It’s a push-button start and the Ford unit fires up more with a boom than a rasp, then you almost need only think the Nomad 2 into motion, so smooth and forgiving is the clutch action, quite at odds with the car’s intimidatingly hardcore aura.
In a way, the clutch action sets the tone for the driving experience. In its controls the Nomad has retained that somehow precise but also languid manner.
Dynamically, the car is almost entirely devoid of hard edges, and while the tyres ensure that the raw, textured steering feel of the kind you get in a Caterham Seven, or indeed the Atom, never really materialises, the weight and accuracy and calmness of the motion means you gain confidence quickly. It’s a remarkably trusty helm, not easily deflected.
You won’t want to go barrelling into bends on an unfamiliar, damp stretch of road, because in such conditions the front axle can scrub without much warning. Mind you, it isn’t a heart-in-mouth experience: a car this delightfully narrow leaves you plenty of lane to play with.
This is, surprise, a shockingly rapid device. I often had the engine’s wick turned up to 305bhp, because, well, I have a duty to tell you what the Nomad 2 is like, but in truth 260bhp is more than enough if you’re prepared to flatten the throttle.
On dry asphalt, the tyres generate reasonably good traction, but even so, it’s nice to have the seven-stage traction control (0 is fully off, 7 is fully on and 3 feels like the sweetspot), and Ariel is now working on stability control. ABS is also now standard. It all enhances the Mk2’s usability.
As for engine character? This unit might disappoint a touch in an Atom, and Ariel will continue to use the Honda motor in that application, but the subtly woolly pick-up, the bassy note and the swelling bubble of whooshy, abundant torque through the mid-range suit the Nomad. Torque builds conservatively, then dramatically, then tapers neatly towards the redline. It’s never dull.
Driving the Nomad at any speed is life-affirming. It’s a joy to move through the world in an open-sided machine this pure yet so easygoing, not to mention comfortable.
Even with the larger of the two wheel sizes fitted (18in and 16in), the Nomad’s huge wheel articulation and world-class damper control will absorb any road in a way that makes it feels as though – bear with me – you’re riding a giant mechanical spider with a very elegant gait.
The real magic unfolds once you have properly acclimatised to the way this car prefers to do business – to its generous weight transfer, moderate grip and soft insouciance.
If you simply brake, turn and accelerate, the Nomad will adopt a gentle understeer balance. What it really loves is cornering in the classic V-shape often espoused by racing drivers: trail-brake in deep, then quickly get back on the throttle.
However, to get the desired effect, you need only a fraction of the commitment you would give on a circuit. Get it right and the engine-cradling hind quarters will ever so slightly begin to rotate around a point that feels somewhere in the car’s nose. This is your cue to squeeze the throttle and surf out of the corner on a wave of Ford torque and with a touch of attitude.
Lots of cars do something similar, but the Nomad’s supersized kinematics make the process easier to elicit and enjoy. The layout provides mid-engined poise while the set-up serves up a good dose of forgiveness and stunning control. The suspension travel gives you time to think, react and, above all, enjoy what’s unfolding.
This remains one of the great B-road driver’s cars.
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