I can't buy a Volvo P1800 anymore. The dream is dead. It sucks, because I've wanted a P1800 for years. Maybe it's because I watched reruns of The Saint with my mom as a kid, or because I'm just innately drawn to underappreciated cars. It doesn't matter. No P1800 I buy and restore or modify will ever drive like the Volvo P1800 Cyan I'm reviewing here, and I can't afford one of those.
Truthfully, I'm just glad to be able to say I've driven it. I was floored by the original announcement of the project in September 2020 and the most professionally jealous I've ever been when MotorTrend editor-at-large and European correspondent Angus MacKenzie drove it in December of that year. That was MT 's one taste, I figured. I'll never touch it. I'll be lucky if I ever see one in person since only 10 are built each year and they start at $500,000. I was wrong, on several accounts.
For starters, it's now more like $700,000, although the price varies based on the exact specs you commission. More important for me and most of you is that it's now being made available to American buyers. See, the P1800 was sold in the U.S. back in the day, so there's no tricky import hurdle to worry about. Even better, all of them were built before 1975 , the cutoff for exemption from California smog testing. As such, anyone with the money to blow can order one, import it, and register it like any other classic, no bullshit Montana LLCs necessary.
And what a car you'll get. MacKenzie's story has all the details, and you should read it, but here are the highlights: Everything but the inner skin of the passenger compartment and trunk is tossed out. By today's standards, cars built in the 1960s have the structural rigidity of overcooked pasta, as they were all made from comparatively low-quality steel and engineered on slide rules. To make it drive as good as it looks, Cyan (née Polestar before Volvo purchased the name) builds an entirely fresh car around that old shell, making sure to retain the original VIN so it counts as a restomod, not a new car.
Naturally, it built the car out of modern high-strength steel and carbon fiber. In fact, the carbon-fiber bodywork is bonded to the shell in some places, further increasing its rigidity. The fully independent suspension is all custom made by Cyan, the engine is a heavily modified Volvo turbo four-cylinder, and there are zero electronic driving aids. Not even ABS.
As a result, the little blue coupe weighs in at just 2,388 pounds as configured here with racing seats, a titanium roll cage, and electric air conditioning. With that turbo engine cranking out 414 hp and 336 lb-ft of torque, it has a weight-to-power ratio of just 5.8 pounds per horsepower, only slightly worse than a 2021 Porsche 911 Turbo S.
It should be no surprise, then, that the P1800 is quick—though not Porsche quick. Hitting 60 mph from a stop takes 4.8 seconds, which might've been quicker if we'd been game to really abuse the car. We got the best result launching from 5,000 rpm and feathering the clutch, but we didn't attempt a full-on high-rpm clutch dump. Working the old-school, dogleg five-speed manual also cost time, especially the three-four upshift where you need to come all the way forward out of the strictly defined gate before trying to get over to the right and up.
It's a bit like driving an old gated manual on an '80s Ferrari. The mechanical engagement feels delightful in your hand, but you have to be very deliberate in your movements. You don't make an S-curve with the shifter as you go through the gears, you move it in three crisp straight lines. This Holinger five-speed racing gearbox was never meant to be street driven, and indeed Cyan had a custom synchronized gearset made for it, so you play by its rules. Nailing the four-three downshift is much easier than the upshift, for what it's worth.
Why such an oddball gearbox? The P1800 has a very narrow transmission tunnel by most accounts. It is, after all, a small car, and the original four-speed manual and three-speed automatic only needed to stand up to, at most, the 130 hp found in later models. Most modern transmissions are considerably larger, so just finding one that fit without reengineering the floorpan was a challenge in and of itself.
Get all those upward gear changes right, and you'll knock off a 13.2-second quarter mile at 114.3 mph with the 3.38 rear end currently in the car, though like many aspects of the vehicle, that's customizable.
Regardless of ratio, it's fitted with a limited-slip differential, which comes in handy when it's time to turn. On our test track, it and the Pirelli P Zero tires helped the car pull 0.95 g on the skidpad and lay down a 24.8-second figure-eight lap at 0.76 average g. The car puts the power down, especially at low and midrange rpm. The only time you have to worry about it is on the top end.
Cyan's overarching mission with this car, you see, was to make it as much a modern tribute to vintage 1960s motoring as possible. Turbos weren't really a thing then, so the one in this car is tuned to deliver power in the fashion of a naturally aspirated engine. The output builds linearly to a 6,000-rpm torque peak and, finally, a 7,000-rpm horsepower peak that carries to the 7,700-rpm redline. The steady build of turbo boost and engine torque makes the powertrain far more tractable, as does long throttle pedal travel. You forget it's turbocharged until the needle visits the upper end of the custom tachometer and the turbo spool sounds and flutter become noticeable.
Out on the road, this carefully considered relationship between throttle pedal input and engine output is magical. You dial in the exact amount of power needed at any moment, then make fine adjustments as conditions change. With the big grunt hitting up high, you can come out of a corner and roll hard into the throttle with no fear of blowing the rear tires off the car. Even at high rpm, with all the boost, it puts the power down. The Cyan people encouraged me to drive the car all the way to redline at all times, and it was the best advice they could've given. The car loves it.
As with the engine tuning, the modern, electrically assisted steering feels all the world like a manual rack. Cyan would've gone that route if it were feasible, but the fat, sticky modern tires made it too difficult to turn the car at low speed with zero assistance. The car's low mass emphasizes the manual steering feel, especially above 110 mph when the '60s aerodynamics kick in and the front end gets light. It gets really exciting at 125 mph, and you're only just getting into fifth gear at that point.
It all just adds to the experience. Bending it in and out of curves, the steering lightens up the faster you go and makes almost no effort to return to center. Like the throttle, you put it exactly where you want it, and when you want something different, you change it. The car doesn't do any of the work for you.
That's particularly true when it comes to the brakes. Forget about ABS, this thing doesn't even have a brake booster. If you want to stop, you have to put some muscle into it, but there's delightful feedback through the pedal that boosters can mask. You know exactly what the brakes are doing and you can listen and feel for the threshold rather than hunt for the ABS kickback. The steel AP Racing discs and four-piston calipers all around have zero issues with head buildup, but the lack of booster and choice of pads meant a best 60-0-mph stopping distance of 126 feet, about the same as your average family SUV. These pads also screech something terrible when they're hot, but at least you know they're up to temperature and working like they're supposed to, so that's something.
Cyan's dedication to vintage feel is also evident in the total lack of traction and stability control, but it's more something to keep in the back of your mind than anything the car actually confronts you with. It has so much grip, you'll have to work to get the tires to squeal, let alone come loose. If you do manage that, Cyan says the P Zeros were specifically chosen for their gradual breakaway at the limit so oversteer is easy to control.
Even though it never got loose on me, I'm inclined to believe the company. Everything about the car feels natural and deliberate. The biggest concession to modern engineering are the Öhlins manually adjustable dampers, which are impeccably valved. The compliance in the suspension is perfect on a bumpy mountain road, allowing you to throw the car at corners regardless of pavement quality and have it stick without fear of bottoming out a too-soft suspension or having the tires skip across the top of the bumps because the setup is too stiff. You'd really have to try to make a mess of things.
If there's any mess at all, it'll be from you sweating all over the seats. The car is equipped with air conditioning that runs off an electric compressor, and it's inadequate, to say the least. Cyan kept the early-style P1800 dashboard with no visible air vents, so there's no relief to be found in pointing one right at you—the air comes out under the dash. Company representatives say they could run the compressor at higher voltage if they upgraded the alternator, and they should absolutely do both of those things if they plan to sell this car outside of Sweden, which as mentioned, Cyan does. Rolling down the power windows helps, but then forget about trying to carry on a conversation.
That said, even if it isn't ideal in HVAC terms, I'm thrilled Cyan kept the original dash with the blue gauges, particularly the "thermometer" water and oil temperature gauge between the speedometer and tachometer. The instrumentation has all been carefully redone to reflect modern vehicle and engine speeds but otherwise look for all the world like originals. We would, however, like the LEDs replacing the needles in those temperature gauges to be brighter so they can be seen in sunlight, particularly for the water temperature. Still, I'm just glad the car doesn't have the ugly '70s dash.
There's also the matter of the fixed steering column. The delightfully small Momo Prototipo three-spoke racing steering wheel is perfectly sized, but it impedes your view of the tach and speedo. Part of this had to do with seating position, as the pedals in our test car are currently set for Cyan's very tall boss. With my short legs, I was up on the wheel like a NASCAR driver in order to leverage the pedals' full range. Were it my commission, I'd have them moved back.
Having to scoot so far forward also means the narrow cabin felt even tighter on my broad shoulders. My left elbow was constantly brushing the door handle, and I could only operate the window switches with my right hand as my left arm doesn't bend that way. Although I normally set the parking brake, I gave up with this car as it's nearly impossible to reach with the seat this far forward. It's located between the seat bottom and the door on your left side, and if it wasn't hard enough to reach with the door closed already, the roll cage makes it almost impossible, especially if you're wearing a watch on your left wrist.
This last item is among the compromises to vintage authenticity you just have to live with. Volvo put the handbrake in an unusual place—deal with it. It reminds you this car, for as much of it is new, is very much an antiquated design. Cyan used a light touch when it came time to tinker; without putting an original next to this car, you'd have to be a real fan to notice most of the changes. Most people will only see the center-lock wheels, fat tires, and big brakes.
You definitely need to compare it to an original to notice the change in wheelbase. Despite moving both the front and rear axles forward and shifting the windshield position rearward, Cyan's designers have done masterful work keeping the lines and proportions the same. You really can't tell how much was done to the body. Even a P1800 die-hard has to look close to notice all the chrome has been replaced with billet aluminum, up to and including the grille and door handles, as well as the bumpers that honor the earlier cars' better-looking split design (though they're not replicas).
It is, in a phrase, essentially perfect. It's everything I've always wanted to build in my garage and immeasurably better than I could've ever done myself. It will, undoubtedly, make every other P1800 feel archaic by comparison. If you have the money, the Cyan is worth every dollar, and it's going to put the firm on the map. As for me, I'm just holding on to that drive and trying to forget the bittersweet moment I shut down the engine for the last time, felt it shudder to silence, and knew I'd never drive it again. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to see a realtor. Selling my house in L.A. 's current market ought to just about cover it. Might even get me an extra set of tires.