Mario James, Gleaner Writer

2005 Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution Wagon. Underestimate at your own risk. Auto Source, Ziadie Gardens, estimates its value at $3.5 million. - Photo by Mario James

It is not often that one gets to drive a legend. Especially in Jamaica. Cars that are the stuff of dreams are rather thin on the ground. Road conditions and a draconian import policy make owning a supercar the province of the super rich. Cars like the McLaren F1 or the Bugatti Veyron are wishful wisps of whimsicality, when applied to the Jamaican dynamic.

But it is the performance of these cars we're after, right? Mind-bending, head-snapping performance that whitens the knuckles and leaves passengers screaming for mercy. If that is so, then we need not look very far. Mitsubishi's Evolution series from day one has proven that a turbocharged half block is no respecter of persons. A turbocharger is one of cardom's great equalisers, and it takes no prisoners. In Evo IX tune, the platform with its MIVEC 4G63 inline four and TDO5-16G turbo and four-wheel drive with electronic driver aids make your garden variety Ferrari F355 seem a tad slow. For a lot less dinero. And they are actually here.

Impractical

Okay, let's get this straight from now. This is by no means a practical wagon. It rides like Fred Flinstone's car, has Recaro front seats and delivers the gas mileage of a Sherman tank. There is more room in the pedal box than there is between the driver's knees and the steering column, and for a big guy like I, the Recaros aren't comfortable. I sit on the side bolsters, not between them. I've been told that the car is completely stock, with the only exceptions being the addition of a manual boost controller, a Sean Ivey ECU retune and a smattering of gauges in the interior.

I'm looking at it and it looks so innocent in white. Maybe the word to use is virginal. It is a wagon, and it looks so inoffensive, you know, like it cyaan mash ants. That is from 20 paces, though. Come closer, peer through the multi-spoked rims and see the first indication of power. Front and rear Brembos, with pads made of a material that drives up their cost to $40,000 per set. Oh my.

Popping the flimsy aluminium hood and laying eyes on one of the automotive world's true legends evoke a feeling of being a dragonslayer; this mighty lump bristling with such power, such confidence, yet being able to be tamed enough to buzz down to the corner store for a loaf of bread. Hands and knees trembling, I open the drivers door, planted myself on those bolsters, push the key home and start.

Steel clutch

First there's nothing. Then I realise that like a pickup, the clutch has to be floored before the starter circuit is complete. It is so wanting to be a normal car! So I do it, and she starts. At first the sound is as if a pillow is being held over the exhaust. I let it idle for a few seconds to let the oil pressure come up, and select the lowest cog in the six-speed box, add some of the 2000cc and ... the car promptly embarrasses me by stalling. It's got a steel clutch. Damn.

Adjusting for the perfunctory nature of the newly discovered steel coupling, we set the mirrors, find reverse, do a three-point turn and head out of Ziadie Gardens towards Boulevard. We come out at the Shell gas station, and turn towards Molynes Road. It is a solo journey, so I can pretty much do what I want in this car. It is raining intermittently. Trundling along in little traffic, in second, I give the car full throttle.

Off boost, the engine is still strong, but it does not prepare the driver for the Jekyll-and-Hyde nature of its persona. Turbo whine starts at 2,200 rpm, and by 3,000 rpm, you are really appreciating the strength of the Recaros; the acceleration is so intense that if they were stock seats you would be wearing them in the back bench.

Grab third and there is no wait; boost is on now, and it takes no longer for the tach to sweep to redline than it did in second. Tears well up in my eyes and splash onto the rear windshield. At the top of third, the windshield is suddenly quite clear as the water cannot cope with the acceleration and sheets off. Chucking the box into fourth under boost really heightens the senses and makes me aware of my frailty as there seems to be no end to this indefatigable surge of power. I chicken out at four thousand rpm, just come off the gas; my seatbelts cinch up, telling me that at this speed and in this gear there is still compression to be had! And there are two gears to go!

At this time I realise that the car's limits was greater than mine. I just turn it around and go back to the lot. These are the cars I will leave to Raj in future. But this is an experience I cannot deny!