There's a certain romance attached to a classic English sports car, that quintessential image of bounding down the Queen's highway on our latest escapade with a Penelope, or Tabatha, by our side. But the reality is so much different. That reality sadly involves huge discomfort, a horrible driving experience, an AA truck and going home alone.
Classic cars like the E-Type Jaguar, Austin Healey, and even Triumph Stag might look cool through rose-tinted spectacles, but by modern standards they're simply not good enough. So it was left to the Germans, or Wiesmann brothers Friedhelm and Martin to be precise, to step in and build the traditional English sports car properly. And the Wiesmann GT MF5, the third car in the lineup, is their new crowning glory.
Inspired by great British engineering of the 1960s, the Wiesmann brothers took a trip down nostalgia lane and created a perfectly proportioned roadster with hints of Jaguar XK120, Jensen CV8 and Austin Healeys of the time to create a work of art that landed on the world in 1993. That car went down a storm in Germany, Switzerland and Asia, and that niche industry has now grown to a 350-cars-a-year business that recently moved to a spectacular new factory in Dulmen that sits underneath a sprawling gecko that is the company's logo.
The key to the company's success was a charming, cute-looking car built around the perfect drivetrains from BMW. They just knocked on BMW's door and politely asked for a supply of engines more reliable than the turning tides. Munich said yes, and a success story was born.
But the MF3 and subsequent MF4 GT, even with the 4.4-liter V8, were never going to be enough. Not when the 5.0-liter V10 arrived on the scene. Boasting a full 507 hp in a car that weighs just 1,380 kg, or 3,042 pounds--almost half a ton less than the super saloon that spilled its guts for the cause.
Predictably then, the Wiesmann MF5 is a rocket. Enormous traction off the line and the sheer simplicity of the M5's drivetrain, which comes complete with the seven-speed SMG paddle shift setup, means it will scorch to 60 mph in a claimed 3.9 seconds and on to 193 mph despite a front end that's about as aerodynamically sound as my house.
Freed from the confines of a Bavarian autobahn-crushing saloon, this engine is like clotted cream for the ears, too, with the high-revving sound reminiscent of a de-tuned, old-school F1 car. In the M5 it's just too much. Here, in this rich man's weekend plaything, the V10 has found its spiritual home. Even the gearbox feels less jerky thanks to the lower inertia of the lighter car. While the world's press wet itself over the M5's sporting pretensions, it was like Bavaria's drivetrain engineers were dreaming of this car all along.
In the corners, too, it's a maestro, thanks to a low-slung body, a Lotus-style aluminum monocoque mated to a magical suspension kit. The traditional sports car seemed to have a built-in function for knocking out teeth on anything other than glass-smooth roads, but the very best could learn lessons from Wiesmann on squashing bumps without sacrificing cornering skills.
From the side it makes no sense at all. The tires look like rubber bands sitting on giant rims, and it sits so low that I almost beached the thing on a side road. Yet it rides like a hot hatch, better in many cases. This goes beyond divine intervention. To achieve these kinds of results the Wiesmanns must have slaughtered virgins and prayed to a lower power.
They chose a gecko logo to signify that the car holds the road as well as the lizard sticks to a wall, and it really does. The handling is race-car good, totally neutral despite most of the weight coming from the drivetrain and sitting up front in the car. It's a masterpiece of chassis design that could slide all day long if you've got the guts.