Take one hatch, then turn up the heat to inferno-spec
The boot is enormous. Room for two weekly shops, at least.
It has five doors and makes use of the Volkswagen Group’s venerated MQB
architecture, including the excellent multilink rear suspension. The steering
wheel adjusts for reach. The trip computer, displayed via a hi-def screen, is
clear and informative. The 2.0-litre turbo engine is smooth and might just
sneak over 20mpg. You can have a double-clutch gearbox, with paddle-shifters.
It has five doors
and makes use of the Volkswagen Group’s venerated MQB architecture
All legitimate excuses to put this Leon at the top of your
hot-hatch shopping list. And there’s more! For starters, it’s been turned up to
330bhp, with the bonus horsepower coming courtesy of a bigger airbox with
competition filter, a boostier turbo, reprogrammed ECU, a stainless steel
exhaust and a more pumpy fuel pump. The springs and dampers are race-spec (and
very adjustable). This early prototype has hydraulic steering, though finished
cars will have an electric, speed-sensitive system. It is, clearly, more than a
match for the Audi S3 or the VW Golf GTI, with both of which it shares many
parts…
Downsides? It’s nearly two metres wide. There’s a good
chance you’ll crack your head on the way in, on one of the roll cage’s many
thick tubes. You sit deep down, halfway along the car, so your shoulder is
level with the B- pillar. Tied down by a full racing harness in the wraparound
seats, it’s hard to see over the dashboard. There’s no traction control or ABS.
No aircon, either. And if you drive it on a public road, you will be arrested.
Of course, you won’t drive it on a public road, because this
isn’t just any old Leon. It’s the Cup Racer, an off-the-shelf touring car
eligible for anything from a dedicated one-make racing series to the World
Touring Car Championship. It’s also ideal for intimidating ratty old Clios on
track days. Move over, chaps…
It weighs 1,120kg, and the interior is naked, with
just a smear of carbon fibre here and there
Flick the ignition master switch, press the silver starter
button on the centre console and the engine bubbles into life. Clutch in, grab
the tall gearlever – sprouting from the floor like a carbon stalagmite – and
clunk into first gear in the manner of a large motorbike. Ease out the clutch
(you won’t need it again until you stop), feed in a good dose more power than
you would in a regular Leon, then off you go. For a racing car, it’s not too
grumpy, though from the moment you move, it’s keen for you to get on with
things.
Our car has the optional sequential gearbox, and it’s a
complete sucker for punishment. It begs for full-throttle upshifts and will
stutter if you even think about lifting off the gas. Changing down requires a
firm biff with your palm, while braking as hard as possible. Otherwise it gets
upset, at which point the back end gets floaty. I suspect the flappy-paddled
car would be easier to drive at proper speeds – at least for those of us
without oodles of race-car experience – as you’d worry less about the
see-sawing weight transfer the ZF ’box magnifies.
I suspect the
flappy-paddled car would be easier to drive at proper speeds
