24 August 2006
Gwendolyn's having a spa day, and in her absence, the dealer set me up with a G35, vintage 2004.
It took a while to adjust things evidently the last person to drive this car was a member of the Lullabye League but the G fits, albeit sports-car snug.
The growly VQ engine is here also, grown to 3.5 liters and 260 hp; there's a five-speed automatic at hand. On the way back from the shop, the G was docile and well-behaved; once shown an on-ramp, though, Dr. Jekyll jumped back into the closet.
For the G is rear-drive, the way God (or Karl Benz) intended cars to be, and the launch up that ramp was my first taste in ages of the sort of acceleration that hits you in the small of the back. Gwendolyn can do speed like that, but somehow it doesn't feel the same.
I've owned three front-wheel-drive cars in a row, and by and large, I've been happy with them; I know the limitations of the design, and I know how to get them to do what I want to do. But even the best FWD is no match for the best RWD, and the G (which, reskinned, is pretty much the current Nissan Z, a true halo car by my reckoning) is up there with the best.
Update, 2:45 pm: Make that two spa days. Apparently everyone in town showed up today with service requests. So I'll have the G overnight. Tragic, isn't it?Posted at 8:37 AM to Driver's Seat