The two thousand seventeen Tesla Model S P100D and the 0-100-0 Test – Motor Trend
The two thousand seventeen Tesla Model S P100D and the 0-100-0 Test
For quick electrical cars, stopping their battery weight is significant, too
No Obligation, Quick & Plain Free Fresh Car Quote
My brainy friend Doug Milliken sent me an email the other day to ask, “Whatever happened to 0–100–0 testing?” The 0–60 wars inbetween Tesla, Faraday Future, and Lucid has got Milliken thinking that these all-wheel-drive electrified cars must be accelerating almost as hard (in g compels) as they can brake—at the thresholds of their tires in both directions of driving force.
Coincidentally, I’d just ridden in both the Faraday and Lucid cars during latest demonstration acceleration runs, and we were gearing up to test the Tesla Model S P100D, which Elon Musk claimed could zip to sixty mph in Two.Trio seconds. Faraday is touting Two.39 seconds to sixty mph for its 91, and Lucid has Two.Five seconds for its Air. Let’s say Two.Three, Two.Four, and Two.Five seconds—all three warp-drive ahead of the Three.Two seconds we’ve recorded for the quickest piston-flailing five-seat sedan in our tested-performance list, an Audi RS7 from 2014. (We’re testing a fresh one soon.)
What’s making all three of these numbers so surreal is a confluence of technologies and architectures that—to give credit where it’s deserved—entirely traces to Elon Musk’s one-man makeover of how we perceive electrified cars. Recall those “it’s nothing but a glorified golf cart” days? The sun set on that like a dropped bunker-buster bomb with Tesla’s original Roadster, which in our mitts ErrrrEEEEEed to sixty mph in an astonishing Trio.7 seconds. And it’s possible that the prototype two-speed version might have ultimately promised even greater acceleration, but the light-switch flood of max torque at the 1-2 upshift kept ruining transmissions. So the very first lines on our blueprint for mid-2-second-sedan acceleration were drawn—an electrical motor and a durable, single-speed reduction gearset.
More on the Very first Test review of the two thousand seventeen Tesla Model S P100D HERE.
The Model S that followed added two more parameters that would eventually but not instantly have equal significance to acceleration: a long wheelbase and a large, plane pancake battery inbetween the car’s axles. On their own, neither of these is actually helpful at the dragstrip because they lessen weight transfer to the rear wheels. That’s the reason rear-engine and rear-drive Porsche 911s can embarrass what we think of as decent drag-racing cars with their powerful front engines and lightly loaded rear tires. In that regard, the Roadster’s tall, rear-biased, boxy battery (and its high center of gravity) was a helpful fucking partner in pressing the Roadster’s rear wheels to the asphalt.
But the dual-motor Model S switched everything. The puzzle chunks abruptly fit. At its introduction, I was frankly under the impression that the fresh front motor, fresh front axles, and altered suspension were all presciently cooked into the car’s master plan from the beginning. Now, I’m not so sure. It was evidently their ultimate intention, yes. But in actuality, a lot of redesigning was necessary. And here at the dragstrip, at least, it was well worth it.
And that’s because the result is basically the ideal architecture for accelerating. That long wheelbase, low center of gravity, and almost balanced weight distribution abruptly tee up sweeping acceleration possibilities when all four wheels are driven. You don’t want rearward weight transfer anymore—in fact, now it’s the enemy of ideal.
The two thousand seventeen Tesla Model S P100D and the 0-100-0 Test – Motor Trend
The two thousand seventeen Tesla Model S P100D and the 0-100-0 Test
For rapid electrified cars, stopping their battery weight is significant, too
No Obligation, Prompt & Elementary Free Fresh Car Quote
My wise friend Doug Milliken sent me an email the other day to ask, “Whatever happened to 0–100–0 testing?” The 0–60 wars inbetween Tesla, Faraday Future, and Lucid has got Milliken thinking that these all-wheel-drive electrical cars must be accelerating almost as hard (in g compels) as they can brake—at the boundaries of their tires in both directions of driving force.
Coincidentally, I’d just ridden in both the Faraday and Lucid cars during latest demonstration acceleration runs, and we were gearing up to test the Tesla Model S P100D, which Elon Musk claimed could zip to sixty mph in Two.Trio seconds. Faraday is touting Two.39 seconds to sixty mph for its 91, and Lucid has Two.Five seconds for its Air. Let’s say Two.Three, Two.Four, and Two.Five seconds—all three warp-drive ahead of the Trio.Two seconds we’ve recorded for the quickest piston-flailing five-seat sedan in our tested-performance list, an Audi RS7 from 2014. (We’re testing a fresh one soon.)
What’s making all three of these numbers so surreal is a confluence of technologies and architectures that—to give credit where it’s deserved—entirely traces to Elon Musk’s one-man makeover of how we perceive electrical cars. Reminisce those “it’s nothing but a glorified golf cart” days? The sun set on that like a dropped bunker-buster bomb with Tesla’s original Roadster, which in our forearms ErrrrEEEEEed to sixty mph in an astonishing Trio.7 seconds. And it’s possible that the prototype two-speed version might have ultimately promised even greater acceleration, but the light-switch flood of max torque at the 1-2 upshift kept demolishing transmissions. So the very first lines on our blueprint for mid-2-second-sedan acceleration were drawn—an electrical motor and a durable, single-speed reduction gearset.
More on the Very first Test review of the two thousand seventeen Tesla Model S P100D HERE.
The Model S that followed added two more parameters that would eventually but not instantly have equal significance to acceleration: a long wheelbase and a large, vapid pancake battery inbetween the car’s axles. On their own, neither of these is actually helpful at the dragstrip because they lessen weight transfer to the rear wheels. That’s the reason rear-engine and rear-drive Porsche 911s can embarrass what we think of as decent drag-racing cars with their intense front engines and lightly loaded rear tires. In that regard, the Roadster’s tall, rear-biased, boxy battery (and its high center of gravity) was a helpful playmate in pressing the Roadster’s rear wheels to the asphalt.
But the dual-motor Model S switched everything. The puzzle chunks abruptly fit. At its introduction, I was frankly under the impression that the fresh front motor, fresh front axles, and altered suspension were all presciently cooked into the car’s master plan from the beginning. Now, I’m not so sure. It was evidently their ultimate intention, yes. But in actuality, a lot of redesigning was necessary. And here at the dragstrip, at least, it was well worth it.
And that’s because the result is basically the ideal architecture for accelerating. That long wheelbase, low center of gravity, and almost balanced weight distribution abruptly tee up sweeping acceleration possibilities when all four wheels are driven. You don’t want rearward weight transfer anymore—in fact, now it’s the enemy of ideal.