Running with the bulls, in Joburg

You see, I know a gentleman with a rather special collection of cars, two of which just so happen to be Lamborghinis, one the Diablo mentioned above and the other a Countach 25th Anniversary Edition. I arrived at the mystery collector’s home early on a Sunday morning two weeks back. The garage opened, revealing a treasure chest of classic cars, some quirky, some stunning, but all rather special. After shifting one of the other cars out of the garage, the two Sant’Agata-built machines were ready to start their outing.

First up, the Diablo fired into life with its 5.7-litre 60-degree V12, quite literally barking into life. Even twenty years on, its output of 362 kW and 580 N.m makes for impressive reading. Once the Diablo, named after a famous bull was out it was time for the Countach whose name roughly translates into “wow” or “whoa”, to be taken from its concrete lair. While related to the engine in the Diablo and also featuring dual overhead camshafts, chain drive and four valves/cylinder, the engine in the Countach displaces 5 167cc and produces 335 kW and 500 N.m of torque, which, for a car from three decades ago, is mega.

The yellow Countach has a performance exhaust fitted, making it one of the loudest road-going cars I’ve heard in my life. Thankfully, the sound emitted from the exhaust isn’t like that of an obnoxiously loud four-cylinder hatchback, but rather a symphonic carb-fed V12. The owner claims that this is the best that the car has ever run, after the installation of a new fuel pump and some work to fix the car’s timing, which was out by a few degrees. The Diablo is a far more modern supercar, featuring multi-port fuel injection and pressurised water cooling versus the electric fuel pump and six double-barrel Weber 44 DCNF, down-draft carburettors and side-mounted, horizontal flow water radiators and two electric fans of the Countach.

I hopped into the passenger seat of the four-wheel drive Diablo, with the top removed as we followed the Countach to the meet-up spot. Besides the fact that my hands were freezing and that my camera bag was occupying a large portion of my leg space, which, in a Diablo is limited by the fact that the wheel well protrudes into the cabin, I was having an incredibly memorable passenger ride.

There’s something special about being in a V12, with another V12 singing the song of its people right in front of you as if the two cars were whales communicating across an oceanic freeway. The Countach is so much louder and more characterful than the Diablo, which, for those of you who have ever heard a Diablo at full tilt, will contextualise just how incredibly sonorous this particular Countach is.

We arrived at the venue, The Landing Coffee Shop in Linksfield, and were the first Lamborghinis on site. At first, I thought that we’d missed our dramatic entrance, but as I discovered, being there first had its advantages. After a few minutes, the club members began to arrive, the first of which was a brand new Aventador SVJ, followed by several Huracan models, including three Performante’s. A bit later, after a cappuccino had warmed my hands and spirit, more cars pulled in, including another SVJ, a stunning Murciélago and twin-turbocharged Huracan by the team at NXGEN and then two very special cars, the gorgeous Miura and, from what I’m told, the only right-hand drive Diablo SE30 Jota left in existence.

After taking a few minutes, and as many photos as possible, it was time to join the club for breakfast. It was quite insane to think of the sort of collective wealth of the individuals joining me for some avocado on toast had accumulated. For instance, the man who was sat next to me at breakfast owns two Miuras, and even has a third, for spares, as one does. For those of you that aren’t familiar with the Miura, I’m not sure how to soften this blow, it’s worth R25-million, and this man has two of them. After breakfast and a breakdown of what the club will be up to over the next few months, it was time to spend some more time around the cars, soaking up what appeared so surreal. There were so many of the Italian supercars there that it almost felt normal after a couple of hours.

As it started warming up, many decided to leave and so the procession of V12s and V10s began to slowly filter out of the venue, again, providing onlookers with massive audio-visual stimulation. It was time for us to leave too. I hopped into the Diablo’s passenger seat again, and we were off. At the first traffic light, we encountered the twin-turbo Huracan from earlier that day. It’s safe to say that even at a modest level of boost, the boosted Lambo is almost unbelievably fast and sounds like a V10 with a penchant for munching squirrels.

We stopped along the way home after seeing the hazard lights flashing in the Countach behind. “Italian electronics, I suppose” were my first utterances, but to my surprise, the owner just wanted to know if I wanted to drive his Countach. “Absolutely” was all that I could say, really. I hopped inside, the smell of leather, a whiff of petrol and that indescribable scent that engulfs your nostrils when driving an older car are still palpable. I got in an attempted to adjust the car to my Hobbit-esque frame.

The seats are electrically adjusted, which I thought was impressive, until I tried to adjust them, which is done by flipping up a console on the door card, revealing the switch. The seat would go back perfectly but only go as far forward as the owner’s original setting. This has happened before, according to the owner, but meant that for my drive, I’d be lying down, like in a DTM or F1 car, peeping over the steering wheel.

Pulling off in a Countach requires the most trusting of buddy systems because the rearward visibility is practically non-existent. With my friend in the passenger seat telling me that I was good to go, I headed off. The pedal box on a Countach is so incredibly narrow and off-set to the left, too, meaning that coming off of the brake and getting on to the clutch pedal can be tricky. The offset nature of the pedal box also means that my reach for the clutch pedal in my already fully extended state had me looking like a child to fellow road users, with my head barely peeping over the steering wheel when changing gears.

Speaking about the gears and that clutch, they’re challenging, to say the least. The Countach has a gated, dog-leg five-speed manual box meaning that reverse is where first is in a more traditional car and first gear is where second is normally found. The clutch is incredibly heavy and seemed to work better when pulling off without blips of the throttle. Once you’ve navigated the pull off, going from first to second gear involves a bit of muscle, with the gearbox changes feeling as though you’ve just cocked a heavy-duty assault rifle.

I found myself in fourth gear on the freeway when a hand appeared out of the roof of the Diablo, it was the owner, he wanted to hear a fly-by of his Countach. I thought it best to oblige, so I dropped the car to third gear and opened it up. As I chased the 7 000r/min redline, the sound coming from behind me was biblical, I forgot about my lounger seating position, the heavy shifts and the lack of visibility.

The Countach finally made sense as the deeply flawed but soul-satisfying poster car that I’d always thought it to be. They say that you should never meet your heroes, but I’ve met one of mine, and I find it more heroic than ever.