’, and the rest would be
history. Instead, the general public had to satiate their Porsche-Van fantasies
with their own unofficial Vanagon engine swaps.
Who knows, had the B32 been a success, perhaps the world
would have had the Cayenne much earlier.
For the past two years, I have been relatively “car-less”,
drifting between piloting my ’74 Baja Bug and my actual car, an ’07 Chevrolet
Cobalt SS/NA (2.4). My father, upon following my urges to pick up a ’81 Porsche
911 SC Targa, promptly sold off his ’03 Nissan Murano and began daily driving
my Cobalt, as the Porsche is not exactly suited to daily driving, what with the
spotty reliability and the lack of A/C in the sweltering Texas sun. So, I
turned over the keys to my beloved car with around 45K miles on the clock to my
DD-less father. This set-up proved effective for a while, until a miserable
semester with the horrendously unreliable and recalcitrant Baja Bug prompted a
forceful reclamation of my borrowed property. Yes, it was time to reclaim my
Cobalt. This meant two things; First, I now had reliable transportation between
Norman and Dallas, and second, my dad was in need of a new (or new to him) set
of wheels. Initially vying against the wishes of my mom for an F150, my dad
eventually came to understand that all he really needed in a DD is “spirited”
handling, economical thirst, practicality, and that alluring “fun” factor. He
had become accustomed to the Cobalt’s sporty suspension, peppy engine, large
trunk, and calm road-manners. You know what that means?
Hot hatch shopping!
Originally thinking he was simply going to pick up some
ratty used truck, he surprised me about two weeks ago when he texted me, quite
out of the blue, asking my thoughts on a new Mazda 3. This, of course, was
great news for me. When he was not using it, I get to zip around town in a
little manual-transmission sedan.
What could be better?
How about a big ‘ol dose of turbo? Yeah. A turbo makes
everything better.
Pictured: Better.
I frantically texted him with countless statistics, engine
sizes, info on turbos, 0-60 times, and horsepower figures of the Mazdaspeed 3.
He sent back a demure “We’ll see.”
He returned from work later that day with a dealer quote on
a 2013 Mazdaspeed 3.
Fantastic.
I quickly whipped up a list of other cars to try as
comparison for the turbo’d little hatch.
·’11-’13 Mustang GT
·’13 Ford Focus ST
·’13 VW GTi
·Some sort of Mini
·FR-S/BRZ
·Abarth 500
Much to my utter
disappointment, he promptly threw the Mustang out the window. He’s had one
before, and had no desire for one again. Too many on the streets, according to
him. He didn’t want a GTi, regardless of his previous ownership of a beloved
Mk. I, and the Mini/Abarth were too ‘quirky’ for him. So, we set out to various
dealers to test a Focus ST, Mazdaspeed 3, and a BRZ/FR-S. My inner auto-journo
was simply aquiver with anticipation.
Disclaimer: I only had
about 5-10 minutes in each vehicle, so this will not be a full
instrumented/thorough test of each. This article is composed of primarily first
impressions based on Quick Spins. Also, I was a dingus and forgot to take pictures of the actual cars. Sorry.
First up: Focus ST
Photo Credit: Car and Driver
As we pulled into the Ford dealer, my mind was racing. This
would be the first time I had ever laid eyes on a Focus ST in a public setting,
let alone driven one. How would I like the media’s darling? The little FWD
stunner had set the automotive world ablaze with its assured handling,
competitive price, European influence, and killer EcoBoost 2.0L. Would I be
similarly impressed?
As I let the clutch out on our Race Red ST, I found myself
in an unfamiliar environment. Quite the opposite situation to normal
enthusiasts, I quickly found that I am not accustomed to “new” manual
transmissions. I am extremely proficient with the manual transmissions in our
’81 Porsche 911, and my ’74 Baja Bug, but this new frontier of muted hydraulic
clutches and effortless gear changes was baffling to my old-world motoring
sensibilities. A smoothly operating transmission? What trickery is this?
Jokes aside, the transmission and clutch on the Focus is a
smooth affair that, in my opinion, neither excites nor douses the performance
attitude of the Focus. Shifting in the Focus is solid, but a little uninspired.
There is next to no feedback from the clutch, and the gear changes are without
drama. Again, I would chalk this up to my familiarity with the heavy cable-clutches
in the Beetle and Porsche, but later drives of the other two cars within this
test prove this assumption wrong.
The steering was a spot of contention with me as well, but I
found a happy medium. It is one of those trick variable-gearing steering racks
that provides quicker turn in with minimal steering input. For the layman: you
do not have to turn the wheel as much as you would in other cars to turn the
car into corners. Less turning means quicker steering. Here is a handy-dandy
video with all sorts of cool visuals from Ford themselves:
The steering is undeniably numb and a bit overboosted, but I
enjoyed the super-quick linearity of the variable gearing system. You win some,
you lose some.
The engine was a peach, though. The Focus’ 2.0L of
turbocharged fury was smooth and super responsive. If I remember correctly, it
would pull to 6800 rpm redline, always eager to rev and pull you through the
gears. Acceleration is strong, with a 0-60 time quoted at 5.9s as tested by MotorTrend. A rather neat-o
overboost system turns the wick up on the turbo to increase acceleration. Where
else have I experienced this nifty trick? Oh, yeah.
The interior was set up a bit sporadically, the center
console a wide array of chunky knobs and buttons, and the steering wheel a mass
of switches and dials. I mean, everything does what is expected, and its not
exactly difficult to find what you need, but it looks a bit disheveled compared
to the more traditional layouts of the other two cars I drove. However, unlike
the competitors, there was an air of luxury present within the Focus. All of
the materials and touchpoints were of quality and felt solid to interact with,
and funky layout aside, it was a pleasant place to be. All gauges were clear
and easy to read, and the steering wheel is a fantastically meaty little affair
that holds perfectly in your hands as you tear down the road. On a similar
note, I was in love with the optional Recaro sport seats. Physically squeezing
my sides, these seats made me feel like I was driving a seriously fast and
special car, and not a slightly upmarket hatch. This feisty attitude was well
represented throughout the car.
My hyperactive inner-child was on a sugar rush from all of
the boy-racer appeal of this hatch. Bright red ST badges, 18” wheels, engine
induction noise pumped into the cockpit, the seats, and that extraordinary
dash-mounted “sport” gauge cluster all screamed “LET’S GO SUPER FAST ALL THE
TIME”, but the way the car drove did not reflect this ADD attitude. Again, the
numb steering/clutch/shifter did not really prod me into driving like a
Monster-fueled maniac, and if there is one thing that I like to do, its to
drive like a Monster-fueled maniac. I’m all about stupid speed, oversteer, tire
screech, and all that noise, and on the surface, the Focus ST had that in
spades. But drive it for more than 5 miles, and a sense that the Focus is just
a rolling false advertisement for these things comes to the surface.
In reality, the Focus ST is a big softie. It talks a big
game, with its “Let’s go stir up some trouble” interior, but when the seatbelts
are on and the air conditioning is set just so, you realize it has four doors,
room for your golf clubs and groceries, and hill-assist. Where did they find
this engine? Why, they ripped it out of the raucous and racy Ford
Explorer/Escape. Its civilized, gets 32 mpg if you don’t drive like an idiot,
and at idle, you can hardly hear the engine from inside. I’m sorry, but if my
car has Recaros, it damn well better encourage me to pop the clutch at every
stoplight. I want it to be a rolling middle-finger to those pedestrians rolling
around in their little econoboxes.
What it feels like you should be doing with the Focus at every stoplight
Stepping back, is this civility hidden among the hardcore
attitude an inherently beautiful thing? Is this a miniature version of that
special quality I found within the CLK63 Black Series?
When you look at the car in this light, this is the everyman
performance car. You get perhaps the best handling FWD car on the market, mixed
with a butter-smooth engine, and the ability to relax when it wants to.
Not bad, Ford. Not bad.
So what happens when you go in the opposite direction? What
happens when you drive a car that embodies the opposite attitude of the Focus
ST?
Enter Mazdaspeed 3, stage right:
Photo Credit: Edmunds.com
“Yeah, you know the engines there,” said the salesman, who
appeared to be the absolute last person you would ever expect to be seated
behind the wheel of a super-sporty hatch. He had just cranked up the high-compression
2.3L Turbocharged 263 HP I-4 of the Mazdaspeed 3, a loud, rough, and grumbly
engine that sounds angsty at idle through its dual exhaust. Hopping out of the
Focus ST and into the Mazdaspeed 3, you would swear you time traveled back to
2007. Seriously, the interior layout and materials were exactly equivalent to
my Cobalt SS. This is not necessarily
a bad thing. Yes, the dash and buttons were all plastic-fantastic, but it was a
traditional layout, so nothing was unexpected. Nothing was funky, nothing was
out of place. There were cloth seats, a three-spoke steering wheel, and not
much else other than standard radio and A/C equipment. A bit boring, yes, but
for some people, (I’m looking at you, WRX STi boys) interior is the very last
thing that matters on a sporty car. I have to admit, a plush interior is
relatively low on my list of automotive priorities. So, moving past the dated
interior, the car was seemingly “normal” as it sat in the parking lot. Sure,
the door inserts were composed of a weird red/black mesh, and there was a
subtle “Mazdaspeed” script on the deep red gauges, but all was simple economy.
This could have been an average Mazda 3 Hatch for all I knew.
Oh, how wrong I was.
After my dad took it for a little spin, I slid behind the
wheel and eased onto the side streets. Now, coming out of the Focus, the
steering was a lovely traditional (This word is a reoccurring theme, here)
hydraulic set up, with as much steering feel as expected from a modern sporty
car. The clutch was a bit more grippy and raw than the Focus, but nothing too
painful to operate. I gave it about half-throttle from a 20 mph roll and….
Wow. What an angry little car!
There was torque-steer, turbo lag, a loud engine, and some
quite alarming thrust in a forward direction. I felt a slight wheel-tug from
torque-steer as I launched from each stop. Suddenly, all of the hard work that
Ford put into making the Focus ST civil becomes a stark contrast as you screech
down the road in a screaming Japanese hatch. Wait, wasn’t Japan supposed to be
the refined one?
A typical trip to the supermarket in a Mazdaspeed3
That’s what you need to do every once in a while; get a
little crazy in your life.
But only once in a while. I wouldn’t want to deal with this
little terror every day on my commute to school or work.
A good daily driver, this car is not. Nighttime toy and
weekend warrior extraordinaire, it is.
So, if we were comparing these cars to cutlery and their
respective tact, the Focus is the overpowered electric precision drill, and the
Mazda is the psycho-butcher knife, what is the delicately accurate surgical
scalpel?
Here it comes, drifting around that corner:
It’s the Scion FR-S!
Photo Credit: Autoblog.com
I cannot remember another car that has been surrounded by quite
the hype and speculation as the BRZ/GT86/FR-S was pre-production. Auto rags had
a field day with the specs. Flat-4, Front-engined, 6-speed manual, under
2800lbs, RWD, Toyota/Subaru reliability, under $25k….
It goes on and on.
So here I am, stacking up the already-venerable 200
horsepower, rear-wheel-drive Toyobaru wonder-coupe against 250+ HP front-wheel
drive 5-door hatchbacks.
Oh, dear.
First off: I stalled this car. Stalled the hell out of it.
Apparently, the FR-S clutch is much different than what I am used to. I don’t
know if it was a shallow engaging point, or a small grab window, but I did not
initially get along with this clutch. Not to say it was bad, as it was springy
and had plenty of feel, but my limited behind-the-wheel experience made my
shifting a little bit sloppy. Despite the uninspiring driving theatrics from
yours truly, I managed to get a good grip on what makes all the auto
journalists get all dizzy when you even whisper, “FR-S”. This car is one
serious little go-kart. I remember my dad telling me that he took an approaching
corner at X MPH in my Cobalt, and all I know is, I took said corner at double
that. Steering was direct, shifting was short and snappy, the engine was
punchy, and the chassis felt established and linear. You sat extremely low, and
felt as though you were driving a true sports car. And if you do feel that way,
congratulations! It is a true sports car! It seems easy enough to reel in if
things get a bit sideways, is great on gas, and will last forever because of
its Subaru/Toyota components. In summation: It handles great, has all the
features that a budding enthusiast needs (read: first-time drivers who want a
sporty first car), and is priced competitively. What a nice little sports car.
But can it compare to the practicality to performance ratio
of the other two cars I tested?
Not really.
This car is slow. Too
slow.
An FR-S at speed
I know slow cars. I have done “slow” on a scale that most of
you readers wouldn’t comprehend. Think 30+ seconds to 60 from a standstill. Think
W123 Mercedes Diesel. I’ve earned my “slow” car badge, and for now, I’m done with
slow. ‘Quick’ is the theme de jour in this comparison, and I am a disappointed
to say, the FR-S does not thrill on the level of the other two cars. Yes, it is
not painfully slow, with 0-60 times ranging from 7.0-7.7s, but that’s terrible
for a sports car, entry level or not. I own a sports car with near that power
and acceleration time, and every time I drive it, there is a little part of me
that yearns for a bit more thrust. That engine, while reliable and smooth, is
underpowered. The worst part? Its underpowered only slightly. If they tweaked it to about 230 HP, I would have nothing
to complain about. But they didn’t, and so here I am, griping away. There are
endless rumors about a hotter version on its way, but why wasn’t it hot from
the get-go?
The Scion FR-S/Subaru BRZ: Handles like a dream, accelerates
like a pig.
So, here we are at the end of three short drives in the most
lauded little compact racers you can buy from a dealer right now.
Out of the three, The Focus would be the car that I would be
happiest to live with each day. Sure, the Mazdaspeed is a hoot and a half, but
its hard suspension, nagging torque-steer, and fierce engine would wear me thin
after a few days of commuting. Happily, It easily wins the consolation prize of
“Most enthralling”. The FR-S is perfect for me, as I am a college kid with
really nothing to haul or transport save beer and a backpack. Sadly, my dad is
convinced he needs more space, so no FR-S for him.
So, the Mazda has the temperament of what the Ford appears
to be on the surface, but the Focus is faster and an all around better car when
the facts are laid out. Really, though, which ever car of the three you choose,
you will be a winner in my book. All around speed your kind-of-thing? Pick up a
Focus ST. Need some excitement? Grab a Mazdaspeed 3. Need to hone your drifting/oversteer
skills? The FR-S is your best bet.
And all of a sudden, I was sitting behind the wheel. The
owner noticed my enthusiasm, and decided I was worthy to go for a brief
self-directed, high-speed jaunt through the back alleys of the parking lot. Just my luck, as I had a movie to catch in 20 minutes.
But what kind of lunatic refuses a chance to pilot a Black Series?
As I pulled the car around the corner of the loading bay
alley, I stood on the throttle. Immediately, I realized I had stepped into
unfamiliar automotive territory. With a rear-end shimmy and a guttural roar, I
was ripped from my safety bubble that had become accustomed to all-wheel drive
thrust and sanitary performance, what with my excursions in the 997.2 Turbo and
Gallardo flinging me to unsafe speeds without a whiff of wheel spin or argument
from the chassis. This was nothing like that.
No, this was a dangerous game. This was a car to be feared.
Knowing this, what did I do? Why, I stepped on the tiger’s
tail, of course.
The rear-end swayed, dash lights screamed their dire warning
of nonexistent traction, and I nearly pulled a muscle with the ferocity of my
grin. The transmission wrestled into another gear, and the wide back-end
squirmed as the CLK63 yelled its way down the delivery alley. 85 MPH is all I
dared, but I was not quite expecting the bite of the ceramic discs, and could
have pressed further. A blast back the other way resulted in similar violence.
I could have terrified myself all evening long, but I had a movie to catch, so
with a chuckle, I turned back into the main parking lot. As I cruised through
the maze of speed bumps and stop signs, I quickly discovered the mentality behind
high-dollar luxury performance. At low speeds, the CLK’s transmission was
surprisingly docile, the engine was calm when it needed to be, and there were
all the gizmos and creature comforts that I could ever want in a car. Surrounded
by all of this “Mercedes-ness”, I forgot the tire squeal; I forgot the diabolic
thrust;
I forgot the anger.
The CLK63 AMG Black has that simply intoxicating duality I
have only previously found within the sublime 997.2 Turbo. Think business man
with an anger issue; it wears a suit for
all occasions with A/C, smooth automatic transmissions, luxurious amenities,
and cruise control. You want a fight? The sleeves are rolled up immediately. Drive
it to the shops? Sure, just don’t venture past quarter throttle.
My time behind the wheel of the CLK63 was hardly enough to
even call it a summer romance, but I got my first whiff of automotive savagery
that will linger for months to come. But now where will I sate my new-found
addiction?
With all of the corporate bean-counting, market predictions, and sterilization that occurs within the automotive industry today, it is sometimes easy to forget how weird and convoluted things could quickly become "back then". No other car exemplifies this volatile complexity more aptly than the Kaiser-Frazer Henry J.
Conceived by the
indomitable Henry J. Kaiser as a cheap and compact alternative to other American offerings, the curvaceous Henry J was first presented for sale
in September 1950, after an earlier press reveal in Chicago.The car
was priced at an unusually low $1300, due to the car being developed at the
behest of a government loan. In order to turn a profit at this price point, the
Henry J was built with a “Spartan” mindset, eschewing many simple features that
were standard on its contemporaries. The seats were composed of tightly woven
paper strands, the dash was a simple painted metal affair, it featured no glove
compartments, and even neglected to include a trunk lid!Power (or lack thereof) came from a wheezy 68 HP inline-4 and a
still woefully-inadequate 80 HP inline-6. Despite the relatively progressive
styling and competitive price, the Henry J was not a showroom star. To
alleviate some of his sales issues, Henry Kaiser turned to Sears, Roebuck and Co., and
proposed to sell a rebadged Henry J under the already-established Sears
automotive accessory line, “Allstate”.
While the Allstate was indeed a thinly-disguised Henry J, a
few minor cosmetic changes stood out when the two nearly identical cars were
compared. For choosing an Allstate over a Henry J, the buyer got: the engine
painted a lovely Sears-blue, an interior done up in an exclusive plaid scheme
for the headliner and seats (I love me some tartan!), and best of all, a
Tucker–influenced front clip, penned straight from Alex Tremulis, the man who
designed the legendary Tucker Torpedo. All this splendor was sold along with
pre-installed Sears-brand spark plugs, battery, and bulbs. Fancy!
Pictured: Pure, unadulterated Highland luxury
Shockingly, a plaid interior was not enough to trick people
into thinking it was a different car. Sales stagnated, and the Allstate was
canned after only two years with just over 2,500 cars produced. All in,
the Henry J and its associated brothers sold a total of 131,702 cars in a
three-year span. This may seem like a substantial amount, but for comparison, the
sales leader for 1953 model year was Chevrolet, with 1,346,475 cars sold. That
was only one year of sales!
However, the Allstate diversion was not the strangest of the
Henry J story. In yet another “interesting” sales venture, Kaiser struck a deal
with Mitsubishi to produce his prized Henry J in Kawasaki, Japan. Marketing his
little sedan toward Americans stationed in the area, Kaiser-Frazer became the
first American corporation to set up shop in post-war Japan. Following this,
Kaiser turned his sights on Israel. He managed to have his Henry J manufactured
in an Israeli factory that built also built Mack trucks.
Dedication of Kaiser-Frazer in Japan
So, let’s take a step back. We have an American businessman
with an oh-so-German last name, building funky little American cars in Japan
and Israel, all while selling some through Sears-Roebuck department stores under a different name.
Like many of my fellow enthusiasts, my automotive
preferences lie with low-weight, high-power performance cars. This sector is
primarily filled with stripped-out Porsches, Ferraris, BMWs and Audis, which
are more often-than-not unobtainable to the common working man. This disturbing
trend of “less weight means more money” was not always the case, though. In the
late 1960’s, America found itself embroiled within an internal motorsport
battle-royale. The SCCA (Sports Car Club
of America) developed a racing series called the “Trans-Am Series” that
featured production-based race cars, which participated in either the Under 2.0
Liter or the Over 2.0 Liter class. European manufacturers, such as Alfa
Romeo and Porsche, competed alongside the best America had to offer, with
race-offerings from nearly every corporate division.
Grid from the Golden Era of Trans-Am racing
Ford developed the Mustang
Boss 302, while sister company Mercury offered the Cougar XR7. Chevrolet
masterminded the almighty Z/28, and the S-Code designation for the Plymouth
Barracuda was made specifically for the Trans-Am series. These cars were
piloted by some of the biggest racing names ever to grace the tarmac, drivers
such as Parnelli Jones, Dan Gurney, and Swede Savage. However, my absolute
favorite of the legendary Trans-Am drivers has to be Mark Donohue and his
Penske/Sunoco Camaro Z/28.
No other classic
racecar has left quite the same impression on me than the royal-blue-on-yellow
Sunoco Camaro. With Donohue at the helm, the Sunoco Camaro snagged the first
place in the ’68 and ’69 Trans-Am series, thus cementing the Z/28 into racing
history. The Trans-Am battle was not just relegated to the track, however.
Trans-Am fever spilled over onto the streets of America as homologation
specials roared from stoplight to stoplight. While the Boss Mustang badge was
discontinued in the mid ‘70s, the Z/28 proved to have staying power. The Z/28
badge was carried on from ’68 through ’74, reintroduced in ’77, and continued
all the way up until the final Camaro year in 2002. With the demise of the
Camaro, it meant the demise of the Z/28, and the end to a road-racing legacy.
Sure, some of the Z/28 models in the ‘70s and ‘80s were less-than-inspiring,
but the badge was always so damn mean.
The death of both the Camaro and the Z/28 legacy was a huge blow for the masses
of Camaro fans worldwide.
However, I’m happy to report the Z/28 has returned to the
world of the living. The badge is back. The ‘mean’ is back.
The bad is back.
Photo credit: Autoblog.com
At the 2013 NYC Auto show, Chevrolet revealed one of the
most hardcore vehicles it has ever produced. The 2014 Camaro Z/28 sports a 300
lb. weight reduction, thanks in part to thinner glass, a diet-heavy alacantara-swathed interior, and new lightweight wheels. Cog-swappers, rejoice;
The Z/28 is a manual-only muscle car. The Camaro receives a heavily reworked
chassis, carbon-ceramic brakes, and a sexy front-splitter/undertray system.
Lets go back to the previous statement; Carbon-ceramic brakes….on a Camaro!
What a world we live in…..
It also is fitted with a new engine, and oh my goodness,
what an engine it is.
I have not been looking forward to the eventual and
inevitable death of the C6 Z06 Corvette. The discontinuation of the Z06 would
mean the discontinuation of the LS7, which in my eyes, is one of the greatest
American V8s produced in the last decade. GM must have noticed my tearful
depression, and amazingly, the 7.0L smallblock has been given a lifeline with
the Z/28. Oh yes, America has a 427 Camaro once again. Do I smell a factory
Yenko package on the horizon? I sure hope so. And for those not convinced, here
is what you have to look forward to:
Lets recap. A lightened, manual-only 500 HP 427 Camaro with
active-aero, Recaro seats, and carbon-ceramic brakes. Oh my. If that does not
get your heart racing, please visit your doctor, because that’s the greatest
list of options ever to grace an American muscle car, ever. If its not already apparent,
I’m just a bit excited.
These statistics are
all well and good, but how does the Z/28 stack up to against its competition?
Well, the inadequate resurrection of the Camaro ZL1
nameplate has the Shelby GT500 covered, and the parts-bin special 1LE Camaro
faces the Mustang GT Track Pack. The obvious choice would be to compare the
Z/28 to the new Boss 302, but Ford dashed the hopes of fans everywhere with the
news of no Boss for the 2014 model year. That being said, lets do a little math
and logic to see if the Z/28 can come out on top.
In a comparison between the 2012 Camaro ZL1 and the quite
ridiculous 2013 Shelby GT500, the GT500 is bested around a track setting by
roughly one half-second. Then, according to Chevrolet themselves, the ZL1 is
whipped by the Z/28 on an unnamed track by over a mind-boggling three seconds
per-lap. Enter Boss, stage left; the ZL1 trounces a Boss 302 Laguna Seca by
about two seconds in this professional MotorTrend comparison. Don’t even bother
with the Dodge Challenger SRT8 392, as I highly doubt the too-heavy cruiser could
even best a Mustang GT around a track. Also withheld are the Cadillac CTS-V and
Corvette due to a higher price point and the fact that the Corvette is not a
muscle car. So, without any real world
tests, drag strip rumbles, or diagnostics, we can unofficially say that the
Z/28 is the fastest muscle car around a track setting. You can keep your 660 HP
quarter-mile missiles, Shelby. I want this Camaro GT3 RS.
Photo credit: Autoblog.com
The return of the Z/28, Boss, Stingray, and ZL1 within a two
year span indicates much for the future of American muscle. Maybe we will see a
return of the Chevelle, 442, CobraJet, and Mach 1. Maybe a Boss 429?
I cannot think of any other sound that exemplifies the violent nature of internal combustion engines so well. Backfires, caused by the ignition of unburnt fuel in either the intake or exhaust manifolds, is ever-present in high performance, low durability turbo motors.
With anti-lag technology, fuel is ignited in the exhaust manifold in order to spool the turbo in absence of engine load, thus resulting in instant, usable boost at nearly any RPM. It is widely used in modern rally cars, as we see demonstrated by the Lancia.
Take a look at this Delta as it crackles and pops through the streets, heralding the presence of a turbocharged monster.
Let me begin this post by making my opinion on the C7
readily apparent, so that there is no chance for confusion. I think the C7 Corvette is a thing of beauty. Even as a
hardcore Porschephile, I wouldn’t think twice about plunking down my
hard-earned hypothetical money for a bright red C7 in lieu of a 991 Carrera.
Simply put, the C7’s performance-per-dollar ratio eclipses absolutely every
contender on the market, even without any official pricing information. GM has
out done itself; rising from the ashes, it produced a through-and-through
performance world-beater.
There is one thing
that seriously bothers me about the C7, however. The fanfare that accompanies
the unveiling of perennial icons in the automotive industry, like a new 911,
Mustang, or SL Class, is always laden with automotive superlatives and hype
that finds the general fan base screaming praises and irrelevant buzzwords at
whoever is around to listen. The release of the C7 was no different.
The C7 buzzword du
jour is ‘revolutionary’. To truly speak of a car as ‘revolutionary’, it
must be a jarring departure from the established norm. The C7, at face value,
is not revolutionary. I am being slightly unfair at this point, as much of the
technology is indeed groundbreaking, if only at the Corvette’s price point.
Perhaps a closer look into the history of the Corvette will provide better
examples.
The primary point of praise (or lack thereof) is the C7’s
aesthetic design. It incorporates functional ducts, aero effects, and a heavily
revised rear-end, all while retaining the classic Corvette silhouette.
This is where the issue resides.
The last “revolutionary” Corvette, in terms of design, was
the C4. Take a look at the Corvette generations. The eternal Corvette
shape was “found” in the C4 (hint: the gold one). The C2 was a massive
departure from the C1, and the C3 slimmed the design down, appearing sleek and
svelte in its profile. The C4 eliminated the curves, and added a pinch of ‘80s
boxy-ness that has become a mainstay of Corvette design up to the current C7.
The C4 is undeniably the genesis of the modern Corvette, the influence of the
design riding through the decades, all the way up into the 2014. The C7 is not
a revolution, but an evolution. Is this a bad thing? Absolutely not. In fact,
this is the trademark of heritage. Is there another car, besides the Corvette,
that is successful in design, racing, sales, and pedigree, that has stood the
test of time despite having the same basic layout and visual profile? I can think
of one.
Has the Porsche 911 suffered for its stubborn design? No.
The timeless design became the defining feature of the 911, allowing Porsche to
cement itself onto the automotive landscape. With this in mind, what is the
issue with approaching the Corvette with the same outlook?
From a technological standpoint, the formula of progression
has not changed much at all. Each new Corvette model is heralded for its
bargain performance, a true supercar killer. The C7 is not exempt from this,
many people calling it the performance bargain of the decade. I am inclined to
agree, but the C6 and its variants were labeled as such in their time as well.
I cannot remember any other supercar, post-2000, that caused as much of an
uproar than the C6 ZR1. Backed into a corner in 2009, GM flexed their muscles
and created a sports car that is nothing short of a masterpiece. A world
beater, indeed.
So what makes this new Corvette ‘revolutionary’?
Nothing. It brings nothing new that Ferrari and
Porsche hasn’t already achieved (Think 7-speed manual transmission) to the
game. Sure, if you squint real hard, you can say the C7 is “revolutionary”
within the constraints of the Corvette universe. The interior is one hell of a
leap forward from previous iterations, and the all-new LT1 engine is
(evidently) superior to the LS series of V8s that it replaces. Power is up by
about 20 horsepower, and the 0-60 time drops by about .2 seconds. Impressive?
Nothing I would call world changing. Sure, a car is more than a list of stats,
but if you listen to the journalists who covered the reveal, one would think it’s
the only thing that matters.
I look to sports car evolution with an eye to tradition and
a certain respect for the past. The C7 is already one of the all time great
sports cars, but its fans have been too quick to run from its heritage,
eschewing past ancestry for the “All new, better, different” Corvette.
