And let's face it; presence and image are of upmost importance to those who inhabit this car's stratospheric demographic.
Right from point of entry, the SLS has a way of separating the unworthy from their egos.
Seated in the cockpit, the uninitiated can be left staring stupidly at the doors hovering just out of reach – much to the amusement of onlookers. And with this car, there's always someone watching. There's no magic door closure button, no dangling DeLorean-esque door strap. I eventually perfected a special "ingress manoeuvre", dropping my butt into the driver's seat while simultaneously bringing the door down and swinging my legs over the sill in one fluid motion.
The cockpit of the SLS is snug, intimate, making you forget for an instant that this is a rather large car. It's a finely crafted example of sports car simplicity, rather than the overt luxury of the E-Class cruisers. There's an abundance of hand-stitched leather, and a beautiful sweeping carbon fibre centre console divides the cockpit. Gauges are clean and uncluttered – sharply defined like fine chronographs. Thick and grippy, the steering wheel is suede-wrapped and flat-bottomed with aluminum paddle shifters.
Pushing the red start button fires up one of the most seductive sounding engines in existence. Unlike the high-pitched banshee wail of the Italian exotics, the SLS's 563 hp, 6.2L V8 has a gruff, masculine baritone rumble that punctuates every downshift with staccato pops and burbles. It's truly intoxicating.
The engine sits low in the aluminum space frame thanks to its dry-sump design. This, coupled with the rear-mounted 7-speed transmission's placement result in a 47/53 front/rear weight bias that balances the extremely long-nosed coupe.
Setting off in the SLS is a little bit like peering down the sights of an extremely long cannon. It takes a few minutes to determine the limits of its extremities in this deceptively large and wide car.
Initially, I found the carbon-ceramic brakes difficult to modulate the, which are rather sensitive. But stop they do, and with brute force. Good thing – it's easy to get seduced by the rocket-like power of this car, and you suddenly find yourself in the dangerous triple digits.
Right from point of entry, the SLS has a way of separating the unworthy from their egos.
Seated in the cockpit, the uninitiated can be left staring stupidly at the doors hovering just out of reach – much to the amusement of onlookers. And with this car, there's always someone watching. There's no magic door closure button, no dangling DeLorean-esque door strap. I eventually perfected a special "ingress manoeuvre", dropping my butt into the driver's seat while simultaneously bringing the door down and swinging my legs over the sill in one fluid motion.
The cockpit of the SLS is snug, intimate, making you forget for an instant that this is a rather large car. It's a finely crafted example of sports car simplicity, rather than the overt luxury of the E-Class cruisers. There's an abundance of hand-stitched leather, and a beautiful sweeping carbon fibre centre console divides the cockpit. Gauges are clean and uncluttered – sharply defined like fine chronographs. Thick and grippy, the steering wheel is suede-wrapped and flat-bottomed with aluminum paddle shifters.
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| There's an abundance of hand-stitched leather, and a beautiful sweeping carbon fibre centre console divides the cockpit. (Photo: Lesley Wimbush/Auto123.com) |
Pushing the red start button fires up one of the most seductive sounding engines in existence. Unlike the high-pitched banshee wail of the Italian exotics, the SLS's 563 hp, 6.2L V8 has a gruff, masculine baritone rumble that punctuates every downshift with staccato pops and burbles. It's truly intoxicating.
The engine sits low in the aluminum space frame thanks to its dry-sump design. This, coupled with the rear-mounted 7-speed transmission's placement result in a 47/53 front/rear weight bias that balances the extremely long-nosed coupe.
Setting off in the SLS is a little bit like peering down the sights of an extremely long cannon. It takes a few minutes to determine the limits of its extremities in this deceptively large and wide car.
Initially, I found the carbon-ceramic brakes difficult to modulate the, which are rather sensitive. But stop they do, and with brute force. Good thing – it's easy to get seduced by the rocket-like power of this car, and you suddenly find yourself in the dangerous triple digits.
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| Pushing the red start button fires up one of the most seductive sounding engines in existence. (Photo: Mercedes-Benz) |