New Gran Turismo model will sit between the DB9 and DBS models in the Aston Martin lineup
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Mercedes-Benz CLS-Class 63 AMG
£80,605 Driven February 2011
There's only one thing that irritates about the new CLS63 AMG, and that's its name. I'm sure there's a solidly Germanic reason for it somewhere in the corridors of power at Mercedes HQ, but, after years of reliably indicating the size of the engine, they are now just a lie. So instead of getting a 6.3-litre lump, as the badge brags, we now get a 5.5-litre instead. What happened? Did someone make a job lot of badges which have to be used up? Or did Hans in the engine dept suddenly and unexpectedly throw down his wurst last week and decide that all of AMG's big V8s would immediately be 800cc smaller and use twin turbos?
Whatever - and I know BMW is doing the same thing - it's not a big issue, but it does highlight just how problem-free the rest of the new CLS AMG is when all you have to kvetch about is its name. And the best way to avoid that is to get in and drive the thing as far and as fast as possible. Apart from having your every action monitored, checked and occasionally curbed by the Tronic army, chances are you will also emerge feeling like you could and would want to do the drive all over again. The CLS AMG empowers, cossets, connects and excites in so many ways, it genuinely makes you wonder if you would ever need any more car than this.
Maybe need is the wrong word. Few people could actually need anything other than the base model, which is still festooned with more tech than a teenager's bedroom, and more luxury than a Chanel counter. Want is probably a better way to describe it. And there's plenty of that going on in the CLS AMG, starting with that size-four engine with the size-six name.
Known inside AMG as the M 157, this military grade, twin-turbocharged V8 produces an unrelenting 518bhp and 516lb ft (that's 11bhp and 51lbft more than the outgoing 6.3 normally aspirated unit) thanks to some careful juggling of the fuel and air mixture. Spray-guided direct injection, piezo injectors and variable camshafts optimise the engine's digestion. Air-to-water charge cooling stops it from grenading. And generator management - it only cuts in when necessary, rather than just sapping power by being constantly in the loop - plus a stop/start system prevent it from downing the entire tank before you can get to the next petrol station or spin the tyres through to the canvas.
Mercedes claims the 157 drinks a third less than the AMG 6.3, which sounds like madness. But we'll leave that for now. However, the company also claims that 157s fitted with the optional AMG Performance Package drink exactly the same amount of fuel despite offering another 32bhp and 74lb ft - plus an 187mph top speed, instead of the 155mph of the cooking version. A piece of mechanical (and statistical) magic that is caused by upping the max charge of the turbos from 14.5psi to 18.8psi. You can tell which CLSs have this package installed in two ways: the carbon-fibre engine cover and red brake calipers, if the car is standing still, and the angry metallic grey blur with a carbon rear spoiler that passes you, if it's moving.
The other key contributor to this new-found health and efficiency is the AMG Speedshift seven-speed transmission, which is also quite the box of tricks. Instead of using a power-and fuel-sapping torque-converter to slur from one gear to the next, or borrowing the SLS's dual-clutch system (because it's designed for the gullwing's higher-revving, lower-torque engine) the Speedshift uses a wet start-up clutch. The 'box has four modes, one of which is there to keep the eco-legislators happy (and deliver those insanely low fuel consumption figures), three which are there to do the same for the driver. In Controlled Efficiency, or C, the engine sighs and dies as soon as you come to a stop, and the gears change with all the urgency of a vintage jukebox. It all gets much more interesting in Manual, Sport and Sport Plus modes, though. The engine stops playing possum at every junction, and you can get on with enjoying the car.
Which really isn't that hard to do. The standard 2011 CLS has already had the benefit of a substantial chassis and body make-over, finding a visual and driving fluency that the E-Class struggles to find. The addition of a unique programmable adaptive suspension system by the AMG crew has made the CLS AMG even better. I had worried that this would turn the ride to concrete, but that's not the case. Yes, the car stays flatter through corners, but not at the expense of your teeth or spine. Likewise the steering has a good amount of feel - much more than you'd expect from a car of this size and weight. The front track is almost an inch wider, but it's mostly down to the careful tuning of the steering from the tyres' contact patches all the way back up to your palms on the Alcantara-clad AMG wheel.
A key component of which is the tasty 19-inch titanium painted and polished wheels, which are broad but not excessively so. These help stop the car start picking its own lines when the roads get rough. The 36cm brakes are less modest. We didn't have the opportunity to try to overheat them on a track, but on the road, they felt faultless and fade free. Even so, just in case that's not enough, carbon ceramics are available for an extra £9,500.
So there's very little wrong, and an enormous amount that's right, with the way the new CLS AMG goes about its business. It's very fast, very comfortable, surprisingly fun to drive, looks mean, particularly in the matt paint, and feels like it has the durability of a JCB. The badging will be a nagging issue for OCD freaks, but even that's sortable... delete the badges altogether.
We like: Fabulous attention to detail
We don't like: Vibrating steering wheel
TopGear verdict: A great four-door GT made better. Don’t buy that Panamera until you’ve driven this
Performance: 0–62mph in 4.4secs, max 155mph, 28.7mpg
Tech: 5461cc, V8, RWD, 518bhp, 516lb ft, 1870kg, 231g/km
Tick this on the options list: Performance Pack, £6,495
And avoid this: Illuminated door sills, £585
Whatever - and I know BMW is doing the same thing - it's not a big issue, but it does highlight just how problem-free the rest of the new CLS AMG is when all you have to kvetch about is its name. And the best way to avoid that is to get in and drive the thing as far and as fast as possible. Apart from having your every action monitored, checked and occasionally curbed by the Tronic army, chances are you will also emerge feeling like you could and would want to do the drive all over again. The CLS AMG empowers, cossets, connects and excites in so many ways, it genuinely makes you wonder if you would ever need any more car than this.
Maybe need is the wrong word. Few people could actually need anything other than the base model, which is still festooned with more tech than a teenager's bedroom, and more luxury than a Chanel counter. Want is probably a better way to describe it. And there's plenty of that going on in the CLS AMG, starting with that size-four engine with the size-six name.
Known inside AMG as the M 157, this military grade, twin-turbocharged V8 produces an unrelenting 518bhp and 516lb ft (that's 11bhp and 51lbft more than the outgoing 6.3 normally aspirated unit) thanks to some careful juggling of the fuel and air mixture. Spray-guided direct injection, piezo injectors and variable camshafts optimise the engine's digestion. Air-to-water charge cooling stops it from grenading. And generator management - it only cuts in when necessary, rather than just sapping power by being constantly in the loop - plus a stop/start system prevent it from downing the entire tank before you can get to the next petrol station or spin the tyres through to the canvas.
Mercedes claims the 157 drinks a third less than the AMG 6.3, which sounds like madness. But we'll leave that for now. However, the company also claims that 157s fitted with the optional AMG Performance Package drink exactly the same amount of fuel despite offering another 32bhp and 74lb ft - plus an 187mph top speed, instead of the 155mph of the cooking version. A piece of mechanical (and statistical) magic that is caused by upping the max charge of the turbos from 14.5psi to 18.8psi. You can tell which CLSs have this package installed in two ways: the carbon-fibre engine cover and red brake calipers, if the car is standing still, and the angry metallic grey blur with a carbon rear spoiler that passes you, if it's moving.
The other key contributor to this new-found health and efficiency is the AMG Speedshift seven-speed transmission, which is also quite the box of tricks. Instead of using a power-and fuel-sapping torque-converter to slur from one gear to the next, or borrowing the SLS's dual-clutch system (because it's designed for the gullwing's higher-revving, lower-torque engine) the Speedshift uses a wet start-up clutch. The 'box has four modes, one of which is there to keep the eco-legislators happy (and deliver those insanely low fuel consumption figures), three which are there to do the same for the driver. In Controlled Efficiency, or C, the engine sighs and dies as soon as you come to a stop, and the gears change with all the urgency of a vintage jukebox. It all gets much more interesting in Manual, Sport and Sport Plus modes, though. The engine stops playing possum at every junction, and you can get on with enjoying the car.
Which really isn't that hard to do. The standard 2011 CLS has already had the benefit of a substantial chassis and body make-over, finding a visual and driving fluency that the E-Class struggles to find. The addition of a unique programmable adaptive suspension system by the AMG crew has made the CLS AMG even better. I had worried that this would turn the ride to concrete, but that's not the case. Yes, the car stays flatter through corners, but not at the expense of your teeth or spine. Likewise the steering has a good amount of feel - much more than you'd expect from a car of this size and weight. The front track is almost an inch wider, but it's mostly down to the careful tuning of the steering from the tyres' contact patches all the way back up to your palms on the Alcantara-clad AMG wheel.
A key component of which is the tasty 19-inch titanium painted and polished wheels, which are broad but not excessively so. These help stop the car start picking its own lines when the roads get rough. The 36cm brakes are less modest. We didn't have the opportunity to try to overheat them on a track, but on the road, they felt faultless and fade free. Even so, just in case that's not enough, carbon ceramics are available for an extra £9,500.
So there's very little wrong, and an enormous amount that's right, with the way the new CLS AMG goes about its business. It's very fast, very comfortable, surprisingly fun to drive, looks mean, particularly in the matt paint, and feels like it has the durability of a JCB. The badging will be a nagging issue for OCD freaks, but even that's sortable... delete the badges altogether.
We like: Fabulous attention to detail
We don't like: Vibrating steering wheel
TopGear verdict: A great four-door GT made better. Don’t buy that Panamera until you’ve driven this
Performance: 0–62mph in 4.4secs, max 155mph, 28.7mpg
Tech: 5461cc, V8, RWD, 518bhp, 516lb ft, 1870kg, 231g/km
Tick this on the options list: Performance Pack, £6,495
And avoid this: Illuminated door sills, £585
Sixties Mini Cooper vs Col de Turini
The shaggy longhorn lowers its head and blinks ruminatively. Its giant, slobbery nose hovers millimetres from my windscreen, the rest of the cow's hefty frame blocking the road. I rev the engine a few times, but this cow is going nowhere. An extended parp on the feeble horn. Nothing.
Paddy Hopkirk never had to deal with this...
This feature was originally published in the February issue of Top Gear magazine
A couple of minutes pass. I half-open the door to step out of the car and shoo the beast along. The cow gives a gentle shake of its razor-tipped horns. I shut the door again. A handful of sheep wander over to watch the battle unfold. Still the cow refuses to move, eyeing me impassively through the glass. I start to edge the Mini forward into the flank of the beast, hoping to gently shove it off the road. Placidly but firmly, the beast leans back against the Mini. Stalemate. It is at this moment I realise that a Sixties Mini Cooper (kerbweight: 600kg or so) is not the ideal car with which to barge a fat Alpine cow (kerbweight: 700kg or so).
Our bovine friend seems unaware that it is standing in the way, quite literally, of a double celebration. 2011 marks not only the 50th birthday of the Mini Cooper, but also 100 years of the Monte Carlo Rally (an anniversary that won't, sadly, see a WRC event: organisers moved the opening round away from Monaco in 2009). That's why we're halfway up the Col de Turini, Monte Carlo's scariest stage and the road that made the Cooper famous in 1964, when Hopkirk heroically danced the tiny Mini to victory. Sure, the Northern Irishman was plagued by fanatic spectators chucking snow on the road, but he never - to our knowledge - got blocked by a recalcitrant heifer.
In fact, this is a triple celebration. With pleasing synchronicity, 2011 also marks Mini's return to the World Rally Championship after four decades of absence, so we've brought along the car that forms the basis of Mini's latest rally effort for a quick compare 'n' contrast session. The Countryman Cooper S, the biggest, heaviest car ever to bear the Cooper name, looms over its predecessor like, er, a big cow.
Finally bored of the slow-motion sumo bout, the ungulate gives up and wanders off to terrorise something else on the mountain. We skitter up the Col, switchback to switchback, old Cooper burbling in front, Countryman skimming behind. It is wet and cold, and beyond the hairpins lurks miles of dark, perilous nothing.
We tip over the top of the pass onto the Col's highest ridge, a mile above sea level, and grind to a halt. It is snowing.
Scrap that. ‘It is snowing' doesn't do justice to the meteorological insanity occurring. It would be more accurate to say ‘there is a very small percentage of the sky not filled with snow'. Fresh powder sits thick on the tarmac, getting deeper by the second as flakes the size of Jaffa Cakes fall with a ferocity that makes a mockery of the fact we're only half an hour from temperate, palm-strewn Monte Carlo.
In the old Cooper, I'm busy constructing a very good reason why I need to switch cars when the Countryman - the warm, safe, four-wheel-drive Countryman - zips past me and off along the Col, carving a bow-wave of snow as it goes. Right. Good. Here goes, then: the Col de Turini, in apocalyptic snow, in a mint original Mini Cooper kindly lent to us by a Frenchman called André on the proviso that we don't do anything stupid with it. This feels a bit stupid.
Turns out it isn't. Barrelling along the pass, snow-laden pines just visible through the blizzard, the Cooper is bloody magnificent. Really. Grip levels could be accurately defined as ‘scant to non-existent', but it doesn't matter, so light and nimble is the Mini. ‘Steering on the throttle' is a phrase that should be confined to the pages of Treadshuffle Monthly, but it's actually apt here.
Turn into a corner, and the nose immediately swings wide as the front tyres scrabble on the fresh snow. But a tap of the brakes and a healthy stab of the throttle sends the Cooper's tail arcing round in a delicious drift. Balancing steering, brakes and accelerator, it proves hilariously easy to exit corners at heroic angles, chased by a wall of snow. Skating from side to side, I'm not sure it's possible to have more fun in a car. In the dead of night, lights bouncing off the snow, co-driver screaming in your ear, 1,000-foot drops leering from the darkness, things might be less cheery, I suppose.
There’s not much in here to distract you from the simple act of driving flat-out: no radio, no switches, not even a lane-departure warning system (save photographer Joe shouting when I skate too close to the cliff-edge). Wing mirrors? Angling a soup spoon out the window would be more effective than the Cooper’s tiny reflectors.
The driving position is defiantly old-school - knees pointing up towards your shoulders, wheel canted away, the top of the rim almost out of reach. For the first few miles, I drive hunched forward so I can reach the whole of the wheel, but soon revert to a slouched position, gripping the lower half of the wheel like a lazy bus driver. What a wheel, too - a huge, skinny ring of polished wood that transmits every slip and slide from the front tyres straight to your fingertips. The throttle response is similarly immediate. Brush the accelerator and the Cooper lurches forward, its central peashooter exhaust firing a rat-a-tat rhythm off the surrounding trees.
The driving position is defiantly old-school - knees pointing up towards your shoulders, wheel canted away, the top of the rim almost out of reach. For the first few miles, I drive hunched forward so I can reach the whole of the wheel, but soon revert to a slouched position, gripping the lower half of the wheel like a lazy bus driver. What a wheel, too - a huge, skinny ring of polished wood that transmits every slip and slide from the front tyres straight to your fingertips. The throttle response is similarly immediate. Brush the accelerator and the Cooper lurches forward, its central peashooter exhaust firing a rat-a-tat rhythm off the surrounding trees.
Why, you might ask, are we celebrating the anniversary of the Cooper rather than that of the Mini itself, born a year earlier? Well, the grown-up, enlightened answer is because it was the Cooper, not the original, utilitarian Mini, that marked the birth of the Swinging Sixties in Britain, hitting the streets at the same time as the Jaguar E-Type and the Beatles' first gig at the Cavern Club to usher in a golden era where cool Britannia really did rule the cultural waves. That's the grown-up answer.
Unfortunately, the TopGear editorial staff is, on average, a couple of decades younger than the original Mini Cooper, making us monumentally underqualified to wax lyrical on the cultural nuances of the early Sixties. But we can talk about rallying. When Hopkirk danced the Cooper to victory over the big, heavy, rear-drive Ford Falcons and Mercedes 300 SEs, a rallying legend was born. Hopkirk's win in 1964 was followed by victories for a pair of Finns, Timo Mäkinen and Rauno Aaltonen, in 1965 and 1967. Coopers took the top three spots in 1966, too, only to be disqualified on a technicality - even so, the little Mini's status as a racing legend was confirmed. The Cooper went on to record thousands of victories across the world, cementing Britain's place at the top table of racing.
The ballsy, plucky Britishness of the Cooper becomes yet more poignant as I switch into the decidedly Germanic Countryman. With permanent 4WD that can push all the power to the axle that needs it, this should be the most snow-proof Mini ever. In the course of one stuttering, flailing corner, it becomes very apparent that it isn't. The tyres are the problem. The Countryman is fitted with summer tyres - entirely our fault for borrowing the car from Mini at too short notice to fit winter rubber - with narrow grooves that jam full of snow, leaving the Countryman effectively on slicks, without traction, stability systems stuttering like King George VI. The centre clutch desperately shoves power back and forth in search of grip, but there's none to be had. Taking your Mini Countryman out in the snow? Fit winter tyres.
In truth, it's not really fair to compare the two cars head-to-head. Our Countryman is an out-and-out road car, the old Cooper is an authentic Sixties rally car: an all-terrain racer preserved in its prime, headlights and studded tyres and all. But it's astonishing how far the brand has evolved, even distended, in the last half-century. The Countryman is a full 106cm longer than the Cooper and - here's the killer stat - nearly three times the weight. The race-grade engine in the old car makes around 95bhp which, with the Cooper tipping the scales just under 600kg, means a power-to-weight ratio of 160bhp-per-tonne. The Countryman, weighing in at just under a tonne-and-a-half, its 1.6-litre petrol engine producing 184bhp, manages a more modest 124bhp-per-tonne. Progress, eh?
Of course, the Countryman's extra 950-odd kilos does some good, important stuff. Stopping the occurrence of death, for one. In the event of an accident in the old Cooper - whanging off the end of a hairpin on the Col de Turini and onto the rocks below, say - the lack of any safety kit means it'll be your face acting as a crumple zone. In the Countryman, you might survive a couple of bounces at least.
Of course, the Countryman's extra 950-odd kilos does some good, important stuff. Stopping the occurrence of death, for one. In the event of an accident in the old Cooper - whanging off the end of a hairpin on the Col de Turini and onto the rocks below, say - the lack of any safety kit means it'll be your face acting as a crumple zone. In the Countryman, you might survive a couple of bounces at least.
So we're not suggesting that, if you've been considering a Countryman, you should dash out and purchase a Sixties Mini Cooper instead. Mini's not-so-mini SUV-hatch is a fine, grown-up family car and, unlike the original Cooper, boasts a gearbox that doesn't require the touch of a master safebreaker to slot into reverse (in fact, trying to locate any gear at all with the Cooper's huge stalk of a lever is akin to stirring a pot of nails with a tent-pole). Where the old car is noisy and oily and basic, the newcomer is quiet and refined. But up here, alone in the trees, the Countryman seems a bit lacking in that trademark Mini effervescence still prevalent in the three-door versions of the modern car - a fizz present in spades in the old Cooper.
For the 1,000-mile haul back to the UK, the Cooper would be intolerable. In fact, it wouldn't have made it. The Countryman handles it without breaking sweat. But for a 40-mile hoon along one of the world's most fearsome rally stages, the 50-year-old veteran remains king.
TG would like to thank Rent A Car Classic for sourcing the old Mini. To hire excellent old sports cars on the French Riviera, check out: http://www.rentacarclassic.com/
2010 Maserati Spyder
These are the first spy photos of the upcoming 2010 Maserati Spyder. It's based on the recently introduced Gran Turismo coupe and it appears as though the Spyder will switch to a hardtop configuration. We never liked the odd proportions of the previous Spyder, so this revised version should offer a significant improvement in the styling department. The new roof should help it to maintain the GT's lines despite its shorter, two-seat configuration. Expect to see the same 405hp V8 used in the Gran Turismo under the hood of the Spyder when it goes on sale in 2009...
2010 Maserati Spyder
2010 Maserati Spyder
Lexus Releases New Photos of Geneva-Bound LFA Nürburgring Edition
After providing us with an initial batch of three photos of its LFA Nürburgring Edition, Lexus today unleashed more than a dozen new pictures of the more track-orientated version of its supercar. Built to celebrate the LFA's hat-trick of class wins at the Nürburgring 24 Hours race, the limited edition will be shown in public for the first time at the Geneva Motor Show on March 1.
The Nürburgring performance package is available on only 50 of the 500 LFA cars that will be built, with all of these versions to be crafted during 2012, the second full year of LFA production.
The LFA Nürburgring Edition sports a more powerful version of the front-mounted 4.8-liter V10 engine producing 562bhp (+10bhp), while changes to the six-speed sequential transmission drop shift times from 0.20 to 0.15 seconds.
Despite the power boost and faster gearbox, due to the increased drag from the aerodynamic enhancements that were made to augment downforce at high speed and include a larger front spoiler, fin-type side spoilers, a canard fin and a fixed rear wing, the Nürburgring Edition maintains the standard LFA's 3.7 second 0-100km/h (62 mph) sprint time and 325 km/h (202 mph) top speed.
Other revisions include a more hardcore suspension tuning and a 10mm reduction in the ride height plus exclusive mesh-type wheels fitted with dedicated high-grip tires.
Exterior color options for the limited edition model are restricted to matte black, black, white or orange, with interiors finished in black and red, black and purple and all-black. According to Lexus, cars delivered in Europe will feature a carbon fibre centre console and door trims, with carbon fibre sports seats finished in Alcantara.
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