[From 2009]
We’re
eager to get started, bright and early, before the desert sun gets too
high. Bruce gives us a private tour of
the Gateway Colorado
Auto Museum
on site, full of classic Americana ,
including the 1954 Oldsmobile F-88 Convertible concept car. Fascinating to see how it and the Mantide
share some common design language.
Bruce, knowing these roads well, offers to pre-run the morning drive for
us in one of the rentals available from the resort, a Ford GT. Bruce promises, “hey, if you guys thought
that the road coming into Gateway Canyons was memorable, you’re going to be
blown away by the scenery heading out to the South.”
And
he’s dead-on. As we drive along the
Dolores river, we liken it to a quarter-scale Grand Canyon – if the Grand Canyon had a paved road running through it, and no
tourists. Bruce explains that their
busiest times are during shoulder seasons, when outdoor explorers like to
visit, resulting in mid-August drives with almost no traffic.
I
start the day behind the wheel of the McLaren.
I’ve been lucky enough to drive a variety of exotic cars, but nothing is
more magical than this – not an Enzo Ferrari, not single seat race cars,
nothing. And, admittedly, it’s more than
a little intimidating, even aside from the $2.7 million price tag. While it doesn’t have the visceral openness
of a superbike, its performance is certainly evocative of one. And the McLaren philosophy does shine through: highly-tuned, normally aspirated motor;
perfectly balanced suspension without compromises; and no fussy electronic
stability or braking aids, much less a paddle shifter. You, the steering wheel, the gas pedal and
four contact patches. What you do with
it is up to you.
And
as we fly down RT 141, Dan and I are playing tag. Bruce has gone ahead with a radio to make
sure the road is ours, and we take full advantage. Whichever car is in the lead, the other is
right behind, right up to 160 mph. We
slow to 120 mph for the curves, then punch it when the road opens up to the horizon. Cattle guards at 100 mph are interesting,
almost as interesting is when you catch up to a dualie pickup truck, and think
it’s creeping along, when you look down and realize that this local is doing
110 mph.
The
differences between the McLaren and the Bertone come into focus. The Mantide, much like the underlying
Corvette ZR1, delivers staggering performance in an envelope that any
reasonably talented and experienced driver can tap. The McLaren is not afraid to draw a line in
the sand and tempt you to come close to it, knowing that crossing it will mean
serious regret. In summary, the Mantide
delivers 95% of the performance of the McLaren with about 70% of the effort –
which is good or bad, depending on what you’re looking to get out of the experience. Put another way, an apt analogy would be the
difference between Grace Kelly and Angelina Jolie. Both beautiful, sexy, complex, intriguing, but
wholly different personae.
Heaven.
We’re
deep in Tabeguache, when we pass a sign promising a scenic outlook ahead. The radio crackles with Dan’s comment, “if
everything we’ve seen thus far is ugly and not scenic, the outlook ahead must
be a Michelangelo fresco on a mesa!” Pulling
over, we marvel at the ghostly remnants of the Hanging Flume, built into the
side of the sheer canyon cliff to convey yet more water for mining needs. We soon press on, as the sun is high in the
sky and we’re headed for Utah .
Hell.
We’re
driving on some true desert roads now; long, straight stretches running into
the Horizon, broken up only by a hill climb in the Manti-la Sal
National Forest . Back in the Mantide, I’m starting to feel the
effects of the sun. As mentioned, the
Mantide cockpit is effectively a greenhouse.
The GM air conditioning pumps plenty of frigid air, but the redesigned
vents are just chilling my knees and legs.
The outside temps are over 100 degrees, and I think the inside temp
around my head is pretty close to that.
Dan mentions over the radio that he’s going to investigate replacing the
clear Lexan with electrochromic glass, as on the new 612s. Doesn’t do me any good now, the heat is
really getting to me. I slow down to
50-60 mph, as I just don’t have the spirit to go faster. The other guys run up ahead to Moab to meet
the transporter, while I just limp along.
I’ve drank 4 big bottles of water, and I still chug down another 32
ounces when I meet them for lunch in Moab, all cranky and bothered – sorry,
guys.
Granola
junkies wearing Camelbak pouches hiking in the sun don’t care about the cars,
but families in RVs still crowd and gawk.
The 612 has proven so relaxing, Nathaniel and Mark are now eager to go
for a hike through some of the arches.
Nat has a flight out of Salt
Lake City to catch, so Mark offers to stay behind and
take him there.
Glenn, Dan and I book for Western Utah . I-70
in Colorado may be the most spectacular piece
of interstate in the country, but I-70 through Fishlake National Forest
gives it a run for the money. I lose count
of the number of Suburbans and pickups, many with big lift kits and monster
truck tires, doing over 90 mph out here.
And I thought that the 15-16 mpg that the Ferraris are getting was bad.
We
make our way to the little down of Delta, Utah , at the effective Eastern end of the
interesting bits of RT 50. Toss our bags
into the Days Inn and grab some remarkably tasty Mexican food at Mi Rancherito next
door. Dan gets carded for his beer; not
surprising in Utah ,
but Glenn is a bit dismayed that he does not get carded for his
sangria. When it arrives in a bottle
with an accompanying margarita glass, he discovers why – it’s a sangria soft
drink. Ah, Utah !
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