Raging Bull Redux

When I was a kid I used to collect a very glossy American car magazine. The posters emblazoned my walls. From Vector W8’s through Strosek and Ruf Porsches. And then there were the Lambos.


The Countach. And its predecessor the Miura. For young gearheads the world over Ferruccio Lamborghini was the God of craziness. He made the only true supercars. Ferrari’s were fine. Beautiful. Predictable. Fast. But they didn’t have that deranged otherworldly edge to them that made them look as if they would take flight, Last Starfighter style, and head off into a galaxy far far away. They also didn’t hold the promise of plentiful bounty within in the form of Jill Rivers (Tara Buckman) and Marcie Thatcher (Adrienne Barbeau).

But the 1970’s passed. Lamborghini moved on. Things became a little more conformist. And it took a few decades for things to come back around. For Lamborghini to yet again be the pinnacle of any kids car poster collection. And in the running for the crown in the real world as well.

As I sat at the Lamborghini house in the Monterey hills the gentleman who had kindly offered to grab me a coffee relayed his dilemma to me. Should he and his son buy a 458 or an Aventador. Not having driven either at that point left me incapable of offering sage advice. But that was soon to change.

The last Lambo I had driven was an LP560-4 Gallardo. The baby of the Lamborghini stable, but a fully paid up supercar nonetheless. Until you park it next to its big brother that is. At which point it looks like a baby lamb sitting next to a fire breathing dragon. Or perhaps a snorting and raging bull.

At the end of the day these are irrational things, fulfilling irrational dreams, so statistics are of little import. Cars of this caliber are more like fine wines, or incredible meals. Or even the girl that got away. Every drive is a once in a lifetime experience. Even if you are lucky enough to do that every day. It is difficult to express the pleasure you feel having one of these things in your life. Even for a brief period of time. And enjoying it to the extent your senses can absorb the delights on offer. But you just know on a very basic level that it is something your whole being yearns for when it cannot have it. It leaves memories that provoke a burning desire for you to recreate them.

So you go on seeking the pleasures it can supply. Your eyes swimming in the aerodynamic beauty of a motoring missile. Your ears sucking in the rumble of the exhaust. Your mouth and nose tasting the fumes of efficiently burned high-octane fuel. And most of all your nervous system reacting to fierce g-forces of incredible acceleration. Even though you are the one controlling your right foot.

So did I like it? I loved it. And of course, my heart yearns for more.

Words by DUNCAN QUINN Photos by Nathan Friedman