A refined ruffian
How to make the best better; the ultimate SD1 (Image copyright Kev Clark)
As regular readers of From The Captain’s Chair will know, I’m not entirely new to SD1s. They hold particularly powerful memories for me, and are able to turn me misty-eyed at the turn of a key. Having been overwhelmed by Keith Adams’ early 3500 manual, I wanted to try an automatic – I’m lazy, and I wanted to find out if the auto was as good as I thought it would be. I also hoped that my second taste of the SD1 would be in EFi form – is there a huge difference in the way they drive?
Regular readers may recall that when reviewing the early car, I mentioned that there was a Cashmere Gold VP EFi on the Skelton “Cars I Talked Of Buying” list. This was sold to Kevin Clark; a young chap who’s had more SD1s and P6s than I’ve had hot dinners. Seven or eight, at least. I met up with Kev in Luton earlier this month (having been driven down in a Series 1 3500SE which was in convoy with a V8-S), and got chatting. He let me have a nose round the car which, sad to say, wasn’t as good as it could have been. A tad blotchy, with stainless wheel arch trims (What could they have hidden?), and an overheating issue. I came away feeling half glad the car stayed on the list, rather than my driveway.
But then, all changed. Later in the show, I saw Kev in the car heading toward the parade square at the show, bounded over, and hopped in for a chat. During the chat, I mentioned that the EFi was pretty much my perfect spec, and asked if he’d mind if we swapped seats for a bit. With barely a hesitation, he’d hopped out and was walking round the car. I did likewise.
Behind the wheel, the Series 1 and 2 cars are more different that you’d imagine. The later dash manages to be more twee and more technical at the same time – daft as it sounds, anyone who has sampled both will instantly understand. The Series 1 has a minimalist feel, yet retains conventional round instruments and a bank of warning lights in it’s binnacle, which spans about half the width of the dash. A Series 2 SD1 instrument binnacle is a glass-shrouded item with square dials, a trip computer, and which spans almost two thirds of the width of the car. More than ever it feels like the cockpit of a fighter jet – even the automatic gear selector looks like a joystick. Yet the Vanden Plas spec S2s such as Kev’s have walnut on the dashboard and door cards, returning to the marque a sort of old-world charm last seen in P6s (Which actually had Formica dash and door cappings instead of real wood)
Rear visibility, I noted with a glance in the mirror, was markedly better than the visibility in a Series 1. Not that it was perfect – the rear end and bumper still fall out of view – but an improvement upon the already airy Series 1.
Sitting behind the wheel waiting for the all-clear to head toward the parade square, I commented to Kev that the slightly uneven throb of a V8 is part of the reason SD1s are so dear to me, and that contrary to what I’ve said in the past I no longer feel that the V8 would become ordinary. Kev – having owned many – concurred in this view, and agreed with me that in spirit if not necessarily in appearance a V8 SD1 Series 2 is not unlike an 80s Aston. No, don’t laugh, not until you’ve heard the reasoning. Both have that genteel yet “in-yer-face” look that gives truly menacing road presence, both have superb soundtracks, both are plush luxury liners that can go if you want them to. And both of them are far more than the sum of their parts – it’s not the easiest thing to codify, but both give the owners that sense of occasion that isn’t warranted by any old lump of metal with a bit of cow and tree for decoration.
But the marshall is waving us forwards. Slip the joystick – sorry, gear selector – into D, and gently prod the throttle. From this point on, everything I said about the carb car rings true. A lazy car, yet with that sense of quiet confidence that only truly accomplished motors can impart. To personify the car for a moment, and it’s one of few cars that really do have a soul – the V8 SD1 is the bloke in the corner of your local with his paper and pint of best – he’s quiet, but you know if only he were so inclined he could take the loudmouth at the bar outside and give him a damn good hiding. Steering is, as in the earlier car, light to the point of effortlessness, yet at any give time you can tell precisely where the wheels are pointing and there’s no sensation of wooliness.
Keith’s carb car had a fly in the ointment in the form of a screeching viscous fan coupling. So did Kev’s – the temperature gauge never moved from the 110 degrees mark. He’s had to make use of the recovery services in the short time he’s owned the car. But do you know what? I don’t think he really cares, because he’s got an SD1 VP EFi. I wouldn’t really care either. It’d be nice if you could find an utter minter in perfect condition – and they’re out there, budget up to £2500 if you’re not after a Vitesse – but the SD1 V8 is such a compelling car that you can forgive it the odd foible. As soon as I can afford to, I’m having one.
