Dream drives in the Caterham Seven: no passport required

A dream drive typically conjures up images of far-flung roads on a faraway continent; a drive in the most bedroom-poster-worthy of modern supercars; drives in the wilder parts of the UK, and the most preternaturally pretty parts of mainland Europe. But the right car really can make the roads on your doorstep a truly great drive. In the right machine, in the right set of circumstances, you can have a special drive that you’ll remember long after the engine’s cooled, all within a 30-mile radius of your driveway.

And there are few machines more right for a special drive than a Caterham Seven. Regardless of the road or the time you have, a Seven delivers every single time. It doesn’t matter if you know the road like the back of your hand and drive it daily, when you are in a Seven every drive is a great one.

Keys – and steering wheel – in hand, I wriggle down into the low-set seat of our Caterham Seven evo25 long-termer. Left elbow propped on the padded leather above the transmission tunnel, right elbow either propped on the little armrest that doubles as the retaining hook for the sidescreen-cum-driver’s door, or waggling in fresh air if you drive with the doors off, your senses are already heightened before you set off.

> Ariel Atom 4R v Caterham Seven ‘evo25’: power-to-weight heroes go head-to-head

I prefer to drive it with the doors on, to shelter from the buffeting wind and make the most of their side mirrors, since the main mirror is slightly obscured by the roll-cage in this car (although in a Seven you need to spend a good bit of time double-checking your blind spots regardless of how many mirrors it’s wearing). With the doors off, however, it brings an extra dimension: you see the road rushing past, feel the breeze, feel like you could reach out and touch your surroundings. You experience the journey in a different way.

To a certain extent it reminds me of being on a bike. And maybe that’s why I decided to take it back to the roads I grew up on, where I used to ride my bike dreaming of driving a car – and then when I did graduate to real cars, dreaming that I was driving a sports car like a Caterham instead of my sixth-form Fiat Punto and student Peugeot 306. (Though I do often miss that 306 today.) I’ve ended up living only a little more than an hour from those roads, and it’s a beautiful day when I retrace my steps and the passage of time in the Caterham, stopping to visit my sister on the way. Above the half roll-cage is an endless expanse of cloudless Caribbean blue sky, with the occasional jet plane scribing a chalk-white vapour trail across it.

Other sports cars are out and about: a Grinnall Scorpion flashes past the other way, as does an Austin-Healey 3000. A friendly stranger at a petrol station strikes up a conversation; he has a Caterham too. A car like this is more than transport.

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I revisit the indoor karting track I used to work at, the roads I was always in too much of a hurry on there and back – and say a prayer of thanks to my guardian angel. I’ve no real desire to drive quickly today. The Seven makes slow speeds feel fast, and with the tiny wheel chattering away, the front cycle wings bobbing up and down on the evo25’s adjustable dampers, gearchange snicking wrist-flick smooth through the warm ’box, it’s enough just to be here, experiencing it all. Being ‘present’ I suppose.

Driving as a pastime, for pleasure, is about emotions, and revisiting your old haunts is an emotional thing. I could have gleaned a little of that same emotion from driving any other kind of car on these roads, of course. But the Caterham amplifies it to a much greater degree, because it’s a car whose purpose is to be more than just transport. It is ‘just’ a car at the end of the day, but you don’t use it as such. It puts you back in touch with a similar feeling to being on a bike as a kid, or to going out for a drive just for the hell of it when you first have your own car, because it’s still new and novel, and because of all the freedom it represents. It’s being in motion recreationally, movement for movement’s sake. The Seven brings that sense of giddy, joyful freedom back and that’s what makes it so special, on any road. – James Taylor

The Lincolnshire Nordschleife 

I’m a little ashamed to admit it, but the evo Seven is the first Caterham I’ve driven. And while there are some cars that prove the ‘don’t meet your heroes’ adage, this isn’t one of them. The Seven is as thrilling and engaging as I imagined, and it’s made all the more special on the driving roads I know and love.

Arming the electrics and folding yourself inside makes the Seven an occasion before you’ve even attached the steering wheel. Fish the harness from beneath you (schoolboy error), secure the latches tight, slide the Momo wheel onto the column and the process is almost complete. All that’s left is to flick some exceedingly satisfying toggles to ignite its four-cylinder engine.

Even sitting at idle, the heightened sense of connection is immediately apparent, the vibration through the cockpit putting you right in touch with the machine’s inner workings. Move away and the steering comes alive almost instantly, communicating every bump and divot before you’ve reached second gear, the effort required at low speed (thanks to the lack of power steering and the sticky Avon ZZS tyres) ensuring you never forget the Seven’s focus.

Deafening road noise, not-so-great rearward visibility and a laughable c100-mile range make the largely motorway journey north to my home base in Lincolnshire something of a slog. But worth it. Glorious switchbacks and dramatic elevation changes are not often associated with this part of the country, and for good reason, but there are roads local to me that I’ll always be fond of. And while beating Google’s ETA is satisfying, there’s one particular B-road close to home that I’m always willing to sacrifice that for.

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Much like the Nürburgring, this route has its fair share of unusual dips and patchwork surfaces, with a few potholes and a dash of water run-off occasionally dropped in for good measure. And while a smooth coating of tarmac might be appreciated, it’s these imperfections that make it so satisfying to drive, and a great place to assess a car’s ability to handle UK roads generally.

My 2010 C63 AMG carries satisfying pace through the entire route, but its gearing, size and weight make it no more than a second- and third-gear stretch. Drop the kerb weight to c560kg, shorten the ratios, increase power-to-weight by 100bhp/ton and the route is transformed into a full-on driving experience, something truly thrilling that requires real effort to perfect. Once you do, it’s rewarding in a way that no other car can match.

The Caterham’s low weight and small dimensions allow for far more freedom than with virtually any other performance car, allowing you to make full use of its potential without risk of overstepping the mark on such a narrow B-road. A sharp throttle and short-throw ’box make the perfect rev-match a real treat too, with the occasional backfire only adding to the theatre.

While I won’t miss long motorway stints in the Seven, I’ll always yearn for its raw, unfiltered driver-machine connection every time I pass that road. I’m not sure there’s a better car to experience it in. – Sam Jenkins

Going out on a high

I thought I’d had my final fix of the evo25 Seven. Caterham had asked for its return, and the drive back from TCoty to evo HQ in April was meant to be my last, a fact I marked by getting the shift lights to emblazon the dash as often as I could. Buttoning down the roof one final time (it never gets any less fiddly), it felt like it’d be a long time before I’d feel so hardwired into a car again, so completely absorbed in the process of driving. But then Caterham extended the loan by a few weeks and I decided that I would bid the Seven a proper farewell that weekend on one of the best roads I know: the A4061 in South Wales.

Winding up from Nant-y-moel, over the top of Bwlch Mountain and down to Treorchy, it’s one of the most technically challenging stretches I know, its surface shifting and sinking year by year due to subsidence and working cars to the absolute limit of their composure. If something feels good here, it’ll feel great everywhere else. More than that, the A4061 is just plain stunning to drive on.

I’ve been here more than a hundred times, and I’ve just about grown used to the magnificent Bwlch Mountain and the expanse of wooded valley leading up to it. But this time in the Caterham, having left the roof and doors at home, the environment looks new and vast as it rushes past my periphery; my field of view is widened, the sense of speed heightened as the road blurs under my right elbow, and I just know this is about to be one of those drives.

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I short-shift and settle in for a few hundred metres before reaching the first real corner – a never-ending hairpin at the base of the mountain. The tarmac widens at the exit and it’s impossible to resist pushing the throttle a little harder than the rear Avons can take, those rev lights beginning to flash moments before I push forward for third. Skip (and sometimes jump) over the worst patch of subsidence and then it’s the sharp ascent to the summit. This is always a great section to hear an engine digging deep under load, the Caterham’s exhaust spitting out noise against the stone wall on the left and back into my ears. Try not to stare at the view overlooking the valley (and the huge drop) on your right, because this not-quite-straight requires careful positioning of the car to avoid clipping the fallen rocks lining the road’s edge.

It’s third for the run downhill towards Treorchy, with just enough throttle to keep the Seven steady without igniting the full frenzy of the engine. The northern face of the mountain towers over the next long hairpin, which requires a downshift into second and patience with the throttle. Wait, wait, wait… now. Bumps kick through the steering as the road straightens and the speed rises, and after a brief sprint in third it’s back into second for the final banked left-hander.

It’s straight from here; one more chance to feel the Duratec’s manic top end before the thrum of the cattle grid. Another unforgettable drive on an unforgettable road is stowed in the memory bank. – Yousuf Ashraf

This story was first featured in evo issue 324.