GRR

On the limit in a Lotus Carlton – Thank Frankel it's Friday

20th November 2020
andrew_frankel_headshot.jpg Andrew Frankel

I was the other day chatting to a petrolhead nephew in the pub about the wonders of the Vauxhall Lotus Carlton, presumably because I’d realised with horror that the car was 30 years old yet could remember testing it as if it were yesterday. And there I was wobbling on about its twin-turbo 3.6-litre motor with its forged crank and rods producing 377 horsepower, its Corvette ZR-1 gearbox, AP Racing brakes and so on when the lad put his pint down, stared at me and said, ‘377 horsepower?’ I could tell he was amazed. ‘But hang on,’ he continued, ‘you can buy a hatchback with more than that these days.’

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And he’s right. More than one in fact. But the truth remains that, three decades back the latest in a line of Lotus-tuned family cars including the Cortina and Sunbeam was a total game changer. It was, just for a start, the most powerful production saloon the world had ever seen. The closest opponent was BMW’s 315 horsepower M5. The Ferrari flagship of the time, the Testarossa, produced just 17 more horsepower and when the subject turned to torque, Maranello’s flagship was utterly trounced. Which is why despite the Italian’s traction and (smaller than you’d expect) weight advantage, when it came to running the numbers on the cars, we discovered the Carlton was quicker to 60mph, quicker from 30-70mph time and was identical over a quarter mile. Now imagine Vauxhall producing something as quick as the near 1,000PS Ferrari SF90 Stradale today and you’ll have some idea of what we were looking at all those years ago.

I mention this now not because I get particularly misty eyed about Lotus Carltons these days – it’s a car I liked but in truth I always preferred the feel, sound and sharper handling of the M5 – but because it was said Carlton in which I did something quite uncommonly stupid.

This was not a rare occurrence for me back then. I barely recognise the idiot I was at the time, and can scarcely believe some of the things I did. I still take risks today, racing Edwardian cars at Goodwood among them, but to me these are calculated decisions made in full possession of the facts. Back then I didn’t calculate at all. I just did it.

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‘It’ on this particular occasion was to try and reach 160mph within the confines of Millbrook’s one mile straight. No car Autocar had tested until that time had even got close. The problem was that at one end of Millbrook’s straight was a long, curving banked section, at the other something altogether steeper, slower and more frightening. So you could come honking off the quick banking but know you’d have to brake early to slow in time for the tight turn, or do it in the other direction and slither comparatively slowly around the tight banking, but brake later because there was a faster turn at the end. I chose the latter approach.

I shut the barriers at the entrance to the straight so I had the place to myself, meaning I could use all of both lanes, and duly came rocketing out of the hairpin banking ‘fully lit’ to use the vernacular of the era. Three gear changes later and I was doing 140mph is what seemed like no time at all. This was going to be easy.

Except it wasn’t. It took an age to gather the remaining speed. I’d planned to brake a little earlier than normal because the car would be travelling faster than I’d ever been there, but it just wasn’t going fast enough. Even at my last conventional brake point the digital readout suckered to my screen (yes we had them, even then) only said 158mph. But I always left a small safety margin so my foot stayed down. But at the emergency, absolute last resort braking point it now said 159mph.

Which is when the stupidity took over. For some reason doing 160mph now became the only thing of any consequence in my life and if I had to roll a Lotus Carlton into a ball, lose my job and have an extended stay in hospital thereafter, so be it. The car hit 160mph just as the straight came to an end.

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It hit the compression where assembly apron met the straight like a bomber belly-landing in a field, just travelling much faster. But that little bit of tarmac bought me a sliver of hope because it got the car into its fully nose down, panic braking attitude. If I’d hit the brakes at 160mph on the banking itself they’d have found me in the next county.

I flung the Carlton onto the banking and discovered to my mild surprise and considerable relief that, somehow, it stuck. So I turned my attention to the next problem, namely the tight left turn at the top of the banking. I thought I had a chance because I could use all of both lanes, but what terrified me was that it led straight into a roundabout anyone could use. And I knew I’d not be able to stop for that. Suddenly the idea of some innocent bystander getting caught up in my insanity made me very scared indeed.

I made it through the turn and by the time I reach the roundabout I was probably only doing about 30mph. But that’s still quite a speed at which to receive a tonne and a half of Lotus Carlton through the passenger door. But the roundabout was clear, the accident didn’t happen. Appalled, contrite, relieved and shaking from head to foot I drove slowly off the track, out of the facility and didn’t mention what I’d done to anyone for over a decade. I can shudder even now at the thought of it. Yes, 377 horsepower may not sound like much today, but back then it was still more than enough to bring this particular young fool to the very brink of disaster.

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