2013 Lamborghini Aventador Lp700-4 3k Miles Rebuildable Repairable Sold As Is on 2040-cars

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Lamborghini Accademia heading to Laguna Seca

If you want to learn how to get the most out of your Lambo, who better to teach you than Lamborghini itself. That's why the Bolognese automaker has launched the Lamborghini Accademia. Developed by the factory's Squadra Corse competition department, the Lamborghini Accademia is set up to show customers how to handle their supercars on a closed track and with the expert tutelage of factory instructors.
The trouble for American customers, though, is that the Accademia has (this year, at least) only held sessions at European tracks like Imola in Italy and Hockenheim in Germany. Not that the cost of a transatlantic flight would deter someone splurging six figures on a supercar, mind you, but we're glad to report now that the program is coming to North America for the first time.
Between September 14 and 17, the Lamborghini Accademia will be setting up shop at California's legendary Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca. That's where instructors will run groups of 24 students through the finer points of slalom, acceleration, braking, drifting and section-by-section learning of the famous track, from the Andretti Hairpin to the famous Corkscrew... all from behind the wheel of the new Huracán LP 610-4. Not a bad place to experience the Raging Bull marque's latest creation, or a bad car in which to experience one of America's finest racing circuits.

Lamborghini Huracan is officially sold out through end of production

The Lamborghini Gallardo managed a trick no V8-powered Lamborghini pulled off before, going back to the 1973 Urraco: Act as a thoroughly worthy undercard to the V12 main event. Perhaps the two extra cylinders made the difference, the Italian automaker selling 14,022 examples during the Gallardo's 10 years on sale. That was a massive number, especially when the automaker was selling closer to 1,000 cars per year than the 9,233 it sold last year. The Huracan proved an even sweeter package, selling 14,022 units in just five years. With more than 20,000 on the roads worldwide, the V10 storm is about to come to an end. A single sentence in Lamborghini's summary of Q1 financial performance reveals the V10 is "sold out till the end of production." The results summary doesn't specify the date the last Huracan rumbles off the line. We know it will happen sometime next year, the automaker's production almost entirely accounted for through the end of 2024. Whatever follows the Huracan will make its debut later this year, and somehow, Lamborghini has managed to keep the powertrain secret. It's agreed that the chassis will be a modified version of the platform created for the V12 hybrid flagship Revuelto. Car magazine says the Revuelto's "monofuselage" will be reworked with aluminum to lower the price. As recently as last November, Auto Express wrote about Lamborghini technical officer Rouven Mohr saying, "[the Huracan successor is] not a range-oriented hybrid and there will be no kind of downsizing," the mag saying Mohr conveyed the sentiment "that it’s against LamborghiniÂ’s philosophy to reduce the engine size and then 'compensate' with electrification as some rivals have done."  A twin-turbo hybrid V8 has come up more recently, this engine being of Lamborghini's design. With the company longer having a corporate sibling in the Volkswagen Group stable to share V10 hybrid costs and upkeep with, a hybrid V8 makes much more sense. The Group is awash in V8s and will be using hybridized versions in models from several brands. The scuttlebutt on this engine alleges about 850 horsepower of total output, turbos that don't spool up until 7,000 rpm, and a 10,000-rpm redline. And we already know it's going to sell like hotcakes — or crespolini, rather.  Related: 2023 Lamborghini Huracan Sterrato First Drive: Ridiculous obliteration of boundaries Related video: This content is hosted by a third party. To view it, please update your privacy preferences. Manage Settings.

2015 Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4 Roadster Review

"Lamborghini Murcielago." That's what I would tell anyone who asked what my favorite car was. Yes, there were easier cars to drive than the wailing wraith from Sant'Agata Bolgnese, and that was partly why I liked it so. It was impossible to see out the back – reversing was easiest done with the door open, sitting on the sill. My head banged the door frame when I checked traffic on the left. The seat made my butt hurt. The cabin ergonomics were based on a design language that humans haven't yet translated. It boiled over in stop-and-go traffic. It was big. Yet it drove like nothing else, with the instant zig-zag reflexes of a mako designed in The Matrix. The Murcielago's thrills weren't laid out on the ground, you had to dig for them with your bare hands. And that's what made it outstanding. When I first drove the Aventador at its launch in Rome, I spent the day blasting around the circuit at Vallelunga. It was so easy to drive – "too easy by half," as Jeremy Clarkson would later say of it – viciously quick, unholy fun, and very good. But it was a little too easy to drive. Which is why the Murcielago remained my favorite car, ever. Until two weeks ago. The Aventador came when the rough-diamond Gallardo was Lamborghini's in-house reference for ease-of-use. But now we have the fire-and-forget Huracan. Having driven one after the other, and on the context of LA streets instead of the smooth and open landscape of Vallelunga or Laguna Seca, I now see the Aventador for what it truly is: the representation of the bull that's on the Lamborghini badge – head-down, horns-out anger. Like the Murcielago, the Aventador is big. It's more than ten inches longer than a Chevrolet Corvette, five inches wider than a Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat, and 3.5 inches wider than a Dodge Viper. It is also low, an inch lower than the already ground-floor Huracan. I won't pretend to be rational about it: the Aventador says everything I want a car to say. It's the certain, antidotal statement to brief and befuddled everyday lives. The cabin is a cockpit in every sense: close-fitted, button-filled, lit up. I'm five-foot-eleven, and I wear it like a tailored suit. I gave a ride to a guy who's six-foot-three and perhaps 260 pounds, so it can fit much larger frames but I still don't know how he got in or out through that scissor-door opening. The trunk in the Murcielago was big enough to hold a single dream.