They say that “less is more” (whoever they are, and however much they weigh). The Lotus Elise is automotive proof of concept. Most of the Elises sold in the United Kingdom are 134-horsepower models powered by the same Toyota engine which, bolted to a base (in all senses of the word) Pontiac Vibe, permits America’s daytime strippers to make their late-morning commutes without mechanical incident. From what I’ve read, the base Elise is a stimulating, wonderfully balanced sporting car that permits man and machine to operate in perfect “B-road” harmony.

Here in the United States, however, we believe that “more is more.” So our base Elise has 189 horsepower, from the same Toyota engine which used to power the very fastest Pontiac Vibe. For those thrill seekers who want even more velocity, there’s the Elise SC, which has an amazing 217 horsepower to push just 1900 pounds. That gives you the power-to-weight ratio of a Camaro SS, you know, and you can buy one for just fifty-five grand.

Or, for those who want the true “more is a hell of a lot more” experience, PRI will rent you a turbocharged, Ohlins-shock-equipped, carbon-fiber-laden, 310-horsepower Elise for just under six hundred bucks per diem. When you ask them, “Where the hell should I drive this thing?” expect that they will recommend the twisting roads around New York’s Bear Mountain. Which is how I found myself heading directly at a hundred-foot dropoff into a lake at the kind of velocity that would permit a Boeing 747 to clear the runway, with only a low stone wall between myself and disaster.

The Elise driving experience is usually described as “go-kart-like” by jerkoff auto-journos who have never turned a single lap in a true racing kart. In reality, it’s nothing like a kart, because it has a suspension, doors and a distinct lack of imminent ribcage trauma. But it’s very much like what you expected from cars as a child. Seated in the surprisingly roomy cockpit, snuggled down between the boxy aluminum spars that make up the car’s frame, it’s difficult not to feel an immediate connection with the road. After all, your bottom is only about eighteen inches away from it.

The controls, from the little aluminum knobs which operate the auxiliary functions to the close-set pedals, operate with ball-bearing precision at all speeds. Steering feel is good but not perfect, surprisingly; although it’s a racing-style wheel, one has the feeling of rubber bushings between you and the tires, making it possible to occasionally dial in just a bit too much turn at higher speeds. As with the other PRI cars, there’s a complete audio system including a JL subwoofer strategically placed in the passenger footwell. It’s better to listen to the unearthly hiss of boost in each gear followed by the rude honk of the blow-off valve on corner entrance.

I’m running the Elise in convoy with a well-driven single-turbo Supra pushing out over 500 horsepower. Around Bear Mountain, I can toy with the Supra at will, carrying ten to fifteen miles per hour more into every turn and picking up throttle midcorner with insouciant ease, but I’d expected that. What I didn’t expect was the PCP-laced hit the turbocharger provides beyond 7000 rpm, and how little the big Supra could pull away on the straights. Even a blast down a straight four-lane couldn’t shake my little Lotus from the Toyota’s heels.

It’s frankly difficult to think of any faster dry-weather method for getting down twisty roads than this pressurized Radio Flyer. There’s enough power to spin the wheels in the dry almost everywhere, matched to the aforementioned Ohlins suspension to ensure maximum corner speed. I’d run this car against all comers on a road like the infamous “Tail of the Dragon”, for money, and I’d include motorcycles in that statement. The bikes couldn’t do enough on the straight to make up for the Elise’s superior broken-pavement grip.

Thirty miles of twisty roads into our test drive, I’m almost ready to forsake my long-held allegiance to Porsche, almost ready to forget the miserable experience I had owning a Lotus Seven clone back in 2002, almost ready to consider adding an Elise just like this one to my little fleet back home. And then we get on the freeway. Within minutes, my back has started to hurt, the blown Toyotamotor’s noise has changed from charming to oppressive, and the thrill of treating each pothole like a slalom cone at the SCCA Solo Nationals has become rather passé.

There’s a reason the Porsche Boxster outsells the Elise everywhere, even in the United Kingdom. The Lotus is a one-trick pony. The extra power, refinement, and conveniences added by PRI don’t change that one bit. Still, for those bright days and curvy back roads, there’s satisfaction to be found here like nowhere else.

[Performance Rentals Incorporated provided the vehicle tested, insurance and gas.]

I’m sorry, did I say go-kart? I meant to say ‘Lotus Elise.’ Read the above paragraph again, substituting the word ‘Elise’ for ‘go-kart.’ The differences between the two are both obvious and unimportant: size, doors, roof, gearbox and top end. The similarities are startling. Ride height low enough to scare a limbo dancer. A tiny engine with a narrow but brutally effective power band. Steering and suspension so direct you wonder where the machine ends and your nervous system begins. Put it all together and you’ve got a road car that you can drive like a go-kart, using your entire body to aim the machine with zero-delay, laser-guided precision.

Cornering is its forte. One sharp corner in an Elise and you’re hooked. A serious speed merchant can exploit the Elise’s sublime, sweet-handling chassis and slide the car around a bend with one finger. Mere mortals can enjoy the car’s talents just as much by keeping everything smooth and steady. Fast in, fast out. Shake it all about. Get into a rhythm down your favourite road, and you’ll believe a man can fly. If you enjoy driving fast for the sheer bloody hell of it, the Elise is just about as much fun as you can have with your clothes on.

There are only a few mechanical shortcomings that interfere with your pleasure. The engine note lacks charisma. A car this sensual deserves some kind of signature howl, to remind drivers and their audience that Major Fun is in the house. The brakes need more bite and feel; they’re effective rather than impressive. And the suspension crashes over potholes with so much force I checked the rear mirror for missing pieces. All that is nothing compared to the Elise’s feedback, poise and death grip on the tarmac. Even an MPV-driving school-run-Mommy could extract maximum pleasure from every one of the Elise’s 120 horses.

Wait! Don’t laugh. I know that’s less horsepower than an entry level Honda Accord. But the fibreglass Elise is a featherweight: only 750 kgs. Provided you don’t have a large lunch, the Lotus’ superb power-to-weight ratio means you can mix it with the big boys. The sprint from zero to sixty takes 5.8 seconds—less than half a second behind a Porsche Carrera. Besides, when your butt’s two feet off the ground, anything more than a walking pace feels fast. Sixty feels like 100. One hundred feels like . . . you’d be lucky, mate. The Elise tops out at 118. And very nice it is too.

Anyway, you get the point: the Lotus Elise is the finest road-legal driver’s car ever made. Now let’s look at the practical side . . .

There isn’t any. The Elise is a sports car from The Old School; the one with drafty classrooms, rock hard chairs and no AV equipment. In the relentless pursuit of weight reduction (and profit margins), Lotus has equipped the Elise with bugger all. There’s a decent heater . . . and that’s it. The radio is a small, fiddly thing that can’t compete with the engine at full chat or the wind at cruising speed. Carpets? Central locking? No chance. Boot space? What kind of handbag does the lady carry? Fuel or temperature gauges? We don’t need no stinking gauges! Where other manufacturers woo buyers with creature comforts and hi-tech toys, Lotus offers you a Zen rock garden and dares you to complain.

Purists wouldn’t. Why would they? But there’s no getting around the fact that the Elise is too damn small. In fact, unless you’re supple, there’s simply no getting into the Elise. Period. I’m serious. Anyone who can’t do the Yoga position known as ‘the bow’ should not attempt to post themselves into the four foot slot between the Elise’s roof and doorsill without their chiropractor’s number teed-up for speed dial. Middle-aged extraction is equally perilous and inelegant. You don’t sit in the thing as much as wear it.

There’s only one solution: put the roof in the boot and stand on the seats. Much has been written about the difficulty of convincing the Elise to go topless, and all of it’s wrong. Once you slip the canvas tabs off the end of the flying buttresses, removing the canvas and rubber and metal and mesh thingy is easy. Replacing it is the bitch. A teenager losing his virginity would have an easier time figuring out which bit goes where, and what you’re supposed to to do with it when its in place. But even that (the Elise’s roof) gets easier after a little practice—and a phone call or two to Lotus’ PR department.

By far greatest sacrifice demanded by the Elise’s design is the driver’s proximity to the pavement. It’s like sitting in the second row in a cinema. If there’s a car in front of you, there’s a LOT of car in front of you. A proper truck appears no less epic than Moby Dick. Combined with a cramped cabin, it’s enough to make you feel like a five-year-old. Die-hard drivers who suffer from even mild claustrophobia will not be well pleased.

The rest will. The Elise is a genuine classic that does both Lotus and its discerning (if rabid) owners proud. The car’s ergonomic limitations mean the Elise is really only viable daily transport for slim-line twenty or thirty somethings in a hurry. The rest of us can and should view the Elise as a weekend or track day toy. As such, it’s the best car money can buy. Despite the obvious styling cues—a pastiche of every supercar cliché ever made—the Lotus Elise is not a miniature Ferrari. Oh, no. It’s a lot better than that.