It's that one moment when you think you're in control now. It's that one second that you think your reflexes are fast enough for the beast. It's that one second that you feel too safe and you have imagined you are best friends now. In this second, just when you think you have his full confidence. This is the moment when the animal strikes and laughs at all your steering wheel artistry.
Just 700 PS in Corsa mode, left by the line of electronic safety nets, erupted from a 6.5 liter large V12. The engine roars right behind the sensory hairs of your middle ear and the unleashed power trumps all your visions of driving a sporty car. Suddenly, your own steering wheel skills appear in a completely new light. Like an oversized kart, the mid-engine hammers sports cars through the Emilia Romana and you see yourself in a line with names like Fangio, Senna and Prost. Mercilessly and free from the controls of an interventional electronics, the ecstatic shrieking twelve-cylinder force its power on both axes, which spread more than 3o centimeters Pirelli P Zero stick to the rear axle on the asphalt like chewing gum in a flokati. And yet, if the V7.000, charging at 12 revolutions, falls over the black circle, it knows no mercy and that the power is distributed to four wheels - that doesn't matter to the sheer force of the drive train.
Your left leg presses firmly against the aluminum footrest, the fingers of your right hand seek proximity to the filigree gearshift paddles. Your hand twitches - the sequential transmission serves the next gear within 50 milliseconds with the elegance of a hammer hitting an anvil. The Aventador sprints along the country roads at the edge of your personal reaction skills. Fanfares cheer and sing you the high song of the horny exemption from natural laws.
No more driving here - flying is extremely deep.
A straight line changes under the thunderous applause of the twelve cylinders, screaming in ecstasy, to moments between two braking points. The landscape zooms in quickly past your eyes.
From zero to one hundred? A ridiculous question for the Aventador driver. At the wheel of a twelve-cylinder Lamborghini you are looking for the answer to your own ability to suffer. Accelerate to 4 under 100 seconds, you do that on the side. But you have to be awake, watch out. Just a blink of an eye too long on the gas and you catapult yourself into cornering speeds that others, already driven out on the autobahn, would describe as grossly negligent.
A bump in the corner, too aggressive power, full open throttle and suddenly you see the end of your own talent right in front of your eyes.
It is the right moment to switch back to “Strada” mode, check your own pulse, and switch back from gasping to calm and deep breaths. The accelerator foot changes to a position in which it only exerts a small amount of pressure on the accelerator pedal. As quickly as the magic came, it disappears again. Within moments, the transmission shifts into seventh gear and as the speed increases, your own pulse drops to a less ecstatic level. In this situation you can forgive the Lamborghini people's pathetic decision to put the start button under a red plastic cover.
I'm not alone on the road, in the rearview mirror I see a yellow Gallardo come closer and seconds after I have parked the red Aventador and peeled me from the interior, come the Colleagues in the golden Bentley Cabriolet. Time to change the steering wheels - but first I have to dry my completely sweaty shirt. The Aventador has a 690 Newton meter strong radiator in the rear - the glazed cover upwards - placed the shirt over the air collector of the V12. Bright blue sky, a merciless sun, Thursday afternoon at 36 ° in Emilia Romagna and Your shirt is being dried by the heat of the 12 cylinder Lambos - the world is beautiful.
To the gallery - the photos from the photo shoot with the Lamborghini Aventador - here [click]