Two by Four

a quartet of eminent automotive journalists road-tests four of the latest two-seaters

Ever Since homeward-bound GIs started packing spindly MGs into their steamer trunks following World War Two, America has been in love with sports cars--MGAs, Austin Healeys, Jaguars and Triumphs; Alfas, Fiats and Ferraris; Porsches and Mercedeses; Corvettes and Ford's two-seat T-bird. But postwar America was too busy making babies to consume many two-seaters. The American dream may have included them, but suburban driveways were lined with sedans and wood-sided wagons instead. The T-bird grew to a 2 + 2, with room in back for kids. So did many others. The Japanese won some two-seater hearts in the Seventies with Datsun Zs and Mazda RX-7s, but a lot of the Europeans folded their tents and fled as U.S. safety, emissions and bumper standards made the small-volume-car business increasingly tough. Suddenly, last year, Pontiac sold 100,000 Fieros. The new Corvette is a hit, as is Honda's tiny two-passenger CRX. Toyota has its first mid-engine sportster, the MR2. Ferrari recently launched its 12-cylinder Testarossa and Porsche its 944 Turbo. Mazda's new RX-7 is due this fall. Renault's turbo-V6 Alpine (like modern Porsches, not a true two-seater but very much a sports car) hits the road next year.

Almost everyone is working on new two-seaters for the late Eighties: Chrysler (with Maserati), Cadillac (with Pininfarina), Ford and Buick. Lotus' wedge-shaped Etna is years away. Lamborghini is revamping its awesome V12 Countach, and Aston Martin is collaborating with Zagato on a 185-plus-mph super GT.

Why the boom? More and more Americans are single and/or childless. The decade of dullness has left us hungry for auto excitement, and the car-as-status syndrome encourages automotive show-offmanship.

Somebody once defined a sports car as a car with everything unnecessary removed. Purists insisted that it have a ragtop, competition capability and no more than two seats. Today's best definition is simply that it's designed for fun and, primarily, for two people. It's small in size, striking in looks, exciting in performance, agile in response, delightfully sexy and impractical and intended for warm summer nights, scenic mountain roads and cuddly company.

From Toyota's twin-cam, 16-valve four-cylinder MR2 to Lamborghini's thundering V8-powered Jalpa, here's a pulse-quickening cross section.

Toyota MR2

Sports-car lovers have greeted Toyota's MR2 with an enthusiasm usually associated with Super Bowl victories or large inheritances. They are overjoyed. And they have every reason to be. To drive Toyota's new two-seater, the MR2, is to rediscover the lost world of the sports car. It has a high-revving engine that's a marvel, room for only you and your companion, a shifter that's so smooth it's scary and the ability to go around corners at speed without losing control--or causing you to.

Furthermore, for those who remember the questionable joys of having snow blow through the side curtains of an MGA and who understand the humor of a T-shirt that says, The English Drink Warm Beer Because They Have Lucas Refrigerators, the MR2 offers the added advantage of being a civilized automobile.

Toyota's TC-16, an engine of leading-edge sophistication, powers the MR2, doing its precision work from just behind the driver's right shoulder. The 16-valve twin-overhead-cam engine reaches its horsepower peak at 6600 rpm, an engine speed that just a few years ago could be found only on race tracks. The 112-horsepower four-cylinder displaces only 97 cubic inches (1587 c.c.), yet gets you from zero to 60 in just over eight seconds.

When you're under way in the MR2, tucked snugly into its low-slung and firmly supportive driver's seat, you will notice ordinary responsiveness--until the engine reaches 4350 rpm. At that point, electronic witchcraft opens the intake portion of the fuel-injection system and you get a swift kick in the acceleration curve. With surprising smoothness and rapidity, you'll find yourself streaming happily along far above the 55-mph level.

You control the five-speed gearbox with as little effort as you will ever expend in the cause of changing gears. The shifter might operate more smoothly on the moon, where gravity isn't a factor, but I doubt it.

Under pressure, when you have to stop for something or escape from a curve that you've entered too fast, the MR2 shows true grace. Its four-wheel disc brakes stop you with a commendable absence of commotion, and its cornering qualities will comfort any driver who's not certifiably inept.

The MR2's suspension system, an unremarkable four MacPherson struts with low-pressure gas struts and front and rear stabilizer bars, delivers confidence-inspiring neutrality--with just enough of the dreaded trailing-throttle oversteer to remind you that you're in a sports car.

(Trailing-throttle oversteer is car-nut talk for what happens when the back end breaks loose and your own rear license plate passes you after you've lifted your foot off the accelerator. This heart-wrenching phenomenon overtook me on a snow-covered interstate, but, thanks to the MR2's predictability, I survived with a minimum of corrective steering action.)

Inside, the MR2 is cozy, as sports cars should be, but offers enough leg room for drivers well over six feet tall. You also sit in a straight line, which means that you don't have to drive with your feet aimed at the front license plate and your shoulders twisted. The instruments and the controls are ergonometrically correct and simple to use, and the over-all finish is in keeping with a car that would cost a lot more than the MR2's base price of S10,999.

Is there nothing wrong with this car? Of course there is; it wouldn't be a sports car otherwise. When you're tooling along at 70, the engine's noise makes things a bit buzzy--which means that you don't hear the standard stereo all that well. Which is OK, because it doesn't sound all that wonderful. The exterior looks as if ten inches or so had been lopped off either end, but beauty has never been a prerequisite for sports cars. Remember the bugeye Sprite? A better left armrest would make long-distance driving a little easier--but remember the MGA? It didn't have armrests.

Other than those minor quibbles, I had too much fun driving the MR2 to waste time finding fault. The only genuinely serious problem with it is availability; the annual U.S. allotment--dictated by manufacturing capacity, not quotas--has been set at 36,000. That's bad news. --William Jeanes

Fiero Gt

The Pontiac Fiero hit the streets in 1983 as a flashy two-seater that had all the makings of a solid, relatively cheap sportster. Some of the car had been scavenged from the old parts bin (modified Chevette front suspension, for instance), but the basic chassis was strictly high-tech. The Fiero broke new ground with a stiff space frame to which cheap, easily replaced and repaired composite-plastic body panels could be attached. In a styling sense, it was a knockout. But beneath its sexy exterior wheezed an antiquated four-banger engine with all the power and charisma of a cast-iron antique salvaged from an early Sixties economy-model Chevrolet--which is exactly what it was. Someone with an arch sense of humor dubbed it the Iron Duke, but this heavy, feeble (92 hp) old plug was dirt-ball proletarian to the bottom of its crankcase, and the performance it offered the Fiero turned the appealing little machine into a sheep in wolf's clothing.

But G.M.'s penchant for improvising along the way kicked in and, sure enough, the Fiero GT is a vast improvement. The GT now packs a neatly conceived 2.8-liter V6 (also courtesy of Chevrolet) that develops 140 hp. The engine features such contemporary amenities as Bosch-type port fuel injection, with a classy cast-aluminum intake manifold and a stainless-steel exhaust manifold. With all that fresh power, torque and flexibility comes legitimate performance: zero to 60 in less than 8.5 seconds and a top speed approaching 125 mph. Add to that a real man's growl from the exhaust and you've got a Fiero that packs sufficient punch to legitimize its racy looks.

Moreover, the GT has been restyled to produce even zoomier lines than the original. Its soft polyurethane nose, which first appeared on the 1984 Fiero Indy pace car, coupled with rocker-panel skirts and a rear-deck spoiler, not only enhances the aesthetics but drops the coefficient of drag to a rather slippery 0.350. Overall, the Fiero GT is a splendid-looking package, with sufficiently sensuous lines to make its archrival, the Toyota MR2, look like a four-wheeled box kite.

This is not to say that the little Pontiac is ready to challenge Porsche or Ferrari as a road machine with impeccable breeding. Pontiac still has a few bugs to work out before that happens. One is the manual gearbox, which is presently limited to the old X-car four-speed. An Isuzu-built five-speed is available on the low-line Iron Duke version, but it lacks the beef to handle the V6's added torque. The steering remains quirky, feeding the driver unpleasant twitches on lumpy pavements and offering limited directional stability. One assumes that the evolutionary development policies in force at Pontiac will soon result in a five-speed transmission for the V6, but bad G.M. memories of the litigation surrounding such rear-engine cars as the Corvair may prevent such a beast from ever reaching the showrooms.

The interior is appealing, with efficient control ergonomics and instrumentation devoid of corn-ball video games. The pedal location makes heel-and-toe braking and downshifting a breeze, and the seats offer good lateral support. Of course, one of the evils of a mid-engine configuration is the loss of foot and luggage room, and the Fiero is no exception. Long trips can make passengers feel as if their legs were wrapped in a mailing tube. The tiny trunk offers room for toothbrushes and extra skivvies but little else. However, when one recalls that Pontiac began planning the Fiero as a short-haul commuter vehicle in the fuel-crazed Seventies, its lack of freight-hauling capacity becomes more understandable. Yet, in keeping with its new "grand touring" designation, Pontiac (continued on page 172) Two By Four (continued from page 118) should attend to the minimal-luggage-space problem while also adding some size to the puny 10.2-gallon fuel tank, which cuts cruising range to about 220 miles.

No matter; the Fiero has come a long way during its short life. It is a massive success in the market place, with more than 100,000 cars sold in its first year, despite their availability in only four basic colors: black, red, white and silver. For less than $14,000, a fully equipped Fiero is an automotive bargain of the first magnitude--and one, by the way, that confirms the belief that, with creative engineering, Detroit can compete head to head with anybody anywhere but in the low-ball econobox field. Yes, Pontiac is getting it right with the Fiero. In a big way. --Brock Yates

Renault Alpine

Even in Europe, where sports-car sophistication has traditionally run a couple of light-years ahead of that in America, Renault Alpine is not exactly a household word. Unless, of course, you happen to be a devotee of the Monte Carlo rally or the 24 Heures du Mans; then you know that for three decades, Alpines have been racing through the snow-packed mountain passes and down Mulsanne Straights like the hammers of hell. And winning. The rest of the time, they have been seen looking, well, smugly pretty on the Champs Elysees or the Rue de Rivoli. Those have been their habitats--the Monte Carlo, Le Mans and the boulevards of Paris.

All of that may change.

By mid-1986, American Motors Corporation and its French partner, Renault, plan to invade the American sports-car scene with a brand-spanking-new version of the Alpine. And they're going straight for the jugular vein--the Corvette/Porsche 944 Turbo market.

Is the Renault Alpine good enough to carve out a place in the land of the 'Vette and the 944? Well, I got my hands on one before it crossed the big pond, and I can tell you, the answer is yes.

The test began on the Normandy coast, at the tiny plant where 25 Alpines a day are hand-crafted by a cadre of dedicated Renault workers. Their attention to detail is reflected in the flawless workmanship and the tight fit of everything from the supersmooth laminated-polyester body to the buttery-leather Recaro-type seats.

The Renault Alpine is a world-class sports car in looks and value. That's provided that you're browsing in the $30,000 market place. For one thing, it is a bright new face on the sports-car horizon and not a made-over copy from some Modena or Stuttgart drawing board. It is low and agile-looking, with an incredibly low 0.30 drag factor, and if it weren't for the hideaway headlights on the American model, which make it appear sort of faceless, it would epitomize free-flowing grace. Personally, I would have kept the wide-eyed, alert look of the European version, with Cibies out there for God and everybody to see.

The interior is functional and attractive, with everything within easy reach. There's so little leg room in the back seat, however, that the designers would have done better to replace it with more luggage space.

For three days, I put this rear-engine, rear-drive rocket through its paces through ever-blurring Norman landscapes, winding up on the racecourse at Le Mans. Keep in mind, this is my job. Here's how it went:

For openers, the Alpine simply doesn't feel like a rear-engine car; the first highspeed turn brought me to that realization. It was one of those panic situations that come up so often with quick highway driving. I was hammering along just outside Pont-de-l'Arche on Route A15 toward Rouen at about 250 kilometers per hour (150 mph) when I saw the first hard left-hander coming up. I tried to do all the things they'd taught me at the Bondurant School, and I must have gotten at least half of them right, because the Alpine slid right through the corner.

After my first day of hard driving, I discovered three interesting facts. Fact one: The Alpine has very little oversteer for a rear-engine car. It is forgiving--thanks, in part, to the four-wheel independent suspension. Fact two: There is also very little turbo lag, which could make the car dangerously quick for the inexperienced. Fact three: The Alpine feels like a 911. Unless a turn is supertight, you can power right on through it.

At Le Mans, the Alpine proved to be very stable--nearly neutral, in fact. The Renault engineers say that this is because of the attitude of the front suspension, combined with a wider front than rear track and considerably wider rear than front tires. Whatever the reason, it wasn't long before I felt comfortable making high, if not record, speeds.

The four-wheel ventilated disc brakes haul the Alpine down well, but for a car with a near-155-mph top end and a zero-to-60 time of 6.6 seconds, they could be a tad better.

The 200-kilometer trip back to Paris on the autoroute was mostly at 200 kph, and I can tell you one thing: This car is a great highway cruiser, unbelievably smooth and quiet enough to let you enjoy American rock on the outstanding sound system.

In terms of appeal, where the Corvette shines, and sophistication, where Porsche seems to have an edge, the Alpine should fit nicely in between, provided the marketing guys get the word out. It should have particular appeal to Lotus/Jaguar XJS fans, who seem to desire sophistication blended with a certain amount of "What's that?" curiosity from those who view their cars.

Or, as the guys say at the corner of Boulevard Haussmann and Rue du Faubourg St. Honoré, "Qu'est-ce que c'est que cela?" -- Bill Neely

Lamborghini Jalpa

Lamborghini markets two cars in America: the one whose name no one can pronounce and the one no one knows about. The first is the V 12-powered Countach (coon-tach), a rolling Darth Vader--ish space capsule of a car, so fast and evil-looking that owners routinely get stopped on suspicion of doing something illegal. The other is the Jalpa (hal-pa), introduced in Europe in 1982 as successor to the opentopped Silhouette, which was itself descended from the handsome Uracco coupe of 1971. Fewer than 20 Jalpas have rolled off the boats onto American soil as this is written, and few Americans have seen or heard of one.

The key to understanding any Lamborghini is understanding the man whose name it bears. Ferruccio Lamborghini (now retired) was a hard-driving entrepreneur who started with nothing after World War Two and built it into a fortune in the tractor, oil-burner and air-conditioning businesses. His zodiacal sign is Taurus, the bull, and his nature is a mix of Italian machismo and intense competitive one-upmanship.

If the $99,500 Countach is for blowing off 12-cylinder Ferraris, the $53,000 Jalpa's mission is to give Ferrari's 308 its share of headaches. Although it's not as beautifully proportioned as the 308, its shape is virile and aggressive, and there's more than a little family resemblance to the Countach. People may not know what the Jalpa is, but they know that it's worthy of respect.

Sliding inside (watch out for the protruding window frame), you notice a lovely and complete set of gauges. The 8000-rpm tach is red-lined at 7500, and the speedometer stretches to a heady 180. The seats are low and well contoured, while the three-spoke wheel sits high for instrument visibility. A removable roof panel opens the interior to sun and fresh air, and electronically adjustable side mirrors nearly compensate for the gun-slit back window and the solid rear quarters.

One thing for which the Jalpa is not intended is rush-hour gridlock, which I encountered the day I picked it up. It's definitely a man's car--high clutch, brake, shifter and steering efforts make it a mobile Nautilus machine at creep-along speeds, and it's impatient in traffic, longing to run free. Switch on the auxiliary cooling fan, watch the temperature gauges and you should be all right.

But turn off the freeway onto some suitable open road, and you'll find that the Jalpa can devour asphalt at a startling rate. It leaps from zero to 60 mph in less than seven seconds, stretching its legs to nearly 155 flat-out. The song of its four-cam, four-carb, 3.5-liter V8 behind your head is mechanical Mozart. The suspension is tight but supple, the midship engine placement makes for agile, balanced handling and the huge Pirelli P7 tires grip like glue through the twisty bits.

Like its wilder, costlier cousin the Countach, Lamborghini's mid-engine Jalpa is not for everyone. It's half race car, half moon rocket and requires some compromises in comfort and convenience--not to mention sufficient strength and skill to operate it properly. But if all your neighbors own Ferraris and Porsches, and you're into exclusivity and automotive one-upmanship, it may be the answer. Just as Signor Lamborghini intended. -- Gary Witzenburg