By Gareth Butterfield
You really don’t need me to introduce the Caterham 7, do you? It’s the lightweight sports car that, as the old cliche goes, can trace its roots back to the 1950s Lotus 7.
There’s a standard template for reviewing one. Wax on about lightness, visceral this, go-kart that, mention The Prisoner, drop in a quip about awful weather protection, and something about kit cars.
Now all that’s out of the way, it’s time to discuss the latest innovation from Caterham. Yes, a brand that hasn’t changed its basic design template in over 70 years has been brought up to date. And it’s all about the engine.
There are some truly lairy Caterhams out there, with over 300bhp and more than 600bhp per tonne, but I’ve just spent a week in the slowest one in the line-up. Sort of. The 170.
Caterham has added a 660CC, three-cylinder Suzuki engine to its options list, as part of a range of even-more-lightweight, and relatively affordable vehicles for driving enthusiasts who don’t feel like they need a lot of power to have fun.
I’m one of those people, but even I was a bit taken aback to learn this new engine, borrowed from the ionic “Kei cars” from Japan, has just 84bhp. My lawnmower has more than that.
But as the top version of this new generation was wheeled out of the back of a small truck, by one man who could practically carry it, because it was so light, I completely got the point.
As he pushed it on to my driveway with one hand, I realised I hadn’t actually looked up how light it was. Four hundred and forty kilograms, he told me. About the same as a lawnmower, in fact.
I could have worked it out, as it happens, because the 170 bit refers to the power to weight ratio, and I knew it had just 84bhp. In case you’re not aware, 170bhp per tonne is still quite impressive.
The vehicle I chose to test had something called the “R pack”, which is basically a track-focused set of things including sticky tyres, lightweight racing seats, four-point harnesses, a removable Alcantara steering wheel, rock-hard suspension, a lightweight flywheel, limited-slip differential and a generous smattering of carbon fibre. Oh, and no windscreen.
Getting into a Caterham, especially one with a racing harness, is an acquired skill. And once you’ve acquired the skill, it’s still very awkward.
The seat is incredibly narrow and you have to sink down a long way, because you sit so low, legs and arms outstretched.
The steering wheel is tiny, the gearstick likewise, and there’s more elbow room in a budget airline seat. A Ryanair chair is also significantly more comfortable.
But luxury is not what this car is about, obviously. There’s a heating switch, but it doesn’t do anything because there’s no heater. There’s a button for demisting the windscreen, but there’s no windscreen. There’s a roof, but you’d need to be a structural engineer to figure out how to fit it, and the only nod towards comfort is some thin padding on the seats. But there might as well not be any, it’s that thin.
The view ahead is obscured by a carbon fibre panel that sits in place of the windscreen on the R version, and the rear view mirror sits in the middle of this and obstructs what little you have left of the view ahead.
The rear view mirrors are too small to be of any real use, the indicators are operated by a switch, so there’s no self-cancelling, and the “beep” to tell you they’re on is so quiet, and the little LED light so dim, that you frequently leave them flashing.
Racing harnesses make it almost impossible to emerge from junctions, because you can’t lean forward, which also makes it surprisingly tricky to park, and even just finding the hidden barrel for the ignition key is a fiddly job.
It’s easy to leave the handbrake on a notch too high, which activates a worrying warning light, the leather tonneau cover can only be fitted if it’s warm otherwise it won’t stretch far enough to reach the press-studs, and every time your passenger steps out of the car they burn their leg on the side-exit exhaust.
And that’s if you’ve actually got a passenger. I personally wouldn’t bother, because you’ve then got no place to put your elbow and, if your passenger is as comfortably built as my brother-in-law is, your passenger will actually be too wide to fit in anyway.
It is, then, an absolute nightmare to live with a Caterham 7. Especially one with an unnecessarily stripped back as the R version. But it simply doesn’t matter, because it’s one of the most enjoyable cars I’ve ever spent time with.
I’ve driven lots of Caterhams, including the really fast ones, and they’re incredible on a track, but the 170R is the best one I’ve driven on the road. And it’s because of that small engine.
I’m not going to argue this, but you simply don’t need a lot of power on the road. And 84bhp in such a light car is already a bit excessive. But, oh my goodness, it’s fun.
The engine is absolutely brilliant, helped enormously by the turbocharger, it has so much character and sounds amazing through that side-exit exhaust.
This is motoring how it’s meant to be. No traction control, no power steering, no ABS, no hybrid battery system, just an engine and a driver, putting in inputs and getting instant responses.
I could moan about the fact the three-cylinder engine doesn’t rev very high, or the fact the tyres wrapped around the 14″ wheels are so narrow you break traction surprisingly easy. But these are all the things I love about the car.
I love the short gearing, because changing gear in a Caterham is a pleasure. It’s a workout, for sure, and the pedals are so close together you need to be an absolute master at heel and toe to do any rev matching, but when you get it right, it’s satisfying.
And it’s every bit as satisfying to kiss an apex in a Caterham, because you can see where the wheel is, and in the tiny little 170R you don’t need to be going at 200mph to enjoy exploiting the limitations of its grip, because it doesn’t really have very much.
And when you do find that limit, it’s incredibly controllable. This isn’t a car that’s going to hurl you into a hedge – unless you’re being particularly stupid – it’s a car that feels playful at any given point. Whether you’re on a race track or a narrow, twisty, country lane, it’s just so alive.
There’s the occasional cheeky pop from the exhaust on overrun and as you fire through the gears the turbo noises are so intoxicating you’ll be glad you can’t fit a passenger in, because you’ll be forever telling them to shut up.
Of course, not having a windscreen brings practical challenges, as does all the other track-car plumage, but you can spec a far more sober version of the 170, with leather seats, and sort-of-doors and carpets and all those other creature comforts.
But a big part of me just wouldn’t. You buy a Caterham because you want it to set your pulse racing and, even though there are versions with getting on for four times the power output, this is arguably the one you should choose. If you’re mainly using it on the road, that is.
Because it might be as civilised as a bar fight in a telephone box, but it’s one of the most entertaining ways you can take to the road on four wheels.
You can’t help but get out of a Caterham with a smile on your face, and that’s true of any model, but the 170R just makes that fun so much more accessible, and it’s far less frightening, and far easier to drive like a proper lunatic without actually doing anything dangerous, irresponsible, or anti-social.
We’re in an era now that can see the price of a Caterham reach £80,000, and this one costs around £30,000. It’s even cheaper if you build it yourself.
And that’s the sort of money people might have for their weekend toy. A Porsche Cayman costs £60,000 and the Lotus Emira is more like £90,000. The Caterham is every bit as much fun, if not more so in most circumstances.
Before I borrowed the Caterham I was testing the new MG Cyberster. It had plush leather seats, an array of digital screens, plenty of electric horsepower and even scissor doors. I liked it very much.
But while the MG was a pleasant chariot for a long journey to Snowdonia, once I’d got there I’d have given my eye teeth to be in the Caterham instead.
Yes, it’s impractical, yes, it’s a challenge to live with, but I can’t think of a more exhilarating and addictive vehicle for the money. I really didn’t want to give it back.
