Opinion: riding in the GMA T50 made me fall back in love with cars

2023: it’s not been a vintage year for cars so far. I was underwhelmed by the new BMW M2, baffled by the Mercedes-AMG SL and utterly disgusted by the BMW XM. Ford is killing anything affordable for under-40s and the bedrock of its future range is a crossover based on a disappointing Volkswagen. 

Perhaps it’s just my glass that’s half-empty. If you love SUVs, electric luxo-pods and machines groaning under the weight of ever-larger screens, then you’re quids-in. Lots of people prize all of the above, and if that’s you, then enjoy the rich bounty. 

But I’d been under the uneasy suspicion in recent months that maybe my whole interest in cars was waning. As the industry plunged headlong towards taller, heavier platform-sharing machines with an allergy to common-sense buttons and restrained, tasteful design, maybe the game was up. The motor car’s best days were behind it. Was there actually a major new car that I was looking forward to?

And then we went and did a passenger ride story on a chilly Monday in Surrey. Normally that’d require weapons-grade coffee to keep me engaged, but this was the passenger ride to end them all. A Gordon Murray Automotive T.50 pre-series prototype, driven by Indy 500 legend Dario Franchitti. 

It wasn’t just the noise, or the novelty of sitting three-abreast inches ahead of a shrieking V12. It wasn’t the speed or the joy of watching Dario execute flawless shift after shift. 

It was the raw, undiluted passion of everyone from GMA who was tagging along, making sure ‘PS1’ behaved itself. Engineers. Computer experts. Test drivers. Everyone was enthused up to the eyeballs about getting this car just right. And as for the man himself – the chap with his name on the badge – Gordon Murray grinned and swooned with the energy of a proud father watching his child win the school sports day egg-and-spoon race… in a Usain Bolt-worthy world-record time. 

He idly chatted with us about the car’s gestation. About how they’re still finalising the production car’s kerbweight, insisting it will be three figures rather than four. Every time it whirred past at low revs he’d tail off, reached into his pocket for a smartphone and filmed it trickling past. 

This is the boss. The man who first sketched a T.50 from his imagination. There is no-one on Earth more plugged into this car’s existence, and yet he can’t help fangirling over his own creation. In short, he’s not bored of looking at it. Or hearing it. 

Now, the T.50 is not what you’d call attainable. It might be practical for a supercar, but it’s not exactly a car for the people. Only 100 will ever exist, each costing £2.5 million quid give or take a dollop of tax. And I suspect that’ll seem like a bit of a bargain compared to values in a decade or two...

But it attracts no hatred. No V-signs or rude words were hurled in its direction, because it’s not a furious angry face being followed along by razor-sharp vents and wings that scream ‘aggression'. Can't imagine one in a chrome gold wrap, can you? You could almost call it subtle. And as a result, you don’t feel embarrassed by being interested in it. 

Immersing myself in this no-compromise machine – and in the company of the extraordinarily talented team who’ve brought it to life – poured petrol on the embers of my interest in cars. It sent me down internet wormholes for McLaren F1 anecdotes and Formula One escapades.

It single-handedly revived my dormant curiosity for supercars. It gave me hope. Perhaps 2023 won’t be such a dodgy year for great cars after all.