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GBS Zero review: Caterham better watch out

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GBS Zero review: Caterham better watch out | Top Gear

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Little-known kit builder has its own take on the Seven, and it’s rather good

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GBS Zero review: Caterham better watch out

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Another Caterham special edition? Been a few of those lately.Missed the headline, did you? It might look like a Seven and quack like a Seven, but this is in fact a GBS Zero, an altogether different take on the original Lotus blueprint.It’s the work of Nottinghamshire’s Great British Sports Cars, which has championed DIY shed builds – and lord knows how many mid-life crises – since it picked up the torch from Robin Hood Engineering almost 20 years ago.

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GBS Zero review: Caterham better watch out

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Little-known kit builder has its own take on the Seven, and it’s rather good

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
GBS Zero review: Caterham better watch out

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
Little-known kit builder has its own take on the Seven, and it’s rather good

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.description[]
Little-known kit builder has its own take on the Seven

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
Another Caterham special edition? Been a few of those lately.Missed the headline

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did you? It might look like a Seven and quack like a Seven

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
an altogether different take on the original Lotus blueprint.It’s the work of Nottinghamshire’s Great British Sports Cars

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
which has championed DIY shed builds – and lord knows how many mid-life crises – since it picked up the torch from Robin Hood Engineering almost 20 years ago.As a kit car supplier with a dozen or so members of staff it’s carved out a happy little niche for itself: most of its business is in the UK but it has customers in Norway

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New Zealand… so now it wants to expand its horizons into the turnkey game

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i.e. full cars made to order. Big League stuff.And it’s doing that with an EV? Impressive.I’m sorry?Zero. As in zero emissions?Oh! No that exhaust pipe’s the real deal: it’s plumbed into a 2.5-litre Ford Duratec unit

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
one of many engines GBS has mounted for its customers over the years. This one’s good for 210bhp and 200lb ft – plenty given the wet weight’s just 598kg – although evidence from the dyno suggests they actually leave the factory with more like 235bhp.That’s because GBS has made a few modifications

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
installing a flywheel lighter to the tune of 3.7kg and its own throttle bodies to help the engine breathe easier. Power is sent through a five-speed Mazda gearbox

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
with 0-62mph dealt with in under four seconds. The top speed’s been clocked at 136mph. Thank goodness for the windscreen.Intriguing. But most of the Zero must be off the shelf

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surely?Actually no. GBS says it makes 80 per cent of its components in-house

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carbon fibre panelling and those adjustable dampers; complete with 12 clicks for endless tinkering.The Zero runs double wishbones front and rear

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
with GBS claiming the wide track helps with stability and grip.It doesn’t look as narrow as a Caterham.You’ve got a good eye. This here is the standard chassis

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720mm it’s a full 250mm wider than the equivalent Caterham Seven. Quite apart from anything else

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that means it’s less of a squeeze – this is the first time I’ve driven a car like this where I’ve not had to take my shoes off to operate the pedals. Winning.If that still doesn’t cut it

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GBS also does a GT version that’s 80mm wider again. Must feel like a Continental GT

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that one.Anything else that sets it apart from a Caterham?As well as inching the engine rearwards for 50:50 weight distribution

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
there’s some aero trickery underneath the car with a fully flat steel floor leading to a rear diffuser made of glass reinforced plastic.Like a Seven it’s built around a space frame chassis

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
but stressed aluminium body panels are said to double the rigidity of the structure as a whole.Does that impact the drive?It does. And maybe not in a good way. Part of what makes a Seven so biddable is the flex in the chassis

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whereas here there’s far less give; almost no appetite to compromise at all. On a track – with smooth

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that’s fine – but on a b-road the Zero gets pushed around by undulations and camber in the surface

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which you then have to correct for. It keeps you on your toes.Especially approaching 60mph. At town pace the Zero has very weighty steering

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but as the speedo climbs the steering starts to get noticeably lighter and more vague. Maybe if I’d pulled over and fiddled with the dampers…We’re not off to a good start here.Fear not

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because in every other respect the Zero is magnificent. The kind of thing you get up early to drive on a weekend morning

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just for the pleasure of it. Even in the dead of winter.That engine is so

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but it’ll still haul when you ask it to. Which will be constantly. The gearbox is snappy (although there’s some play in the lever that makes it less precise than it ought to be) and the clutch forgiving. The Zero’s behaviour in general is just so agreeable

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
responding to inputs with immediacy and precision

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but without being edgy or spiky. And if you do happen to overwhelm the rear wheels (which you might on an icy day)

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
it breaks predictably and progressively. Nothing a dab of oppo won’t fix.Let’s not overstate things

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
in terms of outright performance the Zero’s not as dialled in as a Seven. Though the chassis is stiffer

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
the suspension's softer and more leisurely. But it honestly doesn’t feel like more than a few setup tweaks away from being properly sorted. And the extra squidge in the ride (plus GBS’s own seats) means you can drive it for longer before needing to book a session with the chiropractor. Happy days.Caterham better watch out. This lot know what they’re doing.What about the interior? If you can call it that.There’s not much to it

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although it’s interesting where GBS has diverged from Caterham in its approach. Instead of a ball-mounted gear lever you get a more graspable stick; the handbrake is further back

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allowing room for a quartet of buttons on the centre console; there is – and this is my favourite departure of all – an indicator stalk! Doesn’t half make roundabouts easier.Combined with the ride and less claustrophobic interior

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content.reviewBody[]
this is altogether more liveable than a Seven. GBS should go further with it: give me a cupholder so I’ve got somewhere to stash a drink; give me a phone mount so I can run Google Maps and not get lost. The Zero Hassle

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here to add convenience Dartford’s finest export daren’t dream of.Steady on. So you think this a realistic alternative to a Caterham?For the right person

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yeah. But the thing to be mindful of is that 80 per cent of GBS’s business is still in kit cars

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so execution of the fit and finish still has a way to go.Prod the starter button and you’ll notice how much flex there is in the dashboard; the fuel gauge is comically inaccurate; buttoning the door shut is exasperating. Worse yet

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get the roof up and above 40mph the buffeting will beat you over the head until you pull over and take it off again. A fix is coming

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says GBS – the Nottingham Head Massage can’t be cured soon enough.The point is

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those are all things you’ll put up with if it’s a project you’ve poured your own blood

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sweat and tears into. But anyone who just wants the sports car with none of the self-assembly will be expecting craftsmanship. On that front

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I’ve not asked how much it is.This one’s about £48k with options

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including the 12-stage dampers and four-pot brakes (£1

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lightweight suspension and alloy billet rear hubs (£1

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plus a few others.But with the 2.5 fitted here prices start from £41

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860. That’s already £3k less than a factory-built Seven 420 of equivalent power

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and although the options list won’t lose you quite as many hours (or days

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the benefit of dealing with a manufacturer that builds just over 100 chassis a year is that it can listen to individual requests. Now

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Another Caterham special edition? Been a few of those lately.

Missed the headline, did you? It might look like a Seven and quack like a Seven, but this is in fact a GBS Zero, an altogether different take on the original Lotus blueprint.

It’s the work of Nottinghamshire’s Great British Sports Cars, which has championed DIY shed builds – and lord knows how many mid-life crises – since it picked up the torch from Robin Hood Engineering almost 20 years ago.

As a kit car supplier with a dozen or so members of staff it’s carved out a happy little niche for itself: most of its business is in the UK but it has customers in Norway, the US, Australia, New Zealand… so now it wants to expand its horizons into the turnkey game, i.e. full cars made to order. Big League stuff.

And it’s doing that with an EV? Impressive.

I’m sorry?

Zero. As in zero emissions?

Oh! No that exhaust pipe’s the real deal: it’s plumbed into a 2.5-litre Ford Duratec unit, one of many engines GBS has mounted for its customers over the years. This one’s good for 210bhp and 200lb ft – plenty given the wet weight’s just 598kg – although evidence from the dyno suggests they actually leave the factory with more like 235bhp.

That’s because GBS has made a few modifications, installing a flywheel lighter to the tune of 3.7kg and its own throttle bodies to help the engine breathe easier. Power is sent through a five-speed Mazda gearbox, with 0-62mph dealt with in under four seconds. The top speed’s been clocked at 136mph. Thank goodness for the windscreen.

Intriguing. But most of the Zero must be off the shelf, surely?

Actually no. GBS says it makes 80 per cent of its components in-house, including the brakes (300mm four-pots), 42mm 4-2-1 exhaust manifold, carbon fibre panelling and those adjustable dampers; complete with 12 clicks for endless tinkering.

The Zero runs double wishbones front and rear, with GBS claiming the wide track helps with stability and grip.

It doesn’t look as narrow as a Caterham.

You’ve got a good eye. This here is the standard chassis, and at 1,720mm it’s a full 250mm wider than the equivalent Caterham Seven. Quite apart from anything else, that means it’s less of a squeeze – this is the first time I’ve driven a car like this where I’ve not had to take my shoes off to operate the pedals. Winning.

If that still doesn’t cut it, GBS also does a GT version that’s 80mm wider again. Must feel like a Continental GT, that one.

Anything else that sets it apart from a Caterham?

As well as inching the engine rearwards for 50:50 weight distribution, there’s some aero trickery underneath the car with a fully flat steel floor leading to a rear diffuser made of glass reinforced plastic.

Like a Seven it’s built around a space frame chassis, but stressed aluminium body panels are said to double the rigidity of the structure as a whole.

Does that impact the drive?

It does. And maybe not in a good way. Part of what makes a Seven so biddable is the flex in the chassis, whereas here there’s far less give; almost no appetite to compromise at all. On a track – with smooth, predictable asphalt, that’s fine – but on a b-road the Zero gets pushed around by undulations and camber in the surface, which you then have to correct for. It keeps you on your toes.

Especially approaching 60mph. At town pace the Zero has very weighty steering, but as the speedo climbs the steering starts to get noticeably lighter and more vague. Maybe if I’d pulled over and fiddled with the dampers…

We’re not off to a good start here.

Fear not, because in every other respect the Zero is magnificent. The kind of thing you get up early to drive on a weekend morning, just for the pleasure of it. Even in the dead of winter.

That engine is so, so friendly, but it’ll still haul when you ask it to. Which will be constantly. The gearbox is snappy (although there’s some play in the lever that makes it less precise than it ought to be) and the clutch forgiving. The Zero’s behaviour in general is just so agreeable, responding to inputs with immediacy and precision, but without being edgy or spiky. And if you do happen to overwhelm the rear wheels (which you might on an icy day), it breaks predictably and progressively. Nothing a dab of oppo won’t fix.

Let’s not overstate things, in terms of outright performance the Zero’s not as dialled in as a Seven. Though the chassis is stiffer, the suspension's softer and more leisurely. But it honestly doesn’t feel like more than a few setup tweaks away from being properly sorted. And the extra squidge in the ride (plus GBS’s own seats) means you can drive it for longer before needing to book a session with the chiropractor. Happy days.

Caterham better watch out. This lot know what they’re doing.

What about the interior? If you can call it that.

There’s not much to it, although it’s interesting where GBS has diverged from Caterham in its approach. Instead of a ball-mounted gear lever you get a more graspable stick; the handbrake is further back, allowing room for a quartet of buttons on the centre console; there is – and this is my favourite departure of all – an indicator stalk! Doesn’t half make roundabouts easier.

Combined with the ride and less claustrophobic interior, this is altogether more liveable than a Seven. GBS should go further with it: give me a cupholder so I’ve got somewhere to stash a drink; give me a phone mount so I can run Google Maps and not get lost. The Zero Hassle, here to add convenience Dartford’s finest export daren’t dream of.

Steady on. So you think this a realistic alternative to a Caterham?

For the right person, yeah. But the thing to be mindful of is that 80 per cent of GBS’s business is still in kit cars, so execution of the fit and finish still has a way to go.

Prod the starter button and you’ll notice how much flex there is in the dashboard; the fuel gauge is comically inaccurate; buttoning the door shut is exasperating. Worse yet, get the roof up and above 40mph the buffeting will beat you over the head until you pull over and take it off again. A fix is coming, says GBS – the Nottingham Head Massage can’t be cured soon enough.

The point is, those are all things you’ll put up with if it’s a project you’ve poured your own blood, sweat and tears into. But anyone who just wants the sports car with none of the self-assembly will be expecting craftsmanship. On that front, GBS isn’t there yet.

Crumbs, I’ve not asked how much it is.

This one’s about £48k with options, including the 12-stage dampers and four-pot brakes (£1,445), lightweight suspension and alloy billet rear hubs (£1,166), plated limited slip diff (£1,124), doors (yes they’re extra – £1,053), heated seats (£608), Momo quick-release wheel (£230), plus a few others.

But with the 2.5 fitted here prices start from £41,860. That’s already £3k less than a factory-built Seven 420 of equivalent power, and although the options list won’t lose you quite as many hours (or days, or weeks) as Caterham’s configurator, the benefit of dealing with a manufacturer that builds just over 100 chassis a year is that it can listen to individual requests. Now, about my cupholder…

# data.attributes.body.processed
Another Caterham special edition? Been a few of those lately.

Missed the headline, did you? It might look like a Seven and quack like a Seven, but this is in fact a GBS Zero, an altogether different take on the original Lotus blueprint.

It’s the work of Nottinghamshire’s Great British Sports Cars, which has championed DIY shed builds – and lord knows how many mid-life crises – since it picked up the torch from Robin Hood Engineering almost 20 years ago.

As a kit car supplier with a dozen or so members of staff it’s carved out a happy little niche for itself: most of its business is in the UK but it has customers in Norway, the US, Australia, New Zealand… so now it wants to expand its horizons into the turnkey game, i.e. full cars made to order. Big League stuff.

And it’s doing that with an EV? Impressive.

I’m sorry?

Zero. As in zero emissions?

Oh! No that exhaust pipe’s the real deal: it’s plumbed into a 2.5-litre Ford Duratec unit, one of many engines GBS has mounted for its customers over the years. This one’s good for 210bhp and 200lb ft – plenty given the wet weight’s just 598kg – although evidence from the dyno suggests they actually leave the factory with more like 235bhp.

That’s because GBS has made a few modifications, installing a flywheel lighter to the tune of 3.7kg and its own throttle bodies to help the engine breathe easier. Power is sent through a five-speed Mazda gearbox, with 0-62mph dealt with in under four seconds. The top speed’s been clocked at 136mph. Thank goodness for the windscreen.

Intriguing. But most of the Zero must be off the shelf, surely?

Actually no. GBS says it makes 80 per cent of its components in-house, including the brakes (300mm four-pots), 42mm 4-2-1 exhaust manifold, carbon fibre panelling and those adjustable dampers; complete with 12 clicks for endless tinkering.

The Zero runs double wishbones front and rear, with GBS claiming the wide track helps with stability and grip.

It doesn’t look as narrow as a Caterham.

You’ve got a good eye. This here is the standard chassis, and at 1,720mm it’s a full 250mm wider than the equivalent Caterham Seven. Quite apart from anything else, that means it’s less of a squeeze – this is the first time I’ve driven a car like this where I’ve not had to take my shoes off to operate the pedals. Winning.

If that still doesn’t cut it, GBS also does a GT version that’s 80mm wider again. Must feel like a Continental GT, that one.

Anything else that sets it apart from a Caterham?

As well as inching the engine rearwards for 50:50 weight distribution, there’s some aero trickery underneath the car with a fully flat steel floor leading to a rear diffuser made of glass reinforced plastic.

Like a Seven it’s built around a space frame chassis, but stressed aluminium body panels are said to double the rigidity of the structure as a whole.

Does that impact the drive?

It does. And maybe not in a good way. Part of what makes a Seven so biddable is the flex in the chassis, whereas here there’s far less give; almost no appetite to compromise at all. On a track – with smooth, predictable asphalt, that’s fine – but on a b-road the Zero gets pushed around by undulations and camber in the surface, which you then have to correct for. It keeps you on your toes.

Especially approaching 60mph. At town pace the Zero has very weighty steering, but as the speedo climbs the steering starts to get noticeably lighter and more vague. Maybe if I’d pulled over and fiddled with the dampers…

We’re not off to a good start here.

Fear not, because in every other respect the Zero is magnificent. The kind of thing you get up early to drive on a weekend morning, just for the pleasure of it. Even in the dead of winter.

That engine is so, so friendly, but it’ll still haul when you ask it to. Which will be constantly. The gearbox is snappy (although there’s some play in the lever that makes it less precise than it ought to be) and the clutch forgiving. The Zero’s behaviour in general is just so agreeable, responding to inputs with immediacy and precision, but without being edgy or spiky. And if you do happen to overwhelm the rear wheels (which you might on an icy day), it breaks predictably and progressively. Nothing a dab of oppo won’t fix.

Let’s not overstate things, in terms of outright performance the Zero’s not as dialled in as a Seven. Though the chassis is stiffer, the suspension's softer and more leisurely. But it honestly doesn’t feel like more than a few setup tweaks away from being properly sorted. And the extra squidge in the ride (plus GBS’s own seats) means you can drive it for longer before needing to book a session with the chiropractor. Happy days.

Caterham better watch out. This lot know what they’re doing.

What about the interior? If you can call it that.

There’s not much to it, although it’s interesting where GBS has diverged from Caterham in its approach. Instead of a ball-mounted gear lever you get a more graspable stick; the handbrake is further back, allowing room for a quartet of buttons on the centre console; there is – and this is my favourite departure of all – an indicator stalk! Doesn’t half make roundabouts easier.

Combined with the ride and less claustrophobic interior, this is altogether more liveable than a Seven. GBS should go further with it: give me a cupholder so I’ve got somewhere to stash a drink; give me a phone mount so I can run Google Maps and not get lost. The Zero Hassle, here to add convenience Dartford’s finest export daren’t dream of.

Steady on. So you think this a realistic alternative to a Caterham?

For the right person, yeah. But the thing to be mindful of is that 80 per cent of GBS’s business is still in kit cars, so execution of the fit and finish still has a way to go.

Prod the starter button and you’ll notice how much flex there is in the dashboard; the fuel gauge is comically inaccurate; buttoning the door shut is exasperating. Worse yet, get the roof up and above 40mph the buffeting will beat you over the head until you pull over and take it off again. A fix is coming, says GBS – the Nottingham Head Massage can’t be cured soon enough.

The point is, those are all things you’ll put up with if it’s a project you’ve poured your own blood, sweat and tears into. But anyone who just wants the sports car with none of the self-assembly will be expecting craftsmanship. On that front, GBS isn’t there yet.

Crumbs, I’ve not asked how much it is.

This one’s about £48k with options, including the 12-stage dampers and four-pot brakes (£1,445), lightweight suspension and alloy billet rear hubs (£1,166), plated limited slip diff (£1,124), doors (yes they’re extra – £1,053), heated seats (£608), Momo quick-release wheel (£230), plus a few others.

But with the 2.5 fitted here prices start from £41,860. That’s already £3k less than a factory-built Seven 420 of equivalent power, and although the options list won’t lose you quite as many hours (or days, or weeks) as Caterham’s configurator, the benefit of dealing with a manufacturer that builds just over 100 chassis a year is that it can listen to individual requests. Now, about my cupholder…

# data.attributes.field_standfirst
Little-known kit builder has its own take on the Seven, and it’s rather good