Sadly, I cannot say the same of the Nissan. If it was
the only car you ever drove in
your lifetime, then you'd think it was the business. No
question.
It looks pretty meaty, has twin turbos, an electronically-limited
top whack of 155mph, hits 60mph in 5.4 se-conds and has
271lb-ft of torque at 4,400rpm. But it is on the portly
side, so its power to weight ratio is a lot less than the
Scooby's at 173bhp per tonne. Its rear wing is a little
bit smaller, too. Not that that's a criticism, mind. However,
the steering, or lack of control, is.
The Skyline sits on hefty 245/45 ZR 17 tyres which have
a mind of their own. Any rut, bump or dead animal will have
it whipping off in a direction you hadn't planned. It is
certainly the best antidote to falling asleep at the wheel
that I've
ever experienced. The government should employ the Nissan
in their Tiredness Can Kill campaigns. I can envisage
the slogan right now. 'Suffering undue driving fatigue?
Then get yourself a
Nissan Skyline.'
The five-speed gearbox certainly engages more smoothly than
the Subaru's, but it needs more muscle power to slip the
lever in. That can be said of all three pedals too, giving
the Skyline the most mature and sensible driving feel of
all three cars here.
There's no mad scrabbling panic of power and grunt being
delivered when the throttle eventually hits the carpet.
You sit in the seat - which is similar to the Impreza's
but much bigger and more firm - waiting for a kick up the
backside as the turbochargers strut their stuff, but nothing
terribly exciting happens. Or at least
not until you get a fair way up the rev range. Don't get
me wrong, it is a manically fast car, but you have to work
harder to get your hit of adrenaline. It doesn't make you
feel as special behind the wheel as the Impreza does, either.
Mind you, nor does the Mitsubishi Evo V. Sure, it too
has got all the trimmings - including a whopping great spoiler
which, if you're not careful, can trick you into thinking
and HGV is sitting on your flank - but it has just got too
many road manners to fully satisfy the hardiest, most accomplished
of thrillseekers.
Its 274lb-ft of torque peaks at 3,000rpm and 276bhp
at 6,500rpm, but it's all delivered smoothly. You do get
a glorious burst of 'wa-hey' but it is smoothed off
at each side - unlike the 22B. The steering feeds the most
information back to the driver of all three of my dream
cars and overall it gives the best ride too - although it's
certainly no Rolls-Royce.
But now, as I am lying there, blissfully dreaming of
wanging it to 60mph in 4.7 seconds and on to 147mph, demolishing
the 40mph signs along the twists and turns of the New Forest,
I begin to stir awake.
Slowly coming back to reality, I have just enough time to
decide that the 22B is my perfect car. Why? Well, it's phenomenally
powerful and very, very sexy. Flaws? Well, the rock-hard
ride, snatching clutch and torque steer. Three little faults.
That's all. And it makes up for these so much elsewhere
that I, personally, can forgive it for that trio of minor
annoyances and an awful lot more besides.
I
can't, however, for-give the Nissan for being such a sluggish
barge by comparison. Instead of a big surge in power as
you plant the heavy throttle, you get a steady rise in speed
that overshadows any enjoyment a spot of pure power would
induce. Things happen too high up the rev range for low-down
grunt-lover like me. Its tyres dictate which direction you
go in and, for a big car, there's barely enough space in
to take your hamster out for a spin round the block.
The Evo V feels really flaw-less, though. Oh, apart
from the dull interior and com-paratively unsporty seats.
But it's a little too gentlemanly for my rough-and-ready
tastes, although it is the one to go for if you're after
a bit more of a comfortable ride, something that's as manageable
in traffic as it is on the open road, and a set of wheels
wheels that delivers a juicy amount of power in an admirably
smooth way.
I woke up finally with a groggy head and a heavy heart.
Then, as the grim reality of what I actually did receive
in my Christmas stocking hit home (socks, books, girly things),
I reached out to my bedside table for a sheet of paper and
a pen and began to write…
Dear Father C,
I'm writing early so as to avoid the kind of disappointment
I experienced in 1998.
I can guarantee that I'll be as good as gold this year,
so if you could please grant
me one little wish…
©
BBC Top Gear
