Chevrolet Camaro: American bruiser looking to muscle in on the action

THE idea of charging a toll to use busy roads is often in the news. In France you pay to use some motorways but you get a pleasant experience. They are usually quiet, free of lorries laboriously overtaking, and have plenty of picnic sites. British motorists already pay too much. My answer would never work – but the idea is you make everyone drive a Chevrolet Camaro. Great, you’d love to? Well, maybe, but it has two characteristics to restrict your mileage – and congestion. It is left-hand drive, which means it is not a practical car in “busy” traffic because you can’t see too well at intersections and roundabouts. Second, while its 6.2-litre V8 engine thrilled at least one neighbour it does so at a cost. You face an 18 miles a gallon thirst. In a session of parsimony on a run to the coast, I did coax it to 23 miles a gallon. In doing so I enjoyed little of the gutsy performance and excitement which is the reason for buying an American muscle car.

“Boys’ bedroom walls were built for cars like these” urges the company website. “The Camaro has always been something special. A dream for countless schoolchildren, and an icon for those old enough to know its history. The Camaro lives up to those dreams and more, delivering a level of performance and engineering that will only cement its historic status. Start up the Camaro, and fire up the heart of a living legend.” Oh, stop it.

The Camaro did bring me an introduction to the new neighbour. Could I start it up for him, because he was a huge drooler about American muscle cars. I did so. He cooed. He asked me about the power and engine size and price. Having been caught short of info with a muscular car (Porsche 928) on a previous occasion, I’d done a quick crammer on the Camaro. Sixty in about five seconds, a bit over £41,000 with the six-speed auto shift, 6.1-litre V8 (actually it is 6162cc). Then my neighbour sat in it and revved the engine – a great chortling growl. Most certainly a lot of noise from the piping – though the engine went on to a self-controlled shut-down rather than blow out its innards. Just as well, the price of fuel being what it is. His sister took a phone-snap of him. Their mother came out too... in sandals (it was raining). His sister put her hood up – the brother already had a tea cosy pulled down to ear level. I don’t mind rain. The Camaro can be a coupe but this was the convertible –not that the weather was ideal for an open car.

A Camaro is affordable. Even with automatic gears it costs not much over £40,000. It is a lot of automobile for the price – even more so in North America (it is made in Canada) where it sells for less.

You say what? Oh, you thought Chevrolets were made in South Korea. Hah, no. Those Chevrolets are Daewoos called Chevrolet so we’ll think they are more exciting. The Camaro is made in Ottawa. Its kin, the fabulous Corvette, is made in Bowling Green, Kentucky – not so much a blue-collar Chevy but a blue-grass Chevy. The ’vette is a two-seater. The Camaro is a 2+2 and slightly less powerful. It is styled chunky and is as wide as it looks. Sitting on the left, and low down, it is a tricky car to judge, vis a vis wind mirror contact and kerb chipping. For once I avoided both. The rear tyres are 275/40 on 20s – big stuff. Snow-driving must be awful in the Rockies.

There is a “head up” speed display on the screen and a reversing camera in the centre mirror. The speedometer goes up to 300 in decreasing numeral size, so that you can have a reading in kilometres per hour when you take it to real Europe. The ride quality is not half bad. The chassis is a lot stiffer than that of the last Camaro I drove in the 90s. At night the upper edges of the door panels are illuminated. The instrument layout is tidy with a quartet of oblong gauges (oil pressure and temperature, engine temp and battery condition) set bottom centre.

Then there is the hood. It has a manual release above the mirror and then powers down into the boot – with one of those pull-out covers which ensures the hood and glass window do not impinge on any luggage – and vice versa. It does restrict what you can carry in the boot with the hood down – but there is always space on the rear seats because it is unlikely you’ll have found anyone short enough to sit there. The hood is a 25-second operation – not fast enough to close and keep you dry in a sudden downpour and this is one roof which will not close “on the move”. Nor will rain obligingly pass over the open cabin at speed.

More web blurb: “Our designers purposely developed a stowaway top to mimic the muscular shape of the standard Coupé roofline. An icon, after all, is not something to be messed with.” And “More aggressive than a cornered wildcat, the car’s hunched shoulders and bulging wheel arches give the impression that it’s ready to pounce.” At ’em, boy. «

Verdict: If you can live with left-hand-drive and its thirst...