I’ve driven the Nissan GT-R on several occasions in the past. When I speak about my experiences in the car, I remember them so vividly.
I had no doubt in my mind that I was able to relate the visceral impact of the car to my readers. I was sent another GT-R, and realized that none of my stories come close to reality. It’s like explaining what ecstasy feels like to someone who’s never tried it. You can give all the superlatives in the dictionary, but it will always be understatement to how they feel once their serotonin levels reach an all time high.
The feeling of complete rest from worry and anxiety simply cannot be put into words. If Donald Trump took a Pink Disney or a Blue Telegram, he would be granting citizenships to every Juan, while dancing in a sombrero and a pair of Mexican shakers. The point I am driving at is that, just like MDMA, there are no apt words that can prepare you for the savagery of a Nissan GT-R. NONE.
I get the privilege of driving some of the best supercars in the country, yet nothing tucks my tail in between my legs more than Godzilla. I seem to forget how intimidating it is, how sweaty my palms get, and how it sets my heart racing faster than Usain Bolt. The reason the GT-R is so imposing is because it doesn’t sit an inch from the ground, which means your arse won’t scrape the asphalt anytime soon. It isn’t designed by someone who’s 10 years old, so it doesn’t look anything like Speedracer’s Mach 5. Its doors open no different from a Toyota Vios. When you fire up the engine, it doesn’t even wake the neighbors — and that’s an issue.
If I’m honest, it sounds a bit like a Dyson. I could very well clean the streets of Manila with this thing. Inside, there’s leather everywhere, a Bose audio system, and rear seats that can fit adults. I’m not even joking. Except maybe the one who has to sit behind me. I’d have to either chop off her legs or force her to split. The car also has a decent sized boot, making it perfect for weekend getaways. It basically has all the boxes ticked. Yet, it is such a scary thing to behold, because you can have the most track-focused carbon fibre Lotus pull up next to you, and as soon as the lights turn green — it wouldn’t have a clue where you went.
You would be in a different zip code.
It isn’t just the straight line speed that begs belief. The GT-R will go harder, turn more violently, and stop more viciously than anything else with license plates. And yes, the brakes take some getting used to. I would like a little more immediacy in its bite, for nothing sends my balls to my throat quicker than the feeling of not being able to shave off enough speed when you’re going 3,000,000 kilometres per hour. You may drool like a little girl over the latest Ferrari or the hottest Lamborghini, but the GT-R will have them for lunch — and you can throw in an Aston Martin for dessert.
You may think that when you buy an exotic European supercar, you are buying the last word in speed and performance, but you aren’t. What you’re buying is a sign that says, “F*ck me, I’m free tonight”. The Nissan says no such thing. After all, it’s related to the Juke and that makes it a pet monkey in the world of royals. There’s no point in even arguing this, because by the time you’ve opened your mouth, it’s already out of sight. Its ability to leap from standstill is incredible. The only thing faster is teleportation, and scientists haven’t quite worked that out yet.
The one thing I can appreciate about this car is how docile it is when everything is set to snooze mode. You can go to the mall, park it anywhere, and stay in the office. And because it isn’t a Ferrari, you can actually focus on doing your job instead of having to take a cigarette break every half hour just to see if anyone has keyed your car. The suspension is naturally on the stiff side, but trust me, you’ve had rougher nights. It’s not even half bad. If there was one thing that I could update, it might just be the transmission.
It does a good job of putting down all of the engine’s might, but I would like even snappier shifts and perhaps a 7th gear for cruising would be nice. You know, like a sip of scotch to remove the edge. I don’t always want to be ‘on it’, when I’m cruising on the highway. Oh, and yes, I would like a better exhaust note. The speed is unreal, but without the scream and the howl, it’s like seeing her cling onto the sheets at the peak of an orgasm. A little aural release and a slap on the thigh is very much welcome. Catch your breath.
“If I am in the market for a toy, I want it to be flirtatious, not methodical.”
Other than that, the GT-R delivers what it promises — and then some. I will argue that it isn’t the most involving car to drive. A Porsche Cayman left a much bigger smile on my face at half the speed. Hauling the GT-R is like breaking the land speed record over a salt flat. Do you know anyone who cares about that? I thought so. This may offend some, but it is the LeBron James of cars. It is a genetic freak that does not have a real achilles heel. It dunks, it scores 3’s, it defends, and it is always, always a matchup nightmare.
And regardless of who’s behind the wheel, in the real world, it is bound to destroy anything in its path — which leaves me dry. I can already hear your thoughts, “Oohh, but the Bugatti Chiron has three times the power and is half a second faster to blah blah blah”. Whatever. Bring that Chiron to EDSA and let’s see who makes it to Alabang first. In the GT-R there is simply no getting there, it just is. It is like playing a video game with cheats. Since you didn’t have to put in the time to learn anything, the victory lacks sugar.
I like cars that are human. Michael Jordan had to dance in the air because he isn’t built like LeBron, so he had to avoid crashing into bodies. Steph Curry is as bulky as a toothpick, so he had to learn how to shoot from a different area code. Lionel Messi wasn’t blessed with a powerful foot, but he can run around the entire team with the ball glued to his feet until he gets close enough to trip the keeper and score. It is in a car’s deficiency and human element that I find character.
Take a look at the Mazda MX-5. It’s about the size of a bump car and goes as fast a golf cart, yet it is unanimously loved by everyone. You need to work for the performance. It requires you to keep the revs high, to be in the right gear, and to know when exactly to shift. It is like making love. I want to be a part of it. Otherwise, porn does the trick. After all, the pleasure is never as intense without the foreplay. You can keep pounding endlessly, but only idiots do that.
Your Love is black.
That is not to say that I don’t enjoy this engineering masterpiece. I am in awe of its capabilities. It just comes across as an engineer’s car, and I’m far from a guy that appreciates numbers. If I am in the market for a toy, I want it to be flirtatious, not methodical. I don’t need it to impress me on paper. It has to connect with me past what is physical and it has to twist my heart until I go crazy thinking about it.
The GT-R is never in the mix of supercars I’d like to own, but it is the car I respect and fear the most. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that such a weapon can be sold to anyone who possesses a driver’s license. It is a bazooka. No matter how passionate you are about firearms, a bazooka is never a part of the dinner table discussion — until you wake up one day and decide that you’d like obliterate all your enemies.