SEXY AND SENSIBLE
Audi’s aging supercar can still turn heads
KANATA, Ont. • My dad harrumphs a lot, not at all shy about displaying his disapproval or displeasure. And he comes by dissatisfaction honestly. He is, after all, 86 years old, stuck alone in the house and, thanks to the vagaries of Scottish/Irish ancestry, naturally predisposed to curmudgeonly.
Like those his age, he has his routines. The same aisles are shopped in the grocery store, the same Dare chocolate biscuits bought each and every week. Nothing new ever gets added to the grocery list and anything not in exactly the same place as it was last Friday is simply ignored as if it never existed.
He doesn’t like to dine out, has refused to go see any movie since 1980 and, were it not for David Suzuki and his beloved Hockey Night in Canada, he probably wouldn’t watch any TV either. He is — right down to his arrow straight brush cut and pants hiked way above his fading hips — the very picture of old fogeyness.
But he sure does like it when I show up in a supercar. Oh, he still gripes constantly about old knees and their incompatibility with low seats. Their complete lack of utility — “room for your ass and a gallon of gas,” in his own inimitable words — also features prominently in his review, his staunchly middle-class views of practicality worn proudly on his sleeve, “and I don’t give a you-know-what what anyone thinks.”
But here’s the thing: Every time I show up with something low and fancy, we have to — grouching and grumbling notwithstanding — drive around the neighbourhood visiting close friends and mere acquaintances alike, lording our low-slung wheels over all. Oh, the bellyaching never stops — “Can you believe he makes me drive around in this?” the common refrain — even as he insists that we stop by our next victim.
And the one that he likes most is Audi’s R8.
Yes, I have shown up in Vipers and Ferraris. I even dragged his butt around in a McLaren once. I explained how exotic they were, mentioned all their pedigree and world titles. Didn’t matter. He has a thing about the Audi-cum-Lamborghini and what good son dares to correct his father.
Besides, methinks he may be in the majority. Now eight years old, the R8 still draws adoring audiences. I’ve men- tioned this in previous road tests but it still amazes me how much excitement an R8 garners after all this time. In a segment that includes such mid-engine supercar stalwarts as Ferrari’s 458, Lamborghini’s Huracan-née-Gallardo and McLaren’s MP4-12C-now650S, seeing an Audi — an aging one at that — causes such a stir it’s like Christie Brinkley turning heads at age 60 (oh, wait a minute, she — blessed be Pilates — still does).
This goes double for the Spyder. I’m not normally a fan of drop tops, but the 5.2-litre V10 version’s larger side intakes, butcher side sill and louvered engine cover lend an aggression lost in most ragtops. Paint it up in electric blue, add some massive polished rims and you have a supercar that looks like it was penned last week rather than last decade. Half of the joy of supercar ownership is the covetous glances of those less fortunate; rest assured that the R8 generates the desired envy in spades.
Nor does the R8 feel dated — in most circumstances — behind the wheel. That big V10, vocal cords still capable of an amazing 8,700 rpm scream, is simply thrilling. The six-speed manual — with its Ferrari-like “klink-klink” gated shift guide — is a welcome reminder of the days when manuals were more efficient and speedier than automatics (it is worth noting as well that the R8’s previous cranky S Tronic single-clutch manumatic has been replaced with a much more sophisticated, seven-speed dual clutch affair).
And, truth be told, no one needs more than the V10-powered Spyder’s 525 horsepower (the “plus” model’s 550-hp is still only available in the coupe). A hundred kilometres an hour show up in under four seconds and should you find occasion to let those 10 pistons howl at 8,700 rpm long enough, you’ll see just shy of 310 kilometres an hour. Anyone claiming to need more either has a private racetrack or a very good lawyer.
But supercars hardly fit into that need category and no matter how emphatically I, or any other auto scribe, justify the incompatibility of more horsepower with public roads, there’s no doubt that the R8’s biggest issue these days is that it has fallen behind in the horsepower wars.
Ferrari’s 458 now boasts 597 horsepower and McLaren’s 650S even more (641 hp). Heck, even the R8’s kissing cousin, the new Lamborghini Huracan that starts with the same basic V10 architecture as the Audi, trumps it with 610 high-revving ponies. The R8, even in its top form, is starting to feel its age.
How old it really is, of course, depends on if you’re able to differentiate needs and wants.
To be sure, if you’re a motor head with more money than Croesus, you may want more than 525 hp, but only a complete dunderhead would claim to “need” more than 525 hp; again I would cite that 310 km/h top speed, which is about 160 km/h more than is required to have your car impounded in just about any province in the land. On the street — and even on the track, provided you aren’t drag racing a McLaren up Mosport’s back straight — the R8 feels plenty more than rapid enough.
Ditto with the R8’s handling. There’s no question that Ferrari’s 458 would be a swifter twisty road companion, its front-end grip and quick steering almost magical. But, again, the question is how are you going to use your supercar. If you are filthy rich and look- ing for a bright shiny bauble for track days, a 458 (or a McLaren, for that matter) is going to be a better choice than the Audi. As fleet and powerful as the R8 5.2 FSI may be, it pales compared with Ferrari’s latest and greatest.
On the other hand, the R8, even this all-singing, alldancing convertible version, comes with Canada-friendly quattro all-wheel-drive, a soft top that is all but as silent and sturdy as a hard top and an interior that, well, features the logic of Germans rather than the idiosyncrasies of our Italian confreres.
Its steering might not be quite as magical as the Ferrari, but then neither is its ride as punishing. An R8 could be driven through winter should you be predisposed, won’t require mechanical ministrations every time it rains and the audio system — Bang & Olufsen again — doesn’t sound like it was lifted from a Hyundai.
So maybe you’re one of those rare rich folks who actually does understand the difference between needs and wants. You just want something sexy and sensible, something sultry enough to turn heads but practical enough that it won’t break your back or your wallet. Then, aging or no, a little shy in the horsepower department or not, the top-of-the-line R8 Spyder makes a lovely ride. It even comes dad approved.