► Driving a Porsche 918 from Stuttgart to Valencia
► Rain, sleet or snow can’t stop us in this adventure
► ‘An unpretentious blend of supercar, race car and vision of the future’
Doomsday weather in Stuttgart. Rain, sleet, snow. Our trip is in jeopardy, but Porsche’s prototype shop hastily produces a set of bespoke black alloys shod with Pirelli Sottozeros, and the factory gates open at 10:30am sharp at release our chrome blue 918. You can understand Porsche’s hesitation – the paint alone is a €47,000 option.
We’re taking the scenic route to Valencia – 1082 miles and 23 hours of wheeltime. My passenger is Sebastian Ruger, a whizzkid engineer who knows a lot about hybrids and just about everything about the 918, and we decide to take the first le fog the journey in E-power mode. The two electric motors (one for each axle) are whirring and hissing a happy capella duet, which sounds unexpectedly subdued when inside the car while catching pedestrians by surprise. In tandem, the compact power packs muster 286bhp and an impressive aggregate torque of 431lb ft. Depending on your driving style, E-power offers a maximum zero-emission range of 20 miles or a top speed of 94mph.
On the feeder lane to the A81 motorway, a bomb suddenly drops on our acoustic idyll as the V8 engine enters the scene, loud and harsh furious. The ice-cold liquids inside the flat-crank direct-injection 4.6-litre engine are evidently at odds with the under-challenging 75mph speed limit. Up to 3000rpm, the normally aspirated 32-valver sounds rough and raucous. Between 3500 and 6500rpm, petrol feed, firing order and valve timing finally agree on a more coordinated, rhythm and peace. But it’s only from 7000rpm to the cut-out speed at 9150rpm that the steam-hammer effect (which also harks back to the 918’s race-car roots) eventually compresses the running characteristics to a dense, energetic flow. ‘In essence, the 918 is a street-legal track tool,’ says project leader Eugen Obermann. ‘Not only the drivetrain, but also the chassis, steering and brakes.’
Too true. The race seat is a proper squeeze, the race suspension kick-boxes us all day, the race brakes decelerate with unashamed grinding noises. The trunk has a race-car format, the rear visibility is race-car like, compromised by all those gills and louvres and by the XXL wing, the noise level at speed matches a race car for pungency and persistence. The fuel consumption, on the other hand, is like a hatchback’s. No, we didn’t threaten the claimed 91.1mpg but 26.6mpg is not bad for a 215mph supercoupe. Depleting a full load of E-power is easy: just ignore the deterrent in the throttle pedal or push the hot-lap button, then brace yourself for the kat-choom physical afterburner effect. Restoring the energy to its 6.8kWh peak is equally simple: keep the engine spinning at medium revs for about 15 minutes in Sport, or better still in Race, and the green dots will duly reassemble in full force.
Lyon welcomes us with ankle-high sleeping policemen, heartbeat width restrictors and kerbs taller than me, and tackling the down ramp to the hotel car park is a nerve-wrecker. But we get there to find the solitary charge point unoccupied. Whereas a high-speed wall-charger (€20,230 plus installation) would have done the job in 25 minutes, hooking the car up on (s)low-voltage household mains extends the process to four hours. The batteries always keep a 25% emergence charge – in case you care for an impromptu detour to the race track where the entire energy reservoir can be depleted at a push of the red –hot-lap button.
Next morning we follow the river Rhone south in whisper-quiet tip-toe fashion, elegantly swooshing past slower traffic, repeatedly soaking in applause and thumbs-ups. When fully charged, battery power alone can whisk the 918 to 62mph in 6.2sec. Twelve miles down the road, the black box summons Hybrid mode, signalling that the V8 will now cut in and be phased out according to throttle orders. Not sufficiently inspiring? Then twist the thumbwheel one more notch into Sport, and try to suppress a smile when the car grabs you by the neck. In Race, the Porsche morphs into a road-rocket, the ultra-fast urge being matched by an even more aggressive shift strategy. The seven-speed PDK hammers the gears through the gate like a firing pin on steroids, the E-motors howl breathlessly, the V8 keeps bursting noisily into brief charging spells. There is no doubt about it: this car runs concerted attacks on your sense.
The arrow-straight and suspiciously empty Autoroute du Sud is the perfect place to check out the bespoke infotainment system. We like the comprehensive content, the quick response time, the clever ergonomics. We don’t like the reflections on the shiny screen, the marginally intuitive coordination of the two monitors, the lack of haptic feedback on the controls. The Burmester sound system is sensational (and standard), the authentic leather seats are great (but are they €23,800 nicer than the standard cloth?), and the body colour ignition key is neat, but why is the wheel only adjustable in reach? And why does the electric auxiliary heating cost €5950 while bum warmers are free of charge?
The most demanding section of the voyage is the winding coast road between Perpignan and the Spanish border. Although the turf is narrow, bumpy and dotted with blind crests, the 918 tracks with the precision of a fighter jet, clings like a moving magnet, decelerates like an accordion only to reach out for the next straight with expandable elasticity. As soon as the hinterland opens up and the menacing rock faces give way to rolling hills, the Porsche beams us into a parallel universe a relentless forward thrust. Wow! The 2.6sec acceleration from 0-62mph very nearly ends in Cardiac arrest, and when the speedo shows 125mph a mere 4.7sec later, the adrenalin flow assumes the consistency of whipped cream. Scared by my own courage, I hit the brakes and immediately wish for a four-point belt and stronger forearms. Instrumental for this mind-boggling energy squashing performance are carbon-ceramic discs the size of manhole covers, plus the riveting recuperation performance of the hybrid brake system which can pull up to 0.5g.
We approach Barcelona in Balmy weather, and convert the coupe into a spyder. Even with the roof stowed the carbonfibre body feels as if it had been hewn from solid. The downside is rock-hard suspension, and only masochists will switch the damper calibration from Have Mercy (Standard) to Last Rites (Sport). Even with the energy packs depleted, the 918 can top 203mph, but Spanish jails are moist and cold, so we didn’t try. Through tunnels, 90mph in third gear is plenty to make the plaster crack.
We arrive at il circuito Ricardo Tormo the northern outskirts of Valencia, ready to put this Porsche to the real test. Sort of, except that the guy in the leading 918 keeps pulling away while I’m fumbling with brake points, turn-in points and gearchanges. All it takes to put your driving skills into perspective is one lap trying to follow Walter Rohrl, who runs the entire track in D and still gets to the finish line light years ahead. Eventually I learn to late-apex corners, to step on the gas early, to anticipate the dialogue between rear-wheel-drive dominance and front-wheel-drive support, to brake deep into bends, to open up the steering sooner, and to look after the tyres rather than understeering.
The track closes at 5pm, so we aim for the open road one last time, sirening like a bundle of overland wires through local villages an out onto the wide-open barren plains which glow in different shads of brow, amber and grey. My fear factor has shrunk to 911 GT3 levels – the 918 may not be as easy to drive as a 911, but it’s certainly not a naked razor blade on wheels.
Ferrari sold all 499 LaFerraris even before the first car was completed, and now all 375 McLaren P1s are also spoken for. Porsche intends to manufacture 918 918s, but so far only two thirds have buyers. Shades of the Carrera GT? Perhaps, but in real life this car is so much more than the sum of its parts. Although they packed it to its detachable roof with extraordinary tech, the Porsche we lived with for half a week is a thrilling and surprisingly unpretentious blend of supercar, race car and vision of the future.