► Computer read top speed of 182mph
► We needed to correct this before it went
► So we headed to the best place, the Autobahn
From maybe a kilometre back, it’s difficult to tell if it’s a 1-series or 3-series convertible, meandering at about 100mph in the outside lane. In the time it takes to process that thought, it resolves to become clearly a 1-series. Still meandering. I start flashing the headlights. I keep flashing the headlights. I’m going to have to lift. I lift. Then it moves – and my right foot is back to the floor before it’s even fully evacuated the lane. Dusk is looming, and the sensible version of my consciousness, currently cowering somewhere at the very back of my brain, presumably in the vicinity of the thickest part of my skull, stutters that this probably is the last shot at this ridiculous enterprise. Go. Go go go!
Something has been bothering me about the Huracan since the day it arrived. With 8166 miles on the clock, obviously it had been driven – and being a Lamborghini, obviously it had been driven hard. But it was ever so slightly galling to flip through the supplementary displays at the periphery of the digital instrument panel and discover that the highest recorded speed was 182mph.
Now, while that display option is easily hidden – it’s not often I need the accompanying lap timer on the A14 – the knowledge that some other bugger has driven ‘my’ car not just faster than me but very fast indeed started to niggle. Since life is short and I won’t have the keys to a Huracan forever, I began to ponder how to make amends. I’m not especially competitive, so this only happened immediately.
Topping 182mph, only one place to take the Huracan, Germany
Taking it to a v-max straight-line event seemed too supercar boys club and boring – plus I can’t imagine myself ever getting an invite. We did briefly look at closing a suitable stretch of the UK road network, but it turns out those new regs for motorsport on public tarmac don’t apply in this instance. Which left one option. Germany.
It didn’t take much googling to find that the best candidate for derestricted autobahn within easy reach of the UK is the A5 heading south out of Hattenbach. This rang a vague bell, and with a little more digging I soon learned that the A5 was once known as ‘the Führer’s autobahn’ – being the first Reichsautobahn built under Hitler’s rule (though not actually the first in Germany). More significantly, the initial section constructed,linking Frankfurt and Darmstadt, was the location of the Mercedes-Benz and Auto Union Silver Arrows’ land-speed record activities in the late 1930s. These days, this eight-lane über-bahn is known in some quarters as the Frankfurt drag strip.
Was I really about to try and exceed 182mph – a speed almost certainly set on track during the Huracan’s press activities prior to its arrival at CAR – on a public highway?
This is no easy feat, let’s take a step back
Lest you think this incredibly reckless, let me disabuse you: it’s not just reckless, it’s downright dangerous. Which will hopefully lead you to understand that I wasn’t taking it lightly. On 28 January 1938 Rudolf Caracciola wound his Mercedes-Benz W125 Rekordwagen up so hard he achieved an average speed of 268.9mph over the flying kilometre and 268.7mph over the flying mile on this very motorway, new world records both; later the same day, Bernd Rosemeyer was killed trying to beat him, when something no-one entirely understands sent his Auto Union V16 Streamliner into the scenery at between 250 and 280mph. The Huracan is by no means that fast, of course, and it has all the advantages of modern aerodynamics – but Caracciola and Rosemeyer weren’t in traffic.
Precautions are paramount. This meant taking blatant advantage of our relationship with Lamborghini UK to have the Huracan thoroughly checked over by Lamborghini London before setting off. We weren’t explicit about what we planned to do – so no blame can be attached to either of them – but we did say we were heading for Germany and wanted to make sure the car was firing on all cylinders physically and metaphorically. I also became mildly obsessed with checking the tyre pressures, no matter that the Huracan has an on-board monitoring system. Blame last month’s puncture and a healthily overactive imagination.
I was also careful not to make the speed the be-all and end-all of the trip, adding some sightseeing activity as part of the adventure. With hotels and ferries booked – the ferry being judged far less of a threat to those precious 19-inch wheels – and photographer Alex fully apprised of what he was letting himself in for, we were on our way. Amazingly, all his gear went in the front, leaving the space behind the seats free for the stuffing of our archetypal squashy bags. We swallow up most of Belgium in a single massive lunge, arriving at our hotel in Verviers late but relatively unruffled. I optimistically reset that max speed indicator. No going back now.
‘Germany’s limit-free paradise in the morning’
A quick blat round the old Spa-Francorchamps street circuit does wonders for your perspective. Particularly in the rain. So it’s with cool heads that we turn towards Germany’s limit-free paradise in the morning – but with over 160 miles to cover to get to Frankfurt, once we cross the border I’m soon taking advantage of every derestricted sign. While these ghost-like cousins of the UK’s national limit indicators supposedly only mean flat-out in fine weather, I have to get a feel for the Huracan’s behaviour at higher velocities. And besides, we’re in danger of being an obstruction if we don’t get a wriggle on.
For there’s further perspective on this idiotic endeavour once you’re running at speed on the autobahn – which is that the Germans really do love to drive fast. As the precipitation fades I quickly find that if I’m not right back on it the instant the traffic clears I’m gapped by the 320d in front and have the Audi V6 TDI behind practically inside the engine compartment, diagnosing the fault with the Huracan’s 602bhp V10. The sense that you’re doing something illicit is swiftly replaced by a calm, concentrated normality, where 120mph becomes de rigueur and you’re frustrated by anyone doing anything less.
The Huracan is happy to go faster. Much faster. I’d almost reached such a point of familiarity with this car that I wasn’t sure it could properly surprise me anymore – but the first time I fully give it the beans at over 130mph I have to make a rapid readjustment. It is just incorrigibly ferocious. The engine screams, Alex nearly drops his camera, the Audi goes backwards, and my grin risks dislocating my jaw. Even before we reach the Frankfurt zone of the A5 I’ve already established that 160mph is easy, and 180mph well within grasp – though it’s also apparent that much more than that is going to require quite a bit of room. Not because the Lamborghini gets dramatically slower; rather because these speeds eat up a hell of a lot of road.
And there are eight lanes outside Frankfurt for a reason: huge amounts of traffic. While this doesn’t seem to be slowing down the locals and the A5 is so incredibly straight we manage a couple of 180mph passes, we decide to stop and regroup. I deliberately seek out the Bornbruch rest area, because hidden in the woods just beyond it is the Rosemeyer memorial, at the spot where he crashed. A moment’s silence, please.
Bernd Rosemeyer: martyr to speed
when Bernd Rosemeyer was killed aged 29, he’d been racing cars for just three years – nearly beating the German great Rudolf Caracciola at the Nürburgring in only his second race, and winning the European driving championship (the ’30s’ equivalent of F1) in his second season. Many compare him to Stefan Bellof; both were masters of the Green Hell, both had no fear of death… and both died at the wheel of a racing car. Rosemeyer’s speed records stand out. In 1937, he became the first man to top 400km/h (248.5mph) on a public road – and also averaged 233.9mph over 10 miles on an autobahn.
Finding a sutible road for the task
Suitably cowed, we elect to abandon the congestion and make a dash to the Sinsheim Auto & Tecknik Museum instead, where we stare at the Concorde and Tupolev Tu-144 mounted on the roof. Photography eats up further daylight, and soon we realise that with six hours of driving between us and our overnight in Bruges, regretfully we’ve got to head for home.
The traffic is lighter, and because I’ve been driving at such sustained high speeds all day, 120mph now feels like a cruise – awareness extended so much further up the road, I start contemplating whether everyone should be forced to drive as fast as they can occasionally, just to make everyday speeds safer. With the Huracan’s dynamic steering keeping it rock steady and the ceramic brakes holding my hand, it’s as if I’ve got all in the anticipation time in world. We plunge across Germany like… well, like a white arrow.
Then the moment arrives. Like some kind of corny movie set-up, just as the sun drops below the treeline we crest a hill to find dead straight derestricted dual carriageway that’s almost empty – the vague shape of a BMW in the distance. Accelerator mashed, that shape isn’t so vague anymore. And it isn’t getting out of the way. The road rises beyond it, then curves quite definitely to the right, so for the first time in the trip I find the headlight flasher with my thumb. Can only imagine the rear-view mirror madness the Huracan represents at this closing velocity. The BMW gets the message just as I’m preparing to fully abort, and I punch my right foot back to the carpet.
A sneaky glance tells me the gearbox automatically upshifts from sixth to seventh at 183mph – yes! – but I keep it pinned until I think – I think – I see 190 flash up on the digital speedo. Then it’s hard on the carbons to make the turn at the top of the hill with a decent margin of safety. Phew. Alex and I uncoil slightly, as I back the Lambo down and check the max speed display. 190mph. Uphill. Flipping yes. We’ve done it. Best not to wonder if we’d have hit 200 if that 1-series hadn’t been in the way.
From the driving seat
+ V10 mighty at high three figure speeds
+ Dynamic steering super stable at high three figure speeds
+WOT upshifts from 6th to 7th at 183mph
– Seats aren’t getting any softer
– Still wish you could tailor the driving modes
Logbook: Lamborghini Huracan LP610-4
Engine: 5204cc dual-injection V10, 602bhp @ 8250rpm, 413lb ft @ 6500rpm
Gearbox: 7-speed dual-clutch, all-wheel drive
Stats: 3.2sec 0-62mph, 202mph, 290g/km CO2
Price: £186,760
As tested: £224,836
Miles this month: 1455
Total miles: 13,369
Our mpg: 16.0
Official mpg: 22.6
Fuel this month: £503.73
Extra costs: £0