Yaz AMG

By JERRY GARRETT
Published: March 5, 2006

HUNTINGTON BEACH, Calif.

MY 13-year-old daughter carefully eyed the new Aston Martin V-8 Vantage in our driveway and, in a tone befitting an heiress in a family with more blue blood than our own, proclaimed, "You will drive me to school in this."

The teenage years are a time when it is seriously uncool to admit you have a father, much less be seen in public with him. This appeared to be an opportunity to elevate my status with my daughter to something higher than "dork."

"Sweet," she said as she flipped out the flush-mounted exterior door handle. "I thought it was broken." The passenger door opened up and out, to more admiring nods.

"Those are called swan doors," I told her, "because they open like wings. It keeps them from scraping a curb or whatever."

She slid into the hand-stitched, form-fitting Vogl leather seat — just right for a trim teenage derrière.

"Why is all the leather blue?" she asked.

Basically, I told her, because it was matched to the Midnight Blue paint on this particular V-8 Vantage, which by the way was Chassis No. 00001 — the first one made.

"But you can order one in any color you want — even multiple colors," I pointed out. "You can also get just about any exterior color you want, from any past or present Aston Martin." She shrugged.

Our drive was less than a mile, but the route down the Pacific Coast Highway gave the 380-horsepower 4.3-liter V-8 a chance to stretch its legs. Ah, the aroma of 91-octane gasoline in the morning!

I whipped through first, second and third gears, and the engine emitted a sonorous wail at about 4,500 r.p.m. when the exhaust pressure bypass valves released. "Sounds like the DB4 I used to race," I said. She was biting her upper lip quite hard, which is pretty much the ultimate expression of teenage awe. "Cool," she allowed, nodding.

After we turned in at her school, a crowd of her peers gathered. She got out and gauged their reaction. Initial indications seemed positive. She walked to the driver's window and said, "They want to know what you do for a living." Since she knows exactly what I do, it occurred to me she was hoping for better material to work with.

"Import-export," I replied, recalling an apropos line of work from an Ian Fleming novel.

Her friends nodded as if they knew what that meant. In response, the ultimate accolade: a thumbs-up. "See you, dude," she said. The blat of the Aston's exhaust as I drove away finally forced her to surrender a smile.

After captivating the middle schoolers, the International Man of Mystery was off in search of more mature audiences to impress. Trolling past a hangout for Tinseltown types, even the paparazzi did double-takes. But I felt like a hummingbird, unable to alight: one does not leave an Aston Martin in a car park!

The V-8 Vantage is not so much driven as it is worn. No mere fashion accessory, however, it is more like fine outerwear for the bespoke man.

With the carefully choreographed exterior and interior colors in mind, the driver must put some thought into coordinating car and wardrobe. A pinstripe Ermenegildo Zegna wool suit would always be appropriate. A black merino wool mock turtleneck with a Harris tweed blazer and dark slacks could work, too, but only on casual Fridays. Golf apparel? Bogey. Hawaiian shirt and shorts? Unthinkably gauche.

A Vantage may retail for $110,000 to $120,000 ( including the $2,600 gas guzzler tax), but the persona that comes with it is free.

Fully 80 percent of Vantage buyers will be men, all of whom will appear more youthful, more tan and more virile while basking in its reflected glory. The Vantage's unabashed curb appeal is courtesy of Henrik Fisker, the designer who has since started his own car company. In an interview last summer, Mr. Fisker told me, "Once you get the styling right, the rest is easy."

The V-8 Vantage is the third sports car from Aston Martin since Ulrich Bez, a former Porsche executive, took charge in 2000; the "entry level" Vantage is expected to help raise annual sales to 5,000 cars— a number unimaginable in 1992, when the company sold just 42 worldwide.

While there is little to distinguish Aston Martin's more expensive 12-cylinder models, the viciously fast $234,000 V-12 Vanquish and the kinder, gentler $155,000 DB9, the two-seat V-8 Vantage is a bit easier to differentiate. For one thing, it is a foot shorter than the DB9 with which it shares its basic structure. The space saver is an engine with four fewer cylinders.

The car may look narrow and sleek, but that's an optical illusion; the Vantage is 6.7 inches wider than a Porsche 911 Carrera S. The radically flared wheel wells, which easily accommodate 19-inch wheels and tires, have a lot to do with that wide track.

That impossibly handsome body is not the only illusion. The Vantage may look like a technological tour de force, worthy of the wiliest secret agent. But there is neither an ejection seat nor hidden machine guns.

There is also not much in the way of luxury-car gadgetry, like backup cameras, satellite radio, iDrive-style computer interfaces, layers of on-screen menus or ultraexpensive ceramic brakes. While German rivals are laden with the latest electronic gizmos, their instruction manuals as thick as the Manhattan Yellow Pages, the V-8 Vantage just invites you to sit down, shut up and drive.

With a punch of the crystal "start" button, the Jaguar-sourced engine — adapted from the block of the 4.2-liter V-8 in the XK — roars to life. For chassis balance, the engine is positioned "mid front" with the six-speed manual gearbox in the rear; a huge tunnel, which cramps passenger space in the cabin, connects them. Poseurs beware: There is currently no automatic transmission, though a six-speed manumatic from ZF of Germany is coming.

Like a tumbler of 20-year-old single malt, shifting is better savored than rushed. The clutch is heavy, like the steering, especially around town. The Vantage longs for the open road, although of course there are precious few places where its top speed (175 m.p.h.) can be explored. From zero to 60 m.p.h., the Carrera S needs 4.6 seconds; the Vantage takes 0.2 second longer. A rumored supercharged version with 50 more horsepower would close that gap. (A convertible is also promised.)

Straight-line acceleration suffers in comparison with rivals like the Carrera S because the Vantage is more than 300 pounds heavier. Still, at 3,462 pounds, it is a quarter-ton lighter than the DB9. Though the Vantage is far from light on its feet, a racing-derived double wishbone suspension keeps it absolutely bonded (pun intended) to the road.

There are shortcomings: an excessive turning radius, sedan-swallowing blind spots, profligate thirst (officially 13 m.p.g. city/19 highway) and a claustrophobic cockpit. Still, the package looks like a million bucks but costs barely one-tenth of that. For an image implant, it's a bargain.

Source: New York Times

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Mirage77

Sweet. But one thing though - is this engine putting out as much as it should?

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