Over and out

The Elise was skinny from the ground up, constructed using aluminium extrusions that were literally glued together, or bonded, to use the proper term, with rivets to add more strength. It was a revolutionary process at the time, copied since by the likes of Alpine and Aston Martin (which is why Lotus engineered the original Vanquish), and the result was a very stiff and light platform that, with four double wishbones hanging from it, formed the very basis of the car’s exceptional ride and handling balance.

The chassis was so ahead of its time it still underpins the Elise and Exige today, albeit having been honed and refined and tweaked through the generations. It means their essential natures are the same now as they were in the Nineties, never mind that the kilos have piled on as the demands of both buyers and crash safety legislation have evolved. Even the most grossly overweight V6 Exige you can buy today weighs only 1138kg.

Most people see the Series 1 when they hear Elise, and probably quite rightly. But to me the Series 2, new in 2000, is an even cleverer piece of design and it’s the one my mind defaults to. I think with the lightest nip and tuck it could be unveiled today and still look up to date. It has the proportions of a supercar, scaled down to Lotus dimensions, plus pin-sharp styling. I suppose it helps that the first real sports car I ever drove was a Series 2 Elise. Formative experiences tend to stay with a person.

Even now the Series 3 looks fresh, 11 years after it made its own debut. It appears small enough to pick up and put in your pocket. For every year the Elise has been on sale, it has grown in length by less than 4mm. This end-of-the-line model isn’t quite 10cm longer than the very first and – get this – it’s only wider by about the width of your thumb.

These Final Editions really are the end of the road for the two-seat duo. There are numerous versions of each, some labelled Sport to denote their more road-biased characters and others badged Cup, for they belong on the race track. Power outputs range from 240bhp in the Elise Sport 240 right the way up to 430bhp in the fearsome Exige Cup 430. There’s a far greater spread in price between the two extremes, the most affordable Final Edition costing only £45,500 and the most expensive more than £100,000.

There’s so much configurability via the options list I’ll bet no two Final Editions will be alike. You can have a fully carpeted cabin with classy Alcantara trim throughout, plus additional sound insulation, Bluetooth, air-con and a stereo if you want to use your Lotus daily. Or you can choose exposed aluminium floors, lighter glass, a smaller battery and a titanium exhaust to save weight, with sport dampers and carbon trim should you be of a more purist persuasion.

The point being, ‘Final Edition’ doesn’t describe a couple of ready-made, run-out Lotus models, but an entire sweetshop of Elises and Exiges that caters for just about every taste.

Not bothering to build up to it, I drive the Exige Sport 390 first, folding myself into its cabin through the tiny door opening, scuffing the plushly trimmed sill plate with my shoe as I do so. I know an hour from now when I climb back out, I’ll look like a spider pulling itself out of a thimble.

The door slams with that familiar fibreglass rattle, leaving me alone inside to contemplate the view over the pronounced front arches, the header rail that feels close to my brow, the thinly padded seats that press too hard into the middle of my spine, the tiny wheel that reaches out to me, the deliciously exposed manual gearshift and the resistance of the pedals that push back firmly against my feet.

This particular car is a more lavishly upholstered one, and though you sense the Exige’s unwavering focus through its control weights and the tautness of its low speed ride, there’s just enough civility in this one to kid yourself it might be a reasonable daily. I have driven Exiges in the past and felt like I was in a fight, the wheel trying to wrest itself from my hands, the suspension thumping moodily through potholes. But this one feels so well suited to road driving. Its unassisted steering isn’t uncomfortably heavy but instead perfectly weighted, the resistance you feel in your palms telling you all you need to know about the rising and falling of grip at the front end. There’s just enough play in the rack to prevent it from being nervous and hyper-alert, so you guide the car along without conscious thought.

And there is mighty cornering grip and iron-clad body control, plus such strong traction even on a slightly damp surface that you use full throttle with abandon from second gear onwards. It helps that the supercharged V6 delivers its power in such a linear fashion, there being none of the destabilising torque delivery you get with turbos. Below 4800rpm the 3.5-litre engine is all but mute, but after that point it finds its voice and barks its angry bark.

This isn’t the kind of engine you have to thrash in every ratio, for there’s a great swell of torque that you surf, holding higher gears. There is a harmony about this car’s drivetrain, the resolutely mechanical gearshift with its satisfying throw and the pedal weights complementing one another perfectly. It means you operate the car smoothly and assuredly. There’s such joy to be had in that phase on the way in, when you squeeze the brake pedal hard, roll your ankle to blip the throttle and depress the clutch and shift down as you do so, always in one sweetly choreographed dance.

To drive the Exige like that is to put a complex and finely honed machine to the single use for which it was designed. It must be what it’s like to play a Steinway well. This – and only this – is what it was built for.

A Lotus should not crash and thump its way along but glide, as though only lightly in contact with the surface of the road. Only when you have a little speed beneath your wheels does that happen in the Exige, but when it does it’s magical. Although it’s the Elise that pulls that trick off most deftly. Jump from one to the other and it’s the first thing you notice, the Elise’s body seeming to hang between four pillows, the crumbling asphalt beneath you apparently doing nothing to upset its composure. This car flows beautifully. You don’t so much drive it along a road as pour it.

On the public highway at least, I prefer the Elise’s more pronounced body movements, plus its more modest grip. You can explore the outer reaches without taking liberties. And I prefer this level of straight-line speed, enough that the car clips along very keenly indeed but not so much that after one squirt you’re done. I wouldn’t ever crave more performance, while the eager, revvy nature of the 1.8-litre supercharged engine is so ideally suited to this lightweight roadster. Its supercharging is subtle enough you’d swear this was a naturally aspirated engine.

Yes, it’s the Elise for me. It’s less demanding than the Exige and more approachable on the road, and when I drive one I get drawn in more readily. You operate the controls and feel the grip, and as you do so your thoughts and focus narrow in on the winding stretch of road before you. Nothing else matters in that little while. When you step out your mind is clear and calm, as though being reintroduced to the basic pillars of driving has pulled you back to centre. I don’t think any other car transports me to that soothing headspace quite like an Elise.

And now its time is almost up. The Elise, Exige and Evora will soon bow out, placing as they do so an unthinkable weight of expectation upon the shoulders of the yet-to-be-revealed Emira. However good that car turns out to be, we know it won’t live a life as long as the Elise’s, and we can be confident it won’t leave such an indelible impression on sports car culture. For me and many others who grew up with it, the Elise isn’t just a Lotus. More than any Elan or Esprit, it is the Lotus.