Let’s see: There are 12 Lamborghinis. Six Uruses, two Huracán STOs, two Huracán Evo Spyders, a Huracán Evo coupe, and an Aventador SVJ here, and … nope. There’s no way this edgy, wedgy, brightly colored horde of Italian horsepower is flying under the radar. Especially here in Italy, where a crowd of locals is already poking their smartphones through the fence around our hotel’s courtyard in downtown Bologna, firing up their social media feeds. #ForzaLamborghini!
The occasion? A quick charge into the Italian Alps, starting at Lamborghini headquarters at Sant’Agata Bolognese and finishing at Cervinia, the ski resort nestled in the shadow of the iconic Matterhorn—or Monte Cervino, as the locals on the Italian side of the border call it. Oh, and the promise of sliding a couple of the Lambos around on some snow when we got there. And along the way, lunch in a castle.
I’ve been assigned a bright blue Urus for the 220-mile run from Bologna to our lunch stop at the Forte di Bard, a hulking castle that dominates the entrance to the Aosta Valley. There’s been a stronghold at this strategic point on the southern side of the Alps since the 5th century; the current one was built between 1830 and 1838 after Napoleon Bonaparte ordered its predecessor destroyed, infuriated his surprise attack on Turin had been held up for two weeks by a mere 400-troop garrison based within.
That an SUV with 641 horsepower and capable of accomplishing 60 mph in 3.0 seconds, 100 mph in 7.6 seconds, the quarter mile in 11.3 seconds at 120.1 mph, and a top speed of 189 mph, should be considered the soft option here speaks volumes about the raw machismo that underpins the Lamborghini brand. But I don’t mind the soft option: It’s autostrada pretty much all the way to lunch, and the Urus is by far the quietest and most comfortable cruiser here.
The Urus is unflustered by the heavy traffic around Milan, and, once past the speed cameras, devours the lightly trafficked E25 that heads up the Aosta Valley and ultimately to the Mont Blanc Tunnel and France. It might look like an SUV, but the Urus is Lamborghini’s gran turismo, composed and confident and fast on all roads in all weather. Well, almost all roads. The big Urus barely squeezes between the houses clustered in the shadow of the castle along the road through the village of Bard and requires multipoint turns to get around some of the tighter hairpins on the serpentine one-lane road leading up to the castle gate.
After lunch, it’s out of the Urus and into a Huracán Evo Spyder. It’s been a long time since I’ve driven a ragtop Huracán, and the sun is shining. Though it’s not exactly warm here in the valley, and our destination, the Astronomical Observatory of Saint Barthelemy, is 5,500 feet above sea level and surrounded by the snow-covered peaks of the Alps, it would be rude not to drive with the roof down. At least for a few miles.
This Evo Spyder, finished in matte blue paint with white leather interior and bronze wheels, looks like it ought to be cruising Ocean Drive in Miami. But it’s a lot more fun on these Italian mountain roads. In Corsa mode, the 630-hp V-10 responds to the throttle with a bombastic bellow that echoes off the rock walls and fills the cockpit. Lift off, and the exhaust pop-crackles on the overrun like an artillery barrage.
It’s aural theater, egregiously childish when pulling out of a parking lot in Beverly Hills but the perfect soundtrack for a road that’s twisting and turning, climbing ever higher into the Alps on a crisp, sunny afternoon.
The Huracán has grown up; this Evo Spyder is a much more coherent, more mature car than the early ones I recall. It’s still brash, loud, and omigod fast, but the meaty steering offers good feedback, and the ride is surprisingly composed over the patches and frost heaves. The brakes feel indestructible. It’s a more muscular, more deliberate car to drive than a Ferrari, particularly the new 296 GTB, which has delicate layers to its dynamic capabilities.
A soft twilight is settling over a breathtaking panorama of jagged, snow-covered peaks as I walk across the observatory parking lot to the Huracán STO. It’s only 35 miles from here to the hotel in Cervinia, but most of it is on roads that writhe and wriggle through the mountains like spilled spaghetti. It’s getting cold, the mercury plunging toward freezing as the sun sets.
Hmmm—this is the edgiest, most track-focused Huracán of them all. And it’s rear-wheel drive rather than all-wheel drive. I climb in, hoping the Pirelli SottoZero winter tires it’s rolling on—245/30 at the front, 335/30 at the rear—are all they’re cracked up to be. Especially as I’ll be following a colleague who’s managed to get his smartphone to talk to the Lamborghini nav system and so knows where we’re going.
Thing is, he’s quite handy behind the wheel. Oh, and he’s driving the Aventador.
I’ve driven both the Super Trofeo Evo and GT3 Evo race car versions of the Huracán that inspired the STO, and I can immediately detect their DNA deep in its bones. There’s a precision to its front end and a vividness to its transient responses that makes the STO feel like it’s just one step removed from a race car. It moves around under braking and under acceleration, too, the softer tread blocks of the winter Pirellis squirming under the loads. But I can feel every nuance through my fingers and toes and the seat of my pants, as if I’m hard-wired to the chassis.
That bellicose and belligerent V-10 roars and romps behind my shoulders as I chase the Aventador through the darkness and up toward the snowline, scarcely drawing breath as I snick the right-hand paddle, the engine barking and snarling on the downshifts, a hellhound hunting down the mountain gods.
I’ve struggled to work the high-/low-beam switch (like all the other switches on the Huracán steering wheel, it’s next to useless when you’re busy in the cockpit), and I grow increasingly wary of ice in the occasional damp patches on the road as we near Cervinia, 6,730 feet above sea level. But I’m smiling as I pull into the hotel parking lot. After a drive like that—raw, intense, and intoxicating—I can forgive the Huracán STO its small ergonomic flaws.
It’s bright and sunny as I climb back into the STO the next morning for the short run through Cervinia to the location for our fun and games on the snow. The original plan had been to take part in the Accademia Neve, Lamborghini’s snow-driving experience held every year at Livigno, 250 miles to the east, but the pandemic put a stop to that. Instead, we’ll be restricted to goofing around in a snow-covered parking lot on the edge of town.
The Accademia Neve is a proper drift-fest on studded tires. Here in Cervinia, both the all-wheel-drive Evo coupe and the rear-wheel-drive STO rotate gracefully around the cones at little more than walking pace on their standard snow tires. It’s mildly entertaining for about two minutes, but I learn nothing about what it’s like to drive a Lamborghini in the snow.
There’s only one way to find out. Sign me up for Accademia Neve 2023.
Keyword: Fast Company: Scorching Asphalt and Throwing Snow in a Squadron of Lamborghinis!