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Get Behind The Wheel Of A $236,000 Sports Car

Tribune photo by ROBERT BURKE

No stereo, no power-assist brakes. No electronic suspension. All you get with the Spyker is speed.

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By RICHARD MULLINS

rmullins@tampatrib.com

Published: October 24, 2008

I was slowing down through 140 mph when I saw the police car in my rearview mirror.

Proper manners won't let me repeat what I said as I slammed on the brakes, but you can guess.

There's no way to try and look innocent in a $236,000 convertible sports car called a "Spyker," but I started rehearsing my lines for when the cop tapped on my window.

Wow, officer, I am sorry. You see, I'm a reporter for the Tribune and we're doing a test drive for the paper – you know – seeing what it's like. And man, this car is sick fast! I mean, I barely touched the gas and … .

It started like this:

Driving along I-275 on a sunny day, we had a Tribune cameraman following behind me in a Jaguar convertible to get footage for our review. And I'll just say it took very little effort to leave him far behind.

It's not that the Spyker pins your skull to the seat with acceleration. The car will do that. But it just seems to keep going faster and faster with no effort. As fast as you can say out loud "70, 80, 90, 100," is slower than the car accelerates through those speeds.

I don't know how fast I topped out the Spyker – an outrageous exotic car handmade in Amsterdam that's now on sale at the Elder Automotive Group in Tampa. A limiter on the engine prevents it from going over 187 mph, and I wonder if I triggered it.

It's hard to compare sitting in a car this ridiculous to any other experience. Combine the feel of a soft Louis Vuitton leather purse, with the shine of a Las Vegas nightclub and a ride on SheiKra, and you're getting close to the experience.

The dealership kindly let me take a factory-owned Spyker on a test drive. And after firing up the 400-horsepower engine (akin to revving up a UFO) I gently slid the gearshift into first gear and eased up on the clutch.

Thump. Stalled out. On video even. Humiliating.

"You're being too gentle," my co-pilot from the dealership said.

Right. Too gentle with a car I could trade in for a house in Westchase or almost TWO degrees from Harvard.

But he was right. When I rolled out of the dealership and turned into the freeway on-ramp, I stopped being nice. I stomped on the gas and slammed the gearshift into second, third, fourth – and it took off like a thoroughbred on crack.

Being a reporter sometimes comes with fine perks. I've interviewed Chuck Yeager. Walked through a nuclear power plant core. Met a president, and now topped-out an exotic sports car.

(Ferrari is opening a dealership in Palm Harbor soon, so we'll be looking for a test drive there too.)

This particular Spyker C8 Spyder is one of about 100 in existence. They're made in Amsterdam, with engines from Germany, leather seats from Italy, and what feels like rocket fuel from NASA. They're built as a "purist" car, with none of the pansy high-tech gadgetry found in new Lamborghinis or Ferraris to make driving them easier on civilians.

No power-assist brakes. No electronic suspension. No paddle shifters on the steering wheel. There isn't even a radio, for crying out loud. The clutch pedal easily takes 50 pounds of pressure to push down.

This car is basically is a fine leather seat, bolted to an Indy racing engine and wheels.

The doors "gull-wing" open up like a Lamborghini. And the front and back hoods open up like a butterfly, revealing brilliantly shiny engine, transmission and aluminum suspension. Porn for car nuts.

Rolling down 275 at just 80 mph, the car felt like it was anxious to go faster. Just think about speeding up and, poof, we're going 100. Any slower, and the car barely pays attention.

Alas, Florida has not a single curved road within 30 miles of the dealership, so we couldn't scream around turns. So we took a few runs past our chase car to get video and turned back south.

Just one more time, I thought. "You can pray out loud if you like," I told my co-pilot. "That's OK, go ahead," he said.

I downshifted to fourth gear and stomped the gas. Whoosh, 120, 130, 140. I stopped looking at the speedometer and focused on the road ahead. With its "pure" design, there's no cushion on the steering, so the car started to feel like it was floating – like any brush with the wheel would rocket us either into to Lakeland or the Gulf of Mexico.

So I eased back and ... that's when I saw the police car.

And he just drove right past me.

Why?

I don't know. Don't care.

But I think I just saved the Tribune a ticket costing several hundred dollars. You're welcome.

Reporter Richard Mullins can be reached at (813) 259-7919.

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