The early spring sun is doing its best to peek through the sullen skies. It's most definitely fighting a losing battle, but each time it momentarily finds a cloud-free pocket its tepid rays dazzle off the shimmering Capsicum Red paintwork, warming the atmosphere by way of an effervescent dazzle.
But then its determined fight is lost for the day, finally being encompassed in a morose gloom as the elements shroud the Holme Valley's best roads in a murky mood. It's only 10am, headlights are still required and although the roads are thankfully dry, the ominous clouds are threatening an iniquitous downpour at any given time.
I'm being hugged by a Recaro seat. Its positively sexy shape emanates a no-nonsense look to it on first glance but it's actually rather friendly - it clasps in all the right places and never gives any discomfort. There's a simple view forward - nothing inspiring - and the cabin's swathed in cheap, scratchy plastic. Run fingernails over them and it's second only to doing the same on a blackboard. The carpets have an itchy feel to them and the material on the door is a fashionista's worst nightmare; a continuation of those ultra-cheap plastics and an awful man-made cloth vie for one's derision.
But there's an infallible brilliance lurking underneath. Concentrate on driving and there's a meticulous feel to its approach in how it delivers its drive to its now re-interested driver. Key things - damping, steering and body control - work harmoniously to conjure up point-to-point fluidity. It's assured, controlled. It's a little compromised, forsaking ride comfort for feel, but its old-fashioned foibles are unquestionably forgivable. It is a Clio 182 Trophy after all, one of Renaultsport's all-time greats.
With news of the all-new Clio Trophy trickling in from the Geneva Motor Show, the original is celebrating its tenth birthday in 2015 so there's no better time to take what's been continually labelled as one of the best hot hatches ever created for a commemorative blast up on the moors high above Holmfirth.
The first thing that stands out is its size. It's absolutely tiny compared to today's crop of bloaters; its 16-inch Speedline Turini wheels look dinky in the Trophy's wheel arches, but the fronts hide the car's party piece - Sachs adjustable dampers. Those items, straight off a mid-noughties touring car no less, were reportedly ten times more expensive than the ones fitted to a 182 Cup, the lightweight chevalier on which the Trophy is based.
A continuation of the Cup's theme has been continued over on the 500-off Trophy so there's a cheapened rear bench, no xenon headlights and less equipment. No options were offered, so what you're given is what you get. How refreshing is that in today's climate? It wouldn't surprise me if Audi start charging an extra few quid for windscreen wipers soon.
Twist its key - it fires up with a frenetic burst of hyperactive revs - and it's got a distinctly over-engined feel for its minuscule size. Take hold of the vibrating, Poundland-spec gearstick and it's almost like the 182 French thoroughbreds are voicing their angry discontent right through to your hand. If you're used to supercars from yesteryear, you'll feel right at home using the Trophy's hefty clutch. Once up and moving it's no more inordinate than anything else, but it does take a little time to acclimatise to.
It takes about 50 yards to tap into its outrageous talent. Its steering's delicacy is other-worldly and feels absolutely wonderful: it's hooked up, informative and absolutely connected to what's going on below. One corner - taken at high or low speed - is all it takes to see why it's eulogised about. Sure, the Trophy's trick dampers don't particularly like jutted surfaces at ordinary speeds as the car becomes crashy, a tad dishevelled and massively uncomfortable, but then most things do this side of an S-Class on poor surfaces. However, they have a preternatural knack of getting more amenable as the pace gets higher.
It's such a primitive experience behind its rather large steering wheel. You grasp hold of the perfectly situated thumb grips, feel the Recaro clasp your sides and feel immediately at one with the car. You have to remove your pre-conceived ideas about outright grip levels as we're in a time of almost inexplicably gifted hot hatches in 2015. They're too adept for their own good, robbing the driver of a hot hatch's key aspect: involvement. What's great about the Trophy is that you are a part of the process. You're controlling things, you're adjusting your commands and not relying on an impassive differential to do all the work for you. Make a mistake and there's not much to catch you; there is traction control but its system is so lax you're left wondering if Renaultsport's engineers were actually telling porkies to the health and safety bores. If lap times are your thing, buy a car with a diff. They exude a formidable feel and generally are foolproof, even to the most ham-fisted of drivers. However, if bonding with a car and being connected trumps that, the Trophy's ten-year-old reputation has yet to be wrestled away from it. I don't think it's ever been eclipsed.
Push on and the nose is acquiescent, sharp and alert to your every input. You feel what's going on. The brakes absorb an absolutely absurd amount of punishment, there's feel through the pedal and the steering - oh, the beautiful steering - makes a mockery of electrically-assisted systems of new. Try and deploy full power on defective surfaces and the world's most lenient ESP system does show it's there by way of an orangey dance, but let's not forget that initial 'over-engined' feel is because it's a very quick car. Weighing a smidge of 1,000kg and having 182bhp means 0-60mph in just 6.3 seconds - fast in anyone's book. Up on snaking roads, high above civilisation, it feels monumentally expeditious, charging down straights and maintaining its speed through corners. On a typical countryside road not much could keep with a well-driven Trophy. Your trust grows as you can carry more speed than you'd ever think was possible, but it can bite if you're too insolent. Keep it in its sweet spot above 3,500rpm and there's an appreciable lunge for its 7,200rpm limiter as it starts to sing in the higher reaches. It's an infectious process, pure, free from contrivance, innate and wonderfully honest.
It begins to wriggle, shows its traditional feel and you just appreciate that aspect even more as things have got too serious in the hot hatch world. It's now cluttered with monstrous turbos and they've lost their simplicity, chiefly because many marques don't appreciate the fundaments of the most simple of recipes because they're inexperienced in the market. Ten years ago an AMG or an M badge only appeared on a fire-breathing V8 or a sonorous flat-six, but now they're at the top end of the hot hatch spectrum, bringing their Bavarian power battle to a category once dominated by featherweights powered only by natural aspiration, a talented chassis and no bullshit. The German invasion is no doubt a good thing in many people's eyes, but I'm not too sure. Hot hatches are all about affordability, real-world pace and practicality. Something that costs £50,000 with a few options ticked doesn't necessarily boost this most loved of sectors for me. That's why, ten years on, the Clio Trophy - an honest, loveable, talented and fast ball of Capsicum Red joy - is raved about. It's unparalleled… still.
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