Lamborghini Aventador vs McLaren 12C
Comparing
Size doesn’t matter out here. We’re not trying to park it, after all. The out lap is more exploratory than usual, a gathering of visual reference points for optimum braking and entry and exit, as well as general familiarisation. The hot French sun on your head is a reminder that this thing - with its noisy diff and power-station levels of combustion - has no roof. It’s next-level stuff.
Start pushing, and the Lambo immediately scrambles your synapses, to the point where you have to deliberately and carefully recalibrate. Your senses - four out of the available five, and maybe even the faint taste of fear, too, for the full complement - go to DEFCON 1. But one of the weird and most wonderful things about the Aventador Roadster is how quickly you get used to it, and how magnificent it turns out to be once you realise that, actually, it isn’t interested in killing you.
Unsurprisingly, much of the joy lies in the engine. It’s carved on a tablet of stone somewhere that there’s no substitute for cubic inches, but even primitive man must have thought - shortly after inventing the wheel - that 12 cylinders would really rock. They might go the way of the woolly mammoth eventually, but Lambo is wholly committed to the cause. Initially, the Aventador’s surfeit of power is bewildering, and you’ll get nowhere near its potential. On the road, you have to find a seriously long stretch - and have something of a death wish or a prison-food fetish - to scale the heights of second, third or fourth. But even just a paddle in the torque’s shallows is fun. Rumble away in sixth gear from 1,000rpm, and the build is as euphorically ‘please never stop’ as the best banging old-skool rave anthem you can think of.
Comparing
Size doesn’t matter out here. We’re not trying to park it, after all. The out lap is more exploratory than usual, a gathering of visual reference points for optimum braking and entry and exit, as well as general familiarisation. The hot French sun on your head is a reminder that this thing - with its noisy diff and power-station levels of combustion - has no roof. It’s next-level stuff.
Start pushing, and the Lambo immediately scrambles your synapses, to the point where you have to deliberately and carefully recalibrate. Your senses - four out of the available five, and maybe even the faint taste of fear, too, for the full complement - go to DEFCON 1. But one of the weird and most wonderful things about the Aventador Roadster is how quickly you get used to it, and how magnificent it turns out to be once you realise that, actually, it isn’t interested in killing you.
Unsurprisingly, much of the joy lies in the engine. It’s carved on a tablet of stone somewhere that there’s no substitute for cubic inches, but even primitive man must have thought - shortly after inventing the wheel - that 12 cylinders would really rock. They might go the way of the woolly mammoth eventually, but Lambo is wholly committed to the cause. Initially, the Aventador’s surfeit of power is bewildering, and you’ll get nowhere near its potential. On the road, you have to find a seriously long stretch - and have something of a death wish or a prison-food fetish - to scale the heights of second, third or fourth. But even just a paddle in the torque’s shallows is fun. Rumble away in sixth gear from 1,000rpm, and the build is as euphorically ‘please never stop’ as the best banging old-skool rave anthem you can think of.
A few laps in, though, and sixth doesn’t get a look in. It all goes a bit more heavy metal. Charade is a fantastic circuit, and its first corner is one of the best, a fast left-hander that demands chunky commitment from the driver and chassis excellence from the car. The Lambo sails round in fourth on part-throttle, confidence-inspiring but also surprisingly adjustable. In fact, it’s so good here that it really does set you up mentally and physically for the rest of the lap. Into the tight right that comes next, second gear, and that sharky nose understeers no matter what you do, but, after that, it’s gravy virtually all the way. Ride the kerbs through the next corner, hook third and power uphill for the quick left and right… It’s not exactly agile, and you’re second-guessing just how pendulous it might all get, but it’s totally, awesomely connected, and everything is tingling in your hands like there’s an electric charge passing through the controls. All the while, that V12 bellows outrageously. The sun is still hot.
Source By : topgear.com
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