Amphibious car

amphibious car /am-fib-ee-uss kar/ noun (countable)

An amphibious car is a vehicle capable of operating on both land and water. It is the ultimate solution to a problem that almost nobody has, magnificently combining the performance of a mediocre car with the seaworthiness of a subpar boat. For the British, a nation of eccentrics surrounded by water, the idea has held a strange and enduring appeal. It speaks to a certain type of inventor, the sort of chap who looks at the English Channel and sees not an obstacle, but a chance to avoid the ferry queue, even if it means arriving in France hours later, soaking wet and smelling of petrol.

The Full Story of the Amphibious Car

Like many profoundly strange ideas in motoring, the amphibious car began life as a tool of war. The German Volkswagen Schwimmwagen of the Second World War was a marvel of grim utility. It was a small, rugged, four-wheel-drive bucket designed to scuttle across the rivers of Europe, and it was brutally effective. It was born of necessity, a serious machine for a serious job.

Once peace broke out, however, this sensible military concept was repurposed for the far more frivolous world of leisure. The result was the German-built Amphicar of the 1960s, the first and only amphibious car to be produced in any real numbers. The Amphicar was a triumph of boundless optimism over engineering reality. On land, its rear-mounted Triumph Herald engine gave it the leisurely performance of a tired seaside donkey. On water, twin propellers engaged with a comical lurch, pushing the vehicle to a blistering seven knots, a speed that would barely trouble a determined swimmer. Steering was achieved by turning the front wheels, which acted as rudders with all the authority of a wet teabag. It was a slow car and an even slower boat, and its owners lived in a constant, nagging fear of leaks.

It was, of course, a commercial failure. Yet it captured the imagination, becoming a toy for the wealthy and the weird. US President Lyndon B. Johnson famously owned one and took great delight in terrifying guests by driving them at speed into the lake on his Texas ranch.

Britain, being a nation of shed-based inventors with a national obsession for messing about in boats, couldn't possibly leave the concept alone. The challenge was taken up most seriously by Alan Gibbs, a New Zealand-born entrepreneur who decided that the problem with the Amphicar was that it was rubbish at everything. His company, Gibbs Amphibians, based in Warwickshire, threw out the old compromises and aimed for a vehicle that was genuinely fast on both land and water.

His masterpiece was the Gibbs Aquada. It looked like a slightly startled Mazda MX-5 and could exceed 100 mph on the road. But at the touch of a button, its wheels would retract into the arches, and a powerful water jet would engage. On water, the Aquada could top 30 mph, easily fast enough to pull a waterskier. This was no novelty item; it was a serious and hugely expensive piece of high-performance engineering. In 2004, Sir Richard Branson drove an Aquada across the English Channel, setting a new record and realising the ultimate British amphibious dream: a piece of glorious, high-profile, and slightly mad showboating.

For The Record

How do amphibious cars steer in the water?

Poorly, for the most part. Early examples like the Amphicar used their front road wheels as rudders, which was about as effective as trying to steer a battleship with a teaspoon. Modern high-speed versions like the Gibbs Aquada use a powerful, directional water jet, which is vastly more effective.

Are they actually seaworthy?

Categorically no. They are designed for the calm, placid waters of lakes and gentle rivers. Taking a classic Amphicar out into the choppy English Channel would be a deeply inadvisable and likely final act of eccentricity.

What was the most successful amphibious car?

The German Amphicar Model 770, with nearly 4,000 built in the 1960s. "Successful" is a relative term; it was a commercial disaster but remains the most widely produced and recognised civilian example.

Why don't we all drive amphibious cars?

Because they are a collection of dreadful compromises. To make a car float, you must make it heavy and boat-shaped, ruining its on-road performance. To make it waterproof, you add complex seals that are a constant source of anxiety. It is an incredibly expensive way to be mediocre at two things at once.

Did James Bond's Lotus Esprit submarine actually work?

The one in the film The Spy Who Loved Me was a collection of several props, including a normal road car and a completely separate, sealed submersible built for the underwater shots, piloted by a retired US Navy SEAL. A Lotus that transforms into a submarine remains, sadly, firmly in the realm of cinematic fantasy.