Cold hard facts about the 911 GT2

Basically a Porsche Motorsport version of the 911 Turbo (or turbocharged version of the track-ready GT3 RS, if you like), the GT2 is the most hard-core 911 ever to wear a licence plate and the first production 911 to exceed 320 km/h.

Because, obviously, the Turbo's 480 hp is too, too paltry for real Porsche men, the boys in Weissach kicked up the output another 50 hp, with highly capacious intake manifolds and titanium exhaust plumbing on either side of the turbochargers.

The GT2's steroid regime also includes lots of good old hot-rodding. The Turbo's all-wheel-drive system is jettisoned in favour of a lighter and racier rear-wheel transaxle shared with the GT3 RS.

Also shared with the GT3 are the phenomenal 15-inch carbon ceramic front disc brakes and fully adjustable suspension inspired by the paint-shaking machine at Home Depot.

The GT2's lightweighting program concludes with ditching the rear seats, tossing out all the sound-deadening material, stripping some interior panels to bare carbon fibre and supplanting the front seats with leather-lined carbon shells padded with . . . well, nothing. The resulting car at 1,483 kilograms is 102 kg lighter than the 911 Turbo and is about as cozy as an MRI machine.

And yet I find it hilarious that Porsche, having thus perverted the car's power-to-weight ratio, chose to retain the two swing-arm cupholders. This begs the question: What the hell is in the cups?

My guess is money: The GT2 retails for a not-insubstantial $192,560 (U.S.) in the U.S. – or $235,400 (Cdn.) in Canada. Yes, it offers performance at or above the best supercars in the world; yes, it comes with the finest pedigree in all of motorsports. But more than 200 grand for a 911? This car is quite simply insane and, frankly, kind of scary, not because of any dynamic flaw but because of the way the stupendous forces in hand are delivered with such seeming effortlessness. To begin with, everything is ultra-hard: the seats, the suspension, the steering and brakes, the monocoque chassis that feels made entirely of Higgs bosons. All the slack, wobble and flex have been scourged from the car, leaving – as the only tactile source of elasticity – the throttle.

Squeeze the gas and ramp up to redline in the first three gears (you'll be well in excess of 160 km/h when you do) and the car feels totally untroubled. It feels alert, yes, awake, certainly – and the deep chortle and hiss of the turbocharged engine is something out of Dante. But the GT2 gives off almost none of the clues that provide a frame of reference, no early warning system that you're going too fast. I mean, it has a speedometer, but who ever looks at those?

Here I will defer to the boffins at Motor Trend, whose instrumented testing of the GT2 (the same car I drove) recorded a 0-to-96 km/h acceleration of 3.4 seconds and a quarter-mile time of 11.4 seconds. Both of those numbers put the GT2 in the ranks of Ferrari Enzos and Koenigsegg CCXs and Pagani Zondas and a few other cars you've never heard of. And yet the salient figure from Motor Trend's tests is the trap speed: At the end of the quarter-mile, the GT2 can be travelling at 205 km/h. From there it's a short and exhilarating escalator ride to over 320 km/h.

Let me unpack those numbers for you. It means that when you jump on the GT2's throttle – something you'll be sorely tempted to do – it practically explodes in a furious, jaw-slacking, gut-churning hullabaloo of weapons-grade torque such that accelerating from 96 to 190 km/h takes one gearshift and a few scant seconds.

But the trouble with the GT2 is that it feels so unfulfilled driven at regular speeds. Indeed, this is a problem with most supercars: The suspension and brakes, the steering and engine aren't at all taxed by the velocities and forces invoked by just muttering up the local highway.

But this sensation is particularly acute with the GT2, which is a thoroughbred race car. To get the GT2 to really harmonize, to come into itself dynamically, you have to go at it really hard, and that is simply too dangerous on the street.

Not that the car is undriveable; on the contrary, it's as complaisant and tractable as any other 911. The engine's got loads of low-end torque; the controls aren't really race-car heavy. It's even got a decent nav and audio system. But the overwhelming sense is one of deep, almost painful frustration.

This brings me to a truism, a Zen koan of automobility: It's more fun to go fast in a slow car than slow in a fast car.

The GT2 marks the first appearance of Porsche's launch control system that goes by the hilarious euphemism of "Start-off Assist." The way it works is this: Toggle through the menu on the instrument panel until the boost gauge is displayed. Put the car in first gear, rev to about 5,000 rpm (or 14 lbs. of boost) and drop the clutch. The system automatically feathers the throttle to maximize grip and hole-shot acceleration. For a similar sensation, put a rodeo barrel on a train track, climb in and wait.

In any event, the GT2's 0-to-96 km/h number is pure marketing, the glowing numerical nimbus of incomparable performance around this, Porsche's halo car.

It ain't me, babe. I continue to love the 911 Turbo, with its all-wheel drive and available automatic transmission, comfy seats, compliant suspension and proper upholstery. The Turbo churns up virtually all of the same Porsche-brand adrenaline while still being liveable and lovable.

So it only goes 0-to-96 km/h in 3.6 seconds. So it only goes 305 km/h.

Call me a wuss.

• Used Cars
• |
• Used Sports Cars
• |
• Used Hybrid
• |
• Used SUV
• |
• Used Minivan
• |
• Used Trucks
• |
• Used Commercial Vehicles