The legacy of my MR2 Turbo
Discussion
As Forbes put it on another thread:
I'm at my parents' place this weekend to do some work on the car, that means I need to make a cross country trek. It's damp, cold and dark. Not the natural habitat for an MR2 Turbo...
Common sense, past experience and even my own wise-words on other threads (twitchy back ends and knowing your own limits) all advise caution, but I want to get there this side of Stupid O'Clock.
As the miles pile on and the roads clear out I start to lean on it a bit more. The front end feels good, in spite of the conditions. The car is tracking with the corners and changing direction with real conviction. It’s constantly reminding me why the '2 is like no other car I've ever driven.
The turbo is loving the conditions, I can hear it drawing in the dense air and there's a new edge to the already-aggressive induction rasp.
Suddenly I realised how much I'd been missing this. Both me and the tubby have been stranded in pothole-ridden London for over a month now - the most exciting part of our motoring lives being the 200metre slip road onto the A406...
Now we're out on open, smooth, winding tarmac. There’s not a car in sight and I’ve driven this road a hundred times over. The car is working beautifully and I feel in ‘the zone’.
Why hold back?
From a dead-slow crawl over a roundabout the revs started to build, and this time I didn’t ease up.
The engine note hardened as the car switched to maximum-attack and the ‘2 threw itself forward. The acceleration was like some sort of drug – a 1000Volt shock to the adrenaline gland. The car may be off-colour right now, but it was giving everything it had, regardless.
The road was greasy and damp – is there any truth in the handling horror stories? I’d say yes, but at that moment it didn’t matter. Under full throttle the ‘2 felt like it was on gears, not tyres.
I’ve always been told that wet weather driving is all about being smooth – tonight that felt natural. The ‘2 faithfully followed every line I set. The tyres loaded up progressively, then, with a squeeze of throttle the turbo would breathe, throwing the car from apex to braking-point on a wave of torque.
Mile after mile the corners seemed to flow into one another. For the first time I really understood how race cars seem to walk gently around a circuit – despite their unbelievable speed. The MR2 was like some sort of spider; sat on a complicated web of forces, totally in charge of each and every one.
All too soon I’d reached the end of my playground – the motorway beckoned again. Still the night had one treat left in store: a ninety-degree bend leading onto a narrow slip road.
From virtually standing the ‘2 launched itself up the tree-lined hill, the engines’ howl reflected back from hundreds of directions, the narrow space amplifying the feeling of speed.
A sudden silence greeted us as we levelled out on the wide, flat, featureless road - leaving plenty of room for reflection.
If you find the right place, and the right time – maybe motoring in this country isn’t so bad after all…
Forbes82 said:
Cool write up, great to see a little 'story' along with pictures, i wish more PHers would do threads like this as i bet alot of the machinery on this website has great stories behind it.
Well - it just so happens I have a ready supply of these from my time driving an MR2 Turbo. In fact, I enjoyed writing up the drives nearly as much as enjoyed the actual driving. So - without further ado, part one of 'several'.I'm at my parents' place this weekend to do some work on the car, that means I need to make a cross country trek. It's damp, cold and dark. Not the natural habitat for an MR2 Turbo...
Common sense, past experience and even my own wise-words on other threads (twitchy back ends and knowing your own limits) all advise caution, but I want to get there this side of Stupid O'Clock.
As the miles pile on and the roads clear out I start to lean on it a bit more. The front end feels good, in spite of the conditions. The car is tracking with the corners and changing direction with real conviction. It’s constantly reminding me why the '2 is like no other car I've ever driven.
The turbo is loving the conditions, I can hear it drawing in the dense air and there's a new edge to the already-aggressive induction rasp.
Suddenly I realised how much I'd been missing this. Both me and the tubby have been stranded in pothole-ridden London for over a month now - the most exciting part of our motoring lives being the 200metre slip road onto the A406...
Now we're out on open, smooth, winding tarmac. There’s not a car in sight and I’ve driven this road a hundred times over. The car is working beautifully and I feel in ‘the zone’.
Why hold back?
From a dead-slow crawl over a roundabout the revs started to build, and this time I didn’t ease up.
The engine note hardened as the car switched to maximum-attack and the ‘2 threw itself forward. The acceleration was like some sort of drug – a 1000Volt shock to the adrenaline gland. The car may be off-colour right now, but it was giving everything it had, regardless.
The road was greasy and damp – is there any truth in the handling horror stories? I’d say yes, but at that moment it didn’t matter. Under full throttle the ‘2 felt like it was on gears, not tyres.
I’ve always been told that wet weather driving is all about being smooth – tonight that felt natural. The ‘2 faithfully followed every line I set. The tyres loaded up progressively, then, with a squeeze of throttle the turbo would breathe, throwing the car from apex to braking-point on a wave of torque.
Mile after mile the corners seemed to flow into one another. For the first time I really understood how race cars seem to walk gently around a circuit – despite their unbelievable speed. The MR2 was like some sort of spider; sat on a complicated web of forces, totally in charge of each and every one.
All too soon I’d reached the end of my playground – the motorway beckoned again. Still the night had one treat left in store: a ninety-degree bend leading onto a narrow slip road.
From virtually standing the ‘2 launched itself up the tree-lined hill, the engines’ howl reflected back from hundreds of directions, the narrow space amplifying the feeling of speed.
A sudden silence greeted us as we levelled out on the wide, flat, featureless road - leaving plenty of room for reflection.
If you find the right place, and the right time – maybe motoring in this country isn’t so bad after all…
Edited by _Al_ on Saturday 20th March 09:53
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