-McClarenDesign's-
Very Serious SLS AMG Review of the Car of the Week N Stuff
"It's like in soccer: If just one person is missing you can't win." -Benoît Tréluyer
Week 12: 2001 Audi RS4
"Honey, I'm pregnant!"
Those are the words few men want to hear. While we're spared the physical agony of carrying the little bugger, that phrase still means our fair share of changes. No more coming and going as you please, no more nights out with the boys, no more strippers, no more recreational drug use, no more loud music, no more frivolous purchases...
And then, just before the big day, you're eventually struck with the realization that your prized custom
Devil Z isn't exactly "family friendly" I mean, yes you could simply strap the little tyke to the boot and be done with it, but how on Earth are you going to explain that to the wife? Eventually you'll have to trade in that prized possession for something with a bit more room, and a bit less power.
A four door saloon could be an option, but while looking around, you'll eventually get dragged into something spawn directly from automotive hell... the minivan or the SUV. The minivan will have all the space in the world for your very own octomom-wife, while she and the salesman will pitch the "rugged" and "stylish", and I want to vomit every time I say the word, "crossover."
Fear not, heads of petrol and gears, for there is an alternative. The 2001 Audi RS4.
During the 1980s, the estate car, or "station wagon" as it's known, went the way of the
California Condor. Station wagons had a similar reputation that minivans carry today. The term "station wagon" meant
"this is the sacrifice I've made to support my family, and all that I really care about is that it works". The performance of these cars were similar to todays base model hatchbacks, minus the hot, with a double helping of weight, and then add an emissions-choked engine with the acceleration of an asthmatic senior citizen.
In the 1990s, the term "Sport Utility Vehicle" finally gave the Bronco a classification to fit into, and the ladies loved them because the size and height made them feel "safe". Crossovers became popular because women wanted to feel like they were driving a car, while having the mass of a truck. Subsequently, station wagons were built taller, on car frames, which sounds well and good... until asked to turn. By the way, when was the last time she checked those
Firestone tires?
Then they have the gaul to wonder why it took so bloody long for us to allow them to vote.
And so, it is with much relief that I arrived to find an Audi RS4 in the car park this morning. After 20 years of wedded bliss, my wife demanded a vacation, and the producer demanded more production... which I'm still not exactly clear on how that works. Nonetheless, two birds must be killed with one stone, be it figuratively
or literally. After some tough negotiations, I was able to acquire the time with the car whilst on holiday, and you'd get the review you so desperately deserve.
According to Polyphony Digital via Translator-san:
Translator-san
The RS4 took the popular base A4 sedan and wagon to the ultimate extreme. When it made its introduction in 1999 by Audi's specialty-vehicle team, Quattro, it was immediately obvious from the car's exterior styling that there was something sinister about it.
The RS4 sat wider, with the fenders flared an extra 1.2 inches to house the car's wider 255/35ZR18 tires. These tires came wrapped around giant 18" alloy wheels. Under the hood was a turbocharged 2.7-liter 30-valve V-6 tuned to pump out 380 HP and 324.7 ft-lb of torque, a drastic increase from the sporty S4's 261 HP. The 5-valve-per-cylinder powerplant came mated to only a 6-speed manual gearbox. The factory claimed a 4.9-sec. acceleration burst to 62 mph with a top speed of 155 mph. Not bad for a 5-person luxury car.
In order to handle the extra power, significant reinforcements were made to the car's chassis, including totally retuning the suspension system. When combined with the company's all-wheel-drive system, also called Quattro, the RS4 cornered like a genuine sports car, rivaling those that came from Zuffenhausen. But because of its front-engine layout and 4WD, the RS4, even in wagon form, exhibited more predictable character when the road ahead meandered. The RS4 quickly developed a following, and Audi's reputation as a maker of exciting, fast cars was cemented.
While my wife was busy packing our bags, I
shuffled over to pick up the car and meet up with our good friend Hans. You might remember Hans from
our previous visit in the Audi TT. Once again, our good friends over at Audi had sent their top man to our aid, and with only 27k miles on the odometer, he and his Audi Wundermachers would ensure our used car was a safe car.
When the car arrived, I assumed it'd be delivered by another useless, faceless intern. Instead, I was surprised to find
The Todd, the wanker we'd hired previously for the TT. To our producer, the reunion was a magical moment. To the tosser, it was an opportunity to repay the kind words I'd said about him before, only this time The Todd decided to he'd use his fist instead of a pen.
Performance as Purchased: May 26, 2011, Nogaro Blue Pearl Effect (
Blue)
Displacement: 2,671 cc
Max. Power:
357 hp @ 6,500 rpm
Max. Torque:
305 ft-lbs. @ 2,500 rpm
Drivetrain: 4WD
Length: 4,525 mm Height: 1,400 mm Weight: 1620 kg
Tires: Sports (Hard)
Performance Points:
463
Mileage: 23,875.8 mi.
While I tended to my own repairs, much to the amusement of the crew, Hans and his Deutsch doctors went to work mending the scars of 27k miles. Thankfully, the engine had only light abuse, and the chassis a few minor dings typical of normal road use. Meanwhile, The Todd still had a bruised ego, and I now had a frozen jaw. For only 12,000
Cr., Hans uncovered an extra
38 hp,
33 torques, and
15 precious Performance Points... for picking pickled peppers that Peter Piper prepped while popping Prozac.
For those keeping score at home, other notable data includes: Max. Power: 395 hp, Max. Torque: 338 ft-lb., Max. Performance Points: 478 PP
Before my wife and I could strap the children to the boot, our team need to see what our hard work had uncovered. As an extra means of motivation, I'd prepared a little vengeance of my own. With only moments before launch, I crept to the revving Audi, gently opened its door, and quickly punched The Todd directly in The Balls. Just as quickly, I managed to slam the door shut a fraction of a second before he was given the green light. Enraged, he pounded out the quarter in
0:13.167 and scrambled to 60 mph in just
0:04.536.
When The Todd got back to the pits, and most importantly before he could get to me, he was met by several of the government's tax agents. It seems we weren't the only ones looking for him this weekend. Balls safe, we moved on.
For those keeping score at home, other notable data includes: 0-1 mi.: 0:32.722, 0-100 mph: 0:11.095, Max. G-Force: 1.10G, Top Speed: 179.6 mph
With the performance silliness out of the way, my family and I can finally get on with our vacation, and I can finally enjoy a few lazy hours of German automotive excellence. That is, I could enjoy it if only my daughter would stop texting and playing with her ridiculous cell phone, and if my wife could find something on the radio that isn't
Duran Duran.
The whole point of luxury such as this is to enjoy the drive, not the gadgets that cause endless distractions, nor the endless variations of
Hungry Like the Wolf. While the Audi excels at absorbing the countless flaws in the road and the chaotic conditions outside of the car, it does absolutely nothing to stop the small annoyances in the car. Nowhere, on the center console, is there a button to prevent rest stops. When, not
if, but
when the backseat backhand is needed, there's no autopilot to take the controls for you. Nor is there one to do the backhanding for you. At least that
is on the Merc. The autopilot, that is.
Despite all of this, should you ever find yourself in an impromptu drag race with a famous Hollywood celebrity in an over-priced Italian exotic, you'll have no problem keeping up. That is, until your wife realizes what you're doing. And why.
I'm afraid the rest of our holiday wasn't much better. While stopping at every souvenir shop and tourist trap in Madrid, I got to put the Audi's spaciousness to the test. Over ten hours, 35 separate trips, and 74 total miles walked, the entirety of the Audi's boot had reached its maximum. A bird's feather wouldn't even fit under the seat, as that room had also been occupied by useless knick-knacks.
The photo ops were also a disgrace. Endless interruptions of enjoyment for the sake of "capturing the moment" rather than actually living in it. Our typical routine consisted of walking a block, stopping at every shop along the way, and having our picture taken by complete strangers. For being a holiday, there was an awful lot of work to be done, and all of it by me. While my wife and daughter struggled with their dainty handbags, I was left to carry the ever increasing amount of trinkets weighing nearly a ton, and costing more than the GDP of some countries.
All I had purchased was a new pair of Oakleys, and those were on my head.
Every now and then, I'd be asked to take a few photographs. Some of the girls, some of the scenery. Again, more work, less holiday. Between plotting the route, calculating fuel economy, carrying the luggage, approving of outfits (
and useless accessories), arranging accommodations, taking stupid pictures
and dealing with the endless nagging, I'd had
enough.
The final straw came while visiting the Deep Forest. We had stopped for a pleasant picnic amongst the pines, when my wife began recounting the day's adventures. With wide eyes, both she and our daughter bonded in a way that our daughter and I hadn't since she was very little. She didn't need Daddy anymore, and now it was Mom she relied upon.
I sat and reflected upon this, staring blankly into the fire, when the explosion went off. Perhaps you may have heard it, late Saturday night. You may have confused it for a tornado, a hurricane, an earthquake, or an atomic bomb. Seismologist near the epicenter of the blast have some interesting data that would almost verify your theory.
Almost.
You see, when my wife thumbed through every photograph I'd taken, all she found was the car. Like a planet colliding with the sun, she launched into an emotional explosion, with hysterics that'd rival a tongue-speaking Baptist church congregation. Expletives unknown to mankind flew with the greatest of ease, only to be joined in perfect harmony by her direct offspring, into a symphony of stereophonic, matrimonial Armageddon.
Cold War bomb shelters couldn't have saved a cockroach from the blast.
When all was said and done, I found myself missing a wife and daughter, and frantically searching for an attorney. Preferably one that could inflict the most damage for the least amount of money. Rather than feeling miserable, I found myself rather relieved. Yes, I'd lost My Reason For Being and the Light Of My Life, but I'd also acquired something equally as valuable.... something I haven't tasted in nearly 20 years.
Freedom.
With haste, I checked the balances, and found myself in possession of the credit cards! My wife never travels wearing anything with pockets, and what was once a cumbersome annoyance, has become a savior and mid-life-crisis lifeline. Who needs her? I've got an Audi, a few credit cards, my passport, and all of Europe to rape.
To the Batmobile!!!
The last thing she said to me was "If you
(expletive) love cars so
(expletive) much, why don't you
(expletive) take your
(expletive) Audi and get
(expletive) Audi!?!! (meaning leave, as in "
out-ie", you simpleton!) Being a woman means she's genetically gifted with the natural ability of always being right. I do love cars. I love this car. It is sad that I can't have this car
and my family. But if I can't have both, why deny who I really am?
To thine own self be true?
To find out, I did what every mid-40s, recently-divorced male does, I threw on a set of BBS LM-R rims and made tracks to Nurburgring Nordschleife. Now that I'm recently single, the new rims will hopefully help attract a new mate, and the fact that its an Audi should give the reputation that I'm well off. Which, now, is half-true. After this, I think I shall ring up the boys for night out at the pub. They've recently become divorced as well, although through means of their own devices. Except for Frank, I was
kind of guilty on that one.
And Bob's wife
accidentally shot herself, so that doesn't count either.
Week 1: 2001 Alfa Romeo Spider 3.0i V6 24V
Week 2: 1966 Alfa Romeo Spider 1600 Duetto
Week 3: 2000 Toyota Sprinter Trueno GT-APEX (S. Shigeno Ver.)
Week 4: 2007 Audi TT Coupe 3.2 Quattro
Week 5: 1983 Nissan Silvia 240RS (S110) and 1985 Nissan 240RS Rally Car
Week 6: 1973 BMW 2002 Turbo
Week 7: 2004 DMC DeLorean S2
Week 8: 1971 Nissan Fairlady 240ZG (HS30) and 1971 Nissan 240ZG (HS30)
Week 9: 1985 Lancia Delta S4 Rally Car
Week 10: 1991 Mercedes-Benz 190 E 2.5- 16 Evolution II and 1992 AMG Mercedes-Benz 190 E 2.5- 16 Evolution II Touring Car
Week 11: 1999 Lotus Motor Sport Elise and 1996 Lotus Elise and 1998 Lotus Elise Sport 190
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