DREAM DRIVE

The Great Ocean Road, Twelve Apostles looking on (well, what’s left of them) and a track-only, £1.2million hypercar

AS THE TRAIN SLIDES OUT OF LONDON you settle into your window seat and listen (you don’t have much choice) to the conversation two rows away. A girl called Victoria is espousing on why Imbruglia was better than Minogue in Neighbours. ‘Rubbish’ you think as you close your eyes and let the motion of the Alstom Class 390 Pendolino lull you to sleep.

You pull a paddle and downchange on the way into a roundabout, just catching a glimpse of the road sign. It seems you’re leaving Torquay. But not the one in Devon, the one near Melbourne. Lovely as the sandy stretches are in the south-west of England, what appears on your left out of the shallow windscreen is something else altogether as the golden expanse of Bells Beach reaches out along the coast.

For some reason this feels like a good point to brake, so you lean on the pedal to be met by instant, eye-widening force. Clearly this thing means business, although you could have guessed that from the steering wheel that looks like it’s been pinched from a Le Mans Prototype.

Reaching a junction you turn left onto the B100, better known as the Great Ocean Road. With seemingly no other traffic around, you begin to push on, and the smooth, sweeping road certainly encourages it. At times you can’t see much of the Southern Ocean as the trees crowd close to the road, but somehow you can always sense its great sparkling blue mass is there, away to your left.

After heading under the memorial arch that remembers those soldiers lost in WWI and those who returned and built the road, the corners start to tighten as the road sweeps briefly inland amongst the eucalyptus trees. For some reason the car feels right at home, if not exactly road-legal. Through the fast sweepers the stability is tremendous, with a heavy hand of downforce pressing the car into the road. And it’s a road that has the almost considered air of a racetrack.

Mile after mile passes by with the sun scorching the asphalt and actually making you consider tyre management. This car could have quite a following, you think to yourself, as the Twelve Apostles (or what’s left of the limestone stacks) heave into view.

Another 19 miles and you’re turning north and away from the ocean for the last time. A long straight opens out ahead and you decide to go for a V-max run. After more than 100 miles with this car you’re certain it’s a big, naturally aspirated V8 behind you, but exactly whose it is hard to tell. Whatever, it sounds glorious as the Brabham BT62 lunges towards the horizon.

This must be something of a world exclusive, you think, as a sign saying Peterborough flashes past. Then the satnav also says ‘Peterborough’ in a rather gruff voice, followed by something about not forgetting your belongings. You begin to brake and you open your eyes as Victoria gets up to disembark at Peterborough station. Just a dream.

‘ AFTER MORE THAN 100 MILES YOU’RE CERTAIN IT’S A BIG V8 BEHIND YOU, BUT EXACTLY WHOSE IT’S HARD TO TELL’