Getting inside a 26-year old German coupe on a rainy day comes with a mix of excitement, childhood dreams coming to a reality and a bit of fear.
Will the car even start? Will it end up driving like shit? Will an electrical component instantly explode the moment I flip a switch?.
You sit low in a Corrado.
The thin A-pillars and airbag-less steering wheel are a dead giveaway this car is from an era when car companies couldn't care less if you destroyed your face in their vehicles. The dashboard is black, stark, utilitarian and square. It's reminiscent of the layout from the old Golfs and Jettas of my childhood. I had forgotten how blocky it actually was. Fire up the engine at the turn of an ultra-skinny physical key, and the four-pop rumbles to life without hesitation, emitting a tractor-like, almost agricultural note from its aftermarket exhaust—BRRRRR. Subtle misfires are heard. It reeks of gasoline. Oh God.
My first reflex: test out the batshit awesome electronically controlled rear spoiler, which automatically lifts when you reach 50 mph like on a Porsche 911, but can be lifted manually at the press of a button.
Corrado spoilers are notorious for blowing fuses.
But this one works!.
More-or-less confident that my VW won't let me down at this point, I take a shot at tilting the electric windowless sunroof, you know, for style purposes.
The electric toys seem to work fine.
I turn on the parking lights, and work my way through the overly complex wiper stalk that lost its precision over the years.
After emptying half the windshield washer reservoir, I finally get a handle on how to operate it.
I clutch in, put her into gear with the sloppy, long, imprecise, and tired old shifter that sends zero feedback through the stick.
Am I even in gear? I depress the clutch.
She starts moving. Here goes.
I'm driving a goddamn Corrado.
This particular example held up surprisingly well throughout the years, with a pristine body and interior showing no signs of rust or excessive wear and tear.
The leather seats are still in great shape.
Impressive for a car whose odometer reads 319,000 km, roughly 200,000 miles—Jesus Christ.
Remy, the current owner, believes the car has been repainted at some spots, but it's got a clean title.
Being a G60, the engine has been of course entirely rebuilt, presumably more than once.
It currently stands at 80,000 km (50,000 miles).
Some slight cosmetic mods were done to the car, relics of the Fast and the Furious/Super Street era the car managed to survive.
Luckily, the mostly aesthetic add-ons, such as the "deep dish" XXR wheels, Momo shifter and door sill plates, don't ruin the car at all.
This Corrado is also slammed to the ground.
It rides on a Weitec Ultra GT aftermarket suspension kit, classic tuner shit.
There's also an aftermarket Brullen catback exhaust sitting under there.
Being a sports compact car of the 1990s, I'm totally fine with these mods.
On the road, this Corrado is still surprisingly solid and tightly held together.
There are some cabin rattles and vibrations, but give it a break, the car's been driving on Québec roads for 26 years.
It also smells like oil. And gas.
But it's all worthwhile.
You feel everything the car is doing, the front wheels instantly communicate the slightest bump, crack, or rock.
And it still handles and brakes supremely well.
Here I was, driving through a late spring cornfield in the Richelieu region of Québec, rowing through the weird shifter, sometimes not getting the right gear in - BRRRAAA - BOP - BRAAA - spotting that yellow rear wing popping up in my rear-view mirror, afraid to push the car by fear everything will fall apart.
I got flashbacks of my teenage years reading Sport Compact Car magazine, tuning cars on Gran Turismo.
I'm reliving the golden age of sports compact cars.
I'm loving it.
I'm totally high off of the experience.
Or was I just high off all the fumes?.
That G60 engine is, to put it simply, terrible.
(Sorry, Remy.) The power delivery is weird.
I was expecting some sort of sudden power rush from the supercharger, but instead, it doesn't even feel force-inducted.
Was that the goal, to make it feel linear like a naturally aspirated engine? It's not even that.
Anyway, the best way to get the most out of the thing is to rev it out, then it gets going.
Of course, I'm a spoiled brat that drives a lot of modern cars, so this feels slow.
Maybe back then it was quick enough, 0 to 60 mph times for the G60 were in the low eights when new.
I've heard these engines are extremely sensitive to atmospheric pressure.
Forums say the car's power output will actually vary depending on the weather.
Great!.
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