1993 McLaren F1: Two Out Of XP3 Ain't Bad

SPOTTING A classic at the Goodwood Revival is not a hard task, but even this one stood out. This annual event in England hosts a celebration of racing from before the introduction of aerodynamic aids in 1966. This spectacular weekend is a pilgrimage for petrolheads, but that date is significant, for it means one of Formula One’s most prominent names is often absent: McLaren.

Since the Monaco Grand Prix of that year when McLaren entered their first car to race, some of the world’s most talented people have sat in their seats. And the former chief engineer Gordon Murray is one of them, and in the hope that he forgives my playing pap for the day, I spotted him driving off in his brainchild, the McLaren F1. Even in a field full of Ferraris it was quite the sight. I remember my heart pounding when, twenty years ago in Sussex, I watched over my shoulder as a silver one slid up behind our Citroen BX, overtake, and all but disappear in the time it took to turn my head around.

It is hard to find something new to say about this phenomenal car. Like Lilliputians throwing ropes around Gulliver, so every journalist has tried to shackle their impression of this incredible feat. I was going to remind you that through McLaren’s partnership with Honda and Murray’s experience in an NSX that he had pushed for the Japanese to provide the engine for the F1. Rumour has it a V14 was even discussed. But in what must be the most baffling decision made by company that often does the baffling (folding hard-top CRX anyone?), Honda declined and Murray turned to BMW.

But before I go in too far, I note Wikipedia has that base covered. What they don’t mention is the door mirror: when the F1 first appeared, the mirrors were on the A-pillar; in production they moved to the door. On all but one, that is: one customer was so adamant to have them as per the original concept that the pillars had to be reinforced with extra carbon-fibre to prevent twisting at Vmax. This made the car heavier; Gordon was not pleased.

Of every device, innovation, and achievement, headlines have been written and benchmarks set. Everything about the F1 was custom-made and convergent towards the same goal of creating the ultimate road car (and I am expecting similar clarity from Apple with their foray into transport -not just cars, I suspect). The three-seat layout; the 3.2s 0-60 time; the gold-plated engine-bay; the butterfly doors (thank-you, Toyota Sera); the 243 mph top speed; the million-dollar asking price. Before you even saw it the F1 had rearranged everything you expected from a car: higher regard for it would not be possible, and the single-mindedness of its objectivity is comparable to the pursuit of perfection Toyota sought in creating the first Lexus.

Such stats set up expectations that are impossible for any stylist to fulfill, which is ironic, because in many way the McLaren is a very grounded and logical machine. But it feels as though the facts are greater than the form. The plan shape of the body is straight to reduce drag;  the cab is far forward with a low cowl to improve visibility; the car is small to reduce weight. Each attribute is there for a reason. If you were to start with a blank page today with the same goal, the result probably wouldn’t look that different. Drop a couple of cylinders perhaps in favour of a hybrid, use OLED lights front and rear; that’s about it.

Instead I have to cross myself, and hope that Peter Stevens is not reading this. Stevens is the designer of this car, or stylist, as Murray would I expect insist. In the F1 Stevens has created one of the most memorable and timeless shapes in automotive history. It is perfect. Kind of freaky perfect in that it refuses to age.

Traces of his experience at Lotus is found in the abrupt tail (later seen on the Elise), with smoothly integrated volumes not unlike the 1989 Isuzu 4200R concept. The F1 is crisp, modern, pert, lithe, with a timelessness inextricably linked to the single-minded, complete vision. It is exactly what this car should and needs to look like.

So I feel it sacrilegious to say that it fails to quicken my pulse. Such is the perfection of the F1, I realise the fault must lie with me, that there is something I have missed, a lesson I have not learned. I keep looking at it, willing myself to fall on my knees in adulation, yet nothing comes. Perhaps I should not confuse clean design with perfect design, for the F1 is very clean, with the drama coming from the package, not extrovert design details. The Mercedes-Benz 300SL Gullwing had eyebrows over the arches; the Countach was Stratos Zero reincarnate; the Testarossa had those strakes. Yet the F1 is so essentialist that the superfluity of extraneous details and emotion is rationalised out.

It is also a product of its time. When, in the nineties, emphasis on the wheels had yet to mature -an essential part of car design today -a trait that also leaves the Honda NSX feeling too prim and polite. In the eternal struggle between heart and head, this car was conceived from the ground up with the grey matter. Such single-mindedness leaves the McLaren F1 almost Japanese in execution. It is also perhaps the most excellent example of British esotericism.

In Memorium: Pillarless Coupes

WHAT DO the Mercedes-Benz SLC, BMW Z3M Coupe and an early Porsche 911 Targa have in common? Answer: they are all coupes based on a cabrio (okay, the 911 Targa is a coupe based on a cabriolet based on a coupe, but if I had only mentioned the BMW and Mercedes I could be accused of favouritism).

I only noticed the connexion between the SLC and the M Coupe after I had purchased them. I think part of the appeal must be solution-based design, rather than aesthetic over-reaching, lending a quirk of rational to an otherwise emotive process. Because so many parts must be shared to keep costs down, the designer has limited options to give the coupe its own personality. Bread-van proportions did the trick for the BMW; Mercedes used lamellae windows and Porsche a bold roll-hoop with wrap-around glass. On bodies that were already familiar, details made the cars memorable.

Today it is hard to contemplate a coupe not having a bespoke bodyside. This reflects the increasing value of design as a critical factor at point of purchase, and the subsequent willingness to invest. But cash still stops flowing as soon as chopping the B-pillar is mentioned. Since the E9, BMW has tended not to bother (although the 8-series is a welcome exception), whereas Mercedes, CLK aside, always makes the effort, imbuing their coupes with the desirable 'pillarless' billing. Does this have anything to do with why their mean transaction price (the measure of premiumness) is higher?

Funny, isn't it, how something so small can make such a difference. That is why Mazda went to such efforts with the delightful 1983 929 Coupe, aka Cosmo. Quite apart from the right-angled geometry of the lines, Mazda effectively made the first split B-pillar, within which the glass descended! I can't think of a smaller window aperture post-quarterlight days. It is a bit mad, yet the car remains appealingly memorable. It is far from pillarless (it has two!) but at least Mazda took steps to ensure it wasn't just another fixed pane. If they had, I wouldn't be writing about it here. 

Collectors alert: There's one for sale here

2014 Volkswagen XL Sport Concept Is A Right Animal

FOUR WHEELS good; two wheels bad: in the Animal Farm of vehicle design, little stirs my interest less than motorbikes. I would rather pore over a Daewoo Matiz than survey a Harley. Maybe it’s a volume thing. I like shapes and curves, not bent pipes. It’s a pity really, because in absolute terms, nothing gets closer to perfect transport than a bike. I am afraid it really is a matter of aesthetics, and though I realize I am the loser in this argument, even this fails to shift my perception. 

My experience of bikes can be counted on one hand: one extraordinary journey on the back of a Royal Enfield, traveling though Rajasthan, and a trip through Tokyo on a Yamaha R1, memorable if only for the pain of trying to hang on. I'll be honest, the journey in India was incredible, but that was as much the astonishing environment and companions, as it was the bike. Put me on a donkey and I would still cherish the memory.

Still, that hasn't stopped less prejudiced types from marrying cars and bikes. Caterham has tried it a few times using Honda engines, starting in 2000 with the Blackbird. But it seems like transplanting the heart of a pig with one from a sparrow. Technically, it may be possible, but it doesn't quite fit the animal, no matter how much flapping it does.

But the surgeons in Wolfsburg may have at last found the right donor for the right patient: a Ducati twin for a carbon tub known as the XL1. My intrigue deepened with reading a brisk-but-not-spectacular 5.7s time from 0-60mph. This number has a bit of resonance with me. It is the time achieved by Fast Lane magazine in testing the R129 500SL 25 years ago. That was a 5-litre quad-cam V8. Ten years ago, the BMW Z4 did the same with 60% of the Merc's capacity. Today, it is what a diesel BMW 3-series can manage. If the engine of the future needs to prove itself, then 5.7 is the number to do it with.

The main difference between the Caterham and the VW is that while the Caterham is minimalist, the VW reductionist. The Brit leaves all the essentials in the pit-lane; the German takes a little bit of everything. It is the more complete car, so it feels more of the achievement that it can still produce excellent performance. A part of me loves the fact that they haven't gone over-board on power, too. 200PS already makes it the most powerful twin-engined car on the track, so 5.7s mean so much more. 

I suppose the one area where the concept starts to stall is its brand positioning. Didn't Audi technically buy Ducati? So why are we seeing the same badge on the XL as on a camper? Sporty, advanced genes surely befit four rings. One can only imagine that politics played a part. Volkswagen is the brand closer to the heart of chairman Ferdinand Piech, who commissioned the original 1-litre car that finally became the XL1. Though logic dictates Audi, those who cast the votes decide nothing. Those who count the votes decide everything.

In Memorium: Bonkers Showcars

THERE ARE countless wacky examples, but I am going to use the latest Nissan Juke variation as an opportunity to bring the bizarre Toyota Delta Beagle to mind, and ensure it has some digital legacy. In addition to convoluted names, both the Nissan Juke Nismo RSnow Concept and Toyota Delta Beagle have triangular wheels. The Nissan cheats by using a track, but in 1991, the triangle was the wheel. Crazy! And so to history:

Rewind twenty years and I am sitting cross-legged on the floor spell-bound by the BBC's Tomorrow's World, a programme featuring the latest and greatest in the world of innovation. Japan was regularly leaned on to create mesmerising trips into the future; pictures of capsule hotels and commuter-filled trains would leave me with an indelible desire to seek my way east in the future. And then I saw the 1991 Toyota concepts. 

These three vehicles were created in response to an internal competition at Toyota to re-invent the wheel. One had legs. Another had an underbody covered in bristles that vibrated, moving slowly across the floor like a washing-machine on a spin-cycle. And one had triangular wheels. Pointless, absurd, ridiculous: I was captivated, and in 2004 I made my first trip to Japan, working at Toyota.






Such flights of fancy no longer exist. Showcars today are more branding exercises and technological showcases: not very exciting for a nine year old. Instead they must turn to computer games such as Gran Turismo to see designers loosen their collars as brands snag loyalty at a young impressionable age.

But will they grow up wanting to be a designer? With creativity so subtly applied to convergent themes in a saturated marketplace, where is the fire that can lure the young minds of the future. Wordsworth said that the child is the father of the man, so if we can't lure children to draw cars, what hope is there to draw in the men they become? 

2016 Volvo S60 Cross Country Scores a Slammed Donk

THERE ARE numerous incidents of architectural variations in car design if one sifts through the annuls, but the BMW X Coupe is still a visceral milestone. It would be years before we understood quite how farsighted the 2001 concept would be. First came the coupe-isation of existing architecture. Every sedan lost its boxy profile; even Volvo streamlining the first S60. Now crossover-isation is at large; hatchbacks jacked-up, cabrios too. The Nissan Murano even managed to make a cabrio of a jacked up car. 

A recent fermentation of this symbolic pluralism (we live in a multi-cultural society after all) is the BMW X4, which is conceived thus: 3-series begets SUV begets coupe. Now Volvo is attempting to do one better. 


The coupe-ised S60 sedan has been given the donk treatment (I'll come to that in a moment) to create a peculiarly appealing concept, if only because chalk isn't usually served with cheese.

Ah yes, the donk. Americans might know the term, or fans of street culture. I'm not either, but I have in the past stumbled upon this odd bastardisation of Americana. In Tokyo, three-box Caddies put out to pasture are mounted on roller-skate wheels -the smaller the better -with blue underbody lighting. You probably know them as low-riders. Those Broughams which didn't find 10" wires fare rather differently. They are mounted on collosal cart-wheels, so that the bottom of the body is in line with the top of the wheels.



Okay, the Volvo S60 might be a little off this, but the principle remains. The only difference is approach. Marketing invariably guides the design department in voicing the views of the customers, so a sedan will become more coupe-like because customers say so. This feedback will take about four years to bake-in before the result is on the road. Add another four (the typical development time of a car) to work positive crossover feedback into the mix, and you can see why designers feel frustrated when concepts they sketch can take a decade to be vindicated. So who will produce the first two-door coupe-crossover 14 years after the X-Coupe? I wouldn't bet against Volvo.

2017 Ford GT Is No Prince Charming

IN THE original German text of Brother’s Grimm there are few fairytale endings. Rapunzel gets knocked-up; Cinderella’s ugly sisters slip on the glass slipper by hacking off parts of their feet; and Snow White’s antagonist is her own birth mother. Not very Disney.

The Ford GT40 in the 1960's was a giant-killing brute. Suspension failures, cramped cockpit, noisy, and with poor visibility, it challenged every driver. You would never have guessed it when Camillo Pardo created the Ford GT in 2005. It was a cartoon summary of racing for enthusiasts without a license, tapping into memories hard-won by its forebear. Retro design summons intellectual snobbery, but intellects are known for stunted emotions. Cars like the GT are better judged by heart than by head, and there is no denying the emotional allure of Pardo's meisterstuck.

On-lookers at the 2015 Detroit motorshow might be forgiven for scratching their head or clutching their chests when the new Ford GT appeared. Out goes introspection and curated nostalgia; in comes a made-in-America gung-ho low-slung Ferrari-bater. Only an American supercar would slam on four-foot overhangs with a landing-craft rear-deck: no mere 458 rival, these proportions tell us. Nope, this is in the Koenigsegg/Saleen niche, where idiosyncrasies are overlooked, or folded back into the mix and accepted as necessity. This skunk-works missile is a slap in the face for the rapid convergence of the supercar market, devoid of benchmarking and over-shoulder glances. Yet details like the superb headlamps remind you this is going to be more than about 0-60 times.

A while ago Ford had the tagline 'Bold', and bully for them, they have created a product that lends substance to this tell-‘em-like-it-is identity. The Ford GT is blatantly brutal: a cabin is pinched into wild buttresses desperately tethering great blocks of rear fender. A terrapin with after-burners about describes the expression. It is outrageous, and frankly rather vulgar, but this is not for prissy Mercedes owners: this is a poster car for F150 drivers waving the confederate flag. Yee-ha, boys.

2014 MINI Clubman Concept Is A Propa Gent

IMAGINE MY surprise when, sitting in a café in East London, the missus observed that I was the only man without a beard. Those that were follically-frivolous were all wearing brogues with contrasting socks. Dark grey would have been a bit old man-ish, for these are off-duty yuppies you understand, with jobs giving the means to express ideals unpatinated by time. Judging by the press shots of the Clubman concept, MINI considers them exemplars of customers, but that is not why I mention them here.

Hipsters have given arking an aesthetic. Arking, a term used by marketing folk (possibly that very same breakfasting crowd) to describe the effects of localism, a phenomenon common in recessions when we avoid the fancy, stick with the familiar, and eat sausages from our local butcher (for example). Our tastes become a little more conservative. We value family and traditions more, the craft movement a now-familiar spin-off. For a car maker these tastes become the bedrock for gauging the characteristics of the next product, and MINI need look no further than Shoreditch for their inspiration and aesthetic appropriation.

I would be surprised if a single one of the bearded breakfast club bought a MINI Clubman, though. They will prefer Oyster cards and renting a classic car for occasional weekends. The oldtimer may lend their quirks aesthetic credibility, but they will be missing out on a gutsy three-cylinder motor in a splendid body that makes the old one look positively clean-shaven. Check out the shoulder, see how wide it is, and be reminded of the BMW Z3M Coupe, which, incidentally, was designed by the same chap who did the outgoing Clubman. The chief designer behind the new one? Someone with a beard, of course.