Project Sipster Part 4: California or Bust

 

Aside from the gas gauge thing, the Sipster just blazed a flawless trail across 1,800 miles of North America just days after its engine swap was complete. Cruising at 85 mph most of the way isn’t fuel efficient, but it’s very time efficient. So far, it’s clear the 70 mpg thing isn’t going to happen on its own. Fill ups have been revealing 45 to 48 mpg. Not too shabby, but hardly the unfathomable mileage we’re looking for. 

 

“Yea, but it’s really fast,” Jared insists, clearly having had his perception of speed permanently warped after spending a week with the Sipster’s original drivetrain. This is the first time I’ve seen the Sipster in person. More importantly, its the first time I’ve smelled it. Walking around the car at idle, the engine clatters like a Peterbilt. From the front, it’s much louder than you’d expect if you’ve ever heard the barely-audible purr this same engine makes in its rightful home. From the rear you can actually hear the faint hollow whir of the turbo spinning away at the other end of the exhaust pipe. It’s a tantalizingly subversive sound that gives you the feeling we’re getting away with something, but it’s a sound you can’t enjoy for long. Stand behind the Sipster for more than a few seconds and your eyes start watering from the stink. We may not be making much CO2, but we’re making a lot of something. We’ll have to put that on the list of things to deal with now that it’s warm out.

 

 To really get a sense of how big Jared’s relatively uneventful road trip was, take a look at his route relative to, well, everything else. In those same four days, Jared could have crossed Australia. He could have driven from Mongolia to Thailand across all of China. He could have traversed all of western Europe. That he could do this in a vehicle assembled from a few thousand dollars worth of junk says something impressive about the state of human evolution and the technical maturity of our garbage. That he could do it solo (you’ll notice no mention of intern Chris Gifford in this story, as he had turned tail for New York the instant the blue beast clattered back to life) in what was still a drafty, rattly torture chamber while still doing nightly site maintenance 
on TopGear.com says something about Jared’s iron will and steadfast sense of desperation.

 

 

While the east-coast crew has been frosting their digits over the last couple of weeks, I’ve been basking in the Southern California sunshine waiting for them arrive. Eager to shave a day off my wait, we’ve met not quite halfway, here in the Northern California motorsports paradise that is Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca. Why? Because we can. 

The Sipster’s throttle response is downright zippy, far from the dull-but-dependable feel you expect of a Diesel. Ease up on the clutch at 1100 rpm and bury the go pedal and the front tires light up without hesitation — both of them, thanks to the Peloquin diff. Grab second and there’s a little chirp and then… not much. Certainly not the nose-lifting, hold-onto-your-Doritos surge of thrust Jared claims to have relished after every rest stop. Grab third and there’s just a pathetic string of surging and bogging.

 

The fuel filter’s full of rust again. $12 later, Jared’s story is a little more believable. Lining up on the front straight, the stopwatch reveals another little secret about Diesels. They aren’t as fast as they feel. The instant torque and frequent upshifts give you the sensation of acceleration, but the very fact that you’re upshifting at 4500 rpm warps your sense of speed. 60 mph is actually deep into third gear, meaning time is wasted doing two upshifts. 

 

 

 

 

The Stig can pull off an upshift in a quarter of a second, so I put on a white helmet and head back out for another attempt. Halfway through first gear the door to the glovebox falls open and its contents hurl themselves into the passenger’s seat. I do a Stiglike upshift, mash the gas, and… nothing. It’s in a gear, but it sure doesn’t feel like second. Back on the clutch, the shifter feels like it’s in a bowl of oatmeal. Off the clutch.. what is this, fourth?

 

So anyway, before the Stigfist broke the shifter cable, the Sipster squirted to 60 in 8.9 seconds. A few days later, after driving South at a more fuel-friendly 70 mph, Jared reports a new one-tank record of 52 mpg. The 1.9 seconds we have to shave off the 60 sprint and the massive 18 mpg gap to our fuel economy goal look mountainous from where we sit. We’ve got ideas for how to make up the gap, but honestly, we were hoping the gap would be smaller.

 

There’s nothing like a barely-attainable target to make you overlook the obvious. We just out-sipped a Prius on the freeway and annihilated it to 60 mph with a bunch of discarded old Volkswagen parts and a week’s worth of other people’s labor. Ahhh, that feels better…