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Jo’s Diary: An uphill struggle
2 years ago
A hillclimb seemed like the ideal way to test the Cappuccino's performance (image courtesy Jamie Bufton)
A hillclimb, you say? I trust most of you will have read Dan’s article on his record-breaking run at the wheel of the Porsche Taycan Turbo S Sport Turismo on the same course in a blinding 31.43 seconds just last month, and I will preface by saying the obvious, which is that I’d not be attempting that nor anything like it – in fact, this article will be the very antithesis of Dan’s inspiring feat. But still, a hillclimb felt extremely appealing and I suddenly became hooked on the idea of taking the Cappo up Shelsley Walsh, even if that meant I had to Fred Flintstone my way to the top.
A few things attracted me to hillclimbing and this event in particular. First, it solved my concerns about being flattened by someone in a GT3, as I’d be going up the hill on my own. Second, it’s relatively cheap motorsport, so it was unlikely I’d have to keep an eye on my brake pads or tyre wear. Third, for those of you fortunate enough to have been to Shelsley, you’ll know already how beautiful the grounds are, not only being the world’s oldest active motorsport facility but nestled in the most idyllic setting, a stone’s throw from the Malvern Hills. And, lastly, I felt like this was the closest my Japanese-built car would ever get to a touge, the Japanese word for mountain pass and the homonymous style of racing that usually takes place on those roads, so I felt I’d be honouring some of its heritage, too.
"The Cappuccino’s width (or lack thereof) is perfect for Shelsley Walsh. While others in more modern machines had the extra mental worry of having to carefully manage the girth of their cars around the track, my car was small enough that even on the narrowest section I still felt like I was driving around Silverstone"
Much like Dan, I quickly came to the conclusion that hillclimbing is mostly about raw power. My Suzuki Cappuccino was quick off the line, tyres squealing in excitement as the light turned green, but by half way, I could feel the 64bhp (less than a tenth what Dan had under his right foot) running out of breath. I also had a passenger alongside me for half my runs, which given the lightness of my car was a serious penalty. It meant the total mass increased to more than 800kg. Still very light compared to most cars these days, but when facing a 1000-yard course with a climb of 328 feet, even that bacon bap you had for breakfast will weigh you down – and slow you up.
I had a few things in my favour, though. The Cappuccino’s width (or lack thereof) is perfect for Shelsley Walsh. While others in more modern machines had the extra mental worry of having to carefully manage the girth of their cars around the track, holding their breath so as not to drop off and roll down the side of a mountain, my car was small enough that even on the narrowest section I still felt like I was driving around Silverstone.
I was also lucky to have a rev-happy three-cylinder engine with twin overhead camshafts, four valves per cylinder and a turbocharger under my bonnet, which again I will blame on those Suzuki engineers. After a few runs I finally found the sweet spot, stretching second gear just that bit longer, all the way to the 9000rpm mark just before it hit the limiter, meaning I could carry a stack more speed past Crossing and into Bottom ‘S’.
“I inserted myself into conversation with some of my fellow participants as they discussed how to best tackle the first three corners. ‘You really need to trust it and go flat,’ someone said. And I giggled, ‘As if I had any other option.’”
Be under no illusion, I was still not fast. The top speed I registered as I crossed the finish line was 65mph, which given the speedometer error from my slightly decreased tyre diameter, meant I was probably closer to 55mph, give or take [for reference, that’s about 50mph slower than the Taycan at the same point – DP]. This became more apparent as I parked at the top of the hill waiting to be released back down. I inserted myself into conversation with some of my fellow participants as they discussed how to best tackle the first three corners. ‘You really need to trust it and go flat,’ someone said. And I giggled, ‘As if I had any other option.’
For the duration of the climb, I found myself reaching for the middle pedal once: a single braking point at the S before the finish stretch. And, even then, I reckon that with the right combination of bravery, prayers and trust in your tyres, in the Cappucino it might be doable without. However, I wasn’t too eager to find out by myself if gravity would slow me enough before I whacked the wall sideways, so this was one hypothesis I left untested.
Jo had huge fun exploring the Cappucino's performance at Shelsley Walsh
While the event wasn’t officially timed, participants were allowed to guess or, better, film their runs if they wished. The purpose of the Motul Club Hill Climb is to be a friendly introduction to the sport for people who, like me, might not have thought about doing it before, and the spirit was kept fairly non-competitive. In all honesty, I could have taken three to five business days for all I cared. Had I been chasing the laurel wreath, I would have brought a different machine – but it wasn’t about that for me.
All I had wanted was an excuse to take my unlikely sports car out, and that was mission accomplished. I certainly had a lot of fun exploring the gravity-defying performance and testing the limits of my pebble-shaped vehicle on one of the rare sunny days this year has afforded us in the most scenic British countryside with friends. If anything, I wish I’d been able to do it downhill too.
The not so hilly winding B-lanes on the way home were an effective antidote to the vertiginous heights earlier in the day. I pressed the throttle as I dove into the corners ahead of me, and every single time I felt the suspension plant itself as the mighty Suzuki drove on rails, leaning its weight onto the outer wheels with full composure and very little roll.
As the momentum built up, the wheels followed my hand movements at the wheel, precisely and quickly. I felt so connected to the road, which I almost was; were I to put my hand out of the window I’d probably be able to touch the ground. This is where my car feels at home, and where I feel at home in it. I need another motorsport event soon. Autosolo, anyone…?
Images courtesy Luke Bryant, Jamie Bufton and Ollie Smith
