2022 Lamborghini Urus Base Awd 4dr Suv on 2040-cars

Auto blog

Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4 Roadster priced from $441,600 for US

European pricing for the 2013 Lamborghini Aventador LP700-4 Roadster was released when the model was officially introduced early this week, but we had to wait a few extra days to see how much customers over here should expect to pay for the topless supercar. Now, Lamborghini has announced that US-bound versions of its new roadster will run $441,600, which doesn't include the $3,700 gas-guzzler tax, meaning the Aventador Roadster will wear a base MSRP of at least $445,300.
As a refresher, this new roadster is a topless version of the 700-horsepower, all-wheel-drive Aventador, and it features a two-piece removable top made of carbon fiber (each weighing in at around 13 pounds) that can be stored in the front trunk. Performance figures include a 0-60 time of under three seconds and a top speed of 217 miles per hour. Lamborghini is currently taking orders for the Aventador Roadster with the car set to go on sale next summer.

Watch the Lamborghini Hurac'an LP 610-4 do donuts in Project Hexagon

Before we officially met the Lamborghini Huracán LP 610-4 recently, and even before Autobild got to hear it start during its presentation, the Gallardo replacement had been whipped into smokey donuts in the dark of a Sant' Agata night as part of Project Hexagon. That was a four-episode series of short films that followed a trio of Brits determined to see the Huracán before its reveal. They did such a good job that they were able to play Grand Theft Auto in the Lamborghini HQ parking lot.
You'll find all four episodes below, but if you're looking for a more thrilling taste of the baby Lambo than Autobild could give us, then head straight to the final entry. Someone chose to lay a loud musical track over the revving, so try to ignore it and enjoy the 610-horsepower V10 underneath.

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.