Our Cars: Lotus Elise S1

The second is feel. Something about the transfer of the pad material to the surface of the disc (creating that adherent layer) creates sensory feedback that travels all the way back up the brake line, to the pedal and into the sole of your right foot. The textural feel of MMC brakes in a car as light as the Lotus is absolutely delicious.

Next up – longevity. No one really knows how long an MMC disc and pad setup lasts in terms of mileage, because their adhesive nature means they don’t really wear out. And finally, the pads kick up no brake dust at all, leaving the wheels shiny no matter how hard you push the car. And whilst we’re at it, the discs don’t get unsightly rust after rain either.

But as with so many brilliant inventions, there’s a reason they didn’t catch on. The first application of your MMC brakes in the rain is likely to raise one, if not both eyebrows. They improve for subsequent applications, but wet braking is certainly not a selling point. The second is heat sensitivity. Under hard track use, the bonds between pad and disc cannot reform as fast as they are broken down, meaning adherent friction turns into abrasive friction, and it’s game over for both. That’s if the heat itself hasn’t warped the disc first. All of which is why Lotus itself didn’t recommend them for track use, even on a base spec 118bhp Elise.

And finally, cost. It won’t surprise you to know that radical, lightweight technology doesn’t come cheap. Lotus binned them off from VIN 3714 onwards to save manufacturing costs (also they couldn’t cope with the thermal loadings of the more powerful Elises in the pipeline), and replacements for those owners who subsequently needed them were eye-wateringly expensive – that is, whilst you could still get them. Should you need new MMC discs or pads in 2026, you’d better be prepared to put on your trench coat and shuffle down dimly lit alleys, because all there is left is the dark web and the black market.

So, coming to the crushing realisation that it was my time to go trench coat shopping, I wiped a tear from my eye and set off home from Hethel. Cosset isn’t a word one would usually associate with a long journey in an Elise, but as I stuck in my ear plugs and shuffled uncomfortably on the remaining 5mm of seat padding, I tried to think of the positives. Perhaps the Lotus could justify its place in the menagerie after all… I just needed to swap the front MMCs for more track-appropriate discs and it could earn its keep as a training proxy for the Elva, which could almost pass for the Elise’s great grandfather.

A lightweight British open top sports car, off the shelf 1.8-litre British engine (MGB vs Rover K-series). Similar power (both running about 140bhp) and similar weight (690kg vs 720kg), without a sniff of driver aids on either. Rather than trailering the Elva around and wearing out the race engine, why not press the Elise into service – practicing and refining those skills I’ll need to not be a liability on the historic race grid? It was a genius idea, and I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier.

But the journey home had yet more surprises for me. Firstly, the water temperature crept up to 105 degrees C when hitting traffic on the outskirts of London. And then, after some particularly vigorous roundabouting (yes, it’s most certainly a verb, we’ve all done it) the tappety tap from the front left became an almighty grinding with even a feather of the middle pedal. The one piece of luck being that I could nurse the car the short distance home with judicious use of the gears.

A fresh new day dawned and it was time to jack the car up, get the wheel off and see what horrors were awaiting me on that nearside corner. The poor MMC disc was clearly a goner. But to my surprise, it wasn’t anything to do with having been warped, or having got too hot. Once the caliper and disc were removed, the source of the grinding became clear – the entire hub assembly had somehow moved inboard by a few millimetres, grinding the disc into the facing edge of the caliper itself. The cause? Cheap wheel bearings (from an MGF) only retained by a lightweight circlip. That circlip had likely popped itself off during the anticlockwise lapping of Hethel, and the bearing itself had then walked inboard – the coup de grâce delivered by my overzealous roundabouting.

I decided my solution would be to replace the bearing with a high-quality unit, swap the MMCs out for iron discs (obviously both sides), and fit a good set of pads (Mintex M1144). I could then take my time to source a replacement MMC disc without having to track down Russian gangsters on the dark web.

There was still an issue to resolve though – was the engine really getting too hot, and if so, why? Swapping various connectors and running 12V to the cooling fan identified the culprit. That fan, at the grand old age of 28, had signed off for good. New replacements are dirt cheap – just £60. But, due to the horizontal orientation of the radiator and delightfully exotic construction of the Elise, replacing it is a full front clam off job – something I don’t have the space or gumption to attempt myself. And naturally, whilst you’re in there, you should really replace the OE radiator too, as old age incontinence is surely just round the corner. Some £1150 later, I at least have peace of mind that the infamous K-series won’t get too hot under the collar (almost unbelievably, mine is still on its original head gasket).

So, how to celebrate this newly fettled, track-proof Elise? What better than a trip to perhaps my favourite UK track, at least on a motorcycle – Donington Park (in the National layout). Here I can finally test my new great idea, double de-clutching the little scamp in its role as Elva proxy and refining my lines, which it turns out are rather different on four wheels.

One small complication. It’s absolutely pouring, standing water all over the track and raindrops bouncing so hard they get you on the way back up as well as down. Perhaps those six-year-old Yokohamas AD08RSs, a notoriously iffy replacement for the AD08R, will effectively replicate the hilariously low wet grip levels of historic Dunlop crossplies. One of the benefits of atrocious weather on a track day is that no one else bothers to go out and trouble their Cup 2s. So the track was mine, along with a group of racing Caterhams who were having a right laugh on their semi-slicks.

But it didn’t take long for the wheels to start falling off my grand Elise-justifying plan. Had I even given it a modicum of critical thought, I’d have realised the Jabba the Hutt-sized flaw in running the Lotus as a trainer for the Elva. In the dry you could make a reasonable case for it. But in the wet, absolutely no chance. Yes they might share the same power and weight, but the fundamental difference in tyres, weight distribution and geometry (in that order) means a quick wet lap couldn’t be more different between them. That buttery limit of grip on historic tyres gets a little sharper in the wet, but hilarious 45-degree arse out moments can be retrieved with no drama in a front-engined car like the Elva.

Compare that to a car so famously snappy that Lotus itself added dollops of understeer to the S2, so the American market wouldn’t crash them straight off the boat – allegedly. And it turns out my Elise, regrettably tuned last year with the most aggressive geo possible and on questionable road tyres, has a bite far, far worse than its bark.

I manage a couple of sessions being one of the quicker cars on track (those Caterhams going sideways more than forwards) but have a horrible feeling that those little twitches on entry and exit are the harbingers of some rather grander, undesired rotation.

The first of which comes from the exit of Coppice – a never ending fast right-hander, where I apply just a fraction too much throttle whilst holding a fraction too much lock. And in the blink of an eye I’ve been handed an extra 45 degrees for free. There’s perhaps half a second where I naively think I can still catch it. Before the inevitable happens, and I’m doing pirouettes on the grass on the right-hand side.

Fortunately I recover from this little surprise gardening excursion with no untoward results and I decide it’s time to get the instructor in the car. He makes all the right noises, lap after lap – even down the sheer, abject horror that is Craners in the wet. One section which has plenty more on the table is the final right-left chicane before the pit straight. He urges me to find the green inner ditch, sitting left of the kerb on the second part of the chicane. Getting your left-hand wheel all the way over the kerb and into that will hook the car round, enabling you to carry far more speed onto Wheatcroft.

Sounds punchy, especially in the wet, but I’m game. Unfortunately I only spot this green ditch half way round the first right, and my redirection of the car towards it is just a smidge too enthusiastic. In a heartbeat the back end has packed its bags and gone to work at the funfair. The Elise spins a full 360 degrees faster than any waltzer I’ve ever been on, finally coming to rest pointing straight ahead, remarkably in the right direction. There’s a wall not far away on the right, and I’m very glad I didn’t end up spat off in that direction.

We shuffle back to the pits and the instructor seems nonplussed. ‘I’ve had far worse’, he says. ‘Don’t worry. Good drive.’ Still, I can feel the shame coursing through my veins. Twenty years of driving on track, and before today I’ve spun just once. Tripling that count in a day wasn’t on my bingo card.

But I think I’ve learnt a few things in the process. Firstly, I’m probably going to need to drive the Elva to get better at driving the Elva. And secondly, a mid-engined lightweight sports car is a genuinely special, remarkably accessible piece of exotica. The only reason Elises don’t cost 50 grand or more now is because Lotus shifted so many of them when new.

In terms of usability an Elise might be closer to an MGF than a Caterham (unlike the latter they can actually live outside, heaven forbid), but incredibly when it comes to delivering the distilled essence of driving, the needle swings dramatically back in the other direction. With the bonus of that mid-engined, knife-edged balance thrown in. It might not be the training tool I was hoping for, but the Elise remains the finest of teachers. It gives you nowhere to hide, such is the faithful recreation of your haphazard inputs.

What else could I buy for similar money that might come close? How bad would my regret be if I sold it? Because as good as bigger, more powerful sports cars can be at covering distance (e.g. my Evora), the truth is that they can’t hold a candle to the Elise when it comes to driver feedback, communication and reward.

So it looks like I’ll be scouring that black market for a replacement MMC disc, and hanging onto the Lotus a little while longer after all. I have a funny feeling it has a few lessons to teach me yet.