Review: 2016 Mercedes-AMG GT S

Gloaming. The night’s inky sky starts to wash clear as I summit Hayward’s Pass and Livermore Valley spreads before me. I’ve entered the hour of silhouettes. The gradually lightening sky gives contrast to the world around me. The receding hills draw gentle curves in front of the building indigo. Human-scale is given to the Rorschach landscape by an oak’s bushy blot and a barn’s sharp edges. In the foreground? The dark shape of the AMG GT S’s long nose is capped by the blur of speeding pavement under the headlights’ flood.

My highway journey is drawing to an end. After six weeks of waiting for this Mercedes-AMG GT S to be mine, my first canyon run in the supercar is imminent.

But first, a recap of my purchase.

The Purchase

In August, I’d spotted the 2016 Mercedes-AMG GT S as “coming soon” on Vroom.com. At $64k (plus $599 shipping), it was the cheapest clean-title Mercedes-AMG GT S available in the nation, and one that stood out from the crowd for its fruity spec. A litany of black and white GTs cluttered my search results, but the Vroom GT S popped off the page thanks to its lipstick-red paint and black wheels. Inside, a snazzy red-and-black interior kept my pulse pounding. I loved the bright aluminum console and carbon-fiber dash inlays that replaced the dull piano-black plastic and matte-black inlays of lesser GTs.

Per the listing, the main drawback of this GT S was its 58k miles clocked. While the car well past the expiration of its original 4 years/50k miles warranty, Vroom offered an additional 5 years/60k miles of platinum coverage for just $4,095, so I could still sleep well at night. (I was not worried by the poorly retouched wheels and pair of paint chips that the ad disclosed as well.)

(I have a theory that you can get 80% of the new car experience for 60% of the cost by purchasing a used car that is nearly out of warranty but still eligible for an extended warranty. The 2016 AMG GT S, with its lapsed factory warranty and available Safe-Guard extended warranty, would be the ultimate test of my theory.)

When the GT S dropped its “coming soon” status, I quickly put down my deposit, signed the paperwork, and closed the deal. My warranty-covered $64k Mercedes-AMG GT S was on its way!

Less than a week later, the blistering red GT S arrived at my door. From the sidewalk, it was as beautiful as I’d imagined. Long, curvaceous, and sleek, with hints of aggression added by its red clothes and black shoes. But once I started snooping up close, I discovered flaws that were not present in Vroom’s advertising.

First, there were minor scrapes on the bumpers and rocker panels—most likely shipping damage due to the GT S’s low stance—and more peeling wheel paint than anticipated. (The machined wheel-lips and chrome badges appeared to have been sprayed black as a “chrome delete” modification to the GT S.) But the most financially concerning issue was the shrunk and unglued dash leather, likely a casualty of heavy sun exposure.

Next, the rear tires looked ready for replacement, as the tread was nearly worn to the wear bars. The front brake rotors had a shiny lip on them too, a tell that their service life could be ending soon. I decided to have a mechanic inspect both.

Then, as I was parking the GT S, the first mechanical gremlin appeared. The steering system shrieked loudly when the wheel was turned all the way left or right. No problem, I thought, the warranty will cover this issue.

When buying a car in person, discovering issues and negotiating repairs is done before the purchase is completed. But with internet-only Vroom, you purchase the vehicle first and do any inspections in the 7 day/250 miles test-drive period, during which you can return the car to Vroom for any reason. I was determined to find all the issues before the 7-day test drive expired and wanted Vroom to pay for any unexpected problems that were not disclosed in the sale listing.

I emailed Vroom customer support evidence of the issues, then planned visits to the dealership and body shop to get inspections and repair quotes. First up: a trip to Oakland to appraise the dashboard damage.

In Town

I hop on the highway for a short trip to the closest Mercedes dealership. Even in the GT S’s relaxed Comfort mode, the suspension is firm, and the ride is slightly jittery. (I’d place it between the paint-shaker Focus RS and Tempur-Pedic-firm M3 for ride comfort.) As far as I know, the standard adjustable suspension on my car delivers the best ride quality of any suspension choice in the AMG GT lineup. The fixed suspension from the base AMG GT was certainly harsher, and, though I’ve never driven it, I’d expect the track-focused AMG Dynamic Plus Package to be firmer too.

The highway is congested, but the automatic transmission and torquey V8 loaf along smoothly at rush-hour speeds. It’s not hard to change lanes: The GT S has great side visibility thanks to the frameless doors and tiny B-pillars. And since most of the car’s length is stretched out ahead of me, it’s easy to know if I’ll fit into an adjacent lane.

I feel like a rockstar pulling the bright red GT S into the Mercedes service line. When I get the dash repair quote, I wish I had a rockstar’s wallet too. The part alone costs $6,900 before installation. There’s no way Vroom will pay for that! I get a second opinion at a nearby automotive upholstery shop. They can remove and replace the shrunk leather for $2,800. ($2,400 of the estimate goes to man-hours: it’s a time-intensive job to remove and reinstall the dash.)

On my way home, I detour into Berkeley to drive the school run. The familiar four miles of city streets let me suss out the GT S’s daily usability and benchmark the supercar against my M3, Tesla Model 3, and CTS-V.

First up is Scenic Ave, Berkeley’s—ahem—“paved” equivalent of the Rubicon Trail. Scenic’s right lane has been patched and filled so many times that there isn’t any smooth road left. I try the GT S over the patches and crumbling pavement. It is a rough and bumpy ride, but not as bad as I was expecting. The suspension is just a little firmer than the M3’s, but the GT S’s seats are significantly harder; the best way to improve the ride comfort would be to soften the seats. For the purpose of science, I endure the spine-rattling right lane, but on any other day, I’d weave into the left lane for better pavement. (Same as I would in the M3, Tesla or CTS-V.)

Scenic survived, I traverse several blocks of stop signs. Approaching each stop, I carefully check the sidewalks for pedestrians, because once I’m stopped, the wide wing-mirrors can easily hide walkers from view. When it’s my turn to proceed, the dual-clutch transmission delivers smooth, clunk-less starts. Impressive! This GT S has 58k miles of use, yet its DCT is aging much better than my M3’s.

I drive by my daughter’s new school. The residential street is technically two-way, but it’s parked-up on both sides and really only supports one-way traffic. Visually, the GT S is wide and imposing, but it’s not daunting to drive through the neighborhood. Contrary to the car’s muscle-bound image, the steering is light-and-easy, and the GT S is easy to wend through tight spaces.

I am a steering snob, and I was drawn to early AMG GTs in large part because of their (increasingly rare) hydraulic steering assistance. Even at slow speeds, my GT S’s steering keeps my interest. When I’m stopped, the lub-lub of the engine can be felt through the wheel. When I’m moving, the twitter of road texture and jolt of wheel impacts are fed to my hands.

Soon I’m turning onto Arlington Ave, the main artery that connects hillside Berkeley to El Cerrito and Richmond. Arlington Ave is free of stop signs and full of fun swoops and squiggles. (It even has a downsized copy of Spa’s famed Eau Rouge!) I enjoy these twists daily in my anonymous silver CTS-V—AKA the “Dadillac”—but in the rage-red, loud-mouthed GT S, I’m far too self-conscious to gas-it and commit to the corners. I must be the only red GT S owner in these parts; the angry neighbors would know where to find me.

The final daily-driver test awaits: parallel parking on my home street. The view out of the rear window is workable for over-the-shoulder reversing, but it’s far easier to rely on the video feed from the rear-view camera. The guidelines overlaid on the video help me carefully place the rear-right tire in the road’s deep drainage ditch. I hold my breath as the front-right tire follows…and I’m delighted when the underbody stays scratch free. Somehow, the GT S has survived the urban test without any new scrapes.

What have I learned? If I ignore the emotional baggage of driving a show-off Mercedes-AMG through Berkeley, the GT S is not too taxing to use in town. The ride is not much firmer than my M3’s, the outward visibility is fair, and the light steering and smooth gearbox make slow driving a breeze. (Thanks to its softer seats and 2+2 configuration, the 2020 Porsche 911 C2S was more comfortable and more practical than the GT S, but less exotic and engaging in town.)

(And yet, the GT S is less fun than my CTS-V in town. The Cadillac’s steering tugs at my hands when the road changes camber, its shifter and clutch engage my body and brain, and its sleeper-styling gives me a little more leeway for anonymous doofery.)

The GT S stays parked until early Saturday morning when I wake before dawn and sneak over the Hayward Hills in the cover of darkness. My favorite roads await!

In Anger

By the time I’ve brimmed the tank and washed the windows, the silhouette world’s blacks and charcoals have receded, replaced by dawn’s peachy palette. I put quiet downtown Livermore behind me and drive into the countryside, where long vineyard rows fill the flat valley.

On a quiet tree-lined stretch of road, I draw the car to a stop. Holding the brake with my left foot, I simultaneously pull both shift paddles. The GT S asks if I want to engage Race launch: I do! A right-paddle pull affirms my intentions. I break the morning’s silence by flooring the gas, the engine revs, and I spring off the brake. The tires struggle under the engine’s full force, the deft traction control modulates the torque, and I’m launched down the road. With supercar-appropriate gusto, the GT S races to redline, rinses, and repeats! While outclassed by the 992 Porsche 911 C2S’s jaw-dropping starts, the GT S Race launch is the fastest and most accessible of any car I’ve owned.

Blood pumping and engine thumping, I careen up Del Valle Rd. The smooth pavement snakes up the hillside in a series of racetrack-appropriate esses. I want to attack as if I’m on a racetrack, but common sense gets the better of me. (It’s for the better, as several ambitious bicyclists are grinding their way up the hill.) I dip through the corners at a seven-tenths pace, enjoying the GT S’s quick turn-in and excellent balance. The steering is pin-sharp—it takes just one degree of steering angle to initiate the turn—and the car feels extra eager thanks to the light steering resistance. Once in the corner, there’s minimal body roll, and the front tires never wash wide. (The rears remain stuck too unless I get frisky with the throttle.)

Equally enjoyable are the big red Brembo brakes. The pedal is firm and immediate, and the pads bite into the iron rotors with tenacity, drawing-down my speed with authority. The iron rotors on my GT S are the poor cousin of the optional AMG carbon ceramics, but the iron brakes’ performance is flawless on the street.

I turn onto Mines Rd, where I’m delighted to find a Hyundai Veloster N ahead of me. The 275 hp Veloster N might be Road and Track’s 2019 Performance Car of the Year, but should be no match for the 503 hp GT S, right? Wrong.

Corner by corner, the N adds car lengths to its lead, gapping me due to my uncertainty about the GT S’s capabilities and the road’s condition. The GT S is wide and low: That could lead to a sticky situation with a cyclist or errant rock. The GT S is on off-brand tires (Falken FK510s) and a stiff suspension. Will it maintain grip on this bucking back road? So far, so good, but I want to feel out the limits slowly.

Two minutes later, the Veloster N is out of sight. An audible “Bong!” closes the competition; the GT S is reporting overheated transmission oil. I lose. The GT S loses. A supercar that overheats after five minutes of spirited driving?!! You’ve got to be kidding me!

I watch the transmission oil temperature on the digital gauges. It’s over 246° F, and even though I’ve slowed, it’s not dropping. I pull over to let the car cool. Standing beside the GT S, I shake my head at the demonic vacuuming sound that’s coming out of the car’s gaping grille. The cooling fans are working overtime.

(With nothing else to do, I carefully inspect the paint on the hood, bumper, and fenders. CarFax be damned; there are a few paint pimples and drips which indicate the GT S’s nose has been repainted.)

After ten minutes, I try again, this time tempted by a passing Lamborghini Huracan that is being driven at a cautious clip. (His car is low, wide, and precious, too.) I keep pace with the Lambo, using middling rpms, and only occasionally flat-footing it to the redline. I feel out the balance of the GT S and pick out my favorite drive-mode settings.

For the suspension, the Sport firmness works the best. It quells the modest float that Comfort allowed, but still maintains reasonable ride quality. For the engine response, I choose Race, because it’s the most fun! To avoid unduly disturbing the neighbors, I put the exhaust in its quiet(er) mode. The engine still sends plenty of delicious grunts and grumbles into the cabin, but it forgoes the fireworks. Finally, I set the stability control to Sport, so that the computers will let me approach the limit of adhesion before intervening.

With this combination dialed-in, I’m having a great time slinging the GT S into the corners and gunning it out the far side. While I don’t have the unerring confidence that I felt on Mines Rd in the 992 Porsche 911 C2S, I prefer the AMG’s always-ready oomph. I can torture the rear tires at a toe-tickle. (Replacing the Falkens with Michelins would improve my confidence.) The GT S and 992 C2S are two extremely well-sorted cars that know their way around a corner. The GT S’s $40k price advantage and hooligan character more than makeup for the 992’s superior handling.

I’m ten minutes into my chase when—“Bong!”—the transmission oil temperature pips 246° F again. The dash warning reappears. I pull over, the Lambo disappears around a corner, and the GT S and I spend another 10 minutes cooling our heels on the side of the road.

I’ve made it into the golden San Antonio Valley. Fire licked around this valley a month ago, so I am happy to see that the valley grass, cows, and farmsteads escaped the flames.

On the valley’s rutted straightaways, the GT S tracks true without tramlining. I switch the exhaust into loud and try some full-bore acceleration. Under 3k rpm, there’s a faint whiff of turbo lag. Once the turbos are boiling, massive uninterrupted torque sweeps me all the way to the 7k redline. The loud exhaust tune adds cracks on upshifts and pops and gurgles to the overrun. It’s fun, though I also enjoy the car without the contrived pyrotechnics.

The monotone baritone-belting of the GT S is engaging and on-character, but not nearly as entrancing as the 992 C2S’s everchanging timbre. Put as a Disney-musical metaphor, the GT S is The Rock’s one-octave range in “You’re Welcome,” whereas the 992 C2S is Idina Menzel heart-stirring three-octaves in “Let it Go.”

In some ways, the AMG 4.0L V8 reminds me of a Corvette small-block V8. Both engines are stout workhorses that could pull a plow through clay, but because they’ve been stuffed into so many models, they’ve both lost their air of exotic exclusivity. The trade-off, I hope, is an engine that’s cheaper to fix if it ever breaks.

San Antonio Valley Road undulates and dips, then turns south and departs the valley. I slow for the cattle guards that seal the grazing land. Last month my Cayman S tester chuffed over the dips and guards, but my GT S avoids fisticuffs with the ground. Incredible!

I’ve made it to my favorite section of the journey, the mountain squiggles which climb to Lick Observatory. I put the car into Race mode, turn off the ESP, and blitz the tightening turns. Unbridled from the stability control’s reins, the GT S becomes a hoon-monster, roasting its rear tires like marshmallows over a blowtorch. Wow! The stability control was much better—and much more subtle—than I’d realized! The confidence I had in gunning the GT S out of the corners was largely attributable to the computer’s invisible hand. Regardless, I like the unbridled GT S more because there’s a real beast to tame with my right foot.

“Bong!” Except for when it’s not, because the transmission is too hot. F**k!

This time the GT S is done playing games. The transmission restricts me to automatic mode, blocking me from picking my own gears. (The engine still delivers full power.) Not even turning off the car and locking the doors will reset the transmission. My fun is done. I turn the car around and head back to civilization.

(Where the transmission finally resets in Livermore. Grr…)

The long cruise home lets me consider my likes, dislikes, and wishes for the GT S. The list of loves is long: I love its classic styling, carbon and leather interior, talkative steering, earth-shattering engine, crisp transmission, flexible shock tuning, and balanced chassis. I dislike the tight and firm seats, in-your-face curb presence, pedestrian-hiding wing mirrors, and this car’s many mechanical and cosmetic flaws. My main wish is that this GT S didn’t have as many question marks around its fitness.

In Limbo

After many emails and phone calls with Vroom customer support, the plan is to get inspections and estimates for repairing the paint and replacing the tires, plus a diagnosis of the transmission overheating. Fixing the dash leather is flatly rejected. Once we have estimates, Vroom will propose a resolution to the issues.

I’m still within the 7-day test drive, and I flip back-and-forth on whether to keep or return the GT S. First, I think I’ll fix the mechanicals and keep it. This beast is the most adrenaline-pumping, driver-satisfying car I’ve piloted all year! As the cheapest GT S in the country, I should be accepting of a few flaws.

Then I worry that the GT S isn’t family-friendly and would rarely get exercise. (Feel free to laugh at me here.) I had planned to drive my daughter to school in the GT S, but her car seat does not fit well. The AMG sports seat’s narrow cushion (11-inches) and aggressive thigh bolstering cause the car seat to ride on top of the bolsters instead of sitting between them. At worst, her car seat could move around dangerously in an accident. At best, I could squash the bolstering and stretch the pretty black and red leather. Some late night Googling finds narrower child seats that would fit better.

(I did drive around the neighborhood with 37 lbs of books on the seat, just to confirm that the Mercedes seat occupancy sensor would turn off the airbags for a child-sized passenger. It did.)

My biggest concern is the transmission oil overheating issue. A supercar that can’t run a marathon is worthless to me! And if the cooling fault is caused by physical damage, like a damaged radiator, the repair will not be covered by warranty.

Ultimately, I want to keep the GT S. It’s beautiful, distinctive, and addictive to drive. If the dealership finds it safe and repairable, I’ll work with Vroom and keep it. Vroom should cover the mechanical repairs, paint scratches, and worn rear tires, as these defects are in violation of their quality standards. I’ll overlook the damaged dash leather, scratched wheels, and undisclosed paintwork.

One Last Dance

On Monday morning, I drop off the GT S at the dealer for inspections and diagnostics. Minutes later, a call from Vroom moots my plan. Some customer-support boss has seen the dash repair estimates and transmission overheating error, and they want to buy back the car. Now. I protest, wanting to keep the car and fix the problems, but they won’t budge. Apparently, the estimates I’ve sent are too high. Worse, because the car was delivered on time, Vroom is not willing to refund my $599 delivery fee. They are taking back the car I love and keeping my money! (A few hours later, they do agree to waive the delivery fee.)

With so many unknowns about the car’s health and no guarantee that Vroom will help me complete the California registration, I fold. I fetch the GT S from the service queue before any inspections can begin, then approve Vroom’s buy-back.

Intentionally, it’s a long drive home. One last dance with the GT S on my favorite local roads. My route includes a gratuitous circuit of a highway cloverleaf and high-speed running along Briones Park.

Around the highway interchange, I savor the GT S’s unyeilding front grip and excellent chassis balance. There’s clear communication from both axles, and great adjustability via the throttle.

Along the bounds of Briones Park, I dial-up Race mode to unleash the full rip-and-roar of the V8. Its baritone bellow causes my neck hairs to stand on end. The esses over the park hills are open and fast, but far from smoothly paved. I am astonished at how well the GT S copes with my hearty throttle applications over the large undulations; traction control is off, yet the GT S is stably routing 503 hp and 479 lb-ft into the coarse aggregate pavement. The car crouches and claws through the high-speed corners. The building G forces are accompanied by newfound steering weight. The GT S longs for a racetrack, and so do I!

There is more than enough torque to boil the tires and send the car sliding through second-gear corners, but the turbo V8 has impressively nuanced throttle control. Little adjustments to the accelerator—like using 40%, or 50%, or 60% throttle—produce linear responses from the engine. When an over-exuberant throttle application overwhelms the rear tires, a slight lift is all that’s needed to regain grip. (The 992 C2S was this way too: powerful and clearly turbocharged, yet precisely adjustable with the gas.)

Before heading home, I play with the hoon’s side of the GT S. Leaving a T-junction, I goose the gas, and the GT S snaps with the violence of a striking cobra. I quickly catch the swinging tail, but I’m surprised by the skid’s abrupt onset. This big engine can bite the foot that feeds it!

Goodbye

Two days later, a flat-bed tow truck pulls up to collect my GT S. The steering catches and shrieks as I pull it out of my parking spot. Maybe it’s for the best that Vroom bought back my car. The driver re-etches the scrapes on the front bumper as he drives the car onto the truck. I sign the bill of lading, say goodbye as my first supercar, and it’s trucked out of sight. (The bill of lading suggests that it’s heading for the nearest Manheim auction yard.)

My Mercedes-AMG GT S journey is over for now. Next time, I’ll find a clean one.  Next time, it will be for keeps.