The Need for Speed: My Most Memorable Runs to Triple-Digit MPH

Two hundred miles an hour in a car. For civilians, and even most automotive journalists, that’s a bucket-list achievement.

I’m not talking hot laps on a racetrack, either, though regularly hitting 181 mph on the bowl at Daytona in an Audi R8 a few years back was a highlight. As was that time I took a Bugatti Veyron Grand Sport Vitesse to 210 mph at Volkswagen’s Ehra-Lessien test track—with the roof off.

I’m talking sustained speed. On real roads.

Germany is the place. High-speed cruising is still legal there, though for how much longer I don’t know. Much more of the autobahn network is speed limited than it was 30 years ago, and ruthlessly policed. Swarms of heavy trucks clog the busiest routes. But going fast in Germany has always been about finding the right moment. In the right car.

Here are a few of the cars and moments I’ll always remember. (Editor’s note: Please don’t try this on American freeways.)

Volvo 740 Turbo Wagon

I’d picked up the Volvo from Frankfurt Airport in March 1986 as part of an Australian press trip that would see us drive down to Monza, Italy, for a round of the European Touring Car Championship. Immediately, the big, boxy wagon surprised and delighted with its ability to cruise, as often as the traffic would allow, at an indicated 210 kph (130 mph), which suggested it was happily running at close to its claimed top speed of 124 mph.

It surprised the locals, too: I had a lot of trouble clearing Mercedes-Benzes from the fast lane on the run down to Munich. Few Benz drivers seemed prepared to accept they were about to be passed by a Volvo, let alone a Volvo wagon. It took several polite flashes of the headlights to get them to move over, and then, more often than not, as the brick-like 740 slid past, the surprised sidelong glance was followed by some determined pressing on, a three-pointed star glinting in the Volvo’s rearview mirror until their concentration waned and they dropped back into the distance.

I still vividly recall the moment I flashed, at well over 100 mph, past a white-and-green BMW cruising in the right lane, two German police officers inside, the cold dread rising until I realized: I’m on an unrestricted autobahn. This is legal!

I laughed out loud. And I was hooked. The need for speed…

BMW M5 (E28)

I wasn’t blown away by the E30 BMW M3 the first time I drove it. Even today, I much prefer the six-cylinder E36 model, which I think is a more rounded and accomplished piece of work. Looking back, though, I think one of the reasons the E30 M3 has always left me a bit cold is that, immediately after my first drive in one, I slid behind the wheel of an E28 BMW M5.

Even on that September day in 1986 the E28 M5 looked stiff and starchy, upright and angular, slightly old-fashioned. But stuffed into the engine bay was a 3.5-liter, twin-cam, 24-valve straight-six lifted, with only a handful of changes, straight out of a supercar—BMW’s brilliant M1, to be precise. It produced 282 hp at 6,500 rpm, more power than the V-8 in a Ferrari 328, and 251 lb-ft at 4,500 rpm.

I had been cruising at 100–110 mph, surfing the ebb and flow of the traffic on the autobahn between Salzburg and Munich, the M5 as relaxed and efficient a gran turismo as I’d ever experienced, when the road ahead suddenly cleared. I dropped back to fourth gear and punched the gas.

The M5 sprung forward as that marvelous race-bred engine howled and yowled to 6,500 rpm. I grabbed fifth, careful not to rush the longish throw, and buried my foot once more. The surge of acceleration continued as the revs built. Speedo, tach. Tach, speedo. My eyes flickered back and forth as I wondered where this intoxicating rush would end.

There! 6,500 rpm.

It was the first time I’d ever taken a car to 150 mph—152 mph, in fact. And to this day the E28 BMW M5, the original four-door supercar, remains the only car in which I have ever hit peak revs in top gear. On the road.

Volkswagen Golf R

It’s early on a sparkling Saturday morning in March 2018 as I roll out of the Hilton Munich Airport. I have 700 miles to cover today, and I couldn’t be happier. No emails, no meetings; just me and the road, a good half of the distance on the autobahn.

I’m driving a Volkswagen Golf R, a European-spec manual, which means it packs the 306-hp version of VW’s versatile EA288 turbocharged four-banger under the hood instead of the 292-hp version sold in the U.S. It is, as I am about to learn, a stealth supercar.

I quickly settle down to a 120-mph cruise. Brisk body motions make you aware you’re in a smallish car with a shortish wheelbase, but the Golf R doesn’t feel out of its depth in the left lane. The biggest problem is drivers of Benzes and BMWs who refuse to believe the Golf looming up behind them is traveling so much faster than they are.

Somewhere west of Nuremberg, I close in on an E-Class loafing along at 100 mph. I see the eyes flicker in the Benz’s rearview mirror and wait for the inevitable surge of acceleration. I stay right with him, and sure enough, after a minute or so, he eases the E-Class to the right.

I punch the gas hard. With remarkable linearity, the curiously syncopated exhaust note booms louder as speed builds. The tach needle swings into the red zone as I grab sixth gear. I glance down at the speedo and grin. I’ve just changed into top gear at 140 mph. In a Golf!

I saw an indicated 160 mph on that stretch, enough to suggest the Golf R was closing on its electronically limited maximum of 155 mph, and suddenly I wished it was a DSG with the optional Performance Pack. That car will do 166 mph, making it about as fast as a Lamborghini Miura.

Miura speed in a Golf? That’s a bucket-list item, right there.

Cadillac XLR-V

No one passed us on the autobahn that late summer’s day in 2007. Not the silver-haired guy in the big, black Audi S8 with Wuppertal plates. Nor the guy in the E46 M3 who tried to run with us near Nuremberg. And the best the guy in the AMG Benz could manage was a cold, hard stare as we blew by near Mainz. They couldn’t keep up. The Cadillac was simply too fast.

That’s right, a Cadillac. A Cadillac XLR-V, in fact, the origami roadster with a power folding hard top built on Corvette mechanicals and powered by a 443-hp, 4.4-liter supercharged Northstar V-8. This XLR-V was special, though: I’d asked for the 155-mph electronic speed limiter to be disabled. Then Cadillac boss Jim Taylor, bless him, had agreed.

We got plenty of stares, and more than a few thumbs up as we cruised in the traffic at 100 mph. And when, as the traffic thinned, I upped the ante, I found the XLR-V’s natural gait to be between 135 mph and 140 mph, the supercharged Northstar turning restrained 2,800 rpm to 3,000 rpm in the moonshot sixth gear of the GM 6L80 automatic. The Caddy felt as relaxed and stable at these speeds as an SL Mercedes, though with a lot more wind noise.

Finally, the autobahn runs empty, flat, straight ahead. Third gear peaks at an indicated 124 mph, fourth pegs the analog speedo at its 160-mph limit. But the head-up display is still ticking off the increments. 163 … 164 … 165 … The transmission slips into fifth, and the increments tick more slowly now. 169 … 170 … 171 … That’s it. Gas pedal pinned, Eaton blower gulping air, the Northstar V-8 giving its all. 171 mph.

It was the first time I’d ever driven an American car that fast. But it wouldn’t be the last.

Dodge Challenger SRT8

Summer 2008: We cross the border from France into Germany, and the A4 autoroute becomes the A6 autobahn, and I give the Dodge Challenger SRT8 its head. The 6.1-liter Hemi harrumphs like a big ol’ grizzly bear clearing its throat on the shift from third to fourth at 118 mph. We see an indicated 157 mph on one stretch, storming past the Audis and BMWs and canter along at 120 mph where we can.

I can feel the Mercedes DNA buried deep in the Challenger’s chassis. High-speed stability is impressive, the big coupe merely sashaying mildly as we hit a large truck’s aero wash midway through a turn at 138 mph, and the steering weighting remains nicely consistent as speed builds.

I’d been told the Challenger will hit almost 180 mph, but Germany’s weather takes a turn for the worse, and rain stops play. We cross over the Alps and into to Italy, to the quiet stretch of speed-camera-free autostrada where a colleague regularly tests Ferraris and Lamborghinis.

We prerun the road and find only the lightest sprinkle of cars and trucks. Time to get serious. The big Dodge surges to 140 mph, then 150. The climb past 160 mph takes a few heartbeats longer.

Photographer Brian Vance is in the back seat, camera trained on the digital readout at the bottom of the dial. 161 … click …163 … click … 165 … click … 168 … click. There is no lightness in the steering, no harmonic speed wobble or front-end lift to indicate instability. 171 … click … 173 … click …and the readout starts flickering between 172 and 173 as the physics reach equilibrium. That’s it. I lift slightly, and the Challenger arrows through a gentle sweeper at 160 mph, rock steady all the way.

Not that long ago, if you had wanted to go this fast in an American car, you needed a Corvette or Viper. But I’m in a big, comfortable coupe with a roomy trunk.

That’s progress.

Nissan GT-R NISMO

The autobahn south of Berlin is nearly empty. I scan the road ahead, far into the distance, and let the Nissan GT-R NISMO run as fast as traffic and topography allow. The third R35 Skyline to carry the storied NISMO badge, it’s sharper and more focused than any Skyline this side of the GT3 race car. But that’s not what’s impressing me right now. I’m impressed by how civilized it feels.

Earlier, in stop-and-go traffic on less-than-perfect Berlin roads I’d been delighted to discover the dual-clutch transmission no longer sounds like a bucket of bolts in a cement mixer as it shuffles the ratios in automatic mode. And the ride quality—with the suspension set in Comfort mode—was more than acceptable for a car on 20-inch, low-profile run-flat tires.

But now, as the GT-R NISMO cruises at a relaxed 130 mph to 160 mph range, tracking true on the straights with minimal steering inputs, and feeling resolutely planted through the long sweepers, I’m thinking how easy it would be in this car to pack a 1,000-mile, transcontinental stint into a single day.

The engine makes the same 600 hp at 6,800 rpm and 486 lb-ft from 3,600 rpm to 5,600 rpm as in the previous GT-R NISMO. But it feels livelier than before. New turbochargers lifted straight from Nissan’s GT3 GT-R race car have thinner turbine vanes, which means a 24 percent reduction in inertia and a 20 percent improvement in engine response from zero to wide-open throttle.

I feel it when, as I exit a sweeper at 160 mph or so, I squeeze the throttle and the GT-R NISMO effortlessly surges to an indicated 309 kph (192 mph) and is still pulling strongly when I lift for traffic in the far distance. The original R35 GT-R used to feel like it was running out of breath above 120 mph. Not this one.

Bentley Continental Flying Spur

Think 200 mph in a road car, and you’ll invariably think of some shrieking, low-slung Italian exotic; all noise and carbon fiber; all edge and sweaty palms. Yet here I am, arrowing along the M92 toward Munich in a 5,456-pound luxury limousine with leather on the roof lining, burr walnut on the dash, and Mozart tinkling on the CD player. At close to the double century.

Suddenly I understand exactly what the Bentley Continental Flying Spur is all about. There is no faster, more comfortable way of crossing a continent this side of a private jet.

While German brands stuck to the gentleman’s agreement that limited their cars to 155 mph, the Flying Spur was free to run as fast as it could. To 195 mph, in fact, making it easily the fastest sedan in the world at the time. Though then-engineering chief Ulrich Eichhorn later told me this was a conservative number.

As I allow the 551-hp, twin-turbo, 6.0-liter W-12 to run all the way to the redline through the gears, the Flying Spur surges at the horizon like an airliner on takeoff. It’s not as silky as other 12-cylinder engines, buzzing back through the steering wheel rim above 5,000 rpm, but other than that the loudest noise you hear above 150 mph is a distant wind roar, like in a Boeing 747 cruising at 36,000 feet.

The stability is unbelievable. While many fast cars start to feel flighty and nervous, dancing on the balls of their feet above 170 mph, the Flying Spur, with its all-wheel drive and air suspension, is nailed to the road. It tracks with the iron certainty of a bullet train through long, wide, open 180-mph sweepers.

Today’s Bentley Flying Spur is better looking, better handling, has more power, and has a claimed top speed of 207 mph. But I have to remind myself my near-200-mph run in that Continental Flying Spur was fifteen years ago. It remains one of the most extraordinary sedans ever built.

Chevrolet Corvette ZR1

The A9 autobahn between Nuremberg and Munich is one of Germany’s busiest, funneling traffic from the north of the country past the hometowns of Audi and BMW, and on to major highways leading into Austria, Italy, Slovenia, and Hungary. It’s wide—three lanes each way—and open, but much of it is subject to variable speed limits that reduce traffic to a mere 80 mph or less when the road is heavily congested. As it frequently is.

But on this Monday evening in 2011 the traffic is inexplicably light. I’m at the wheel of a Chevrolet Corvette ZR1, at the time the fastest, most powerful Corvette ever built. And for the past 25 minutes I’ve been able to drive it as fast as I dare, the sonic boom of the mighty 638-hp supercharged V-8 rattling the squadrons of Benzes and BMWs and Audis minding their own business in the middle lane.

For 25 minutes the speedo needle has never dropped below 120 mph and has regularly kissed 180 mph. But now the traffic is building as we near Munich, the variable speed limit signs blinking into life, and I back off. I quickly do the math: I’ve just covered 55 miles at an average speed—average—of 132 mph. Not since that harum-scarum blast to Wurzburg in the Vauxhall Lotus Carlton 20 years earlier had a car taken me so far, so fast.

And the ZR1 did it with none of the white-knuckle drama of the Vauxhall. The slightly nervous, squirrely feeling through the steering I’d noticed from the super-grippy Michelin Pilot Sport Cup tires at lesser speeds had disappeared as the aerodynamics kicked in, a giant invisible hand gently pressing the car into the tarmac, steadying it.

There were very few cars of that era that could accelerate from 160 mph to 190 mph with the fierce urgency of this Corvette, as I was to discover the next day during repeated runs to 200 mph while filming an episode of the MotorTrend original series, Epic Drives.

I had to think about it afterwards. 200 mph. That was the fastest I’d ever been on a road.

At one level the Corvette ZR1, so planted, so composed, so effortlessly powerful, had made it seem easy. But as the scenery rushed at me and the shock-and-awe soundtrack of that mighty supercharged V-8 boomed through the cabin, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud once more. 200 mph! On a road!

The need for speed. It’s real.

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