Kings Cruise

Transmission starts....

It's the first day of summer on this island Britain. A Peugeot 205 sits next to me snarling and rasping, headbutting it's limiter. All around are Escorts and Corsas and Puntos and Saxos and all manner of street furniture. Amongst the humdrum a few hints of homework hit my ears. An unbadged, lowered Rover 200 rips past with a whistle and the characteristic sneeze of air that is a dump-valve. What lies beneath? A Mark 2 Escort with small, shiny, dished alloys whistles and sneezes, a true labour of love.

This is the Kingsditch end of the Cheltenham cruise. Whilst some other boys and girls are lapping the Cheltenham one-way, dodging police cars and racing each other at the lights, these boys and girls are doing the best they can to show off and fit in.

The atmosphere is tense, but only for me and the photographer who has come along for the ride. So far one cruiser (the 205 mentioned earlier) has parked head-on in front of where I am sitting, his aftermarket angel eyes on full beam to try to intimidate me. I carry on scribbling. A little later another lad gets in his Celica and smokes his front tyres whilst staring at me, all angry eyes and gurned face. I carry on scribbling. He gets out of his car and marches over to me.

"Why are you writing down number plates?" he asks me. I can smell the green on his clothes. Paranoia should always be met head on, no hesitation. I turn my pad around to show him.

"Does this look like number plates to you? Do you really think I'd be stupid enough to write down number plates in a place like this?"

His manner relaxes. He seems embarrassed. He laughs it off, tries to explain himself before walking away. He returns later to ask us what we're doing. By that time We're taking photos of a Sapphire Cosworth doing Doughnuts that fills the car park with scratchy smoke that a few of the lads cough and choke on.

Think hot-rodding died in the sixties? Think again.

Transmission ends....

Pipe Dream

Transmission Starts...

It's a step up, a possible short cut to the next level. Since the age of 11 I have wanted to write for Car. Since 2 years ago I have put a target on a staff chair at Car. Last week I was chosen along with another to report alongside the Car team at the Geneva show.

There are 3 major motor shows on this planet. Geneva is one of those three. It is where the best of Europe show what has been, what is and what will be. It is where the eccentric Frank M. Rinderknecht of Rinspeed shows the world whatever has been knocking about his head at 4 in the morning.

Booking flights and hotels should have been the next step but something kept stopping me. A comment left on the Car Magazine web site sorted me. I'm gonna drive there. And back. I'm gonna write a full length feature and put together a short film. I think I may have a camera man but the car is the major missing component. Will Toyota lend me an IQ? What about Citroen? Will I have to buy something at the last minute?

Watch this space.

I mean screen.

I mean your screen.

Yea.

Transmission ends....

Strong Characters

Transmission Starts...

Peering over the hedges from inside the A or indeed the the D at the cars parked in the business park car parks 2 cars always stand out. They are often parked together, each totally confident within there particular type of existence.

The first is the pragmatic, the functional, the solid, the thoroughly Germanic Volkswagen Phaeton. It has a confident face set on those broad shoulders. One that speaks of great ability and an innate confidence. Of course you could buy the better looking, the more brutal Bentley Continental GT or the Phaetons true brother in brief; the Flying Spur, but really, if you are as confident as the underpinnings, the soul of this car, then you take the VW body-shell. You save 40k and gain a vehicle with the ability to be parked almost anywhere yet not attract any unwanted attention. It will almost certainly never go wrong and will look as good in ten years time as it does now with minimum of molly-coddling.

But for all of its great ability there is one glaring problem with the Phaeton. It feels nothing. It is passionless. It won't ever coax you into taking it out for a quickie. It will always be the automotive equivalent of an Intercity train; Big powerful, impressive yet there for a purpose not a whim.

The second of the duo is also big, powerful and limo-like. Only this one is beautiful, feline, passionate, moody and fragile. It is the Maserati Quattroporte. Where the wise money goes on a strong, pragmatic diesel heart in the Phaeton, you have only one choice in the QP. A Ferrari V8. Nothing signifies passion in a motor vehicle than to know a Ferrari heart is pumping those wheels along. Invariably it will live hard and fast before imploding roughly half way through its expected life span. It is also likely that sometimes (though not always) the electrical systems of the QP will simply refuse to work. If the technology existed for a diagnostic device similar to the Star Trek Tricorder to be used it would quickly find that the laws of physics have been bent on some unknown whim of the collection of metals and polymers that sit before you.

"Sir, it appears that there is a tear in the space-time continuum in the ECU".

Both of these cars are great, not because they fulfill an expectation of what a good luxury car is, but because they fulfill what it is to be who they are. They have been worked hard on being strong within the confines of there identities. This, really is what defines a brand. It is why an LS430, impressive though it is, is, for now at least, the automotive equivalent of an expensive fridge. It won't be until Lexus finds its particular face that a little soul will be injected.

So, the inevitable question is which of the two would I have? I'd probably (with the right size pockets) take the QP until it drove me so far up the wall that I'd chop it in for something practical for the week and something balls out for the weekend. What would those be?

Well, that's another story.

Transmission Ends...

SportKa's Drive

Transmission starts...

We're running at a fair pace now. Not quite where I feel most comfortable for this particular road but close enough. I spot another car in the distance, it's not long until we are almost on top of it. My passengers body language closes up. We carry on conversing but her change in position is duly noted and lends an edge to the previously relaxed banter. An overtaking opportunity presents itself and I stir, no, hang on, that's the wrong word. You might stir the porridge in a Gallic gearbox but in this, the Ford SportKa you snick or slot the gears into the place. It has one of the best feeling gearbox's on any car from any point in the price spectrum. Not bad from a supermini that cost the best part of 12 grands when new.

Anyway I slot down a couple of ratios and the little 1600 spins harder, lending me the power of 100 excited little ponies with which to overtake this perennial Rover driver. My passengers body language relaxes. Then it hits me, I was too close to the Rover. I laugh, the tension released. She queries.

"It was because I was up that car's arse. That's why your body language closed up"

She laughs a laugh of agreement and surprise. The tension is released.

A couple of hours ago we met outside of her flat, the morning sun making us scrunch our eyes. She hands me the keys to her daily run around and makes the standard jokey (but serious) remarks about not crashing. I've been looking forward to this. I love the standard Ka. I love the way it feels, I love the way it makes you feel. I climb in, note the cheap seats, trim, and horrible plastics. No matter, that's not where the money's been spent on this car. I start the engine and find Ford didn't spend any money on sound deadening either. Again, no matter. This is a 4 year old car based on a 10 year old design stuck to 15 year old mechanics. At least it doesn't have the 40 year old engine from the old Ka. If you want things like sound deadening (and perhaps a little soul lost) then pick up a copy of Ford's latest Fiat Ka.

Anyway, clutch in, first selected. I remark on the great feeling change, my companion giggles. The next thing I notice is how close the pedals are placed together. One day I'm gonna learn to heel and toe but in the mean time this set up first gives me a little clue to the spirit of this car and second makes me thankful I'm not wearing some wide skater style shoes.

We rush out of Regency Cheltenham and head up into the Cotswold hills. Here lies great roads. The little Ford loves a good B-road. It's feels, sorted, sure footed. Shame its brakes are lacking power and initial bite, feel is merely okay. Hmmm disappointing. The other shortcoming and perhaps the biggest surprise of this car/Ka is the engine. It's not bad, in fact it's quite good, it's just you really need to work it hard, and... well... it could just do with a bit more power. About 30 extra ponies maybe. The excellent chassis could certainly handle it.

We drop down through Slad and head out to the M-5. Here, the Ka is bearable. Again it's the sorted chassis that shines. Where other superminis bounce or feel floughty (try sitting in the back of a previous generation clio on a motorway - it's a little unnerving) the Ka feels planted and is unruffled by ripples or surface scars. It's the gearbox that lets the show down here. 5th feels too short, setting the engine up to be boomy at 70. It only really settles down when you head into the power band at about 80 where it feels rushed. Still, this is no starship, it's a shuttle with talent.

As we head into the city sprawl and the traffic surrounds us the little Ford shines again. A darty, fun and easy character makes for stress free city driving. I laugh out loud a couple of times. Surely the mark of a great vehicle.

And so, back to the A road, the Rover and released tension. This, the A46 is the home run. A nice wide A road that has been the stage for many a late night Superbike/Starship Diesel run. We drop into pretty Nailsworth, through eccentric Stroud and on by way of the twisting smooth artery that runs along the edge of the Cotswold hills. Okay, so here it is: The interior quality is suspect and the brakes are disappointing but the SportKa is a genuinely soulful machine. One that laughs and jokes with you, it's always up for the craic. I would happily spend my own cash on one of these, sod the girls car jokes.

A few weeks later on a miserable Wednesday morning after the night before I pick the Ka up from busy town. I'm as miserable as the weather. Bloody rain. I start the little Ford up and trundle down the road to a junction. As I pull out I'm little too abrupt with the throttle. The front wheels spin and I chuckle the first laugh of the day. I pat the dashboard, a big grin on my face. Thank you Ford.

Transmission ends...

Moving Audi

Transmission starts...

1 bedroom flat? £425? How about 12:30. Yep, be there, out front. See you there.

Yes. It is that time again. Housemates off to live with his girlfriend (the turncoat) leaving me to look around over-priced, decrepit, Georgian, hard to heat but characterful flats for one. Love it. Hate it.

Anyways it all means the car hunt has ground to a halt. Except that is, late night browsing, perving on potential good deals placed on the usual suspects sites. How about an Audi 80 estate, SE pack with a 2.6 V6 in green for a grand. Yes and yes. One problem. I'm a student. Putting petrol in that thing would be financially disastrous. 

So back to the light banger concept....

Transmission ends...

The Search

Transmission starts...

The search for the 75 continues. Looked at a 99' blue manual CDTI sat on a dealers forecourt for £5 short of 2K. No goer. She was chipped, scratched and dinked all over. Numerous suspected key scratches around the lock entry points (boot, drivers door) suggested the previous owner enjoyed a jug or two before struggling to get in and driving home in a semi-stupor. 

That's a negatory captain.

A newish Renault Clio 1.6 with a too good to be true private price was blocked from view by what seemed to be divine intervention. Every time I rang BT's Lady Penelope voice would gracefully tell me "There is an error - please try again".

I haven't looked at any light bangers. They are as ubiquitous as they are cheap. I could pick one up tomorrow so for that reason I feel I need to look just a bit harder for the other two concepts. Going to a few auctions would seem to be the next step...

Transmission ends...

Rover Dilemma

Transmission starts...

So;

I've had a few different motorbikes, driven a few different cars, vans and the odd light truck (in circles, in a yard) but I've never actually owned what could be defined as a motorcar. What to do?

Well, as it happens, with a bit of money and a dream of mobility beyond the bounds of a push bike, public transport and the odd jaunt in the Starship Diesel I'm ready to join the four wheeled masses. 

So;

What to buy?

Well, it's between three concepts. The light banger, the newish shuttle car and the middling diesel saloon.. A Rover Diesel Saloon no less. Before I try to explain my Rover fetish I'll sort the first two.

The light banger. Think AX, 205, Cinquecento, Uno (if there's any left). Think small, simple, light, chuckable, simple learnable mechanics. Think my God it's cheap but please don't let me have a crash. Think 500 Sterling's or so. Think sneezing on a cheque to pay the insurance. 

Right, enough thinking.

Now the middle sensible option. A tidy Ford Ka, Renault Clio, 106 or some such. A Corsa is completely out of the question. Staid, rubbish gearbox, and not even remotely entertaining. Bloody washing machine on wheels. What I really want is the Ka. Love the way those things drive. All cheeky and pointy. Might even get a reasonable one for 1500 quids. 

Ok, that's that.

Now. 

The Rover.

I want a 75. I think it's good looking, reasonably well engineered and my goodness it's British! Except for one detail: The engine. I believe the only engine that can be trusted is the 2 litre diesel. Underneath the Rover branded plastic covering sits the heart of that perennial motorway bruiser, the 320d. Also, aside from the typical Rover engine gasket problems any of the petrol's really are gonna drink in a way I can't afford. That makes the diesel the most attractive option on two fronts. £2000 advertised might translate to £1600 handed over. There is a chance I could have a sort of tidy compact exec sat somewhere near on a tightish budget.

Decisions, decisions, what to do? Watch this space or let me know what you think.

Transmission ends...