The Joy of a Scruffy, Unkillable 1985 Audi 4000S
“While I have pictured dying in a car with you, I don’t want it to be this one,” says Tony Harmer, my friend and the photographer who took the shots you see here. His reaction, while a tad hyperbolic, is not unwarranted. As we crest a slightly off-camber section of pavement, I violently saw at the steering wheel to keep this wayward 1985 Audi 4000S Quattro on the road. It’s not that I’m driving too fast for the road—I may not even be breaking the speed limit—it’s that I’m driving too fast for this car, or rather, the condition this car is in.
This story originally appeared in Volume 22 of Road & Track.
Purchased one night mid-pandemic, on a break from doom-scrolling, this 4000S is, well, a bit of a bucket. It has some rust spots. On start-up it spews a dense white cloud of smoke that thickens during driving. Only the rear passenger’s-side door handle works. A mishmash of aftermarket solid mounts, blown coil-overs, and disintegrated rubber bushings creates a handling characteristic that is literally shocking. And the five-cylinder engine can’t be making the whopping 115 hp it was once rated at. Yet, I find myself choosing this Audi’s set of mismatched keys (the doors and ignition are now separate cuts) over those of my cars that, on paper, are far superior. Why?
Between my time as editor at 0–60 Magazine and co-founder of Hoonigan, I’ve had ample experience in big-power dream machines. Hell, I own a Porsche 964 Turbo and a Ferrari 360. They are fun, especially on track. But there is something oddly exhilarating about overdriving underpowered vehicles. It’s the giggle you release as the tires screech and the car unfortunately begins to over- or understeer into a corner. Despite its condition, the 4000S still feels very connected and raw—no computers, no variable-assist power steering, no dual clutch. And at a claimed 2820 pounds, it’s a featherweight by today’s standards. Its compact size (6.5 inches narrower than an RS3) makes it feel nimble and gives you more country road to apex while keeping you on the intelligent side of the double yellow.
I’ve driven better cars. And better-looking cars too. But I steered the 4000S from its former home in Vancouver, British Columbia, through foul weather to Los Angeles. I parked it outside sketchy motels, fixed it with zip ties and duct tape, and drove the hell out of it on rutted dirt roads. Call it a beater, call it a driver, call it the car I use more than my Ferrari. If I’m smart, I’ll fight the urge to make it “better.” A bigger engine and new paint would only make it too nice to take on those unpaved adventures.
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