Minimal

Something deep inside my noggin was telling me “You’re close to the ground, so you’re in kart. Wait! You forgot your helmet! And what the hell are you doing on the roads. Get back on the circuit!” At least, that’s the only way I can explain it feeling naughty—almost illegal—to be driving around on public roads with the gluteus maximus so close to the tarmac. Of course, I wasn’t the one doing the driving, but that was unimportant. I was just happy to be along for the ride, in every sense.

Even as we pootled along at a mere 40mph waiting for the engine to warm up properly, the wind was enough to remind me why it’s not a great idea sticking your head out of car windows at such speeds. Earache was surely on the cards. It was also enough to make wish I had wrap-around sunglasses, the wind whistling into the corners of my eyes. If this was how it felt at 40mph, what kind of madness could I expect when Dave planted his right foot? It wasn’t to be long before I found out.

Another couple of roundabouts and we’d reached a stretch of dual carriageway posted at national speed limit instead of town-driving speeds. Starting to up the pace a little, we gently moved it up to 70mph. The buffetting wind was now striking me as something of an endurance test and, to be honest, the appeal of the Caterham was lost on me. Granted, we’d not really gone for it with the acceleration yet, but was it really worth it for the discomfort?

Blipping down through the gears as we closed in on the next roundabout, the car was warmed up and so was, it appeared, was the driver. Eagerly into the roundabout, a patient wait for the traffic to make its move known and then, on the exit, a savage blast through the gears and up to 85mph. Now, *this* was the point at which I understood. Understood the thrill, understood the immense reserves of power we’d been holding back and understood how someone could ignore the jowel-rippling wind. Dave had been impassive throughout. I was anything but.

What followed was a succession of roundabouts, each exited with such vigour that the tail end loosened slightly while the nose pitched skyward. Cars and motorbikes, with which we’d shared the road just moments before, almost instantly disappeared in the mirrors. Never once, however, did the acceleration feel brutal or harsh. Yes, it was phenomenal, but it was also smooth. In fact, the car was surprising me with its comforts in another way too. Given how much of a racer the 7 is, how low to the ground we were and how little padding there was in the seats (errr... that would be *none*), the ride was remarkably comfortable. Less jarring, in fact, than my Mini. Potholes and drain covers that I routinely avoid were all taken in its stride. No jolt, no fuss, no problem at all. Very impressive.

By now, we’d been going for a mere 10 minutes or so, but my legs had turned to jelly. It felt more like being on a hardcore rollercoaster at a theme park than being sat in a car. Despite the belts holding me perfectly snugly, my legs felt an irresistable desire to try and brace me in the seat. Believe me, I was enjoying it, but I think my pancreas was starting to run out of adrenaline.

Finally, we made it back to Dave’s place and it was over. Grinning like an idiot, my whole body was in something like a state of shock, but my head was having the greatest difficulty readjusting to 0mph. The entirety of my scalp felt like a wheat field in a strong breeze, as the nerves wobbled this way and that. It was a good 10 minutes before things started to feel normal again. That brief ride was the most incredible head massage I’ve ever had. If you know a Caterham owner and they offer you a ride, take it. I promise you, you will not regret it. :)