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No, our problem lies with the air conditioning. Until now, our journey has been undertaken in Comfort drive mode, but with the road now starting to wind and my impatience for hooliganism starting to kick in, this has hitherto has been switched to ‘Sport Plus’. In doing so, this tightens up the front suspension, reconfigures the gearing for more alert response, and increases steering sensitivity. It also, as it turns out, turns the air conditioning way down for the purposes of maximum performance. It takes both James and I a while to work out the cause of this sudden heatwave, by which point our shirts are beyond saving from perspiration.
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While standing at the Oman border waiting for the necessary papers, my focus turns to the looks of the E 63 AMG. It really is a handsome brute. I’ll admit that perhaps the white paint finish doesn’t quite do the merciless power under the bonnet justice, and that the ominous glare of the headlights is perhaps a little over the top. But it does look very good. The slightly raised rear suspension gives the impression of a mountain lion about to strike, the subtle rear spoiler lip on the bootlid a cheeky nod to the saloon’s performance capabilities, and the AMG-spec alloys I find particularly endearing. I’ll have one in black please!
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One rather sweltering hour later, our group is across the border almost in its entirety (a few of the chaps have forgotten their passports and have no choice but to turn around and head home for an early shower), and ready for the run down the mountain into Khasab. The heavy roadworks directly in front of the border don’t exactly scream ‘Kodak moment’, but just beyond are rocky mountains, a twisting road that barrels both up and down the rock face, and a stretch of stunningly blue sea that almost looks like it’s been painted. Water bottles are discarded and seatbelts are tightened.
Engines on. This is it.
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This is the first chance I’ve had to really put the E 63’s steering to work, and almost immediately we’re looking good. The opening left-right-left configuration gives the front wheels a solid workout, steering flicks being transferred to the road with precision. Despite the heavy lump up front, there’s remarkably little understeer, the nose more pinpoint and the saloon more balanced than I’d expected as we flick from left to right.
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Into the next section of sweeping lefts, which are interspersed with sharp right-handers, the gear changes are quick, the solid feel for the seven-speed paddle shift box encouraging me to push the AMG a little harder with each turn. Snappy acceleration and good feel for the brakes allows me to brake late into the corners and jump on the power early, without the gearbox being left behind. This is a big, heavy car – there’s no point denying that – but it already feels much more nimble than it has a right to be. Through the windscreen, the ocean stares back at me, the white rocks of the mountainside an ominous presence but still a joy to behold.
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Soon though, I encounter a problem. So abrupt is the acceleration and power delivery out of the sharp corners that jumping on the power instantaneously causes the rears to squirrel, the traction control to step in, and our momentum to shrivel to ruins: the big bad AMG is trying to wrench itself free from my control. I heave a big sigh, thanking my earlier decision to leave the traction control on. Without that, I’d surely be in the Armco by now.
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Brute force at the wheel and pedals continues to fail, and soon the gearbox – fed up with my mishandling – switches itself back to Sport mode, disabling the paddle shift altogether. Certainly this is a clever way to avoid damage to the transmission, but it does leave me in a bit of pickle, completely reliant as I now am on the gearbox to automatically change for me: once or twice, the box shifts up just seconds before I brake for a sharp turn, unsettling the balance altogether.
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Halfway up the mountain, we pull over for a bite to eat at the Golden Tulip, a resort high up the mountainside with a breath-taking view of the coast below and the almost never-ending stretch of cliffs.
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iPhone shots are passed around the table over the humus and falafel, video footage from Go Pros is played, and there is much merriment as we discuss the drive thus far. The general consensus is ‘so far, so good’, but I must confess that the Merc’s tendencies to step in and seize control are starting to grate.
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There’s time for one quick celebratory picture before we slide back into our (incredibly) hot seats for the second blast.
