In case you haven't noticed, the theme of this month's issue is flat-out speed. A pure-blood velocity-fest of high-buck horsepower that doesn't stop twisting the speedometer needle until wind resistance stalemates with horsepower. Yeah, a 650-horsepower twin-turbo Corvette, a fistful of credit cards, and nothin' but beautiful blacktop between me and 226 mph! Or, at least, that's how it works in our latent teenage dreams.
Unfortunately, in today's sanitized-for-your-protection world, there's, more often than not, an electronic fun-stealer hiding within your car's electronic brain: the speed limiter. The purpose of these dastardly curtailers is, of course, to protect us from our own evil right feet-to stop us before we go too fast and presumably kill off the entire human species in a wreck the size of a giant asteroid hit. That's the idea, anyway. But what surprises me are the limits that are deemed acceptable for some speed limiters, and the irony of which cars get them and which cars don't.
For instance: The mechanical masterpiece that is the BMW M5 has a 155-mph limiter installed, even though our test car managed a true 157 mph before the fuel line was electronically crimped shut (note the optimistic speedo showing 165 mph). However, the equally talented Porsche Carrera can run to its true top speed of 174 mph unimpaired. Ditto the 155-mph computerized mother-in-law stopping the progress of the Jaguar XKR, versus the run-'til-it-drops 173-mph top end of its sister-Brit, the Aston Martin DB7 Vantage. Likewise, Mercedes E55: 155-mph limiter. Corvette and Viper: no limiters.
Someone needs to explain to me the rationale behind these seemingly random uses of limiters. I understand that for many cars, like Mom's minivan or Dad's SUV, it's a factor of not exceeding the speed ratings on the tires. Most of today's mainstream vehicles have limiters set at about 110 mph, and frankly, that's probably faster than most of their owners are capable of safely driving anyway. Makes sense, right? But who determines that a BMW M Roadster's speed should be curtailed at 140 mph? After all, it wears the best in ZR-rated rubber and was designed by folks who know what top speed running on the autobahn is all about. Yet, a Chrysler 300M is unobstructed all the way to its 142-mph ultimate speed. So, go figure. Ditto the weird rationale behind the 127-mph-restricted Mercedes-Benz S500 and the free-to-hit-122-mph Kia Sephia.
Now, at risk of pointing out something our governmental overlords might then want to "fix," I'll ask you quietly: If the idea of a speed limiter is to save us from driving faster than either the car or we can (presumably) handle, then isn't the notion of a 155-mph speed limiter wholly ludicrous? I mean, you're probably just as dead running off the road at a buck-fifty-five as you are at 175 (or even at 135). And get real: Who, outside of autobahn pilots and a few backroad bandits, actually ever drives those speeds anyway? In our world, speed limiters basically serve to thwart magazine test drivers' efforts to extract the best numbers out of a car. Period.
So, where and how should speed limiters be used? If I were king, I'd give performance cars with ZR-rated rubber an unimpaired top speed rein and two complimentary passes to my autobahn. However, if today's product lawyers had their way, we'd all be restricted to 76 mph (one mph over the interstate speed limit is plenty!), wear 11 seatbelts, airbag jockey shorts, and the entire car would fill up with protective foam rubber each time you started the engine.
That said, I guess 157 mph in an M5 isn't all that bad.