Yesteryear’s Hot Hatch Remains a Righteous Ride Today
Four decades past the 1980s, it seems comical to recall some absolute “truths” of the time. For instance, we believed 200 hp was the absolute limit for front-wheel-drive cars. That you totally needed a Getrag gearbox and equal-length half-shafts. That four-valve cylinder heads were the height of exotica. And that everything “Euro” and “monochrome” was good. Well, progress blew past these ancient scrolls so decisively that none of them particularly move collectors today.
Now consider this 1986 VW GTI, based on the workaday Golf and configured to sizzle up the fuel-efficient hatchback ranks. Actually, the second-generation GTI (1985–92) extrapolated from the Rabbit-based original (1983–84) with a saucier SOHC 1.8-liter four-banger (making 102 hp!), complemented by a five-speed manual, struts up front and a torsion-beam rear axle, and stabilizer bars and discs all around. Though traction control, stability control, ABS, and airbags had yet to debut, the analog GTI was still a fantastic drive.
My Tornado Red GTI had been an Automobile magazine “Four Seasons” test car and suffered through the wars, including two collisions, theft of its wheels and tires, and numerous pilots disinclined to treat it gently. But liking it and needing a car when the VW’s tour of duty was complete, I bought it outright, still on its MSO.
Joining the advertising game brought a grueling 100-mile daily commute, so the GTI dug into its new role as a year-round Michigan driver. Winter tires were de rigueur for getting through cold season, but even so-equipped, the GTI delivered several scares on black ice, once spearing a guardrail, and another time sliding off a crowned road into a farm field, where grip ironically proved better than on the blacktop.
Excepting weather-induced dramas, the GTI’s handling remained terrific, with the steering telegraphing great feel even as the eight-valve engine pushed the car into understeer (where, at the limit, the inside rear wheel hiked skyward dramatically). Likewise, fuel economy was agreeable (in the high 20s if memory serves), and the plaid cloth sport seats consistently felt, er, firm as the odometer rolled on.
Little spoiled the Volkswagen’s reliability record—just a vacuum leak resulting from a crash and an engine knock that got covered, despite pushback at the dealer level, by the powertrain warranty. What ultimately distanced me from the car was its choppy ride and interior resonance, which chipped away at my GTI infatuation as the long commuting days, weeks, and months stacked up. In truth, it was a great car that, fully sorted, needed nothing. But even so, it ceded to a nice, supple, quiet Saab.
