Driver's Notebook: Atomic Blast
December 1, 2007
Then, about a block from the shop, Ward stabs the throttle and the previously silent supercharger roars to life. The exhaust blat spikes to a deafening amplitude as everything around us dissolves in a warp-speed blur. We’re rocketing down Van Nuys Boulevard at 80 mph, darting around lumbering Priuses and Tahoes like chicanes in a slalom course.
Our first freeway on-ramp is short and straight, with a gentle rise beyond which we see exactly nothing. We achieve ridiculous speed as we vault over the crest, only to come nose to tail with a gravel truck. Tiny rocks leap from the trailer, pelting our faces like Lilliputian daggers. Suddenly, the full-face helmet at my feet doesn’t seem like a bad idea.
Once we find a suitably curvy stretch of rural roads, it’s my turn. I snap the comically tiny steering wheel into place and strap myself in. Putting the transmission into first, I discover the clutch to be wonderfully light, the friendliest part of the car. Interestingly, the electronically governed throttle is much stiffer than the clutch—a possible safety feature, as it prevents accidental mashing, which could be catastrophic in a car like this. Rowing through the gears is a cinch, and the unassisted steering directs the car through the first mild bends as if guided by a laser.
Having forgotten what it’s like to drive a car without power
brakes, I could have been more prepared for the first tight corner. But even in
the midst of some very late braking, the Atom remains unflappable, exhibiting
zero dive, with no loss of grip from the rear wheels. I take it easy through the
next few turns, in the interest of avoid-
ing snap ’n’ spin oversteer should
the rear wheels break loose because of too-late braking or too-aggressive
throttle.
Confidence builds quickly in the Atom, and within minutes I’m ripping up and down the pass with alacrity. As speeds climb, however, so does my fatigue level. With each corner, the Atom’s astounding grip translates into powerful aches in the shoulders, arms and chest as I struggle to keep the wheel from straightening out. My right leg screams as it battles the resistance of the two right pedals. Even my eyes become strained as they survey the road for oncoming traffic that might prevent me from clipping the apex on beautifully banked left-handers.
Never have I put so much work into any stretch of track, let alone a public road. But the Atom rewards the work with a sheer euphoria that borders on inebriation. Never would a Ferrari F430, Lamborghini LP640 or a Porsche GT2 demand this much of me, I think—but neither could any of those cars deliver the same kind of thrill.
Ariel Atom, www.arielatom.com
JW Motion, www.jwmotion.com
advertisement
