We’re here to find a car that’ll entertain

There’s something eerily spooky about an empty racetrack. It’s a strange, haunting feeling that grabs you when you stand in the middle of the soft tarmac, surrounded by vast spaces of nothingness. Only empty grandstands and bruised barriers give an indication that life has visited the place. I can liken it to a scene from a Western movie, where you can see only a vast expanse of open land and hear only the sound of the wind, as tumbleweed blows across the road and the sand gently lifts from the ground and is carried by the air for several metres, before settling again. Given that on race day this place will be filled with the unrelenting din of burned fuel and exhaust rumble that you’ll likely need earplugs for, it feels just plain weird. It’s only the distant hum from the adjacent Emirates Road that permeates your ears.

Thankfully, that non-sound doesn’t last too long. The brief numbness of silence breaks, as resonating around those same barriers comes the sound of a V6. Pointing at the decline towards the final turn of the Dubai Autodrome, the two outside Bridgestone Potenzas of the Infiniti G37S load up and screech past me as they beg for mercy on a wave of understeer. The high-pitched sound reverberates around the surrounding parts of the track. James Burnett, the Autodrome’s race school manager and drifter extraordinaire, is doing his best to unsettle the rear and get it to wag for the camera lens. But it just won’t budge. I join him inside when he tries another run. For some reason, the front doesn’t seem to want to bite hard enough and the rear refuses to break away even when provoked through sharp bites at the wheel. Suspecting a possible setup towards understeer, or a lack of power, we jump to the more powerful Camaro SS. Approaching the downhill bend, pointing towards the apex, it’s the same story: front refuses to grip, and when you give the big Chevy a dose of power, it breaks traction only when it wants to. James determines the problem doesn’t lie with either car – it’s the pesky sand that keeps blowing over in vast quantities onto the tarmac, preventing the rubber from having full contact with the track. Just this morning, the Autodrome was being used by a 50-strong group, which would’ve helped to clean the ‘green’ tarmac and develop a cleaner line. Somewhat unluckily for us though, the group in question was a gaggle of wheezing cyclists riding the track for fun.

James decides to do a few more runs in the Camaro. The sand gradually clears. On the next run, 435bhp overcomes friction and the rear wheels duly do their Catherine Wheel act, the SS sliding sideways in a crescendo of revs. Perhaps the Cadillac CTS-V we brought along would’ve overcome the sand a bit more effectively with 556bhp…

Three cars, then. Three very diverse cars. Put side-by-side, they don’t have any obvious relationship. Look at it another way though. In their basic architecture, they’re all powerful, front-engined, rear wheel drive and equipped with a limited-slip differential – a combination that’s close to the heart of anyone who likes to drive for the thrill and not for the dull as dishwater commute. Having any kind of comparison is obviously ludicrous, given the variety, so it’s not what we’re here to do. We have a slightly different objective.

The précis runs like this. To the everyday driver, the on-road limit of mass-produced cars these days is often dictated by the safety systems (all with their own unmemorable acronym). It’s all too easy to forget what it feels like when you’re reaching a speed at which you can really say you enjoy a car. And that’s quite an important factor, because at 50kph, it’s impossible to tell the difference today between a BMW and a Bugatti – it’s only at the higher speeds where a car’s

chassis really begins to show its true colours. That’s why we’re here to find a fun car. One that’ll entertain. One that won’t fight against you when you’re in that on-the-limit moment,

and when you go beyond it. Speed is not an issue and neither is acceleration. Power is a good thing to have if you can afford it, but

I’d say it’s around the 200bhp/ton mark where life behind a rear-wheel-drive car begins to get interesting.

STARTING AT THE lower end and working my way up, I take the G37S. Being the lowest to the ground and feeling the most focused from the moment you set off, it’s the sportscar of the three. The steering is accurate and pointy and has just the right amount of weight. The ride is well controlled and the throttle is ebulliently sharp, with each extension of your right foot giving a positive shove of forward momentum.

‘With a bootfull, in no time at all, the tail lets go’

On the road, it feels suppressed. Let out on a track, that package translates into something that’s capable of setting a fast lap time. The G37S allows you to carve a fast line effortlessly, but it’s hardly fun because the viscous LSD doesn’t react fast enough, with both rear wheels spinning at the same rate late into a corner. My hunch is that, because this press car has seen a fair amount of use, the fluid in the diff has lost its viscosity.

Eventually, the rear end does swing round and in a way that feels surprisingly controlled, I’m travelling progressively sideways. All the while, the Infiniti’s steering communicates the chassis’ intentions back to you. So whether it’s gaining grip and about to straighten up, or losing traction further still, you know about it. Add to that the precise throttle and you get a car you feel you can work with, and one that gives you confidence the more you drive it. Just a shame the engine note from the 3.7-litre V6 is on the dull side – it’s a lifeless drone that just seems to get louder with engine speed, but not a lot more interesting.

If you’re wondering at this point why there isn’t the obvious BMW 3-Series here, the simple answer is we couldn’t get a hold of one with an LSD. The G37S wasn’t the natural fun car of choice in the first place, either; the 370Z was. But the Nissan being made under the same platform and engine that underpins the Infiniti, it had to do.

Sand now well and truly banished into the depths of the surrounding Motor City neighbourhood, it’s time to step into the Camaro SS. Looking through the letterbox-like windscreen, with its high, muscle car shoulder line, it’s instantly apparent as I set off that the SS is wider than the G37S and it’s more difficult to judge where the front wheels are on the road.

Not that this is much of a worry. Plant the throttle and the big Chevy hurls itself into the distance. First gear quickly becomes second and the right-hander is fast approaching. Lift off, turn in, let the rear unload and the front bite as you hear the exhaust crackle behind you. Allow it to set, aim for the apex and then reapply the throttle. A lot of throttle. Applying too little shifts the weight off the front and pushes you cleanly into the distance, at which point you’re past the apex. A firmer right foot is required. The SS’s gearing is tall, so you need to keep the V8 at the top of its 6000rpm rev range in order to break traction.

‘The slide seems to go on forever...’

Second time round, and now with a better understanding of the Camaro’s weight transfer, I give it a bigger boot full. In no time at all, the tail lets go and I’m travelling sideways for several seconds as I glide through the apex and out to the other side of the track. It’s progressive, predictable and, most of all, fun – with a capital F. Straightened up, a big fat hit of dopamine is released into my brain. I quickly glance in the mirror. The result? Lots of smoke, and a rather big smile on my face.

Time to try a different corner. We go for turn six of the full GP Circuit. It’s an acute right-hander with a late apex. We opt to use it in the anti-clockwise direction, where post-apex, it opens up, and there’s plenty of run-off either side. Here, the Camaro shows up to be grippy when it comes to driving smoothly, and biddable when it doesn’t. That’s why the G37S slowly became a touch more disappointing over time. It’s set up for safe understeer, refusing to unsettle unless you really work the steering.

This is where the CTS-V comes in. It not only stands out because it has two extra doors but also because it is essentially the daddy of the three, towering over the other two with its detuned Corvette ZR1 engine and chassis that has seen more laps of the old Nürburgring than there are pages in this magazine. I said earlier that 200bhp/ton is about right, so at 286bhp/ton, the CTS-V should be on another level of rear wheel entertainment.

And it is. Initially, as you drive on the public road, the light steering, the suppleness of the springs and the soft damping give you the impression that it just wants to waft around, and that it isn’t much interested in hauling its near two-ton weight around corners. If anything, it’s an illusion worthy of David Copperfield himself.

Change from Tour mode to Sport, build up speed, and everything begins to sharpen up. The steering gains more feel and weight, the throttle becomes edgier and the ride is kept firmly in check. The Magnetic Ride Control acts quickly, minimising roll and allowing the CTS-V to swiftly set into a corner as soon as you commit to it. You can still feel the weight shifting from side to side, but it’s controlled in a way that means you don’t hesitate changing directions for fear of it biting you. That’ll be The Ring development, then.

However, the Autodrome isn’t quite the Nordschleife and we’re not chasing lap times. So, with Stabilitrak (GM speak for its electronic stability program) set to its third ‘Off’ setting, James goes about putting the CTS-V’s adjustability and ludicrous power to use by pitching it into turn eight – a long, banked, U-shaped left hander that looks like it came from a NASCAR oval – and powersliding the Caddy in a perfect drift to create the opening picture. The slide seems to go on forever and, as eyes and camera lens follow this sideways dance, I ponder that the CTS-V’s core strength lies in its multitude of abilities. It strikes just the right compromise between highway cruiser and on-track bruiser, with a ride that covers a wide spectrum of soft and firm.

What’s it like at the limit? Eventful. With the distant Eaton supercharger whine whistling somewhere ahead of you, it’s simply a case of pointing towards the bend and applying the power. The V8 delivers its torque in a linear and even fashion, so power is always there when you need it and there are no surprises in the form of sudden power surges. Just make sure you’re looking into the distance, past the corner and not directly at it, because everything happens much quicker than in the G37S and Camaro. I go through one corner and it isn’t long before I have to consider slowing down for the next. On the track it’s impressive. On the road, riding on a wave of baritone rumble and horsepower, it could be addictive.

I wish I could say the same thing about the Infiniti. The problem (if you can call it that) with the G37S is that its taught chassis and low ride height develop a lot of grip in comparison to the other two, so in warm conditions, on smooth tarmac (which is often the case in this part of the world), it’s harder to break traction. Getting it to play ball and initiating sideways action is not such an easy task. Given a cooler day, I sense the G37S will shine.

The other niggle is the manual mode in its auto ‘box. Using the paddles, the car refuses to give you full control. Up-changes are slow and you’re not able to down-change at the exact moment you need to. When it comes to balance – and balance is crucial when you’re trying to keep a car under control on the limit – it’s the Infiniti’s automatic gearbox that breaks your rhythm. On a fun scale of one to ten, it lies at six.

‘On the road, this could be addictive’

In terms of smile-per-buck, you can see the appeal of the Camaro. Its interior has that eye-catching retro/modern theme and the whole car has the honest simplicity of a big engine in the front effortlessly driving the rear wheels. It stirs up a notion in you that says it’s not about how fast you drive a road, but how much fun you have while doing it. In the Infiniti, it’s the opposite.

The surprising factor here is that the CTS-V is just $ 10k shy of the G37S, yet it’s all very well screwed together. Quality wise, it’s undoubtedly the best American car we’ve ever been in.

At the same time, it gives you so much more than the Infiniti: more power, more drama, more scope for driving it in the way you choose, not the way it chooses. It’s what makes you want to drive it again and again.

When the sun begins to set and our track time runs out, the CTS-V is predictably the last one to turn a wheel on the Autodrome; the last one to leave a mark of life on this desolate place.

The final echo of its burbling V8 eventually mutes into the distance and all is calm once more, the sound of silence gripping the track all over again. The eerie Western scene returns, the wind blowing, the sand slowly wafting, lifting and whirling.