- 667
Previous parts:
PART I
PART II
I'm very sorry for the LONG wait for this piece, but I think it has been worth it as this is my best yet. I will make sure that the final part will come in the next two weeks. I know its long, but please read on...
The Journey
It’s the small hours of a spring Saturday morning and jeezus it’s cold. There’s an eerie draping of fog in the air and the tarmac outside glistens with the signs of a recent rainfall. Not ideal driving conditions for my semi-slick shod Skyline, but there are hundreds of winding miles spanning the distance between my dreary British home and Germany, the home of the Nürburgring Nordschliefe.
No time to waste then. Berkshire based RMA trackdays have the whole ‘ring to themselves today and luckily for me I’m a member. I’m travelling down with some friends and we have planned an epic route that will scythe through the beautiful countryside on some challenging French N roads. Then we will cut across Luxemburg and blast down the final stretch on derestricted Autobahn. We will then spend the day driving, each with our own goals – mine will be struggling to beat the Carrera GT’s 7 mintue 32 second lap time. It was a mad idea at first but now it just seems plain absurd.
I thumbed the Skyline’s dated key fob, which does little to impress how quick this thing is, and climbed aboard. With a twist of the key in the ignition the engine exploded into life. I gave the throttle a couple of quick stabs to warm it through and the engine replied with a “brap…BRAP.” Sorry wife. Sorry Neighbours. I strapped myself in and eased out the heavy clutch pedal, trying to resist leaving a pair of smouldering black streaks in my wake.
Just outside Dover cruising at a steady 110mph I spotted the pert rump of my mate Jimmy’s M3 CSL. I drove out of the vision-blurring rooster tail and I pulled alongside. We exchanged greeting nods and then he gestures to the horizon where the sun is just beginning to peer over, glaring into our eyes. We both pinned our throttles in unison and proceeded listening to the duet performed by a pair of race-honed sixes.
We stocked up with supplies at the deserted port and once we had boarded we broke into discussion about the day ahead. One thing we all knew was that it would be a day that will remain in our memories forever. The train seemed abandoned but somehow the cars still were stumbled upon. One youth gesticulated wildly at the sight of our convoy yelling to his tracksuited mates about the “sick” cars we were driving. We couldn’t wait to get out on the open road, and as if our prayers were answered, the train’s gargantuan carriage slid open to reveal a magnificent French morning, the grass still shimmering with early morning dew. Our train of cars slipped by customs without any problems and headed on our way, keeping one eye peeled for the notoriously unforgiving Gendarmes. We meandered across the country gaining confidence and grip as the day began. Traffic was generally not a problem, and when cars were encountered there not exactly going to slow the progress of a 1300bhp convoy. One memorable experience was when a pair of French youngsters decided that their body kitted hatchbacks were supercar material. Maybe they have been watching ‘The Fast and the Furious,’ but it was hilarious giving them a head start, and then overtaking at over twice the speed limit. This speed could be held on some of the longer sweeping corners, which saw us reaching unbelievable speeds which would result in a hefty fine on a good day or imprisonment if the Gendarmes remembered that we beat them to the Olympic bid. The Skyline felt stable in all situations its many computers all working to provide a friendly and involving drive. Even when the tyre’s limits of adhesion are exceeded recoveries are easy to make. Even on a damp morning Pirelli tyres lend the Skyline a surprising firm footing, only breaking out of your control if you get seriously greedy with the right hand pedal.
We join the motorways again around Dijon as Mark, our other companion in his newly bought and modified 550bhp 911 Turbo S, decides that we need to discover our car’s v-max. Nervously I bury my foot to the floor in third and a torrent of G-forces slaps me hard in the face. I persist up until I finally loose my bottle at around 180 whilst Mark hit a GPS verified 191; breaching Porsche’s claimed v-max by 2 mph. The M3 CSL was left in our dust reaching a ‘measly’ 165mph. Traffic leads to Gumball style overtaking manoeuvres using the hard shoulder when necessary to ‘undertake’ other vehicles. We all come to the conclusion that we should end this while the going’s still good, partly as I had one of my ‘moments’ when I was very nearly sandwiched between a German lorry and a Citroen. The N roads are also vastly more rewarding than straight line driving, which we will have more of on the autobahn’s anyway.
For the next stint Jimmy and I change cars. I’m taking my first taste of the celebrated M-division. The sense of occasion with the CSL is hugely greater than that of my Skyline leaving me feeling slightly disappointed with my dull vehicle. The lightweight wheels are works of art, and the front wings and roof are draped in exotic carbon fibre. The ‘duck-tail’ boot lid also subtly increases the sense that this is one special driver’s tool. The wind is whipping into my body, so I hop inside. This is very special. The deeply sculpted seats offer great support but still are comfortable enough for daily use. I look around to find swathes of carbon inside too. The door cars are almost completely fashioned from the stuff. Little ‘M’ logos are scattered around making sure the owner knows they’re buying into a ledged. The steering wheel makes the Skyline’s Sparco item seem like a chipolata compared to its wurst-like dimensions. However, finished in light grey alcantara, I doubt holding onto it will be a task. This interior shows up what I really miss with the Skyline – a sense that what you have just spent years of earnings on is special.
Let’s hope the B-M can bite as loud as its bark. Pulling away the M3 feels taught and well honed, the suspension soaking up the less than perfect road surface with ease. Now I’ve become acquainted with the CSL I begin to push harder, trying to feel for any signs of breaching its limits. Unfortunately the shortcoming of this car is that no matter when you try the feedback coming through the wheel is minimal, restricting you from really reaching its full potential. I wouldn’t want to try and make swift progress on an undulating B-road in the rain. Don’t let me put you off though; it’s still a truly evocative car. The exhaust note is a musical marvel, and you can’t help ringing out every last rpm from the engine. It doesn’t have the turbocharged thunder of the Skyline, but you can tell it’s a pure bread specimen making it feel every inch a race car.
When we stop for a late breakfast near the Luxemburg boarder we relay our experiences in each other’s vehicles. Jimmy is sweating slightly, partly due to the Skylines lack of creature comforts. He announces through a mouthful of croissant, “That thing… is a BEAST. Nail it in any gear and you feel you might crash through the horizon. The power is truly addictive. It handles great too: not quite as polished or as delicate as the CSL, but still very effective.” Mark describes his maiden voyage in his Turbo S. “It’s quick, there’s no doubt about it, but the speed is coupled to such easily exploitable dynamics I honestly think anybody could drive it fast with a bit of practice. And 191mph is very impressive, especially as the tacho wasn’t even in the red zone. Mind you, for half the price, that Skyline kept surprisingly close to the Turbo’s backside.”
We decide to head off, now back in our own cars. It’s a shock to climb into a dull façade of hard plastics and dated dials. But once reacquainted I focus on exploiting its best points – devastating speed, and an extremely exciting driving experience.
We reach the Luxemburg boarder without any meetings with awkward Gendarmes only to be questioned about if we had been obeying to the speed limits. Of course we gave our honest lies of “No sir, we have been keeping to the limits at all times.” And of course our Gendarme had heard that we had won the Olympic bid. He therefore decided that we needed a lesson and described how the French deserved the Olympics and “those stupide Englishman” did not. Eventually we were allowed to go on our ways, and reached Germany in no time.
The sun has been beating down on the tarmac for at least an hour now, and the roads were now offering decent levels of grip; so we took a few exceptional country roads which ducked and dived like a flicked ribbon. Finally we hit the autobahn were we could relax a little and explore the scary side of 100mph. Soon we saw hints that we were approaching our goal – a duo of GT3s, a garish green Murcielago and the appearance of signs signalling the way to the circuit. We entered the car park with a multi-tonal bellow from all 9 of our exhausts and slotted into three consecutive parking places. The car park was already bustling with other RMA regulars, and we mingled to share our experiences of the journey down and expectations for the day ahead. So, bring it on!
*Remember this is a story not real life!
PART I
PART II
I'm very sorry for the LONG wait for this piece, but I think it has been worth it as this is my best yet. I will make sure that the final part will come in the next two weeks. I know its long, but please read on...
The Journey
It’s the small hours of a spring Saturday morning and jeezus it’s cold. There’s an eerie draping of fog in the air and the tarmac outside glistens with the signs of a recent rainfall. Not ideal driving conditions for my semi-slick shod Skyline, but there are hundreds of winding miles spanning the distance between my dreary British home and Germany, the home of the Nürburgring Nordschliefe.
No time to waste then. Berkshire based RMA trackdays have the whole ‘ring to themselves today and luckily for me I’m a member. I’m travelling down with some friends and we have planned an epic route that will scythe through the beautiful countryside on some challenging French N roads. Then we will cut across Luxemburg and blast down the final stretch on derestricted Autobahn. We will then spend the day driving, each with our own goals – mine will be struggling to beat the Carrera GT’s 7 mintue 32 second lap time. It was a mad idea at first but now it just seems plain absurd.
I thumbed the Skyline’s dated key fob, which does little to impress how quick this thing is, and climbed aboard. With a twist of the key in the ignition the engine exploded into life. I gave the throttle a couple of quick stabs to warm it through and the engine replied with a “brap…BRAP.” Sorry wife. Sorry Neighbours. I strapped myself in and eased out the heavy clutch pedal, trying to resist leaving a pair of smouldering black streaks in my wake.
Just outside Dover cruising at a steady 110mph I spotted the pert rump of my mate Jimmy’s M3 CSL. I drove out of the vision-blurring rooster tail and I pulled alongside. We exchanged greeting nods and then he gestures to the horizon where the sun is just beginning to peer over, glaring into our eyes. We both pinned our throttles in unison and proceeded listening to the duet performed by a pair of race-honed sixes.
We stocked up with supplies at the deserted port and once we had boarded we broke into discussion about the day ahead. One thing we all knew was that it would be a day that will remain in our memories forever. The train seemed abandoned but somehow the cars still were stumbled upon. One youth gesticulated wildly at the sight of our convoy yelling to his tracksuited mates about the “sick” cars we were driving. We couldn’t wait to get out on the open road, and as if our prayers were answered, the train’s gargantuan carriage slid open to reveal a magnificent French morning, the grass still shimmering with early morning dew. Our train of cars slipped by customs without any problems and headed on our way, keeping one eye peeled for the notoriously unforgiving Gendarmes. We meandered across the country gaining confidence and grip as the day began. Traffic was generally not a problem, and when cars were encountered there not exactly going to slow the progress of a 1300bhp convoy. One memorable experience was when a pair of French youngsters decided that their body kitted hatchbacks were supercar material. Maybe they have been watching ‘The Fast and the Furious,’ but it was hilarious giving them a head start, and then overtaking at over twice the speed limit. This speed could be held on some of the longer sweeping corners, which saw us reaching unbelievable speeds which would result in a hefty fine on a good day or imprisonment if the Gendarmes remembered that we beat them to the Olympic bid. The Skyline felt stable in all situations its many computers all working to provide a friendly and involving drive. Even when the tyre’s limits of adhesion are exceeded recoveries are easy to make. Even on a damp morning Pirelli tyres lend the Skyline a surprising firm footing, only breaking out of your control if you get seriously greedy with the right hand pedal.
We join the motorways again around Dijon as Mark, our other companion in his newly bought and modified 550bhp 911 Turbo S, decides that we need to discover our car’s v-max. Nervously I bury my foot to the floor in third and a torrent of G-forces slaps me hard in the face. I persist up until I finally loose my bottle at around 180 whilst Mark hit a GPS verified 191; breaching Porsche’s claimed v-max by 2 mph. The M3 CSL was left in our dust reaching a ‘measly’ 165mph. Traffic leads to Gumball style overtaking manoeuvres using the hard shoulder when necessary to ‘undertake’ other vehicles. We all come to the conclusion that we should end this while the going’s still good, partly as I had one of my ‘moments’ when I was very nearly sandwiched between a German lorry and a Citroen. The N roads are also vastly more rewarding than straight line driving, which we will have more of on the autobahn’s anyway.
For the next stint Jimmy and I change cars. I’m taking my first taste of the celebrated M-division. The sense of occasion with the CSL is hugely greater than that of my Skyline leaving me feeling slightly disappointed with my dull vehicle. The lightweight wheels are works of art, and the front wings and roof are draped in exotic carbon fibre. The ‘duck-tail’ boot lid also subtly increases the sense that this is one special driver’s tool. The wind is whipping into my body, so I hop inside. This is very special. The deeply sculpted seats offer great support but still are comfortable enough for daily use. I look around to find swathes of carbon inside too. The door cars are almost completely fashioned from the stuff. Little ‘M’ logos are scattered around making sure the owner knows they’re buying into a ledged. The steering wheel makes the Skyline’s Sparco item seem like a chipolata compared to its wurst-like dimensions. However, finished in light grey alcantara, I doubt holding onto it will be a task. This interior shows up what I really miss with the Skyline – a sense that what you have just spent years of earnings on is special.
Let’s hope the B-M can bite as loud as its bark. Pulling away the M3 feels taught and well honed, the suspension soaking up the less than perfect road surface with ease. Now I’ve become acquainted with the CSL I begin to push harder, trying to feel for any signs of breaching its limits. Unfortunately the shortcoming of this car is that no matter when you try the feedback coming through the wheel is minimal, restricting you from really reaching its full potential. I wouldn’t want to try and make swift progress on an undulating B-road in the rain. Don’t let me put you off though; it’s still a truly evocative car. The exhaust note is a musical marvel, and you can’t help ringing out every last rpm from the engine. It doesn’t have the turbocharged thunder of the Skyline, but you can tell it’s a pure bread specimen making it feel every inch a race car.
When we stop for a late breakfast near the Luxemburg boarder we relay our experiences in each other’s vehicles. Jimmy is sweating slightly, partly due to the Skylines lack of creature comforts. He announces through a mouthful of croissant, “That thing… is a BEAST. Nail it in any gear and you feel you might crash through the horizon. The power is truly addictive. It handles great too: not quite as polished or as delicate as the CSL, but still very effective.” Mark describes his maiden voyage in his Turbo S. “It’s quick, there’s no doubt about it, but the speed is coupled to such easily exploitable dynamics I honestly think anybody could drive it fast with a bit of practice. And 191mph is very impressive, especially as the tacho wasn’t even in the red zone. Mind you, for half the price, that Skyline kept surprisingly close to the Turbo’s backside.”
We decide to head off, now back in our own cars. It’s a shock to climb into a dull façade of hard plastics and dated dials. But once reacquainted I focus on exploiting its best points – devastating speed, and an extremely exciting driving experience.
We reach the Luxemburg boarder without any meetings with awkward Gendarmes only to be questioned about if we had been obeying to the speed limits. Of course we gave our honest lies of “No sir, we have been keeping to the limits at all times.” And of course our Gendarme had heard that we had won the Olympic bid. He therefore decided that we needed a lesson and described how the French deserved the Olympics and “those stupide Englishman” did not. Eventually we were allowed to go on our ways, and reached Germany in no time.
The sun has been beating down on the tarmac for at least an hour now, and the roads were now offering decent levels of grip; so we took a few exceptional country roads which ducked and dived like a flicked ribbon. Finally we hit the autobahn were we could relax a little and explore the scary side of 100mph. Soon we saw hints that we were approaching our goal – a duo of GT3s, a garish green Murcielago and the appearance of signs signalling the way to the circuit. We entered the car park with a multi-tonal bellow from all 9 of our exhausts and slotted into three consecutive parking places. The car park was already bustling with other RMA regulars, and we mingled to share our experiences of the journey down and expectations for the day ahead. So, bring it on!
*Remember this is a story not real life!
