The First 61 Days With My Lamborghini Diablo

Words Albert Remy / Photos Lamborghini media

Passion for cars is a feeling as strong as love, at least. In fact, to be honest it’s love. And if someone accuses you of writing love letters to a big object made of metal, it is likely that they have never had the fortune of meeting a Lamborghini, more precisely the Diablo. My great love, capable of replacing the Countach, becaming reality thanks to a combination of factors which in 2009 saw me bring home an immaculate example of the SuperVeloce, the one which back in ’96 dusted off the legendary SV acronym in memory of the mother of all supercars – the Miura.

After a few inevitable weeks spent at the workshop making sure its V12 was as tidy as a clockwork, it was finally time to go and collect it, just above Monaco. That very morning I couldn’t wait, the evening before and the whole night I had remained with my eyes wide open staring at the clock that seemed to no longer want to let the morning come. Then, without even realizing it, my friend Jean rang the doorbell: it was time to go pick up my Diablo. They say that when faced with certain moments you feel a bit like a child opening Christmas presents, but certain situations are even more special: perhaps because no one gave you anything this time. You did it all by yourself.

She was there, beautiful and perfectly capable of stealing glances even next to the most recent and exclusive models. A customer of the workshop even asked me if I was interested in selling it and to tell the truth I don’t even remember what I replied, but perhaps I didn’t answer at all. I was too focused on her and that image that leaves no room for doubts. Dreams have these shapes and as confirmed a few moments later at my first real ignition, this sound. Getting familiar with the Diablo wasn’t easy, let alone confidence, that’s something it will never give you. That morning I immediately went up towards La Turbie, drove towards Eze and took advantage of a warm May sun to enjoy the flavor of a dream finally realized.

Its 5.7-liter naturally aspirated V12 delivered the most violent 530 horsepower I’d ever experienced in my entire life. The manual gearbox was precise, but the clutch was a block of concrete and the extra-large dimensions of the rear, combined with the poor visibility, certainly did not make the first bits of driving easier. Far from the comfort zone and almost mistreated by a chassis that I would never have imagined being so rigid, I remember well how I avoided the city center for several days, fearing to face treacherous uphill starts. I drove it for two whole months, every single day, not caring about a few rainy afternoons and the fact that I mostly traveled the same roads as always. The important thing was to go out for a drive, discover how the Diablo dictates the times and let you risk a more decisive pressure on the gas, bringing into play a full-bodied and typically old school delivery, an aspect that with the Murcielago and the Aventador has been weakened in favor of a more linear and precise response.

Was I complaining about it? Not at all. The SV was and still is superlative, an ultimate supercar from every point of view, starting from the fact that it was extremely uncomfortable. You might call me crazy, but it was precisely one of the features that made the days behind the wheel something different than what I could do with any other sports car. You weren’t the one driving, she was the one letting you do it. Parking was a mission impossible and speed bumps were a real nightmare, but once I was down there into the cockpit, I was a happy man. Even today some friends ask me – was it also fast? – It wasn’t just (Super) fast, it really knew how to terrify you, which – in my opinion – is worth much more.