"Please try to be nicer this week", she finishes off her lecture by saying.
This week on Car of the Week, we've gained a surprising lot: A roof and seatbelts, for a start. Locking diffs, radial tyres, and as a bonus, the engine was even in a sensible location! Lamborghini! Sensible! I guess the train of thought was that, even though the Porsche 356 from last week had almost every ingredient to become an al dente coffin, it was missing the most important spice in the recipe:
Power.
"For the last time, nobody at COTW is trying to kill you. Some of us enjoy your presence here", Esther the Editor reaffirms. "If it's any assurance, this week's car was chosen — and provided by — a very rich fan of COTW. Higher management hasn't spent a cent this week endeavouring towards your demise — if you crash it."
"Well...", she begins, a hint of cheeky smile flashing across her face. "Just don't crash, then", she regurgitates what higher management told me last week with a barely stifled laugh.
"Flip off...", I retort in resignation as I fumble around for the downward facing button that opens the scissor doors of the Countach. I'll admit, despite my usual barbaric language and the indignity of having to grope a door panel for a button, I felt like a rock star simply because of the cool way the cool car opens its cool doors, as though the automotive equivalent of a middle finger. "Screw you, I'm going into my Countach", is what this car proclaims for you every time you open its doors and get in it.
As I reach my fat old arm up for the upward swung door from a seated position, I spot Esther leaving. "Hey!", I shout. "Don't you want to know more about the car?"
"Hmm? No, I have no desire to be in the vicinity when you're operating this dangerous piece of machinery".
"So you admit this is a death trap!"
"I said no such thing."
I slam the door shut downwards in anger, and the resulting slamming sound made me immediately regret it. I hope I didn't break anyth- Esther's walking towards me. Why is she walking towards me. WHY IS SHE WALKING TOWARDS ME?! Did I break something?
I wind down the pathetic bottom half of the window, which only opened halfway. Oh god, I broke the window, didn't I?
"I trust you", she leans in and tells me through the mailbox of a gap, before turning and leaving just as quickly.
Winding the power window back up and shutting her leaving silhouette out, I explain in my head to an imaginary Esther in the passenger seat. The Lamborghini Countach should need no introduction; even if you're not a fan of cars and don't know its name, you most likely are familiar with its unmistakable silhouette. It was the poster car of many kids and adults in the 70s and 80s alike, and not only defined its generation of supercars, but also pop culture as well. You've seen it in video games. You've seen it in movies. Even a manga simply titled, "Countach". If asked to picture a vintage supercar, this shape is probably what first comes to mind for most. Not only that, it went a long way in solidifying Lamborghini's identity as the wilder, crazier, unhinged rival to Ferrari.
https://gta.fandom.com/wiki/Infernus#Grand_Theft_Auto:_Vice_City
https://youtu.be/evA3_NV7cPM
https://myanimelist.net/manga/19156/Countach
It's a death trap. That, along with its iconic styling, is widespread, common knowledge.
"Please try to be nicer this week", she says. Bah. The saying, "never meet your heroes" is coined almost specifically to describe this car. It may have been the bedroom poster child for boys everywhere at one point, but the very few who did manage to have lives lucky enough to subsequently find themselves in the driver's seat of one of these things will unequivocally tell you how garbage the seating position is, requiring you to actively twist your legs to reach the pedals. Annoyances like the how the fuel gauge is directly behind your right hand on the steering wheel, how hopelessly rubbish the windshield wiper flopping about in the wind is, only swinging up to half of what's in front of you as a driver, how negligible the rear view out the rear "window" is, and, of course, how utterly uncontrollable the damn thing is. The whole car reeks of negligence, apathy, and thoughts of "eh, good enough". "Does this part work? No? Is it falling off the car? Can we be sued for this? No? No? Eh, good enough."
As kids grew up, they never stopped looking at the Countach, only except instead of a lofty fantasy to aspire to, the Countach is now what you'd find in textbooks as the cliché example of "show over go", which would explain away many of the car's ill thought out designs, as well as the famously useless rear wing that the owner of this car had not opted for. It was a very different time with very different priorities. About the only thing that really mattered was how it looked, how it sounded, and how much power it had. And it has power. This thing I'm told has 455PS, passionately belted out through a 5.2L NA V12, which was enough for a claimed (emphasis on "claimed") top speed of over 200mph. In a car weighing 1,490kg (3,285lbs) with a drag coefficient of 0.42? Yeah. You work that out yourself.
Given all this power, of course the sensible thing to do was to test this "200mph" car in a suffocatingly tight and technical racetrack like Interlagos, such that when things go sideways, forensics might still be able to salvage some teeth to ID your extra rare body, so that the owner of the car can sue the appropriate family members for the total loss of their 500k USD car. And while every Countach came factory standard with the rare feature of instant on site cremation in the event of a crash, no amount of high octane fuel or batteries exposed to the rain can burn away the shame of being "that guy" that crashed a priceless collectible special anniversary edition of an iconic supercar, even if simply driving one required balls the size of testosterone fueled bulls.
https://youtu.be/WVp5a38WT_0?t=467
It took all of Senna S in the pit lane to dissuade all my fears of uncontrollable snap oversteer, as even at pedestrian speeds, I was having to fight the understeer from its enormous 345 section rear tyres and the tight differential. With only 225 section front tyres to rotate the car, this has got to be the single most disproportionately staggered tyre setup ever put into production. And with no power steering to help you, there really is no getting the rear end to come out without doing very, very naughty things to it, like misusing certain sticks or high speeds, where the car might just become aerodynamically unsettled enough to give you a hint of a slide.
The highly irregular pit lane of Interlagos dumps drivers onto a rather sizeable straight leading to the second of only two good overtaking spots: Turn 4. As with any good overtaking spot, there's hard braking involved from quite a speed leading into a tight corner, and this required the brakes of the Countach to come into play. At full tilt, you'll be braking for corners just before you even reach the first distance markers for these turns, placed 150m before the bend; rather jarring if you've long since been accustomed to driving GT3 and GT4 racing cars these distance markers seem to be tailored to. The brakes are "eh, good enough", and it's considered anorexic by 2020 standards in our ever fattening world. What I think is the cause of the horrific stopping distances of this car is that it has horrendous understeer on turn-in, requiring a lot more speed to be scrubbed off, and that there's only so much you can ask of economy sedan sized 225 section front tyres when it comes to slowing down, let alone juggling turning and stopping.
That said, because there's only 41% of the Countach's weight over the front tyres, the car stays shockingly flat through corners, displaying confidence and assuredness that, dare I say, made me think this is what a racing car would feel like if there was a class below GT4, ran on street tyres. Corner exits however, expose just how freakishly soft the damping is on this car. What this results in is... you guessed it: unrelenting understeer on power. The problem is at such a comical scale in the Countach that even lightly brushing your feet over the accelerator pedal sends this car jerking outwards, the magnitude of which is enough to make a modern hot hatch blush, making throttle management with your foot an exceptionally precise and precarious feat of labour. For the sort of driver that envies the thought of understeering and having to lift on Interlagos' home "straight" if a proper racing line isn't taken, there is no other car than the Countach for you.
The Lamborghini brand famously began as a tractor business, only starting their automotive venture as a rival to Ferrari after Ferruccio Lamborghini took issue with the clutch of the 250 GT, and that DNA is still very apparent even in the company's third full production car; the gear ratios are impeccable, yet the gear changes themselves make me feel more like a farmer than a racing driver. First gear is good for 96km/h (59.6mph), and second picks up right where it leaves off right in its peppy, ample powerband with gusto, something Porsche really should take notes from. However, 2nd to 3rd has a significantly larger leap in ratios, and the car is horrendously reluctant to change up from 2nd. To give you an idea of how long it takes for the revs to drop from 2nd to 3rd and how hard it is for the gated dog leg stick shift to slot down into third, this review has been specifically and meticulously formulated, trimmed, and controlled in length such that the time it takes to read it at the rate of an average Joe is closely matched to how long it takes to go from 2nd to 3rd in the Countach, and the dryness from my lack of writing talent probably makes your average Joe just as reluctant to get through it as the stick in the Countach is to slot into gears.
So far, everything I've described has been merely a regurgitation of common sense: the Countach is a terrible car to drive. At this age with the internet and many wannabe celebrities propagating the same crap over and over, there isn't any wonder, any surprises left in the world anymore, is there? We all already know how every car handles, don't we? We've already subconsciously placed cars in a rigid hierarchy in our heads, and start arguments when someone else's opinion doesn't line up with what we think we know, right?
Well, yes and no.
I had expected this thing to be an unruly, snappy, tail whipping bull before having driven it. Against my expectations and common sense, this is a bad car for the exact opposite reasons. But, as I drove the car more and more, the bigger surprise subtly began to emerge: I could not stop driving it. I drove it round and round the desolate track, trying to improve my times, trying to improve my lines, trying to get to know the nuances of the Countach better, and, yes, I even enjoyed having to fight it at every turn, at every gear change, at every off centre pull of the wheel, at every interaction I had with it.
The car may be unruly and uncooperative, and ergonomics may be an entirely alien concept to it. But while the car is difficult to get into physically, it was surprisingly inviting and easy to get into mentally. It sucks you into its own immersive world and makes you play by its own rules, what with its dog leg gearbox, long braking distances, lack of ABS, off centre pedals, horrendous power understeer, and having to short shift it. Stepping into the Countach then, felt like crossing over into a separate reality, a very different time. You don't drive a Countach like a car; you Countach a Countach like a Countach forces you to Countach it. It's not a car you can simply bring conventional expectations into and drive reactively based on said expectations, but rather, like any foreign country, the Countach is best enjoyed when you leave all expectations at the scissor door and go in only with an open mind to learn about its customs and try to go along with their ways of doing things, in effort to understand it more. It forces you to be fully awake, grabs your full dedication, and demands pre-emptive knowledge of how to drive it in the way it wants to be driven. It's a car that always challenges you to be sure of what you're doing and resolute in what you ask of it, as there truly is no taking back bad decisions in this car: it will not adjust its line mid corner if you cock something up in the bullfight against this car. And my god, it makes for a very, very compelling cartoon character, the likes of which you will never again see in today's climate, even from Volkswagen Lamborghini themselves.
If you manage to adapt to its rules and understand how to goad it into doing things you want it to do however, it becomes an incredibly engaging, communicative, stable, and dare I say, able car, one that never went back on its word or betrayed the trust it earned in me without me realising it, all while it belts out the most passionate and iconic of soundtracks right behind you, and endless call to attention to your every achievement and, indeed, your every mistake as well. If you extend the courtesy of making the time, dedication, and mental space for it, it becomes an engaging, communicative, rewarding, and adrenaline filled affair, not unlike an actual fight. It makes every interaction with it its own special event, as though you really were bullfighting in the presence of an audience, as though both you and it were stars performing on a stage. It never stops being a theatre of drama. Taming it, even getting it to trace just that beautiful line in any bend, is a hard fought victory worth celebrating. This car truly is an event, a theatre, in and of itself. And because of that, it's special. It's... fun.
I was so engaged, so absorbed, so mesmerised by the driving experience of the car, I began to choke the engine with hard g loads on low fuel levels, which was the only indication I had that I should probably stop in the pits for a refuel, seeing as the fuel gauge is flipping useless in this car. Finally coming to a stop in the pits, I wiped away the tears in my eyes from all the excitement, and the planet cried along with me as the car with the 120ℓ fuel tank drank its fill. I went out again, came back again, went out again, and had another drinking session with the car in the pits. When it came time for my fourth refill, Esther dragged me out of the car, slammed me to the asphalt, ripped off my helmet and stuck a bottle of water straight into my teeth, which was the only reason why I stopped driving. I mean, the tyres were shot to hell and back too, but pshh.
An autopsy of the tyres revealed that I had burnt through more than half the tread depth of the bespoke Pirelli P Zero tyres for the front, but only about a fifth of the rears, proving just how hard the fronts have to work to rotate the car, probably not helped by the fact that I had been making them scream in every braking zone with the absence of ABS. Hey, at least that means that the car remains stable even when the tyres go.
During the weekly meet, the aftermarket ABS system installed by the owner (singular) of these cars (plural) were all switched on, out of respect for our fellow friends and colleagues on the racetrack. Believe it or not, I actually think fitting ABS onto the Countach made it worse to drive; the front end goes completely numb, and the understeer makes trail braking a largely fruitless task. Even with ABS, I found myself pumping the brake pedal still, because that seemed to be the only way I could get the nose of the car to bite an apex. I had to almost let off the brakes entirely, let weight slosh over to the front outside tyre, turn to get the nose pointed somewhat towards the apex, and then brake semi-hard again once it does hook up, before repeating the process to meet the apex. You essentially have to trail brake twice back to back for every corner entry just to get the car to roughly nail an apex.
I never liked these aftermarket ABS systems, because I always find them too binary; you're either stopping, or turning, and it's difficult to modulate and transition between the two. It robs all feeling, feedback, and control from the car, and it only makes me marginally faster in the Countach. I find that I can actually trace a neater, smoother line without ABS, and honestly, I think the Countach meant to be driven with that fear and responsibility of, "it's all in your hands. Brake late if you dare" mentality. Putting ABS on a Countach only makes me complacent and lazy, and I paradoxically overshoot corners more with ABS than without, simply because the car isn't grabbing my attention and threatening me the same way as before. Just as ABS being mandated on all production cars hasn't reduced the number of traffic accidents, ABS doesn't make you any better a driver in a Countach, nor does it make the Countach any better to drive. For a car like a Countach that asks of you everything you have to give you the most immersive of experiences and theatre, for such a special car with so much to say, fitting ABS onto it is akin to censoring it, and I'm willing to go as far as to say that it positively ruins this car. It's meant to be driven. Drive it. Yourself.
The reason why I love cars and reviewing them is because cars are the perfect mix of the logical and the intangible. The cold, hard, engineering facts moving people in an organic way. There's no denying the Countach is, logically speaking, an awful car, even if you physically fit in it while being paradoxically strong enough to drive one. Even like minded petrolhead friends of mine don't seem to like it that much when we got together for our weekly races. But... I don't know, I just feel a special connection with this car. I can't explain it. Against common sense and widespread knowledge, I really like it. It really clicks with me. This car really surprised me with how much I enjoyed it, and sparked some wonder back into my jaded mind.
Older cars (not too old) are all very special to me, because cars nowadays aren't allowed to suck anymore. They all have to be luxurious, safe, (somewhat) economical, and fast. No one today would pay supercar money to suffer like they would in a Countach. As a result, they all feel so... samey. They've no character. They barely have an identity. This right here, is something special, and it's an experience everyone who loves driving ought to sample at least once in their lives.
Maybe I just have a thing for cartoon character cars that have huge NA Lamborghini engines producing about 450PS that need to be short shifted, have stick shifters, gigantic rear tyres, weighs about 1.5 tons, have no driver aids, spiteful ergonomics, and a reputable appetite for murder. I know I definitely have a thing for pop up headlights. I love the Countach, whatever the reasons may be, most of which I can't explain well.
See, if editors and higher ups weren't constantly pressuring me to "be nicer" in my reviews, this conclusion might seem less fabricated and suspicious.
https://www.lambocars.com/countach/countach_25th_anniversary_specifications.html
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