Test Drive - Lamborghini Aventador Roadster

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I N M OTI O N

MiaMi Heat Managing Editor, James McCarthy, travels to Florida to experience the hottest car to hit the road this year, the dangerously addictive Lamborghini Aventador Roadster.

How fast?” Asks the policeman, as he leans into the cabin of the car from the seat of his motorbike. “Pardon me, officer?” I reply casually. “How fast does it go?” He inquires above the thrumming of the vast engine, while it’s idling at the penultimate stop light before joining the freeway to South Beach. “It can hit around 220mph,” I respond, “but you won’t see me breaking the speed limit here, officer.” “That’s a shame,” he nods with a wry smile. Gesturing to a lay-by just passed the light, he orders me to pull over when the signal changes. As I wonder if I was too flippant and had talked myself into trouble, the opening sequence of Cannonball Run springs to mind, but I ignore any urge to just floor it, and I do just as he says. Looking every bit like Erik Estrada from the 80s TV series, CHiPs, he kicks a stand under his Harley-Davidson ElectraGlide and ambles over, removing his Ray-Bans and resting his hand on his gun as he walks. “Could you step out of the car, please, sir?” Again, I submissively comply as he hands me his mobile phone. “I’d really like you to take picture of me with the car, is that ok?” That was just one of many similar encounters on the route back to the W Hotel, with cars weaving through the traffic to pull up close and get a better look at the striking new Lamborghini LP700-4 Aventador Roadster. One kid, a teenager hanging from the rear window of a Chevy Tahoe, screamed across the road that I was his new hero as we strafed past his dad’s car, who himself enthusiastically flashed his lights, urging me to open the taps. Unfortunately, in speed trap Miami, and in such a conspicuously extreme looking car, it really isn’t an option. Besides, I was not going to be bitten by this car twice in one day.

Six Hours Earlier... After a mammoth journey across continents, the buzz of anticipation that arrived with the big black bus, emblazoned with the Lamborghini crest, as it pulled into the Homestead Speedway on the outskirts of Miami, was palpable. I am among the few Middle Eastern journalists on the trip, still groggy from the rigours of the previous day’s travelling, but as we came to a halt in

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front of an honour guard of Aventador Roadsters, painted in all the colours of the rainbow, the crusts of lost sleep are shocked from our tired eyes. Exhaustion is replaced by adrenaline in anticipation of the thunderous day of hooning these beasts around a track that lay ahead of us.

always seemed more of an afterthought, the LP700-4 Roadster may share the same carbon fibre tub, 6.5-litre engine and seven-speed, singleclutch gearbox with its stablemate, but ultimately, it’s a fully redesigned and engineered standalone model in its own right.

The Roadster, which just days before had been unveiled at the Qatar Motor Show and officially launched a few hours later on Miami’s South Beach, is a work of automotive art (although eagle-eyed readers will note from the last issue that my uncle doesn’t seem to think so).

It is worth noting that it was only because this car was being engineered from the ground up that the company was able to turn out the Aventador J in under six weeks, just in time for last year’s Geneva Motor Show. Filippo Perini, chief designer at the Italian bullpen, confides that the breathtaking one-off has, structurally speaking, more in common with the new Roadster than it does with the coupé.

Maintaining the fighter-jet proportions and similar looks of the coupé, there is not a duff line on this car; I mean, just look at the pictures. The most noticeable aesthetic differences are the two-panel, matte-black removable roof and the redesigned engine cover. The buttresses that flank the V12 power-plant now incorporate new air intakes and act as a safety feature in the event of a rollover, while the engine cover itself now has a central spine that runs through it, looking more like armour plating for the visual delight of the epic engine. That is not to say that this is just an Aventador with a lopped-off roof and some decorative touches. Unlike its Murcialago predecessor, which

In fact, there is only a 30 percent loss in torsional stiffness compared with the coupé, and the 1.6 tonne droptop has added just 50kg to its muscular frame compared to its ever-so-slightly slimmer, hardheaded brother. Of course, this will be barely noticeable to all but real autophiles and those with the means to run both at the same time, on a closed track, against the clock. Besides, the twin roof panels, when fitted, are designed to add even more rigidity to the Roadster, bringing it even more in line with that of the coupé.

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While Lamborghini toyed with the idea of a retractable hard top, the engineers were not thrilled by the weight gain that would have resulted from such a technological binge. Instead, they designed the individual 3kg carbon composite roof panels to be simple to fit and remove by a single person - hence the two-piece construction - as well as easily-stored within the car. Simply push the seats forward, pull the clip and remove, before fitting them into the “boot” at the front. This, however, means that there is not much room for more than a dormouse’s overnight bag, but as CEO Stephan Winkelmann points out at the pre-drive press conference, you can either ship your bags by DHL beforehand or drive to your destination with the roof on, dump your bags at the hotel and then get your alfresco kicks. That said, with a price tag in excess of $400k, future LP700-4 owners could probably afford to have their luggage driven behind them in a separate chase car. That’s if it can keep up, of course, given that the Roadster is capable of tapping its 690bhp to reach 100km/h from a standing start in less than three seconds. Apart from the regulation safety briefing, this was the end of the chit chat. Now it was time for the Lambos themselves to do the talking. With the mercury rising, we eagerly spill out to examine the dozen multicoloured bulls that would be our steeds for the day. Shimmering through a haze of superheated air, and looking for all the world like a shoal of hungry sharks, a sense of automotive menace pervaded the pit lane. Homestead is a NASCAR oval with two straights joining into a pair of 180 degree banked curves, though only one of these was in use, as we would be mostly playing on an in-field section of track, punctuated by series of tight, demanding, low-gear corners that would push the Aventador’s performance to its limit.

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I am eagerly escorted by one of the hostesses to my first ride of the day, a blazing red beast of a car, and I climb inside. Because we are on the track, the roof is on, and I find that there is very little difference to the interior of the vicious Aventador coupé, which I ploughed around Yas Marina little over a year ago, right down to the dangerous red switch cover that hides the start button. It is pure automotive theatre. If Shakespeare built cars, this would be the motoring equivalent to Henry V’s speech at Agincourt: an emotive masterpiece that stirs the soul and demands that you pay attention. So, while those at home and still abed might think themselves accursed they were not here, I sit behind the wheel of the Aventador Roadster, which stands like a greyhound in the slips, straining upon the start. The game’s afoot as I roll out on to the track and, upon the charge of “Cry God for Ferrucio, Lambo and Sant’Agata,” I bury the throttle...

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What follows is an ominous pause, a stutter, a jerk and then the Lamborghini squats, clears its throat and brings the full power of 690 apocalyptic horses to bear on the shimmering bitumen surface. I had forgotten just how brutal and unforgiving the big bull could be; its dislike of high revs, when in low gear; equally, even under watchful eye of the electronic stability controls, the car remains skittish in the tight corners and the ever-present threat of oversteer swings with the G forces above my head like the Sword of Damocles. Every gear change is more vicious than the last, resulting in a hefty kick to the back. The gear box seems almost rudimentary in the technological scheme of this of car, like a Neanderthal using a club to hammer the cogs home. After the first lap of the circuit, my adrenaline gives way to control and my body becomes more attuned to the Lamborghini’s violent nature, enabling me to revel in the excitement of driving this blacktop-devouring car. The feedback is such that I can feel every bump in the road through the steering wheel and, with the scent of alcantara moistening with perspiration under the white knuckle grip I have on the wheel, the cabin is filled with a heady aroma of both excitement and fear, all while the crescendo of noise from that bellowing V12 exhaust creates a sensory assault on every fibre of my being.

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Three more laps, and it’s back into the paddock to take stock and watch someone else experience the raw fury that the Roadster has to offer. And so it goes, for the remainder of the morning, each set of laps getting progressively faster; each set of tyres getting progressively hotter and the slightest bit of debris on the track becoming seemingly more apparent. As I climb into a dark blue right-hand drive model for my final run, I feel a sense of foreboding. I was hastily ushered into this car, despite my protestations that I wanted to sit this lap out and take the next one. So here I am anyway, after a day of driving lefties, sitting on the wrong side of a brutal car, one that has been ragged solid for about five hours in the Miami heat.

As I screech into the third corner, I find myself amazed at just how lithe the car feels for its size and how adroitly it handles the tight bend, despite its one-and-a-half tonne weight. Much of this, I am sure, can be attributed to the fantastic ESP, the 43/57 percent weight distribution over the front and rear axles, respectively, and the fourwheel drive system. The Aventador Roadster is also fitted with slightly larger-diameter tyres than the coupĂŠ, which make a small but key difference to the front-end grip as you point the projectile-like nose of the car into the turn. From the corner, we sweep around onto the banking, where NASCAR racers hit 300km/h with barely a coat of paint separating them from each other, or the wall, for that matter. However, even overestimating the distance between the Lambo and the concrete by several feet (cowardly, I know), the car still hits 220km/h without breaking a sweat, before dropping down into the long straight that flies past the pit lane, with the needle topping 290km/h as I go.

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Everything is fine for the first two laps of the Homestead. I am even finding the banking more manageable, now that I am better positioned to be able to edge closer to the wall. However, the car isn’t as much fun in the corners and I put it down to driving on a different side of the cabin. Then, in the blink of an eye, I am not driving at all. I am still, in a quiet, faraway bubble, with just my thoughts. The stillness of the moment is rent asunder by the screaming banshee wail of the six Roadsters careering past, in all directions, as the world around me suddenly comes flooding back into glorious Dolby surround soundenhanced technicolour. My shocked senses are aware of the screeching of hot rubber on hotter tarmac, as carbon ceramic brakes do their best to avoid carnage.


"No other car delivers such an epically brutal experience and, when driven with respect, it is one of the most rewardingly visceral hypercars in the world..."

As Kipling once wrote, “If you can keep your head while all around are losing theirs, then you are a man, my son.” That would apply less to me at this point in time, with my spinning head amidst a rising flush of shame, and perhaps more to the drivers of the two million dollars worth of Italian metal spearing off to either side of my idle steed. All while I just sit staring into space, replaying the last 30 seconds back in my head to the rhythmic ticking soundtrack of the V12 winding down behind me. The only thing I can remember is turning sharply into the tight last corner and then finding myself in a terminal spin. The back wheels, which had been “playful” in the corners up until that point, had suddenly taken on the characteristics of an ice cube on a tilted, polished glass table. Despite my best attempts at steering into the skid - a dab of “oppo” here and a touch of the brake there - I already knew that resistance was futile and that I was heading for the grass in what I’m sure appeared to the casual observer as a graceful pirouette.

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Stirred, but not completely shaken, I resuscitate the mammoth engine and pull gingerly back on to the track, thankful that the result of this eventful and trousersoiling episode - fortunately - only amounted to one very bruised ego, a stoved-in diffuser and an important lesson learned about respecting the biggest, bitey-est bull in the Lambo stable. It’s always best to jump straight back on the horse (or Bull), as they say, and as I complete my set of five laps, I am back accelerating around the banking again, warier and wiser, but still craving a calming hit of nicotine. While some of the US-based Lamborghini contingent lose their cool as I pull to halt in the paddock, the Italian pace car driver is philosophical about it, putting his arm around my shoulders and noting that there always has to be “that guy.” “This time it’s you,” he laughs. “Don’t worry, just blame it on the steering wheel being on the wrong side. Anyway, there’s no harm done.” Clearly not, as I am still handed the keys to yet another Roadster for the drive back to the hotel. This is a cruise, rather than another opportunity to give it some welly and, despite a wrong turn, which involves having to negotiate some rather mean looking speed bumps at the entrance to a gated retirement community, the ride is thankfully uneventful, apart from the regularly-hollered approval of pedestrians, other drivers and, of course, the attention of representatives of Miami’s law enforcement community, that is. But then, it’s understandable as I have snaffled the best-looking of the day’s cars, sporting a beautifully understated anniversary colour scheme, for that mid-afternoon drive home. With Lamborghini celebrating its 50th birthday this year, the final aesthetic flourish of the Roadster is a tip

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of the hat to Santa’Agata Bolognese’s car-building heritage. The addition of the Azzuro Thetis paint job you can see in the pictures, unique to the Roadster, harks back to the original Lambo V12, the ineffable Lamborghini Muira. It shimmers and almost changes colour in the bright sunlight and, coupled with the creamy Sabbia Nefertem cowhide interior, does nothing but instil the Roadster with a sense of living history and an air of automotive mythology. Like the Muira, the Roadster will likely become a generation-defining car. The automotive poster boy for a million teenage petrol heads, as the Countach was for my brother and me at a time when Lamborghinis were in a world as far away and alien to me as the settings of popular TV series' of the era, such as Magnum P.I. and Miami Vice. The only real world reference points that brought me any closer to them were the moustaches, sideburns and loud, flowery shirts which were very much de rigueur in west Wales at the time. It doesn’t seem to have gone out of fashion in Miami either, truth be told. Despite my flirtation with the Bull’s bad side, however, I can conclude that no other car delivers such an epically brutal experience and, when driven with respect, it is one of the most rewardingly visceral hypercars in the world. As I learned, nearly to my cost, there is something delinquent in the soul of any V12 Lamborghini. It’s like that school friend your parents hated for being a bad influence. It is equal parts rebellious, naughty, fun, exciting and scary and, if you’re not careful, it will get you into serious trouble. When you couple that with the shock-and-awe good looks of the LP700-4 Aventador Roadster, it becomes an addictive automotive cocktail, indeed. With such a rich history, littered with extraordinary cars, when Winkelmann says that the LP700-4 is the most extraordinary car the company has ever produced, he is making a pretty big statement; but then, even standing still, so does the Aventador Roadster.

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FivE MiNutES With WiNkElMaNN On Global Sales: “We are very happy about the performance of the Middle Eastern market specifically for the V12, the Middle East IS the market. We are covering all the major areas which are relevant for those type of cars, so we look forward to a good year.”

On The Gallardo: “The Lamborghini Gallardo is the best car ever, in terms of sales. It covers almost 50% of the global sales over the last 49 years! One day it will be substituted, but there’s still some time down the road and the car is doing very well.”

On The Aventador Coupé: “The Aventador is going even better than our expectations, which is a very good sign! On one hand we have a USP in the segment because we are the only ones with a rear-mid engine and we’ve jumped two generations of technology. Image and awareness improved dramatically in the last few years, so the Aventador is a good substitution for the Murcielago.”

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