What Top Gear's Reasonably Priced Car Taught Me About Kia

We've got it all wrong. We've been so far off the truth all this time. You see for years I have been in numerous pub discussions where the conversation has involved something along the lines of "if you drive a Kia, you drive a washing machine," or "Korea can't make cars." Well I've got news for you pub go'ers, Kia don't make washing machines, and Korea can make cars. I know because I've driven one, a special one. So special that it's been seen by tens of millions of people and met Cameron Diaz and Tom Cruise. The Kia I'm talking about is the ex Top Gear Reasonably Priced Car, one of the 3 manual ones that know nothing outside of being thrashed ruthlessly on track by A list celebrities.

Well one sunny Thursday, it was my turn. I was given the keys to the world famous C'eed, which the Kia event girls told me was standard, barring a roll cage and bucket seats. So essentially, I was climbing into a 5 door hatchback that competes with the likes of the Ford's Focus and Vauxhall's Astra. Unsurprisingly then I didn't expect it to be much of a thrill, plus this was a Kia, the boring washing machine makers that don't make washing machines.

Now I had ridden in a 400bhp Evo X FQ400 earlier, plus I'd thrown my far quicker Clio hot hatch around the track all morning, but for some reason after just a few corners the car I loved driving the most, was the Kia. And this was strange, because if you were beside me in the C'eed, you'd see 3 fairly generous sized rear spaces for passengers, a full working selection of electronic luxuries including a radio, climate control and steering wheel buttons, and that impossibly unsporty Kia badge staring me in the face. 

Yet as I flicked the car into the flat out banked left of the Rockingham straight, the car felt nimble and eager. The engine didn't provide tonnes of neck snatching power, far from it actually, but it was more than happy to rev freely all the way to just shy of a cheeky 7000rpm. And the nose, what a nose. The C'eed was one of the most compliant and nose happy cars I had ever driven, with every turn of the wheel seeing the front point sharply at the apex like an excited puppy jumping at a thrown stick. The rear was more than happy to just about hang on, seeing me 4 wheel drift a 5 door family hatchback through Rockingham's high speed turns, with unbelievable commitment and the biggest grin on my face.

What was I experiencing, why was this happening? How could this car be so happy away from what I thought would be its comfort zone, parked outside an OAPs house? I still don't fully have the answers for that, but I do know that I have now completely changed my opinion of Kia. The chuckable car, the chatty event girls and the lack of washing machines in the line up all tell me one thing, Kia is a modern, fun car maker with high ambitions set towards taking on more established European brands. They're so set on doing this, they're prepared to offer their brand new cars to Top Gear with inevitable deathly fates awaiting them. Who can forget the Kia bloodbath at Twickenham only a couple of seasons ago? It made the Kia girls very sad, as they stood on the sidelines and watched their "babies" being smashed to bits. But full credit to Kia, they do it all in the name of good fun. 

And it's doing wonders for the brand, because people like me step out of their Reasonably Price C'eed and say "Can I have another go?" What a great thing for a manufacturer to hear about their car. Plus with the sportier ProCeed now on sale, Kia have firmly entered the hot hatch market competing against far more established European and Asian names. 

So yeah this brand Kia, they don't make washing machines apparently, but they're up for a bit of a laugh and make some pretty fun cars. Not what you expected right?

If you fancy grimacing at some awful commentary, as well as giggling at some interesting shots of my knees, here's my onboard footage from Rockingham where I sampled the ex Top Gear Kia at racing speeds.

Onboard at Rockingham Raceway

Yesterday I attended the Guild of Motoring Writers Big Day Out at Rockingham Raceway. It was a fantastic day out where I was able to meet several very inspirational journalists and car geeks, plus I was able to thrash my little 182 around what is one of the UK's fastest racing circuits.

A great thing about this day though, was that I was also able to sample some other cars, including the 2013 Fiesta ST and even the Reasonably Priced Kia from Top Gear. All videos and write ups for those are soon to follow. 

But for now here's a couple of laps onboard my Clio. Such a shame the Go Pro ran out of battery when I remembered how to drive after these laps...

Toll Roads Could Save Your Ass

I don't think there any other times I've felt my body wants to dismember itself more, than when I'm in the car. I know for certain my dad never wanted to rip his ears off his head when driving at my age, yet time and time again Pitbull decides to release another belter or rhyme Kodak with Kodak, and my ears want to head skyward when it's played on the car radio. It's not just my ears either, my legs want to fall off and run away at least twice a day as I sit in suburban London's permanent traffic jam. And my eyes want to melt themselves as they observe driving that wouldn't look out of place in Arena Essex Raceway.

Unfortunately for me though, without sounding like I spend my Friday night's sniffing poppers in G.A.Y, it's my buttocks that take the biggest pounding behind the wheel. Thanks to those city bankers playing monopoly with our money, it seems there now isn't enough cash to fix the jigsaw that is our roads. So as a result us motorists are driving on tarmac more broken than Pete Burn's face. And it hurts.

But over the past couple of weeks I've had time for the butt bruises to heal and the shattered spine to repair itself, all thanks to the European continent's toll roads. These smooth, pothole free roads are more well kept that Alan Titchmarsh's rose bushes, and happily ferry traffic as dense as the M1's between mountains and cities alike. It's all because they're funded through the evil method of tolling.

I hate tolls, why should I have to pay to drive along a motorway, when in this day and age it's as much of a right to freedom to jump behind the wheel of a car, as it is to stick on your trainers and walk down the street? You don't pay a charge to walk into busy areas of pedestrians, so why should you to access the black stuff? Well if I'm honest, as much as this mentality is still essentially mine even after seeing the greener grass of French and Spanish motorways, I am beginning to think otherwise ever so slightly. 

During my long distance drive on the continent between France's Calais and the Costa Blanca of Spain, I think we encountered about three potholes on our entire motorway journey. Bloody three, across about 1000miles. I'd encounter that many across about 3 foot in Britain for crying out loud, so I'm sure you'll agree that what I'm about to say is at least worth thinking about.

We should bring tolls to Britain.

Take it in, breath, and take it in again. Now hold all those 'not in my back yard' thoughts and just hear me out. We could at least begin to fix the crumbling roads of Britain, with small charges that are capped and entirely distance dependant. So driving from London to Leeds up the M1 could see you paying a maximum of say, £18. Would that drastically alter your day? The fact most people won't be making that sort of journey more than a few times a year, and in many cases they'd be driving a shiny German saloon for the trip, that 18 quid wouldn't change a thing. And for shorter journeys, say a couple of junctions of the M62 for example, you wouldn't be paying more than a few pence.

It might seem drastic, and another way for us to part with cash in order to clean up the government's mess, but if we were able to ensure this money was used solely to improve and maintain roads, I think more people would be interested than you might think. For starters, better roads would save millions on car repairs relating to road damage each year. And if the current system of road funding remained in place, we could ensure the toll cash didn't act as a source of saving for the government.

So essentially this system would see road improvements, probably less dreaded Sunday drivers and reduced suspension damage costs, all for a few quid a week. And it certainly looks as though at the current rate, buckled wheels will become a common place in car ownership with the volume of potholes we have to drive over. So in order to avoid a future of square wheels and black and blue bums, surely road tolling could serve as a quick and effective fix?

Please feel free to tweet me, email or comment with your thoughts. Alternatively, when sending letter bombs please make sure they are correctly weighted and stamped.

Go Forth and Buy British..Or Don't

Recently I left London for a driving holiday with my family. This doesn't however, mean we went on holiday with the sole purpose of driving, rather that the car was our source of transportation. Strange I suppose, since you wouldn't call a normal holiday a flying holiday. But just roll with me on this..

So anyway we were driving towards our destination, the big plot of land home to afternoon naps and bright red Brits called Spain, and I noticed quite a few things on our way. First of all, I noticed how France's motorways are a giant rip off, with toll station clerks seemingly making up the biggest number they could think of when charging us for using their tarmac. And secondly, I noticed that Europeans love to drive cars from their own countries.

Passing through France, the roads were awash with Peugeots, Renaults and Citroens. As we entered Spain, suddenly the roads were covered in a sprinkling of Seats. And of course the tourist infested Costa Blanca was full of neighbouring European countrymen, from BMW driving Germans to Alfa Romeo driving Italians. It seemed despite us being united as a continent, Europeans really like to drive their own.

Except us Brits however. British drivers instead were driving a mixture of all of the aforementioned cars, plus a mixture of Japanese motors that meant it was impossible to spot a British driven car. The only signs of a British pilot were a GB sticker on the bootlid, or the screams of crashing Europeans being blinded by headlights angled at oncoming traffic.

So with this in mind, I began to consider how maybe we should be proud of our ability to choose a car based on its ability to perform as one, rather than the origins of its badge. Of how us Brits are beyond nationalism and embracing a more united world.

But then I saw an orange McLaren MP4-12C with GB plates roll down the Spanish motorway, and all that changed instantly. A car built just outside of London in leafy Woking, designed and engineered by the best in the business and built by the sort of men who don't drink coffee or sip on wine, but rather who go to the pub and down a couple of pints and eat pies, this car at that moment was more than just a performance vehicle to me. It was the ultimate representation of Britain in and amongst those Alfas and Beemers. 

So there and then I made a decision. I love my little French hot hatch, but for my next car I would happily buy British. I wouldn't go so far as choosing a car that is rubbish just because it's been welded together on Old Blighty, but I would certainly feel an added sense of pleasure knowing I'm driving something someone called Gavin could have made. Thankfully that forces me to reopen the tabs of my TVR searches on Autotrader, and means I should start drinking more beer and stop thinking about getting a chest wax.

Now this isn't to say that our European neighbour's cars aren't great, in many cases they're fantastic. But as a nation once heading the automotive world, our car industry is now comparatively tiny. Lots of cars are made here, but cars of entirely British origin are few and far between the slightly German Bentleys and foreign funded Lotus'. Very few cars are made in Britain that don't at least see one Asian, American or European executive make an influential decision. And this makes me sad.

So I say Britons, don't go so far as to being a nationalistic ass who rejects people from abroad, but do be proud of what we can achieve on this tiny little island. We may not produce them in such volume anymore, but what cars we do contribute to the automotive industry are all generally bloody good. Go forth and buy as many McLarens, Nobles and when they start making them again, TVRs as you can. It's the only way we can help to rebuild what could so easily have been a thriving British car industry. 

But then again, that 458 Ferrari does sound lovely. And those AMG Blacks are sexy as hell. They do say TVRs break down a lot as well; plus my little Renaultsport is as characterful a hot hatch I've ever driven. And my goodness Spanish girls are gorgeous too. Maybe I should hold onto that pro British thought for a bit longer then, maybe Europe ain't so bad..

Moto GP And Its Wheely Brave Men

Once you've gotten over this post's terrible attempt at replicating a typical British tabloid's headline pun, you might be surprised to see that it is also about 2 wheeled machinery rather than my usual waffle around cars. But after watching the weekend's US Moto GP at Laguna Seca, I couldn't help but form a gigantic cloud of opinions around the men that hammer around international racing tracks on high speed motorcycles. I couldn't help but find myself on Autotrader late that night, scrolling through listings of Kawasaki Ninjas and Honda Fireblades in an attempt to one day experience something similar to what these riders, no, heroes, experience when they risk life and limb in order to win.

The US GP, a race barely half the length of what I'm used to watching Formula 1 drivers deal with, was fantastic. The weather was calm, bike reliability was good and there were few incidents, so from a distance the race might seem a little uneventful. But look a little closer and you'll see that not only was the race full of drama, but also heroic determination and some good old, hairy chested bravery. Funnily enough though, much of that bravery came from probably the least hairy chested, baby faced rider called Marc Marquez. You may have heard of him, he won a couple of junior level world championships before landing a ride in the 2013 Moto GP season, and he's something of a star.

Marquez is a rookie, yet in his maiden Moto GP season he has not only rewritten the record books by being the youngest pole sitter and race winner in history, but also by fearlessly racing wheel to wheel with the Championship's most successful rider, Valentino Rossi. You may have also heard of him, he's the guy who had to leave his native Italy in order to just go to the shops without being mobbed by hundreds of fanatical fans. Marquez seems unphased by Rossi's legend like status within the Motorcycling community, as he not only passed Rossi into Laguna Seca's daunting corkscrew, but he did it around the outside. In the football world this could be attributed to nutmegging a world class striker, or a sort of near KO against a boxing heavyweight. Marquez then raced on towards the race's pole sitter, Stefan Bradl, who is also a rookie to the premier motorcycling championship, and defiantly took the lead. His move into the final corner was slightly less dramatic, but equally as impressive as his rear wheel slid left to right under heavy braking. Having never ridden a proper motorcycle, let alone on slick tyres at racing speeds, I was overly impressed and in absolute awe at this youngster's talent.

But my amazement didn't end there. As the riders crossed the line and entered the pits, the coverage panned to Dani Pedrosa and double world champ, Jorge Lorenzo as they clambered off their bikes, expressing emotions of pain and relief. These men had both recently had huge offs resulting in injury, with Lorenzo for example having only just undergone surgery on his shoulder days before the race. Most people are bed ridden, or at least allowed a week or 2 off after undergoing what is a fairly severe surgery, but Lorenzo hopped onto his motorcycle and raced for over half an hour around what is a very dangerous and physical track. And he managed to do this with the world's very best, even finishing 6th, behind the other badly injured racer of Pedrosa. I'm so used to seeing top level footballers exacerbating injuries on the pitch, and even Formula 1 drivers mention fear of injury whilst they clamber into comparably safe cockpits. Yet Pedrosa and Lorenzo chose to ride despite risks of further injury, in order to keep their championship hopes alive. No matter what sport you love or how much you might hate motor racing, you have to have respect for men like these.

And finally, and probably most importantly, all of these riders, even the ones who rarely make TV coverage or the news headlines, are all heroes of sorts. Because they are racing the world's fastest motorcycles, around some of the world's most challenging circuits, in a sport where riders still die. The memory of Marco Simoncelli's death is still very fresh within the Moto GP community, with less than 2 years having passed since his fatal Malaysian GP accident. Just one year before that Shoya Tomizawa had died aged 19 in the Moto2 class, showing just how dangerous Motorcycle racing still is. Formula 1 racers are risking life and limb each time they step into the car, but there is no doubt risk is even higher when you're clinging onto a high powered, two wheeled bike with little more than a few millimetres of leather separating your skin from a high speed tarmac sanding. I have no shame in saying it, even as a long-term F1 fan who once hoped to race in cars. Moto GP riders, are wheely wheely brave.

Sorry..

Can TVR Save Us From The Computers?

We often talk about progress, about development and improvements in the car industry as new models are frequently released, each offering more technology and fewer CO2s than the last. But the mainstream car market seems so focused on computerising cars and simplifying driving, that it's almost forgotten about the real drivers amongst us. Either that or it doesn't care, focusing on the masses rather than the purists. 

Examples of this can be seen across the industry, with semi automatic gearboxes removing the need for that prehistoric stick poking through the chassis floor, electronic steering removing any real sense of feel from our hands, and engine noises playing through our speakers to 'add' to the sounds of ever duller engine notes. That's all fine in a car that's used to carry junior and his sister to school, but what about cars that are supposed to be used for driving, for fun? 

In comparison to their predecessors, this new breed of sports cars and hot hatches all have an element of involvement removed from them. Even though they might be quicker, cleaner and more efficient, I don't really want any of them.

What I want is to step back into time, to a time when cars were still in touch with their raw, highly engaging ancestors. Of course most car makers won't do that, with ever increasing global issues revolving around emissions and fuel. But I have found a solution, a way of experiencing that old school flavour and all involving drive modern cars have lost. The solution is, buy a TVR.

There are several reasons why you shouldn't buy one of course, but they're all rubbish and unimportant reasons. If you buy a TVR, a 5.0 litre V8 Griffith for example, you will not only experience immense neck snatching power, but also the brutal roar of the almighty lord himself each time you squeeze the throttle. That's pretty great value for money.

In the early 90s, semi automatics were a brand spanking new technology reserved only for cars like Nigel Mansell's Williams F1 racer. So TVR had only one option, to hand full responsibility of this violently powerful V8's gearing to you, the driver. With no computer to protect the gearbox, and no GPS to predict the gears for the road ahead (a feature enjoyed by today's Rolls Royce Wraith) as the driver, you are the brain, you are the tamer of this beast. Too heavy a right foot and you'll spin all 340 horses through the rear wheels, in turn sending you toward the nearest object and probably a fiery death. But what a way to go.

That's what I want, not the flaming death of course, but full control over my vehicle. I don't care how efficient and how precise today's electronics are, if I'm not in control of that vehicle, I'm not really driving it. I'm merely influencing it, as the computers still have the upper hand. It's for this reason cars like the Nissan GTR impress me, but don't excite me.

So as you can imagine I'm glad to report that TVR, the long troubled British car maker, are back. And the latest news suggests we should be greeted, or should I say violently exposed to, 2 new models, supposedly both keeping with the TVR philosophy we'd enjoyed before the company ceased production in 2006.

I really hope new owner Les Edgar honours this promise, ignoring pressure from our European neighbours to tame the horses. Forget the electronics Les, stick a proper old school gear lever in there and 500 horses to go with it. Be the savior of driving, the manufacturer for the purists. Make something scary. Pretty please.

The MG B: A Proper Drive

Dad's only gone and bought himself an MG B. He loved the F, but thought it was "too reliable." Strange reason to sell a car, but my dad is a member of the MG Owners Club, a club of petrolheads who love to tinker with their machinery. The F worked so well, it started each and every time without complaint. Ludicrous; where's the fun in that?

Now dad has to nurse the B into life. Even with a turn of choke and a prod of the throttle there's no guarantee it'll start first time. The car shakes into life, literally, the whole body rattles as the engine first turns over, and then it isn't entirely happy ticking over until warm. That's a bit of a contrast to the F already and we haven't even moved yet.

Of course the differences don't stop there. The most obvious and immediate difference, is the massive cruise ship sized steering wheel. Squeezing my thighs under it, it seems as though all '63 B drivers must have either been severely malnourished, or super models (is there a difference?) But you soon realise the usefulness of such a circumference, because the lack of any power assisted steering means turning the wheels at low speed is something of a right old effort.

The giant steering wheel

Once rolling the B actually does ride very well. It's soft, so taking corners can feel slightly like the earth is rotating beneath you. But this obviously means that despite half a century passing since it was bolted together, the B soaks up bumps and potholes without complaint.

One thing that is fantastic about this car and an example of where modern cars have regressed, is throttle response. The smallest nudge of the pedal immediately transfers to a gush of revs and rasping exhaust note. The response is instant and right there on the tip of the pedal, creating a very connected feel to those twin carburettors.

It's not the fastest thing on the road however, in fact I think most of today's 1.2 hatches could give it a run for its money, but it's more than usable. Although the 4 speed gearbox creates a real challenge for a young driver like myself. Having only driven synchro gearboxes, the hard clicks between gears and slightly offset layout of the B's box takes some getting used to. But once you understand first can only be selected when at an absolute standstill, and that the box doesn't like to be rushed, it's a very satisfying feeling sliding through the gears.

It's been 50 years since this car was 'bolted together'

Perhaps an even bigger challenge however, are the brakes. They're not assisted, meaning stopping requires very solid pressure on the pedal. Even pulling up to a steady halt requires a firm but delicate application, with feel that bears little resemblance to the 'softer' pedals on modern cars. It takes some getting used to, but of course if those miniskirt wearing models could do it, so can I.

There is one thing that I particularly love about this car, that could make me proud to own a B for my very own; no matter what pulls up next to you at the lights, people love the B. Maybe it's the period Primrose yellow colour, maybe it's the wire wheels or even the fact that I'm not your usual B driver, but people smile, turn their heads and admire this car. It's a lovely feeling knowing you're behind the wheel of something just a little bit special. I'll be honest, I couldn't help but glance over at shop windows to catch a reflection as I rolled down a busy high street.

Simple mechanics, classic lines

The MG B provides an entirely different driving experience to what I come across in my daily drive, and has really opened my eyes as to what driving is. Yes it's much slower, but still somehow more rewarding. It's as though the challenge the B creates to just drive, brings you closer to it. It needs you to work with it, rather than just prod pedals and spin the wheel. It requires nursing, delicacy and accuracy, and as a result creates a much more involving drive. 

No wonder why I hear stories of how car owners of the past cared more for their cars than today's owners do. Back in the day, you really had to bond with this sort of car to be able to live with it. Nowadays we jump in our cars and go, without a second thought. Perhaps that's why many of us treat them with so much less respect; just look at the abundance of kerbed wheels and door dinging that takes place at your local Tesco car park. Today, cars are just tools to the majority, but in the 60s cars like the B were much more a part of us, demonstrating character and personality every time we sat behind the wheel. It's true cars have progressed so that driving has become little harder than walking, but I think it could be argued that this very progress, has also been a significant factor to their downfall.

So I say long live cars like the B, they're a permanent reminder of the past, and of how involving driving really once was.