Plenty of real-time communication between me and Eastman meant all those niggling little questions that popped up could be answered in 30 seconds. Eastman’s team even did a good bit of refurbish work to the GTS after a nearby inspection at a Dodge dealer revealed it needed a radiator, tires and a steering rack. The inspection, and a just-in-case compression test, were on my dime, though Eastman’s team got the car to the dealer and back twice to make it all happen.
  2000 Dodge Viper GTS. Click image to enlarge |
“Our business is multifaceted,” Eastman says. “Besides domestic retail sales and service, we export custom ordered North American vehicles overseas to brokers around the world. Many of these are higher-end units but we also ship a number of fairly run-of-the-mill vehicles. Having that many requests for specific vehicles, we have to have access to units across North America to fill these orders – not just auctions and dealers in our local area. Therefore we tend to have access to a larger resource than most dealers choose to use as well as a better pulse for the current market availability and pricing in both Canada and the US. This expertise also benefits our Canadian clients.”
If you’re buying a car from far away, find a dealer like this one. They even arranged shipping to Ontario for me, saving me two days off work and a pricey plane ticket. About $800 shipped from Dartmouth to just north of Toronto, by the way.
After pick-up, I daily-drove the 2000 Viper GTS for two months. Grocery store. Gym. Nightly coffee social. Road trip down south for some lapping. In the process, I learned a lot about my dream car – and so did many of my friends and family members.
 2000 Dodge Viper GTS. Click image to enlarge |
Particularly, this isn’t a machine for everyone. It’s not nice to drive. It’s hopelessly impractical, and very compromised. And despite all of that, it’s still all kinds of awesome.
Entry and exit are difficult, thanks to the distinctive styling. Door openings are small, even smaller where your feet need to pass through, and unless you’re limber and fit, you’ll probably huff and sigh after finagling your way in and out. And careful getting out, too – the exhaust is routed through the seven-inch thick rocker panels, which can burn you if you aren’t careful. This is especially true after sitting in traffic idling with no airflow to cool their metal surfaces.
Seats only slide forwards and backwards, but don’t recline. The pedals are adjustable, though they sit two inches too far to the left, requiring a strange angling of your legs and feet.
On board, at-hand storage is dismal. There’s no cupholder. A few small, mesh pouches fixed to the rear firewall, ceiling and seats accept smaller items, and there’s a small, lockable console for your wallet and cell phone. Trunk space is very limited too. All in all, typical complaints of a serious performance coupe.
Features? Viper has air conditioning and power windows.
Fuel consumption? No, no.
Vipers are terrible on gas. Like, really terrible. I’ve driven numerous 450-hp cars that can average 12 L/100 km or better. In the Viper, you’ll do 24 L/100 km in the city if you’re having any fun with it. Plus, the tank is on the smallish side – so you’ll be refueling often if you drive it daily. You wanna’ play? You’re gonna’ pay! And an unwound Viper will put away the high-test faster than Rob Ford before a Leafs Game.
Highway cruising at speed sees the consumption drop to about 12 L/100 km – provided you can get into sixth gear, which requires a velocity above 115 km/h since the gears are ridiculously tall.
Parking a Viper is equally as daunting as filling it. Rearward visibility is terrible, the hood is impossibly long, and you sit on the rear axle. So, you’ll typically wind up embarrassingly far from the curb when you think you’re in your space, after wincing at the thought of giving your snake a new nose-job. While backing up, you wince too – since if anyone’s honking or yelling at you to stop, you won’t hear them over the exhaust.
