Porsche Cayman S Revisited

Posted on 06. Jul, 2006 by in Auto News

The moment I left the hammer on the Porsche Cayman S a completely unexpected emotions welled up inside: fear. I held the wheel of the world's best sports car on a perfectly groomed road and I could not fully commit to a corner. I was not afraid to crash-the Cayman is far too forgiving and electronically savvy and aware of this. I was afraid of the unknown. What if some dumb ass pulled from a hidden drive without looking? What happens if a child's bike suddenly just behind the tip of a train? My sight lines were good, but my nerves were shot. I suppose that what if you happen to spend a lot of space time in a Honda Odyssey.

As I struggled to regain my high-speed balance, I wondered how I ever decided that the Porsche Cayman S was underpowered. If the mid-engine marvel was challenged Sun acceleratively why I was dabbing the attacks almost as often as the road pedal? If I had extra power feet, what the hell would I do with it? I'd either be a quicker hardly credible concept in the Drive Time or find another road with big-ass sweepers. The Cayman is a sports car, no GT. All my attempts to merge with the Cayman mojo failed contrast to the rock of personal paranoia.

And then, slowly, my brain formed the neurological pathways necessary to analyze the information that was the Cayman S, my hands, feet, body, eyes, ears and nose (I love the smell of smoking brakes in the morning) returns. Although I did not string together two coherent corners, I began to see that it was not impossible. Although I could not get them out of third gear, I stopped trying. As my confidence in the Cayman stopper grew when the small tin lid blew my go-faster cobwebs and locked me in the now disappeared all these bad feelings. I was getting faster and safer. Confidence was high.

If you've never had a Cayman S is sampled (or Boxster or Boxster S), here's what happened. For the first dozen miles or so, you think it's far too easy to go to a "real" sports car. Porsche tinkerers have weighted all important controls for finesse and precision, rather than heft. The rudder will respond with mindless ease. The clutch action is lighter than a pedal trash can (and plays like a trombone). The brakes shed speed without visible effort. Once acclimatized, the Cayman S loses its chick car shtick … and starts an adrenaline-crazed hound bouncing on his paws are similar, waiting this blissful moment when it can finally realize their genetic imperative.

And so does. The harder you thrash makes the Cayman S, the more sense. The car suddenly gets fitter, better, stronger, happier. You forgot the Cayman incredible lightness of being, and focus on their incredible speed of the foot. (There are four-term congressman who does not change direction as quickly as can this car.) You do not need special skills to bring the Cayman dancing. You can accelerate, turn show. Brake, turn, accelerate. Turn speed up to speed. Cha cha cha. Unlike a Corvette C6 or Z4M the Cayman is the perfect partner, always willing to subsume his personality to flatter you. In this sense, it is the perfect teacher. With its handle reptiles, unwavering suspension, brakes and seat belt embossed benign limits, you do not have to get it right to live A) B) have fun and live. Just like the Boxster and Boxster S, Cayman S makes a better driver without ever punish you for a bad one.

So, where's the downside of this mid-engine Merengue? Power. Yes, I know, I began with the confession one misbegotten urge for extra pizzazz. Well, I was right the first time. There is no question at all that the Cayman Motor sinks down at low speeds, especially when compared to seamless thrust delivered by the 3000rpm rev limiter too easily discovered. The first course is a bit of a bun fight, and the lower end of the third and fourth forces either in single or fully variable speed instead of committing to just lunge at him, when you want. (As in Variocamland) Another 100 horses spread peanut butter thick over the entire speed range would certainly prove helpful in this regard, Wendelin.

The second complaint is the lack of auto soul. The Cayman is a thoroughly German sports car. In other words, it's all about the journey, not the car. Yes, you are one with the motorized scalpel, carving turns you into a corner of God. But there is nothing about the Cayman that tugs at your heart strings. The new shape makes a valiant effort, but it ends up being better than slim. The new engine-sound is great in a brutally efficient manner. The interior controls are ergonomically, but undersized and used without a hint of spizzarkle that makes a Ferrari ghetto fabulous. In short, the Porsche Cayman S is nothing less and nothing more strange-as-the ultimate driving machine.

Porsche if evaluated the vehicle, insurance, taxes and a tank of gas.