918 Spyder test |  |  |
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| 918 Spyder test Jim in Iowa - 9 years ago |
DQ'd for Guenter, no manual transmission.
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[image.motortrend.com]
I glance to my right at the guy driving the Volt and do a double take -- why is he grinning and videoing the Porsche 918 with his iPhone like that? Ah, yes. Of course. The 918 I'm in is whispering along in its EV mode right now, which makes he and I sort of like EV buddies! I give him a big thumbs-up, a friendly gesture of geek communion, and then whoosh the Porsche ahead in traffic. A few minutes later, a café racer shrieks up on the other side and commences to pace me as his gleaming multicolored helmet abruptly tilts to study the Porsche's undulating gray shape. Instantly, I switch the EV mode off, causing the 4.6-liter, flat-crank, racing-derived V-8 to explode into a frantic roar, fire-hosing its exhaust into the air through twin, sky-facing pipes. I give him a thumbs-up, too, this time a gesture of communion from one carbon-combustor to another. A telepathic text message is exchanged: Guys love fire! We pace along like this for a while -- me roaring, he shrieking, his helmet fixed in a visual lock on the 918 until he nods and snaps his colorful brain bucket forward and the bike spits away, lane-splitting through traffic. Everybody -- and I mean everybody -- seems to love this car.
[m.motortrend.com]
--
[image.motortrend.com]
I glance to my right at the guy driving the Volt and do a double take -- why is he grinning and videoing the Porsche 918 with his iPhone like that? Ah, yes. Of course. The 918 I'm in is whispering along in its EV mode right now, which makes he and I sort of like EV buddies! I give him a big thumbs-up, a friendly gesture of geek communion, and then whoosh the Porsche ahead in traffic. A few minutes later, a café racer shrieks up on the other side and commences to pace me as his gleaming multicolored helmet abruptly tilts to study the Porsche's undulating gray shape. Instantly, I switch the EV mode off, causing the 4.6-liter, flat-crank, racing-derived V-8 to explode into a frantic roar, fire-hosing its exhaust into the air through twin, sky-facing pipes. I give him a thumbs-up, too, this time a gesture of communion from one carbon-combustor to another. A telepathic text message is exchanged: Guys love fire! We pace along like this for a while -- me roaring, he shrieking, his helmet fixed in a visual lock on the 918 until he nods and snaps his colorful brain bucket forward and the bike spits away, lane-splitting through traffic. Everybody -- and I mean everybody -- seems to love this car.
[m.motortrend.com]
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