Driver's Notebook: Atomic Blast

Steve Siler

12/01/2007

Some cars demand serious physical exertion from their pilots, rewarding the extreme effort with an unrivalled endorphin-driven high. They leave you breathless, panting—and addicted. To understand the concept, jump into an F1 racer, or get behind the wheel of an Ariel Atom.

Equal parts erector set fantasy and open-wheeled racecar, this otherworldly speed machine is devoid of all non-essential details like body panels, adjustable seats, or storage areas. And you can forget about stereos, heating systems, airbags, power steering and brakes, and a roof. This leaves the artfully crafted, naked steel exoskeletal with only a powertrain, four wheels, a few lights, a pair of seats, and the components required to hold them all together.

There isn’t anything conventional about the Atom’s engineering. Its suspension components, for example, include shocks and springs situated and angled in a way that no sports car would ever emulate. And where else will you find welded tubular steel frames arching around a twin-seat, carbon-fiber "bathtub" cockpit?

Though conceived in Britain, where most Atoms are sold, around 100 examples have found homes in the United States. Stateside demand, however, continues to grow as enthusiasts hear about supercar-shaming performance (zero to 60 mph in under three seconds), supercar-shaming prices (starting at $54,000), and—importantly—the Atom’s street-legal status, thanks to its low-volume production and emissions-certifiable GM Ecotec motors. Brammo Motorsports, based in Ashland, Ore., has been the Atom’s official North American assembler since 2005. But, Brammo founder Craig Bramscher recently partnered with Jonathan Ward to expand Atom availability for an increasingly receptive American audience.

Ward’s California-based JW Motion retails low-volume and specialty vehicles, including the FJ40 Land Cruiser-based TLC Icon (The Robb Report Collection, April 2007). For customers interested in the Atom, JW Motion offers design services, assistance sifting through scores of available upgrades and delivery coordination. The company also handles the thornier task of ensuring the Atom meets regional emissions regulations, so owners don’t take one home only to have it relegated to the driveway.

Amid a clutch of bulky Toyota SUVs at Ward’s Van Nuys, Calif., shop, the diminutive size of the Atom takes me aback—aside from the intake snorkel and the roll hoop, it rises barely higher than my kneecaps. The 1,300-pound car’s top-spec engine—a supercharged GM 2-liter Ecotec crate motor producing 300 hp and 250 ft lbs of torque—is mated to a 5-speed manual transmission and delivers an astonishing power-to-weight ratio. An array of options including Alcon racing brakes and upgraded wheels (15-inch in front, 16-inch at the rear) brings this car’s price to nearly $89,000.

With its mirrors, engine cover, front "stinger" panels, seat tub and fender caps rendered in gleaming, exposed carbon fiber, the Atom looks like a mutant mosquito. Climbing in requires a measure of agility. First, step over the tubes and place one shoe on the seat. Anchor one arm on the steel frame, and the other on the seatback. Then slip down onto the seat’s thin cushion. Optional sliding—but otherwise non-adjustable—bucket seats ease the process, as will the quick-release steering wheel, a must for anyone wishing to enter or exit the Atom with their dignity intact.

"You don’t need a helmet to drive the Atom," explains Ward, "but if you’re on the freeway for more than 10 or 12 off-ramps, you’ll probably want one." Sunglasses or goggles, however, are a must at virtually any speed—above 30 mph, the Atom’s tiny windscreens become irrelevant.

Ward takes the wheel first, giving me the chance to examine the Atom’s exposed anatomy from the passenger seat. Not only can I see the front wheels move left and right, but with no kick panels behind the pedals, I watch the control arms of the steering rack telescope in and out just beyond my toes. The effect is hypnotic.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