HIGH RES downloadable wallpapers available HERE and HERE
Two quick flicks of my left hand, an immediate rise in engine note and rpm level as the road straightens out, and I gun it.
The acceleration knocks the breath from my lungs, such is the violence of the delivery. It’s shocking, the initial jerk back into the bucket seat accompanied by rampant, unceasing pull from that V12 towards 8000rpm and above, the rising engine note and the blur of brownish-red as the mountains scream by almost dream-like. A flick of the right hand and a shockwave works its way down my arm as another gear is violently slotted home, the figures on the digital readout just outside my peripheral vision merely a blur now. No doubt the numbers they reveal would be barely credible.
Fortunately, as the first corner barrels into view as if by telekinesis, the carbon-ceramic brakes offer superb stopping power and just enough travel in the pedal to ensure both the bucket seat and I don’t hurtle through the windscreen when the anchors are thrown out. But the violence of this monster is such that I have to pull over, get my bearings. This suits the photography crew fine, as they set up several static shots and enjoy a not-so-quiet chuckle at my automotive PTSD.
“I’m squirming around in this bucket seat. Of course, standing 6′ 2″ and with, ahem, ample proportions, I grant you I’m not the ideal stature for an Aventador”
Twenty minutes and a couple of spearmint chewing gums later, I’m ready to try again. In the interim, the photographers have removed the quick release roof panels, which add just 6kg to the slightly beefier kerb weight, though the use of lightweight materials and limited strengthening required for the carbon fibre monocoque mean the Roadster is only 50kg more than the hardtop. You might fully expect loading the roof panels of an Italian supercar into the boot to be a teeth-gnashing experience, but fortunately Lamborghini surprises us once again. Time to alight.
With the roof now gone, I’m able to sit much higher in the seat, and though that does mean the edge of the windscreen slices my view in two, I can at least see above it into the upcoming corners. It also means I can see over both shoulders, offsetting the need to rely on the tiny wing mirrors. Still my approach onto the road is ginger. I’m all too aware of the awaiting violence.
Again and again, out of the corners, the power is such that I can barely fathom how the chassis can withstand such an onslaught without pretzelling itself. And yet, as we enter the corners, the barely tenable speeds do little to upset quite superb amount of traction as the front nose digs itself into the apex. And this is still in tooling-about-town Strada mode.
The reactivity of the nose, I’ll admit, is taking some getting used to. The sheer amount of grip available from the Pirelli P Zero Corsas means, when hunkered down on turn-in, the front end almost darts its way through the apex, the response so quick that for a second I’m caught out completely. I’ve been assured, though I’ve not experienced this myself, that the steering is the single biggest change over the standard Aventador. A faster steering rack and greater downforce at the front makes the brute a much more lithe entity, encouraging me to start leaning on the front end more and more. There is a thought that keeps running through my head as I do so: were I to turn in as hard as the Pirellis will allow, surely it’s only a matter of time before the back end snaps away.
“The violence of this monster is such that I have to pull over and get my bearings. This suits the photography crew fine, as they enjoy a not-so-quiet chuckle at my automotive PTSD”
I’m not about to put this to the test, but there’s a sense, with every tight apex, that more speed could be carried in were it not for this nagging cloud of doubt. Ironically, it’s through the faster corners that the ability of the four-wheel drive system begins to play its hand, power and traction alike being sluiced to the rear wheels, offering greater poise as a result. I can really start to feel the tyres loading up as I feed that enormous power bank back in and 509lb ft is deployed to the road.
As we continue the climb, every so often my peripheral vision picks up the clouds beginning to circle the mountain range, the undercurrent VVVVRAAAAAWWWW of the V12 echoing about the valley below. It’s an explosive rumble that could ruffle several hundred toupees more than 20km away, and I’m almost sorry there’s nobody else in the local vicinity to hear it. Or so I think. As I approach a tight hairpin and drop a couple of gears, I’m met on the exit by a tour bus – inexplicably – on this winding stretch of road, its occupants already with iPhones in-hand to photograph the Italian blue blur as its whizzes by.
So far I’ve been wary of the full-metal Corsa mode, though curiosity eventually gets the better of me, and I flick the switch.
Sure enough, the steering weights up yet further and throttle response is made even more savage, a note I make as my neck snaps back against the bulkhead when I jump on the loud pedal. There’s a savage jolt with each upshift, and a a rampant turn of speed as I keep the throttle pinned as long as I dare. It’s not very long – those canyon walls have started to close in around me – and even though the downshifts are much smoother, the unhinged nature of Corsa means it’s not long before I switch back to the comparative safety of Sport mode. Just in time too it seems, for Sam Smith has just reminded me ‘for you…I have to risk it all’. The canyon walls retreat a little.
Even here though, and unlike a dual clutch system, the ISR transmission is less than seamless. I’m having to concentrate more keenly on the shift times – I can feel the Lambo beginning to pitch with the lateral momentum through some of the higher speed corners when I shift too early – and in many ways, the care and attention required is similar to the timing required for a manual gearbox. And just as rewarding. It’s not long before the bull has mauled its way to the top of the mountain.
It’s only after I clamber out that I realise just how quickly my heart is beating: it may have been the busload of my adoring public, but I rather doubt it. The clouds have grown heavier as I look out across the valley beneath, the V12 soundtrack still ringing in my ear and the knot in my back now digging at me. I want to continue the drive. I want to stand and mull the SV Roadster in all its glory. I want to sit with my head between my knees for a few moments, contemplate life, and tell my nearest and dearest I love them while I still can. It’s left me floored.
Even despite the ferocity of both those gear changes, the truly unhinged nature of that acceleration, the rapid changes of direction possible through both the well-weighted steering and the super grippy Pirellis, it’s not the SV’s vigour through the tighter corners that stays with me. It’s the drama of the drive, the speeds required to truly bring it alive, and the potential that lies beneath that metallic blue bodywork now ticking itself cool. It’s in equal parts daunting and engaging, terrifying and encouraging. Utterly, and completely, insane.
Technical specifications available on page 3
