Final Drive: 2000 Dodge Viper GTS

2000 Dodge Viper GTS. Click image to enlarge

Photos and Story by Justin Pritchard

My dad knows everything about the first-generation Dodge Viper GTS Coupe – mainly because as a kid, I never shut up about it.

That’s because it launched when I was fourteen: an aspiring car nerd in my tender, formative years. At first glance on Motor Trend, I adopted this V10-powered sledgehammer as my favorite thing on four wheels, and then never really stopped spouting specs and numbers and quotes from reviews I’d read to dad while he was trying to take a nap on the sofa or eat supper.

“That’s nice, Justin.”

Dad could never tire of hearing about the steamroller sized rear tires, right? Or how Motor Trend said this Viper was the fastest car through their handling slalom? Or, my favourite fact: that my beloved Viper would use its man-torque to smash the lederhosen off of dad’s beloved dream car, the Porsche 911 Turbo, in a drag race? And, of course, dad couldn’t get sick of hearing about the eight-litre V10 for the fourth time since mom put the lasagna on the supper table, could he?

I loved this car in an obsessive way that only a 14-year-old car nerd could. While walking my daily paper route, I’d contemplate which colour combo I’d decide upon with the Viper salesman, and how cool my grade 8 buddies would think it was when I showed up with it at school. I bought, probably, every magazine I ever saw with a Dodge Viper on it for years. When I knew nobody was nearby, I’d imitate the burble from the V10 as best I could remember from hearing it on TV.

In my teenaged mind, I was slamming gears, opening up the throttle and burning rubber in my Viper GTS while trudging through foot-deep February snow delivering door-to-door flyers in Lively, Ontario.

Fast-forward some years, and ‘adult’ me decided it was time for a toy. My friends, most unburdened with offspring, were all buying snow-machines, quads, boats and jet-skis. They all requested I purchase one of the above to join them for motorized shenanigans on the trails, in the bush, or on the water.

But Justin Pritchard’s driveway and wallet only have room for one toy. And that toy has four wheels, two stripes, and a butt-clenching pushrod V10 engineered by cavemen. It’s a toy of the manliest sort – ideal for anyone who’s ever eaten a steak with their bare hands, aerated their lawn with a machine gun, or contemplated a good breakfast scotch.

I started the search for a 1999 or later Viper GTS on autoTRADER.ca and eventually filtered out the sketchy models, the ones with distasteful modifications, and the ones priced just shy of ridiculousness by sellers phishing for bites. Though this body style launched for 1997, a 1999 or later unit would have revised rocker panels not as likely to rust, as well as a bigger, stickier wheel and tire combination.

A few days of research revealed that my $40,000 tax-in budget (plus proceeds from the sale of my 1993 Toyota MR2) left me to find a higher-mileage Viper GTS that was daily driven. Some 2000 Vipers are garaged 362 days of the year and have 10,000 kilometres on them. I couldn’t afford one of those.

Then, it appeared. Black with silver stripes, 90,000 kilometres on the dial, clean as a whistle and priced at $37,995. Location? Nova Scotia, at a place called Carson Exports. For all intents and purposes, a two-day drive from Sudbury, where I live. Damn.

I called up the dealer anyways, since calling is more serious than emailing, and buying your childhood dream car is a serious thing. Within two hours, sales manager Ken Eastman had sent me a boatload of photos, detailed information, the Carfax, and even offered to do a Skype session for a virtual walkaround.

I didn’t search Carson Exports out for any reason other than their possession of the Viper I wanted. I’m glad it wound up there.

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.

2000 Dodge Viper GTS. Click image to enlarge

But it’s not all bad news. Other than the engine heat through the firewall trying to melt your shoes on long drives, the highway experience is comfortable and laid back. Ride quality is good, the steering isn’t hyperactive and nervous, and the cabin is fairly accommodating, even for larger drivers, once they’ve found themselves inside. Cruising along, the strange, unique burble of the big vee-ten is your constant companion.

And on any cruise, the cool factor is off the charts. Driving a Viper GTS is a process that largely consists of glancing around to see how many eyeballs and cell-phone cameras are aimed at you, dismissing requests from fellow motorists to do burnouts, checking your fuel gauge, and answering questions about how fast your Viper can go, whether or not it’s nice to drive, and what you think of the new one.

Appeal is universal. Something about the bulbous shape, aggressive face, go-fast proportions, body vents and stripes all turn heads – even of young kids who’ve probably never seen an original GTS before.

The performance is off the charts, too. With nearly 500 lb-ft of torque sent out back by the Tremec six-speed box, Viper threatens to break its 335-series rear tires loose at almost any poke of the throttle. Changing gears is carried out with a firm, long, and stiff manly-man shift action, and the snottiest part of its power curve is right down low. Even shifted under 2,000 rpm, you’ll accidentally wind up at ‘I can’t be here’ velocities without absolutely diligent monitoring of the speedo – which sees 100 miles per hour at its halfway mark.

The monstrous torque puts a violent forward leap on perpetual standby at the tip of the driver’s right foot in any gear. Acceleration is instant and brutal, with 0-100 km/h available in 4 seconds en route to a top speed approaching 200 mph (321 km/h).

The engine isn’t much for revving, and as of writing, your correspondent hadn’t yet wound out to the 6,000 rpm redline because shifts at 5,500 rpm seem best. But the big power numbers and very tall gears turn in endless, face-peeling acceleration accompanied by an exhaust note like an offshore speedboat that makes nearby Prius owners approach vomiting. Coast down from speed while in gear, and the pulsating, backfire-laced warble from the tailpipes drops jaws every time.

Brakes have decent feel, decent durability, and do an admirable job of stopping the Viper in a jiff – even after repeated laps of a road course. There’s no antilock, but there’s so much tire touching the road that only the most aggressive stabs on the middle pedal threaten to cause any lockup.

Steering is light and numb, quick but not excessively so, and all backed by tremendous grip. Driven hard on a track, you’ve got to think a step or two ahead of the Viper to balance its torque output with available traction, and the car gives you little in terms of support or feel.

Viper’s acceleration, grip and braking are potent – though they fail to come together at the driver’s fingers and toes for that communicative, precise and confidence-inspiring dynamic you’ll find in many other go-fast rides. All the capability is there, but you’ve got to find it, extract it and use it yourself.

Most notably, the steering ratio and effort feel appropriate to the size, weight and grip of the car – and the rip-snorting torque voraciously consumes the straights. It’s a difficult but entertaining car to drive fast properly, and patient drivers who put in the effort and get it right will be grinning like a 10-year-old riding on the back of a Tyrannosaurus.

Ultimately, when it comes to performance, noise and cool factor, there’s nothing quite this extreme on the affordable side of the used-car spectrum. The Viper isn’t for everyone. It isn’t even, really, for most. It’s an exhausting car to drive in many ways – but that’s a small price to pay for those after one of the most instantly recognizable, respected and lusted-after examples of four-wheeled American badass ever built.