Two thousand and seven was the year of many things—the end of The Sopranos, the debut of the iPhone, the rise of the subprime mortgage crisis. But most importantly, it was the year of the Nissan GT-R.
Even today, Godzilla’s stats still command respect: 473 horsepower, all-wheel drive, and a flaming 7:38 lap around Germany’s most famous race track. But there’s something else that people forget, or perhaps never even knew, about the GT-R—it was a car of pure, unadulterated software brilliance
The inner workings of the GT-R changed the industry forever. Not just its dual-clutch transmission or its all-wheel-drive system, but a technology that automakers had been dreaming of since the early 1990s: Brake vectoring. The white whale of vehicle dynamics.
In the engineering sense, ultimate vehicle handling comes from absolute authority over vehicle behavior. That’s to say, engineers want to define how the car handles in every situation.
Photo by: Robin Trajano | Motor1
In the old days, especially before the GT-R, engineers relied on mechanical setups and tricks. Things like Porsche’s multi-link Weissach Axle or the Mercedes 190E’s rear suspension were solutions to engineering problems related to dynamic behavior, whether it was achieving desirable ride quality or specific handling characteristics.
Then, there’s understanding the complexity of a multi-link suspension, accounting for how it will distort under load, and the whole plethora of things that can result from complicating systems. Sure, you can throw a stiff spring and solid bushings at a car to make it handle well, but it’ll ride like shit. There is only so much that can be done mechanically.
At some point in the 2010s, mechanical suspension development had reached its near-theoretical maximum. Once engineers could model and predict behaviors using simulation tools, it suddenly became relatively easy to make a chassis and suspension system rigid enough to work properly, yet still absorb bumps and cracks.
The GT-R made it to that point earlier than almost anyone else. You see, one of the core tenets of the GT-R’s development, as led by Kazutoshi Mizuno, was that weight was a good thing. More weight meant more tire load, which meant more grip. If you take him at face value, he’s a raving lunatic.
More weight meant more tire load, which meant more grip. If you take him at face value, he’s a raving lunatic.
But read between the lines and realize that the weight gamble was actually in the name of increasing the overall rigidity of the GT-R’s body, and of its major subassemblies. Nissan bragged of the high rigidity of certain parts of the body, but it never quite revealed its secrets.
Numbers over 50,000 Nm/degree were thrown around for shear panels and subframes, which rivaled some of the stiffest cars made today. It’s likely because the GT-R needed reinforcements to handle its own projected weight; thus the opportunity was taken rather than created.
Yet still, the GT-R was hamstrung by Nissan’s resources. It was heavily based on the FM platform from the Nissan 350Z and 370Z, with some modifications to fit the rear-mounted gearbox. It even largely used the same suspension geometry as a 370Z. Even the way the VR38DETT engine was mounted was hardly exotic, sitting directly on the front axle centerline, the same as the Z.
Mizuno-san and his engineers still needed something more. They needed a physics-beating trump card, something beyond what wider tires, more power, and better suspension could do—beyond the mechanical.
Photo by: Robin Trajano | Motor1
In 2007, vehicles defined by software were still a new concept, but the tides were turning. In the complicated realms of engine management and stability control systems, huge strides were being made. Cars were becoming throttle-by-wire overnight. Stability and traction control systems were trickling into normal vehicles. Electronics went from primitive to advanced overseers of combustion and handling.
BMW was at the forefront even before Nissan, but it never sought to build a world-beater. With the 2007 BMW M3 (E92 for the nerds), an unbelievable new generation of engine management arrived, alongside an incredibly trick new stability control and ABS from a company called ATE. It offered BMW’s engineers a completely new chest of tools to play with.
The engine management that BMW co-developed with Bosch, Siemens, and Continental used a completely different engine control strategy. Instead of simple throttle position, ignition timing, and fuel delivery tables for the engine, it created several layers between your input and the engine’s output. It would take your request through the throttle pedal and decide how to deliver the appropriate amount of torque using a myriad of metrics.
This happened for two reasons: emissions and control.
BMW was at the forefront even before Nissan, but it never sought to build a world-beater.
Emissions, well, duh. But modeling torque meant a level of control over engine output that hadn’t been previously seen. It enabled incredibly fine adjustment of engine output, which could then be used for even better traction control. This approach made the ECU work from the bottom up rather than the top down; and input was merely a request, not law.
This allowed for a myriad of possibilities, engine protection algorithms, and incredibly complex modeling of the combustion process. Variable valve timing and lift became a variable exercise rather than a fixed one, and inventing new combustion cycles with microsecond control over combustion catapulted gasoline engine tech overnight. This turned ECUs into full-blown engine simulations with thousands of tables and possibilities.
That newfound resolution all poured into and worked with the second object of engineering brilliance: the ATE MK60 ABS pump and computer. Importantly, it’s a standalone system that mostly runs on its own, but can come even more alive with input from the ECU.
The MK60 was already eons ahead of anything else, and received continual upgrades from its 2002 introduction. In 2007, the MK60E5 received five separate pressure sensors, up from two. It had a sensor for each wheel and one for the brake pedal. It could now control individual wheel brake pressures, which allowed brake bias across the same axle and individual brake force based on yaw and sideslip. E5 could now add brake pressure without user input, allowing BMW to be even more clever with stability control. For the E92 M3, M Dynamic Mode was built on this capability. The GT-R used a version of the E5, called MK61.
BMW M3 Lime Rock Park Edition
While the real story remains buried underneath the thirteen-layer cake of Japanese corporate secrecy, it’s no coincidence that the GT-R used the MK61 when every other car in the brand’s portfolio at the time used Bosch ABS. This, along with the advanced engine control strategy I mentioned earlier and true torque-vectoring all-wheel drive, enabled the GT-R’s dominance.
Instead of stability control being a last-minute savior, it became an active hand in the GT-R’s handling, using small brake inputs to achieve the most desirable inputs. If the driver demanded more grip in a corner, it would slightly brake the inner wheels. If the system felt you were out of line and not anticipating a slide, it would proactively kick the rear back in line by braking the outer front and rear.
But the GT-R’s VDC (Vehicle Dynamic Control) system was the magic. In R mode, it would start doing some interesting tricks, using very slight hints of braking force at opportune wheels to increase overall grip. When the onboard yaw and G sensors detected understeer, a slight amount of brake pressure was applied to the inner rear wheel. If you turned the wheel and demanded more, then it added brake to the inner front. In steady-state cornering, the system would subtly keep the GT-R in line, but most of the work is done by sheer mechanical grip.
An Italian engineering journal claims the most important part of the system: An overall increase of grip anywhere from 0.1 to 0.2g. That is colossal. Most importantly, it increases the grip on the most critical phase of cornering: brake roll off to apex. The GT-R calibrated this system so well that everyone felt like a hero, and professionals could do unbelievable lap times, all without the massive expense of a dedicated sports car platform.
While the real story remains buried underneath the thirteen-layer cake of Japanese corporate secrecy, it’s no coincidence that the GT-R used the MK61 when every other car in the brand’s portfolio at the time used Bosch ABS.
Mizuno-san’s engineers had a tool that almost no other automaker had. The car could now actively decide the ideal yaw angle, find the ideal way to corner, and increase overall grip. Practically out of thin air.
Today, every car uses some form of that same system, and it has evolved beyond a mere ABS pump. Now, Bosch and Continental sell off-the-shelf systems that automakers can tune to their liking, linking together the latest ABS hardware with six-dimensional inertial measurement units to gather the clearest dynamic picture possible. It even ties in with systems like rear-wheel steering, electronically controlled limited-slip differentials, and electric motors.
The FK8 and FL5 Honda Civic Type R can thank their world-beating performance to Bosch’s latest handling programs, and all modern BMW M cars use the system to great effect, but are perhaps the most obvious (to the user) applications of the system. Aston Martin also equips all of its cars with the nebula of computers and algorithms to enable superior handling.
Ultimately, these systems decide the amount and style of cornering a car is capable of. The tiny, joyful wags of mechanical grip, of finding the limit, and of true high-speed driving are mostly lost when these systems are on.
Of course, some manufacturers tune them incredibly well to make them feel more natural; Porsche, Aston Martin, and Mercedes-AMG come to mind. But others feel oddly supernatural, disconnected, and joyless, even if the performance is incredible.
Great innovation it may be, but trust me: You aren’t actually driving your M3.
