We take our own Aston Martin DB7 across one of the best roads in the UK – the Buttertubs Pass high in the Yorkshire Dales
Words and images: Paul Walton
Deciding which is the best road in the UK is a very subjective matter. Some say it’s the A272 that cuts across the South Downs while for others it’s the Cheddar Gorge in Somerset. For a minority, it’s any road with a pub at the end.
For me, it has to be the Buttertubs Pass in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales. A seven-mile ribbon of tarmac that twists and turns its way through some of the most beautiful yet harshest scenery in the country, it’s a real test for any car. It therefore makes it the ideal place to put Prestige & Performance Car sister title Aston Martin Driver magazine’s 1997 DB7 3.2 coupe through its paces.
Even getting there is an adventure. With the road connecting the isolated villages of Simonstone and Muker, there’s no easy or direct route and whichever direction you take passes through some of the most empty and desolated countryside in England. Break down here and it’ll be weeks before help arrives but sadly, that’s a real possibility with this car.
A 25-year-old DB7 coupe with 93,500 miles on the clock, it’s in physically reasonably good condition with only a few, barely noticeable marks on the black bodywork while the handsome, 12-spoke wheels are immaculate. The interior is clean and other than the dead oil pressure gauge – which is triggering a permanent oil warning light on the dash – everything works, although the driver’s side electric window and the central locking have a mind of their own sometimes.
As soon as the car came in to AMD’s ownership, it was sent to respected DB7 expert KWE of Thatcham, near Reading, to refurbish the rattling supercharger since new ones are now difficult to find. At the same time, the radius arms and bushes were also replaced plus the location of a minor power steering fluid leak was identified and repaired.
After I collected the car from Kelsey Publishing’s head office in Kent a few weeks later, the engine cut out while on the M11 and wouldn’t restart. The AA patrolman soon diagnosed a faulty alternator, swapping the now dead battery for one with power, which allowed me to finish my journey. Although there were problems sourcing a replacement, a new alternator was eventually fitted by my local garage.
And finally, when I was returning home from Yorkshire following the photoshoot for this feature, the engine stopped once again, this time on the A1(M1) close to the junction with the M62. Due to being surrounded by fast motorways, other than a safari park’s lion enclosure, I can’t think of a more dangerous place to break down. Thankfully the car and I were soon recovered to the safety of a nearby services, although it did take another four hours to be collected and transported home. But when the car was delivered to Express Autocare the following day, the technician quickly discovered the crank position sensor had simply popped off. It’s unknown why this happened; I’m hoping it simply wasn’t put on properly and not the sign of a larger issue.
Yet despite the problems, I still love the car. How could I not when it looks this good? Unarguably one of the most beautiful coupes from the last 30 years, its smooth, curvaceous yet classic design hasn’t dated as much as others from the era, including, in my view, the more angular BMW 8 Series. Yet the DB7 is also relatively spacious for a low-slung sports car, offering a perfect driving position while the leather-trimmed seats are big and supportive.
Although even when new the 3.2-litre supercharged straight-six was never the most refined of engines – it is an old Jaguar unit originally from the 1980s after all – the car still cruises effortlessly at 70mph on the motorway with plenty of torque left for sudden overtaking.
The one area that has never impressed me with the DB7 is its interior. Not the design; simply laid out, it’s relatively easy to use although it’s difficult to operate the cruise control without looking down since the buttons are awkwardly located in front of the armrest. What I dislike most is the amount of switchgear swiped from Ford’s parts bins for a car that in 1997 cost £82,500. I drove a 1991 Fiesta RS Turbo not long before this feature and many of the DB7’s controls appear to be identical.
After leaving the A1(M) at Scotch Corner and then negotiating the quiet Yorkshire roads, I eventually reach Simonstone, a village so small it makes Brigadoon look positively cosmopolitan by comparison. I’m soon on Cliff Gate Road that’s more commonly known as the Buttertubs Pass and with the view ahead of me emptier than the Russian Tundra, I squeeze the throttle hard, waking the supercharger for a sudden burst of acceleration. Although the DB7 isn’t quick by today’s standards, officially reaching 60mph in 5.8 seconds when fitted with the automatic ‘box like this one, the acceleration still feels crisp, the sensation heightened by the growing wail of the supercharger. Although slow from low speed, when on the move the straight-six always feels free-revving and eager, delivering a relatively smooth, lag-free surge forward the moment I ask for it.
It’s about now when the road starts to climb; at 526m (1,726ft) above sea level, the Buttertubs Pass is one of the highest roads in England and the steep incline is starting to stunt the car’s acceleration. Despite the engine producing a healthy 335bhp, I need to keep my foot hard to the floor to retain any kind of momentum.
When the road eventually levels out, I’m surrounded in every direction by stunning vistas over the Wensleydale countryside. With its dramatic peaks and never-ending views, I start to feel like I’m in a scene from either Game of Thrones or All Creatures Great and Small, which was filmed in the area but featured fewer dragons.
As the road starts to straighten, I bury the throttle once again, forcing the always slow-to-act, dim-witted four-speed automatic box to kick down. Even in the mid-1990s, when most other sports cars of the age were fitted with five-speed ‘boxes, a four-speed unit was considered old-fashioned. The Jaguar XK8, for example, that arrived in 1996 and cost £34,500 less than the DB7 had one extra gear.
Steel-bodied and weighing in at 1,750kg, the DB7 is relatively heavy and therefore lacks the agility and nimbleness of the 993-generation of Porsche 911 or the later Aston Martin V8 Vantage. The grip, though, is always excellent while the accurate and sharp steering allows me to navigate a fast S-bend quickly, the car only suffering from minor body roll.
Yet based on the same chassis as one of the smoothest handling coupes in the world, the Jaguar XJ-S, the DB7’s ride is also excellent. The familiar Jaguar-style suspension set-up of double wishbones at the front with a lower wishbone and driveshafts acting as upper links at the back, perfectly absorbs the worst surfaces this isolated road has to offer.
After I race across the top, the wail of the supercharger no doubt mistaken by anyone who heard it as an incoming Exocet missile, the road starts to descend and it’s somewhere around here where the Buttertubs Pass gets its name. Close by are 20m deep holes in the limestone where farmers would apparently drop the butter into they’d produced to keep it cool while resting on their way to market. So perhaps a better name would be the Big Fridge Pass.
As the road drops even further down, to my right is a sheer drop that has only the thinnest of steel cables to stop me from tumbling over the edge. One wrong move here and it wouldn’t be an AA truck I’d need to be recovered but a helicopter.
The fear of death aside, the scenery on this side of the pass is just as spectacular, the endless rolling hills of Swaledale totally filling the screen. But due to a hairpin that’s similar in shape to that of the Monaco Grand Prix circuit but with more sheep, I don’t have time to enjoy them. Once again, the accurate steering allows me to scythe quickly through the sharp corner before I’m hard on the throttle for a long, flowing straight that ends all too soon at a T-junction. After turning right, I drive slowly into Muker, another pretty little village that gets its unusual name from the Old Norse for ‘the narrow newly cultivated field’. You can say what you like about the Norse, but they were literal when it came to their place names.
Although the Buttertubs Pass is a mere seven miles long, it’s still an exhilarating journey and one that offers similar challenges to a racing circuit yet all the adventure of a Duke of Edinburgh Award hike across the hills. It’s also been the perfect place to test our new purchase. Although far from perfect – two breakdowns in less than a month prove that – the road has still shown it to be a quick, comfortable and likable car.
So, while it’s conjecture as to which is the best drivers’ road in the UK, when it comes to the best sports coupe of the 90s, there’s clearly no argument.
