I am generally drawn to unusual cars that have earned, shall we say, a bit of a reputation. In fact I am genuinely curious as to what the converse fascination is with “easy cars”. I think “easy cars” foster the general lowering of driving skill, not to mention a disrespect for basic physics given that they greatly extend the envelope in which blithering incompetence can be survived.
As Clarkson once remarked, it would be better to put a spike in the middle of a steering wheel rather than an airbag if you want to make people concentrate on the job in hand. “Easy cars” are like playing video games with all the cheats switched on, or always opting for the beginner’s sudoku puzzles. Where’s the challenge, the fun, in that?
So… the Spyker. It costs over £200,000, packs about 400bhp of Audi-sourced 4.2 litre 40V V8 and – by modern supercar standards – isn’t even remotely close to being the Top Trump for acceleration, top speed or a lap time. To some people’s eyes its styling is “a bit weird”. Some think its interior is just too much. Apparently these cars have already bitten road testers. Not looking good? Well, read on…
The Spyker name is a revival of an ancient Dutch marque from the early 20th Century which was renowned for its innovative cars and aeroplanes. Spyker’s badge and detailing have an aeronautical theme to celebrate this. As a point of note, Spyker produced an all-wheel-drive car in 1903, the 60/80. It was also, Spyker claims, the first passenger car to use a six-cylinder engine and have brakes on all four wheels. In the period preceding WW1, there was a luxury car market slump that resulted in Spyker merging with the Dutch Aircraft Factory. During the war Spyker made around 100 aircraft for Dutch Biggles.
The modern Spyker car is a showcase in aluminium. It is mind-boggling to conceive of what the tooling costs for this car must have been. It’s also clear that Spyker has fully exploited modern CAD/CAE and CNC technologies to manufacture the most exquisite switchgear and details. There appears to be absolutely nothing sourced from anybody else’s parts bin.
The more you study this car at close quarter, the more you marvel at its quality – and the styling grows on you with familiarity. The Spyder’s removable roof is the only area where criticism might be leveled but then this car is primarily about having its roof off. In this respect it makes the same compromises as the similarly expensive Lamborghini Murciélago Roadster, the roof being little more than a weather proofing accessory. Roofless, the quality is utterly beyond question. Indeed it has the unique feature of having no frames on the top edges of the door glass and windscreen – it really looks like an old aeroplane cockpit’s wraparound screen.
Before discussing the driving, it is worthy of some paragraphs to describe the event of approaching, entering and starting the Spyker. The Spyker key puts the Bugatti Veyron’s re-upholstered Skoda fob to shame. Spyker’s key is a weighty alloy disc with four buttons on one side and a watch glass to the reverse showing the internal electronics. One button unlocks the doors and switches off the immobiliser, another unlocks the trunk/engine compartment while the other two buttons (L and R) release each of the doors – the light spring loading of the door hinges means a press of the key from a few yards away causes the door to open and rise itself. It’s a great party trick. You can also open the doors by pressing a small button on the inner side of the door mirror then gently apply pressure to the mirror for the door to rise.
In the supercar tradition you climb over a wide sill into a richly upholstered bucket seat and then pull down the door. Eccentricity abounds in the interior – the 4-spoke propeller steering wheel, the exposed gear linkage, the engine-turned dashboard full of meaty aluminium toggle switches, retro-style gauges and propeller air vents. Anything not machined and polished aluminium is covered with quilted leather and alcantara. Modern-day Spyker founder Victor Muller has a penchant for pre-war Bugattis and I guess that’s the closest comparison to the Spyker’s incredible dashboard. Just like a pre-war car, there is no wireless and the reason for that becomes clear the moment you complete the engine starting sequence of lifting up the ignition switch cover, flicking the ignition on and then pressing the start button. This might just be the best V8 exhaust note ever. No, really, EVER.
Initial impressions of driving the Spyker are that it doesn’t instantly inspire confidence (I found most TVRs are like this too). There isn’t an easy line of communication with the car, it doesn’t talk to you in words of one syllable like much-lauded technocratic German cars. Working out what the Spyker is saying, what it means and how to respond with the right inputs takes time. You can’t rush this, it’s a delicate process of experimentation. That lack of instant confidence and the knowledge that others have been scalped by this machine means errors are off the menu.
My first miles were therefore tentative but a perfect opportunity to savour the sensory delights of just being in the Spyker on the move. Unusual as the gearshift and steering wheel look, they are simply wonderful to use. The gear shift’s throws are short and
precise, like moving a switch about. The diameter, rim circumference and padding of the wheel perfectly judged and the steering weight is light, but not overly so. The seats are quite possibly the most comfortable I have ever sat in. The air conditioning and heating work well but there’s precious little other equipment to comment on. It does not have a cigar lighter so there is nowhere to plug in a pocket satnav device – I enjoyed getting lost instead. With that incredible V8 soundtrack behind and the exquisite dashboard in front, even just dawdling in the Spyker is a rare pleasure on many levels.
It does shift though, the biggest shove coming from riding the torque plateau rather than wringing the engine out. The six gears are closely stacked and, in the absence of a hi-fi, I found myself playing tunes with the exhaust note. Baaaaaah ….Baaaah ….Baah up the gears and Baah… Blip… Baaaah… Blip… Baaaaaah down the gears. The steering is accurate and the car turns in honestly, although the steering lock is limited – the tightest hairpins can require use of reverse gear (or a stab of the throttle!). The ride is firm but composed, the Spyker barely rolls in corners but somehow remains compliant and rattle-free on poor B-road surfaces. The brakes take some getting used to – there is no servo so the pedal requires real force to stop the car. There’s ABS for emergencies but you’ll rarely trigger it. Oh, and there’s no traction control.
What makes it bite? Overdriving it by attacking corners can unsettle either end of the car and mid-corner lifting off the throttle – in other words the Spyker is not tolerant of clumsiness. However, be smooth, read the road surface and the Spyker has terrific poise and grip. Handling is neutral with a whiff of understeer to let you know the contact patches are struggling before you neutralize it with a bit more power. It’s very satisfying to find the groove in this car – which takes me back to my opening paragraph. I had to
raise my game for the Spyker. It needed the best out of me to get the best out of it. Once I understood its ‘language’ I found it responds well to a firm hand and can be driven hard. I trusted it. On the wrong day or in the wrong frame of mind it could, I’m sure, frustrate me. But introduced to this car as I was on one of Rio Prestige’s excellent Scottish driving routes, I found that once I’d unlocked the Spyker’s secrets I really didn’t want to leave the driving seat. (In fact I’ve got back in it several times since…)
The Spyker is a car with a big personality and masses of character. I couldn’t help my imagination running away, it made me laugh out loud and recall childhood dogfighting games of running around with arms outstretched shouting “Raaaaaaaar!” If I owned one I’d go out in the dead of night with a flying jacket and coat hanger-reinforced scarf, chomping on a fat cigar and do lots of Dr Evil laughing. Other times I’d just sit in the garage and study it. It’s a real feel-good car that can make any journey into an adventure – real or imagined!
There really is nothing else like the Spyker. It’s as loopy and ‘far out’ as, maybe, a TVR but it’s built like a Swiss watch and detailed like a Fabergé egg. Is it worth its hefty price tag? I think it is. The world hasn’t seen this level of craftsmanship and originality in coachbuilt cars since the 1930s. Many cars are faster, the majority of cars are considerably cheaper but thumbing through car statistics for objective comparisons is to completely and utterly miss the point: nothing is more SPECIAL than a Spyker …unless it’s something still more expensive. On that basis, the Spyker might even be considered a snip.
See the video of the Spyker being put through its paces in the Scottish Highlands here