Traditionally the scariest car in any given supercar group test is the Lamborghini, but not today. Today it’s the bulging Porsche 911GT2 that’s has my nerves tensed so tight I hear a creaking noise every time I move my arms. It’s the GT2 that seems me so hesitant on the pedals its giving me in growing toenails. In the pouring rain, driving as fast as I can, this car feels sensitive, severe, analogue and pure. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy it—I love the way it steers, the way you feel so much road surface through your fingers. You’d have to kneel down and lick the tarmac to get more details. There’s a huge pleasure to be had, just feeling the front wheels unravel a corner into a straight. But the 911’s delicate steering is connected by some kind of German voodoo to the throttle pedal, and on Anglesesy’s fast, sweeping, corners, the slightest change in the position of your right foot—I mean, the merest whiff of a millimeter of travel—and the nose will suddenly widen, tighten, widen, tighten. Its like a lesson in 911 chassis dynamics, exaggerated for the sake of classroom clarity. And its that sensitivity, combined with the film of water on the track, that makes you pause for thought before you go long with your right leg, and extend the 3.6 liter twin turbo flat six and its 522bhp. There’s no stamping or yanking today—it is all about fingers, tippy toes and buttocks.
But I always felt the GT2 was one teensy indiscretion away form the barrier while hot lapping. I just felt fearful. Yes, elevated, intense, wide eyed, and happy, but nervous enough to drive back to pits after just a handful of laps. All this to the detriment of any joy you might derive form the steering, the perfect gearbox, the mind blowing acceleration, the handling; all these things you notice is a lesser Porsche. The GT2 might be the ultimate 911, but give me a GT3 any day.