Summer Lovin’ with Three Exotic Convertibles
This winter cracked the hardiest members of our tribe. New Englanders, following instinct, grin and bear whatever storms our way, but no one could escape the blows from this season’s unprecedented chill. For once, the rest of the country—from the Southern states over to Texas— shared our frost as one bitterly cold people. Did you see the faces on the squirrels in the Boston Common? It was anguish.
That’s all gone. To celebrate, we hit the streets in three exotic convertibles: The Lamborghini Gallardo LP550-2 Spyder, Ferrari 458 Spider, and Audi R8 V10 Spyder. We spent a week with each car, in that consecutive order, while logging 2,000 miles from Boston to South Boston, Va. Imagine yourself doing the same this summer.
Lamborghini Gallardo LP550-2 Spyder
It’s a golden sunny day as I’m palming the key to a red Lamborghini, and yet there is bad news—bad for anyone wishing to replicate my 800-mile sojourn up and down Virginia in one of the purest, most radical convertibles on sale. A new Gallardo like my LP550-2 Spyder, which lists for $246,305, can’t be found anywhere. That’s because Lambo enthusiasts have bought every last Gallardo in the country, $2,000 monthly lease offers notwithstanding, as the factory preps its first replacement in a decade, the Huracan. My cherry and tan example with the polished black wheels is one of the final sendoffs for this most popular of handmade Italian sports cars. And by popular, I mean the Gallardo’s 14,022-car run represents nearly half of all the Lamborghinis built in the company’s 51-year existence.
For a small shop like Lamborghini, there was little incentive to change such a rapid bestseller beyond a few tweaks to the engine and body. But Lamborghini’s archrival, Ferrari—a name that founder Ferruccio Lamborghini associated with “rubbish’’ cars—built three completely new competitors since the Gallardo debuted in 2003. Even by supercar standards, that’s a long time without a major overhaul.
Two things kept it going: The wedged design is comic book crazy, a must for any Lamborghini, and the 5.2-liter V10 is a masterpiece. Pick any detail. That knife-edged chin spoiler that’s about to scrape the sidewalk, the stupendous brakes, the large vents streaking the engine bay behind the seats, or the four gopher-sized exhaust outlets—none of them has aged a day.
I’m headed to Virginia International Raceway from Baltimore, and before I pick up my cousin for the four-hour drive to the North Carolina border, I’m inching forward in DC’s Georgetown district. The Gallardo hates slow. It reminds you, with bucks and kicks and clutch slips from the 6-speed automated manual gearbox, to bury the throttle at the very next possible moment. Which, when you do, provokes crackling, evil, ear-bleeding acceleration from that 550-horsepower V10 and a wiggling tail as the engine overwhelms the tires. I’ve chosen the lighter rear-wheel-drive model (the “2’’ in LP550-2) versus the all-wheel-drive LP560-4, so respect comes in short order.
In the aggressive Corsa mode, which cuts out most of the stability control’s graceful safety net, the Gallardo twitches at each spine-knocking upshift. At speed, the front end gets light and darts around like a freaked-out field mouse, yet the heavy steering effort suggests all is calm. It’s not. Even at a milder cruise, it’s never settled. You wouldn’t choose a Gallardo for a damp road or city garage, where it behaves like a moving truck with those long doors and impossibly wide turning circle. After driving other similarly priced supercars, I don’t need to look hard to spot the Gallardo’s flaws. It’s an old car that had to be replaced by something smoother and safer to drive, if only to win over the girlfriends and spouses who’d absolutely hated it. But in carefully planned bursts—and after you’ve overcome fear—the Gallardo is brilliant. When you slap down a gear and feel the chassis trembling with energy, egging you to dip into the throttle yet again, you know why Lamborghini never messed with it.
Ferrari 458 Spider
Full disclosure: This will not be an impartial review. The Ferrari 458 Spider is the best car I’ve ever driven, and while my accolade won’t demand the world to pause, it is a moment for deep, personal reflection. Like the Gallardo, you can’t buy a new 458 Spider. In fact, my test car—in the same irresistible cherry red and tan leather—was a 2012 model. Ferrari sold 2,035 new cars in the US last year (about the number of Camrys sold in two days) and treats buyers like college applicants. The factory has ultimate authority to approve who skips the typical one-year wait list —Do you already own a Ferrari? Are you loyal enough not to sell it?—and money won’t necessarily move the Maranello production line any faster. For extremely limited models like the LaFerrari, Ferrari hand picks the owner roster well before the car goes on sale. If you’re not in the club, you pay extra for a used car. My 2012 example with 8,000 miles would likely sell above its $356,987 price. That includes “historical’’ paint for $11,885. Even a backup camera and cruise control are options, and Ferrari won’t disclose individual prices in public.
Why go through all this? Why not buy a nice condo in Brighton and rent it out? Let the debaters and pragmatists in your family argue that over dinner. Anytime you wish, you get to press a red button labeled “Engine Start’’ next to a little black horse. At any place within 250 miles of premium unleaded gas—about as far as you’ll reasonably travel before filling up for the third time in one week—you get to trace every breathless curve, buttress, fender, and the softest cowhide on earth. I can’t place another car this wicked and elegant all at once, a car wide as a Hummer and frenetic as Usain Bolt tensing on his starter blocks. It is that stunning, and we haven’t even started it up.
The first few moments in a 458 Spider are a lesson in public service. Strangers come up and ask me for photos everywhere I stop, I invite them to sit inside for more photos, and valets at the Fairmont Copley fawn for extra tips knowing my Ferrari has a built-in ATM in the glove box. Taking a night delivery at the Globe, I may have interrupted the printing of this newspaper during the ignition sequence. Twist the red key, foot on the brake, press and hold the button. A bellowing, gritty expulsion of pressurized air and unburnt gasoline shoots out like a surfacing whale. The three blowholes out back get hot in a hurry as the 4.5-liter V8 warms up. The 20-inch Pirellis need more time (there are temperature sensors at each corner) but it’s never a wrong moment to slip the seven-speed dual-clutch gearbox in neutral (by holding both carbon fiber paddles on the steering column) and letting the engine sing a symphony in the Ted Williams tunnel. Everyone must take a Ferrari through a tunnel once in their lives.
Before the speed commences, I’m taking my wife to a doctor’s appointment in the bustling Longwood area. Here, despite the need to hyperextend my arms to reach the parking ticket dispenser, the Ferrari is nice and gentle. Its electromagnetic dampers dull the pain I felt in the Lamborghini and the gearbox doesn’t jerk my neck. The 458 Spider is a luxury car in the first degree. Then, the speed. I drop my wife off at Logan while I fly solo to Connecticut. This is a 571-hp car that can reach 199 mph with the roof folded. And while Ferrari will ultimately see my recorded top speed in the race-spec trip computer, all I can say is Hartford never felt so close. The 458 Spider, unlike the Gallardo, tracks with precision and sucks itself to the ground the faster it goes. It’s incredibly agile and surprised me with an impromptu drift along an on ramp, yet the quick steering let me snap it back and fire off into the horizon with that curdling, shrill sound that’s half superbike, half Norse god. There are no other words. The 458 Spider is perfection.
Audi R8 V10 Spyder
“Well, this is disappointing.’’ Instead of unbridled excitement, the first thing I did upon seeing the 2014 Audi R8 V10 Spyder, all $183,600 of it gleaming on my driveway, was mutter conceited remarks at it. Over and over. The leather wasn’t as soft. The engine sounded too soft. I guess it’s OK looking. This is Audi’s supercar—it’s Iron Man’s personal car, for goodness sake —and it wasn’t getting any love. The R8’s problem, as I later concluded after a trip to Wal-Mart with my dad, is that it isn’t a 458.
And yet, after mourning the loss of the howling red Ferrari, the R8 Spyder’s relaxed demeanor was exactly why you’d take out this droptop, all-wheel-drive Audi every single day of the year. Owing to Lamborghini’s overlords in the Volkswagen Group, the R8 Spyder is built on the Gallardo chassis with the same mid-engine configuration (detuned to 525 hp on my car, but available in full 550-hp strength on the V10 Plus coupe). But while the interior structure and overall dimensions nearly match the cherry Lambo, the navy blue Audi pulses with new blood. Since it’s German, the R8 Spyder is the most rock solid car of this trio, especially on broken surfaces. What the R8 lacks in steering feel and sock-it-to-me gear changes it makes up for in complete stability and composure at high speeds. Because it’s not high strung like the two Italians, the R8 never loses its cool in traffic, either. The 7-speed dual-clutch automatic loafs the R8 along like an A4, and imagine—the gear selector and all the door lock switches aren’t on the roof or hidden under the armrest.
Friendly as it is, the R8 wants to move. Switch on sport mode and dump the gas, and the V10 burbles and revs to the moon. The volume can’t compare to the arena-level noise spitting out of the Gallardo, but that winding 10-cylinder engine sounds nothing like your average 911 or Corvette. I missed the sweet 6-speed manual transmission I last drove on the 2011 R8 Spyder—a lovely mechanical connection that Ferrari and Lamborghini have deleted—but the automatic is a worthy dance partner around every turn and dip in the pavement. As a thrill ride, the R8 can’t match the hormonal angst of the other cars. But when you’d like to drive quickly without being scared to your wits end, the R8’s not so disappointing after all.
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