The Chase Is On

Nissan's 350Z packs a throaty great V6 sending power to the rear wheels – much love!

I love bikers. Most of them, anyway. Once in a while you’ll come across one or maybe even three who know what they are doing and make absolute mince meat out of a road. They’ll even hang out a leather clad knee through a corner, making your sweaty efforts behind the wheel of a car seem about as heroic as eating spaghetti with your bare hands.

Bikers, particularly the enthusiastic ones (those who sometimes like to relay shouted stories to each other at traffic lights) can add an epic amount of fun to a drive. It is one thing to go chasing apexes alone in a four wheeled machine on a deserted country road, but quite another to chase blokes straddling something Japanese along a road you’ve never driven before and they have.

And so it was with a recent and rather impulsive B-road blat, my cousin kindly handing me the keys to his glorious sounding Nissan 350Z, looking positively bulbous in metallic grey and subtly aftermarket on its optional Rays rims.

A quick supermarket run beforehand morphed into something more inspiring after deciding that, with the night before’s hangover quickly dispersed in a flurry of paracetamol and Diet Lilt, we fancied a road trip. With tank fat with fuel, the Zed was up for it and so the search for twisty asphalt began. To find it, we simply aimed at the countryside. What we discovered blew us away.

The route, which starts just outside Otley and spears north towards the A59.

Keep your patience navigating through the West Yorkshire town of Otley and soon you are presented with the national speed limit sign of Newall Carr Road, which heads north and links with Weston Moor Road. Drink in as much scenery as you dare, but don’t forget there are blind dips, off-camber corners and I-could-take-that-twice-as-fast-next-time sweepers to deal with.

Views get better still on Askwith Moor Road, your fast advance backed by breathtaking views of some of Yorkshire’s finest moorland. For most of the time along this dream piece of tarmac, visibility is panoramic, which invites you to keep that right foot planted just a little longer.

Views are stunning, those along Askwith Moor Road particularly so.

Several hair raising corners later, connected by straights that aren’t really straight at all, and you eventually come to the A59 near Carr Wood. Of course, I was looking forward to the return leg, that six miles or so not only whetting my appetite but also making me fall in love with driving all over again. And then it got really interesting.

Our about-turn landed us behind a 4x4 pick-up whose driver looked in no hurry. Umm-ing and ahh-ing about an overtake on a steep incline, I had precisely three seconds to register the glaring headlamps of two superbikes in my rear-view mirror before their riders hunkered down, flicked their wrists and whipped past. Challenge accepted!

The return six miles or so were a mesmerising blur. The Zed and I gave it everything to keep up with the two wheeled madmen. Firing along unfamiliar roads at speed focuses the mind  and is definitely not recommended, but things were made easier by the two bikers up front who were guiding me along.

Judging their entry speeds into corners was key to keeping in touch and I was managing to eat into the distance between us in the braking zones, but that gap would increase once more as they opened it up on exit, backed by that unmistakable superbike scream.

The bikers' knowledge of the road came in handy during parts like this.

I couldn’t tell you what speeds we hit and it doesn’t matter anyway. What I can tell you, though, is that during the last stretch of road the Zed called time, its brake pedal going long and making me thank the heavens for knowing how to use a gearbox to scrub off speed. That last left hander could have been quite messy!

Truth be told, I was glad our coupe had had enough. Its owner too, no doubt. By this stage I was a sweaty, grinning mess and had received that adrenaline hit I’d sub-consciously craved since slipping behind the Nissan’s helm. I’d even managed to keep the bikers honest, if only just.

Ticking and pinging as we walked away from it afterwards, the Zed had done its job and then some. It really does sound wonderful and is one of those cars that feels at its best when you’re working it hard. It hates being mollycoddled.

Anyone that loves driving will eagerly tell you about their most enthralling experience, and this was definitely one of mine. Not only had I found a stunning piece of road, I'd crossed paths with two great bikers as well.

Pagani's Big Miss

Pagani's new Huayra disappointed at Goodwood.

The new Pagani has been getting a lot of coverage lately, particularly in evo magazine. But after watching it fire off the line at the Goodwood Festival of Speed last Saturday, I realised it didn't have quite the same impact as the Zonda. In fact, it wasn't even close.

There are two reasons for this. One, it sounds unremarkable at best. Pagani simply hasn't cracked how to make a turbo motor sing. Maybe it should have asked AMG for help, the firm which supplies the Huayra's V12 and manages to make its own V8 biturbos snarl. Although admittedly, even these don't sound as good as the old, normally aspirated V8.

The screaming Zonda F of 2005 with a 600hp V12.

In contrast, the sound a Zonda makes is spine tingling, shocking even. It sounds just like a hypercar should. It also looks the part, which brings me to the second reason I muttered 'meh' as the Huayra whisped off the start line.

I remember a feature in evo a few years ago, where Gordon Murray spent time analysing the Zonda including its aerodynamics. There were flaws, but it was these flaws that made it look so sensational.

The Huayra is a sleeker, more aerodynamically efficient proposition and yet its looks left me slightly cold in the same way a Bugatti Veyron's do. Moveable flaps are all well and good, but they do nothing for me.

Purity of form has been lost on this new Italian hypercar, and I think it will be the Zonda, the car that put Pagani on the map, that will be more fondly remembered in years to come.

Driving to Survive

As the sun slipped out of view, my journey north began...

Norway is a country of contrasts. The people that choose a more exhilarating life in towns and cities are never more than a stone’s throw from the sleepy vistas of rolling countryside. Alcohol is ruinously expensive but that doesn’t seem to stop the locals enjoying it in vast quantities (take note the UK Government). And for half the year its roads are bathed in sunshine and lined with lush green trees, while the other half of the year sees the tarmac glisten under the influence of snow and ice, and the flora haunt the edges of roads as skeletons of their former selves.

Oslo Rygge airport's collection of rental hatchbacks.

My visit to Norway in February was my first – I’ve got a feeling it won’t be my last. But that certainly won’t be because of my hire car, a lowly 1.6-litre, petrol powered Toyota Auris with all the guts of a nostril hair trimmer and an engine note to match. 

Our first encounter with the Japanese hatchback at Oslo Rygge airport was far from memorable. Road salt was yet to be washed off its silver metallic bodywork, which made it look like one of those old fridges you see discarded on a landfill site.

But at least it had winter tyres. These are compulsory in Norway during the winter months and were soon to prove their worth as I slipped onto the E6 motorway heading north towards Oslo, before spearing west on route 23.

The eastern entrance to the challenging Oslofjordtunnelen.

This road takes you west of Drøbak via the fast descending and then fast climbing Oslofjordtunnelen, the latter challenge of which the Auris could only just manage in third with right foot mashed on the loud pedal. This part of the journey was mind boggling, but only because the tunnel lighting was so poor and the juggernauts had more torque than our entry level Auris.

A Norwegian speed camera.

We hadn’t travelled far – about 45 clicks – but already the Norwegian roads had made a massive impression. The speed cameras, for instance, are as covert as a sniper in a ghillie suit. They are finished in matte grey, which blends into the night so well, every time you see a speed camera sign your eyes protrude from their sockets for the next eight miles because you are never quite sure if you’ve past the wretched thing or not.

You don’t know how easy we have it in Blighty until you’ve seen one of these things – or rather not seen one of them until it’s too late.

Of course, you could always travel at the speed limit which is usually around 50km/h out of town. But given the sheer amount of lovely sweeping curves Norway’s terrain throws at you, it always feels a bit pedestrian. And more often than not, you’ve got a Scandinavian close behind. But not too close, because if they were their headlights would get clogged up with the road grime your car is kicking up out back. Experience is priceless on Norway’s roads.

Salt prevents ice spawning on the road - but not always.

But even with extra know-how, during winter the continuously evolving road surface will always catch out the exuberant. Which is why even those familiar with the roadscape tend to stay in convoy for tens of miles at a time rather than overtake each other and risk their life for an extra few minutes at home.

You stay together for so long, in fact, you develop a sense of camaraderie. If one of you was to fall off the road there’s little doubt everybody else would stop and check for vital signs. The poignant feeling of isolation does that to human beings, especially at night.

Another factor to keep you on your toes is the Monaco esque channelling through the tighter curves of what Brits would call B-roads. First comes a roadside sign letting you know you’re close to the corner. Then, out of nowhere, come the six-feet tall walls that separate your lane from the other side. These things are like central reservations on steroids.

And yet every one bears the scars from a machine whose owner anticipated there was more grip than there really was and sent their pride and joy into a very expensive embrace with solid concrete. Norway may be quite beautiful, but its roads can bite back. Hard.

The town of Gol is surrounded by breathtaking roads.

The four hours it took to reach Gol felt like twice that – and the first beer tasted doubly good. I set off from Oslo Rygge airport at sunset and arrived in Gol in the dead of night when temperatures were nearing their lowest. The return journey – again at night – saw the Toyota showing -15C on its unappealing, yellow lit display. Experience counts for a lot when things get that cold. Luckily, I had at least some...