Caterham's new Superlight package puts the feathery Seven on a hunger strike. Joanne and Roverto test the spec-racer special.
It was 40 years ago when Colin Chapman produced the first Lotus Seven at his shops in Hornsey, London, and four decades later, Caterham is still cranking 'em out. The official licensee of Chapman's design, this firm operates out of its very own factory just south of London, and arrangements can still be made to buy these cars turnkey or as CKD kits. Most of us fantasize more about the latter-a box of goodies you can bolt together under the dim glow of a rented garage's lightbulb.
In its role as keeper of the flame, Caterham has tweaked and stretched and tinkered away at Lotus' minimalist creation, but if anything the Seven has become leaner and meaner for their efforts. Take the aptly-named Superlight version you see here: This car employs Caterham's latest and stiffest chassis, which is some 30% stronger than the last Caterham and about a jillion times better than Chapman's original toothpick. The Superlight road car is powered by a 138-horse version of Rover's 1.6-liter K-series Four, and it weighs just 1034 pounds. That's a staggering 154 pounds less than the standard K-engined Seven, a soul-searching 451 less than the new Lotus Elise, and about half as much as a new Renault Spider.
The reality of the situation is as condensed as the Superlight itself-all you really get is an alloy-clad rollerskate with an angry-sounding engine up front and bugger-all else. There's no windscreens, no heater, no foul-weather equipment.... Caterham refers to such namby-pamby additions as "added weight options." Paint happens to fall under the same title; the Superlight saves five whole pounds just by leaving its lovely aluminum panels au naturel. Make no mistake: This car is about hillclimbing and circuit revelry, not commute-hour run-ins with battered taxicabs.
Racing is something that Sevens were genetically engineered for, and Caterham's gearhead leader, Graham Nearn, actively encourages their track use. Started in 1991, the one-make Caterham Championship (run under the aegis of the British Racing and Sports Car Club) has since spawned two highly-competitive subgroups, the Vauxhall Challenge (for cars with the 190-horse Vauxhall/Opel 2-liter) and the K-Series Challenge (for those with 1.4-liter Rover twincams).
Seven Cities
But for 1997 there's an even more ambitious move afoot: The Caterham Eurotrophy, with rounds to be held in Germany, Austria, Holland, Belgium, Italy, Hungary, and the Czech Republic.
The starting point of the Eurotrophy, as if you hadn't guessed yet, is Caterham's 1.6-liter Superlight. And no wonder-in road trim this is probably the best-driving Seven yet, and for the racing series the same basic platform gets a K-series Four with warmer cams, a new intake manifold, and a reprogrammed ECU good for 148 bhp @ 7400. Making the racer even faster is the loss of another 88 pounds.
Thus, if you find the roadgoing Superlight amusingly bare, the Trophy car will make you giggle uncontrollably. First, those oh-so-decadent upholstered boards that Caterham calls seats are replaced by a skinny fiberglass husk to keep your hiney off the floor. That's only to be expected, perhaps, but what happened to the dash? We're down to a tach and fuel- and temp gauges here; that occasionally handy item called a speedometer fell out somewhere back at the factory, and most of the switchgear holes are blanked off with black vinyl. Next to the tiny, suede-covered wheel are two super-retro warning lights-I'd swear they're off a '50s Morris Minor-in red and blue. The former tells you to shift up before the valves get smeared all over the pistons, and the latter glows for the ignition.
There's little else to break up the unending expanse of aluminum in the cockpit, apart from a bright-red fire extinguisher, a stubby 6-speed shifter, and a simple, curled accelerator pedal that looks uncannily like something Graham nicked off Grandma's iron fencepost.
Outside, the Seven has lost its characteristic bug-eyed stance. I suppose those headlamp pods must have been worth another ten pounds apiece. Stripped of that final semblance of road-going legality, the Superlight Trophy really looks the part of a snub-nosed, semi-tamed, formula racing car for the road.
That's just what Chapman had in mind all those years ago. True to his spirit, the various Caterham racing series have seen dozens of new drivers taking up the sport every season. The Eurotrophy series was conceived the same way: To get enthusiasts geared up for racing as simply and cheaply as possible. Regulations are strict and straightforward to put a lid on the bitching (oh, I'm sorry, that's to keep the racing as close as possible), so there's no fooling around with the chassis, engine, gear ratios, tires, or wheels. The brakes are also strictly regulated, though pad material is free.
Competitors can tinker with the suspension by fitting different springs and altering the ride height by about half an inch. The front wishbones also have limited camber and castor adjustments, and shims can be added to the rear de Dion tube. As options Caterham offers a series-legal oil cooler, an anti-cavitation lubricant tank, and a stack of safety gear which they-and anyone else with a reverence for mortality-most warmly recommend.
Lucky Seven
Let's face it: There's not much flesh on a Seven, and if you're used to the cocooning security of a modern sedan with dash padding, airbags, and side-intrusion beams, the Caterham's Godiva-like exposure will both thrill and terrify you. An aluminum-honeycomb side-protection kit is mandatory in the Eurotrophy racing series, and the optional cockpit brace will help to steel your nerves-to say nothing of preventing fellow competitors from T-boning you into oblivion. The available full rollcage has all the styling panache of an Easter basket, but even at that it's strangely endearing-it looks as though you could put the bar in the crook of your arm and carry the wee car away with you.
That is, in fact, the overwhelming desire you have after piloting the Eurotrophy; an unbearably strong need to possess it. To find its limits and drive. There's something almost addictive about this car-the way you have to put it on to drive it, the way it corners with scalpel-like precision. It's a small, seemingly insignificant, slightly absurd-looking thing, and yet it packs such a nerve-tingling wallop that you just can't forget it. The Caterham won't let you just get in and drive. It's not easily won over, demanding time, finesse, and a certain intimacy with your own physical limits. But once that connection is made, it's impossible to sever.
Some Caterhams are better than others, of course, and the racing Superlight probably crowns the lot. The preposterously fast Jonathan Palmer Special version is more brutal, but the stripped-out Superlight is all raw and pure, exactly as a Seven should be. As basic as this car is, it boasts a brilliant palette of power, grip, light weight, and response. Snaking, off-the-line burnouts, cat-like balance, and absolutely mind-numbing alacrity from Points A to B are all there to be taken.
Understanding their cars well, Caterham has tuned the Eurotrophy to enhance this sensation. Think throttle sensitivity: The Rover 1.6 is shockingly direct. Think quick steering: The turn-in is so rapid that merely considering a direction change is enough to make it happen. Think braking: You can put off deceleration until 50 feet past a sensible marker, and still you're outrageously early. Think flat cornering: The suspension is Kevin Costner deadpan, with nary an inflection. This car has your measure. Until you give yourself over to its abilities, you can almost sense the sneer creeping across that benignly gaping face.
Seventh Heaven
After having been absent from a Caterham's cockpit for months, the first few laps at the Pannonia-Ring in Hungary are a sensory overload. The engine barks out across the soundproof-free firewall at any degree of throttle; the deep-chested exhaust note below my left ear howls ever-presently; the green cycle fenders extend like dainty claws, snatching at the tarmac and amplifying every unsure movement at the steering wheel; the airstream tugs my visor open on fast lefthanders.
Judiciousness has always been part and parcel of driving a Caterham, for when it finally lets go it does so with such finality that superhuman reflexes are required to catch it. Fortunately, it's such a compact little thing that even full-on oversteer doesn't take up very much road; as long as the rear doesn't come around too far, everything ends up alright. It takes a really lurid mistake to swap the ends.
Out on the race course, the car is always angling for the attack-challenging the corners and taunting your nerves, begging to be taken just a little bit faster the next time around, to drift a little wider out of the apex, and to dance up the rumble strips on the far side of the track. Overdo it a little, and the rear end squirms in warning; overdo it a lot and you'll suddenly find yourself a backward-facing passenger on the Whirling Teacups.
With other, less razorlike cars, you can just feed in steering lock and wait for the suspension to load up and settle the chassis. There's no such respite in the Superlight Eurotrophy. This car makes even Caterham's 2-liter 40th Anniversary model feel soft and indulgent by comparison. And it's all wound so watch-spring tight that soon you forget what chassis lean even feels like. Switch back to a regular sedan afterward and the world whirls by at quite absurd angles.
The Eurotrophy's Rover 1.6 spins ferociously with such feathery restraints, and the sylph-like curb weight also means that layers of sticky Yokohama are shed without ceremony. Better still, the excellent 6-speed keeps things always on the boil, its tightly packed ratios falling all over themselves to keep the twin cams fricaseeing the tappets. The gearbox is just the icing on the cake, adding to the sense of frenetic action that exudes from every panel gap. Like the Caterham Superlight itself, every individual component has been super-honed just to make you see that this is how a sports car ought to be.
Seven Sins
Without doubt, the Eurotrophy's featherweight construction gives it the awesome balance required to make use of its rock-hard chassis. Our test car is still a generation away from the final racing spec, and its stiff rear axle does make it twitchy on the limit-and positively ragged once pushed over the edge. Even so, while I suspect that the final version will be a good deal less tail-happy, as it sits the Eurotrophy gives you a real taste of British club racing's golden days.
True, it feels nervy and demanding, but with its supremely communicative chassis and fantastically punchy Four, this is the kind of thoroughbred sports car that builds legends: Entertaining, satisfying, and frighteningly quick, wherever you are and whatever the competition. No other 4-wheeled device offers the fun-per-square inch of a Seven.
