Motors and Me

Ever since I picked up the Zed, I’ve been closely monitoring my fuel consumption. This is the first time I’ve had a car with a trip computer and it’s an evil mistress. I can’t tear myself away from the damned fuel consumption read-out and it’s making me drive like someone’s grandma. Or rather, the figures coming out of it are doing so: Motorway cruising: 34mpg Weekday commute: 25mpg Weekend socialising: 19mpg And, other than the weekend stats, those figures are all weighted by me driving as gently as possible. It’s eye-watering stuff. And driving like a granny isn’t what I bought the car for. Combining this with my blatant disregard for the cost of tyres and brakes, and with the mortgage I acquired last year, I’m finally having to keep a careful eye on my bank balance. For the first time in my life, I’m no longer in the comfortable position of being able to save money without even trying. This year may well see the first April in which my ISA doesn’t hit its quota. Oh, I k

For the past couple of weeks, a pile of receipts has been sat next to my computer, representing pretty much all I have left after 5 years of Mini ownership. I’ve even still got the original specification sheet and receipt. Hard to comprehend just how much of my life these things cover. Five years. Christ, I was a different person five years ago. I was still in my twenties for a start... But that’s enough of the melancholic introspection. This post is meant to celebrate my not-so-Mini adventure, replete with blog-based flashbacks. While I’ll probably never look back on it as fondly as I do the Puma — first loves and all that — the Mini was a very capable, very special car. For starters, it was the first (and so far only) car I’ve taken out on track. Flashback: before my first trip to Croft Flashback: report written after the event Actually, it turns out that many of my fondest memories of the Mini are associated with trackdays. Perhaps not that surprising when you consider its susp

3 weeks in, and I’m still trying to get my head round what’s taking me so long to get used to the Zed. One thing I didn’t mention in my last post was the gearbox. This, really, has been the biggest cause of stress so far, as hinted at earlier . The change into 2nd, especially changing down from 3rd, is awkward to say the least. There are times I end up coasting for seconds at a time, just trying to get the damned lever home. It’s worse with a cold engine and with cold weather, but even when warmed up, it’s still not the slickest shift. It’s been such a concern, in fact, that I’ve twice had a local 350Z specialist check it out (more on them in a later post). The first time, the guy just checked the car out while stationary and pronounced it to be typical of Zeds. Thing is, the gate feels completely different when on the move compared to standing still. Standing still, it’s as slick as you like, but if you’re even trickling, it get truculent. So, when I had it in for a minor service th

I don’t normally give cars nicknames. With the Zed, however, I’m tempted to call it The Tank. Not because of its size or muscularity, but as an abbreviation of sensory deprivation tank. Yep, that’s right — and it’s not a good thing. The test-drive concerns I had about the 350Z being too comfortable a car are still with me. Except now, I’ve translated that nebulous feeling of unease into a sense that it simply doesn’t provide enough feedback. Journeys at night and in wet weather can be absolutely exhausting. I find myself trying to heighten my senses to the tiniest cues coming through the steering wheel, chassis and pedals. Often I’ll end up leaning forward in my seat, as if listening to a quiet friend in a noisy pub. Thankfully, however, it’s not like that all the time. When you put your foot down and hustle it a bit, the car starts talking again. You begin to feel you’re dictating things rather than reacting to them. Sadly, I’ve had very little opportunity to grab the bull by the