2023 Lamborghini Huracan Sto on 2040-cars

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Harry Metcalfe shows off his Lamborghini Countach

Harry Metcalfe may no longer be editing the Evo magazine he founded, but that doesn't mean he doesn't still have octane pumping through his veins – or that he isn't still producing world-class automotive content. In this latest video released on his YouTube channel Harry's Garage, Metcalfe shows off is 1987 Lamborghini Countach 5000 Quattrovalvole. The precursor of today's Aventador, the Countach was Sant'Agata's longest-serving mid-engined twelve-cylinder supercar, remaining in production from 1974 (after the Miura was discontinued) until 1990 (when the Diablo replaced it), and earned its place of prominence on the walls of so many childhood bedrooms. Metcalfe's was a later model from 1987 – the London Motor Show car from that year, in fact – packing the enlarged 5.2-liter V12 with the four-valve heads, those fantastical air vents and that giant rear wing. Harry even had the legendary Valentino Balboni to sign the interior. The video is a full half-hour long, but even if you've only got a few minutes, it's worth watching just the beginning to hear it starting up.

Ferruccio Lamborghini's twin-twelve Riva speedboat restored [w/video]

Everyone knows that Lamborghini makes exotic sportscars, but true aficionados are also well versed in the other types of machinery that has worn the Raging Bull emblem. There are the tractors, of course, with which founder Ferruccio got his start, but the company has also marinized its high-revving twelve-cylinder engines for use on the water.
Over the years, Lamborghini engines powered many crews to offshore powerboat racing trophies, but before all of that came the vessel you see here. The 278th of 769 made between 1962 and 1996, this Riva Aquarama was commissioned by Ferruccio Lamborghini himself. It was delivered from the shipyard in 1968, complete with a pair of 4.0-liter V12 engines out of a Lamborghini 350 GT, and old man Ferruccio enjoyed using it for many years.
Following his death in 1993, the one-of-a-kind Riva Aquarama Lamborghini disappeared into obscurity, hidden away from the world under a tarp until a Dutch collector tracked it down and had it restored by Sandro Zani and his team at Riva World. The project took three years to complete, including the restoration of the wooden hull with 25 coats of lacquer applied.

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.