1975 LP400 Periscopa Countach VS 1988 1/2 DD Carberated Countach

I have been blessed with the ability to own two of the finest "Old School" Lamborghini's ever produced in my view. I have never been a person to be concerned with colors, wheels, a chip here and there on a car, driving them in not so perfect weather, having all their as born with items, etc etc..I have always been wanting the BEST possible performing machine there is. To get the most of it as it was designed, to push it to it's limits and still bring it back down to civility. I am at heart a DRIVER, not a viewer of excellent engineered machine that were made for us, the Human, to operate and enjoy. I am not a slave to the car, it, rather is a slave to me. It is there to serve me and for my enjoyment, not for me to worship it as if it where the last worldly possession on the earth. They are, after all, just a man made product that can be replaced. I recall my first real exotic, a Ferrari 355 soft top with the just emerging F1 Gear box. I bought it brand new and drove it almost daily till it reached well over 50K miles, it was to most, a BUTT ugly color of Dark Forest Green with Tan interior. This may account for the ONLY sticker price I paid for it, when at the time all Ferrari cars where 20-50K over sticker. I can not recall ONE time while driving it, that it performed less due to it's color, nor that I was enjoying the car less due to it's color. Point is, I am on the inside of a man made machine, sitting in it, driving it, enjoying it..that is the way I look at these and all cars. I DRIVE them.

So, having finished approx 150 miles back to back in each on these wonderful machines in the last week, I wanted to share my thoughts and views. I am by no means a mechanic, nor an expert on every little inch of these cars, as they were born, correct colors, tools, books etc etc..I am just sharing my experience as I drove them, they way there were meant to be driven, with passion and a heavy right foot, with an even stronger left leg for the clutch and a strong right arm pull for the stick shift. It does not hurt to also have a little faith in your own driving ability as you turn or change lanes, many a time "Blindly" as there is no where to look from inside the these cars. Who ever started the phrase "What's behind you does not matter", must have drove one of these cars. You must accelerate ahead, to make sure you have left anything behind you truly behind you prior to lane changes and the like. However, we must remember, when these cars were produced, there were no 4-5 lane highway's, there were not even 2 lanes in one direction. Most ALL roads were one lane in each direction, not to mention the shear volume of cars just did not exist on the roads. Keeping that in mind, these cars were safe as hell back in the day of a one lane winding piece of pavement through the mountains or what ever you traveled from point a to b. You were also one of the lucky few to have not only a car, but a car that left others only dreaming of exiting the "bus" and getting a chance to travel to open roads from point to point, no rush to the Airport, but a nice exciting drive through towns, villages and along the way stops to have great food, meet interesting people that were called your neighbors and to visit and share with them. A day long drive to get to a favorite location was cherished and looked forward to, not as of now considered a chore to get to where you are going to as soon as you can. It was your life, it was an adventure and an outing to photograph, write home about and make the lasting life time memory's. No worries of the cell phone, the e-mails, the HAVE to get it done today..if you ran out of time, no problem, tomorrow was always another day.

In a quick nut shell, I would described the LP400 as a young teenager, act first, think later. Full of life, more muscle then brains and confident in it's stance and appearance of it being the most important thing in the moment. The DD is a young adult, had a few loves, been drunk and made some mistakes, but is now aware of what it has and knows how to use it and keep some in reserve just to show it still can do what it did in it's younger years.

The LP400 is sparse inside, it only needs it's Acid washed Jeans, tie die shirt and flip flops to get it to the beach..anything else is just a waste..it's all into itself and others that may encounter it or hitch hike a ride are just that, a extra that is not thought of. When you open its door it has such a nice low slung seat with an entry hump that you could fall into it in any condition and still land where you need to be, directly behind the steering wheel..no bumping your head, no placing an arm down to kick your legs over..nope it is just as if you came down the gigantic water slide at Wally World..always landing right in the perfect spot, nothing to think about, just the start of your incredible experience. You shut the door with ease and very little effort and it shuts correct the first time, each time. You place the key in the ignition, you can see the ignition location from your position, no bending over and around to find the slot, just blindly place it where it belongs. Turn it to the start position and you hear the electric fuel pump start to sing from behind you, trrrrrrrrr, trrrrrrrrrrr, trrrrrrrrrr and for some unknown reason you push the key position to the crank over, each time as if by instinct a moment of metal grinding and then the sound of a totally unrestricted raw V12 Carberated power comes to life shooting out a puff of smoke, raw gas smell and other NON friendly enviorment stuff that Green Peace cringes over with each start up. With no need for further attention, just to please your own teenage heart, you depress the accelerator a few times up and down, just to let you know, yes I am ALIVE what the hell you want to do now. Of course there is no need to go to the Plastic Surgeon for a face lift, your crap eating grin is so broad from ear to ear, you look 17 again as thoughts of your first stolen drive in your father's car comes to life in your mind as if it was yesterday.

With out hesitation or even looking, you easily depress the clutch and pull back the joy stick into 1st gear, the point of no return has just been initiated. Just as you were taught in your first 3 speed on the floor car by your father, as if a math expert, you evenly release on the clutch with the exact same expert feathering of the accelerator. The adventure begins as you watch the RPM gauge rise. Then, it all comes back to you, no need for the RPM gauge, you were taught and know when and how to shift based on that glorious noise know as acceleration. BAM into second gear with out hesitation, no looking at the gated shifter, nope you did not miss a beat. Like reaching under your first 17 year old "Girls" shirt for the bra clasp in the back, YOU found it and you can never go back, you are now an expert! Your confidence and training has paid off, through all the gears as if a mastered Indy 500 driver, not one mis-shift. A rocket has escaped and your on it, with no seat belt. Then reality set's in as it flashes across your mind. I am passing a lot of cars, I must be speeding. Since you grew up on none LED dash boards and perfect speedo's, you know you must be at about 85MPH, you say yep that's my estimate and sticking with it. You look down at the Speedo, for the first time, with all the confidence that your guess-ti-mate is accurate. It glares back at you reading 145..OMG that cant be, your right it is in KM not MP. You pull your foot off of the accelerator, but then your mind quickly works and you remember back in the day when all you did was for every 100KM said it was 60MPH real quick head math. You smile as your conversion says 85-90. Back on the accelerator as you say why am I not at 3 digits 100MPH!. Before you can think the speed, your little, low slung, lite weight,dragging your butt on the pavement, eye level to the middle of the wheel on the truck you fly pass has hit it and gone beyond.

After getting to your first point in your destination, almost a half hour early for the lunch stop, you bring the E-Ticket ride to a slow and a full stop to park. It is now that you realize the need for brakes and are happy you did not need to use them in an instant in your first portion of driving, nope, no need for brakes, that is what the gear box is for. Brakes are just to slow the roll in traffic or come to a complete stop for exiting the car. As in it's glory years, you just drove, there were no traffic lights every 1/3 mile, there was no traffic, no reason to stop, only to slow as you down shifted for the upcoming turn, then bolt out of it onto the next portion of straight roadway. You easily exit the LP400, you leave the door up as you stand next to your car, JUST because it is COOL! As one of a small and diminishing crowd, you pull a cigarette from your pocket and light it up to enjoy your "you made" it end of the drive pleasure. Yes, the car has a cigarette lighter as well as an ash tray. But the lighter was designated for big fat cigars, not skinny cigs and the ash tray is ir-replaceable, so this courtesy and gesture to a car of greatness you cave into.

As you finish your lunch and await the delivery of the DD on a flat bed for the trip back and the pick up of the LP400 home, you answer all the standard questions from many a folk in the parking lot. You can easily spot the next generation of the great car lover and driver, it is the 9 year old that knows more about the car then you, with such excited non stopping conversation just rolling off of his tongue to where you have no choice put to offer him to sit in the car. With dis-belief, he does not even ask "really" as he is in the car in a flash..his parents snapping away pics on their I-Phone. It is in this moment of our fast paced life that you are happy. You get to share your passion with another, you get the joy of knowing you are not the last person to understand the pleasure of this machine...it will live on for at least his generation. Your smile becomes greater as you recall the first cars you feel in love with at his age and how you knew each and every car produced just by the configuration of it's rear tail lights from a block away. The trip has been worth every minute, every dollar, every set-back...just for this moment to share and bond with another up and coming car nut!

Return the same route back in the afternoon starts with the exercise of getting into the DD. You curse under your breath has you hit your head on the door seal, have to pull your legs in over the hump. You attempt to adjust the seat as far forward as you can, but the older brother with it's newer seat and rails, larger interior will only go so far forward. Perfect fit for long leg's and the taller person, but a leg stretch exercise for the under 5'8" person, as myself. You use both your hands to pull down the considerably heavier door, that you must pull down hard to close entirely and latch correctly the first time. You lean forward and over trying with grace to insert the ignition key into the poorly located hidden location on the steering stock. It is made worst as everyone and their brother is in the lot, watching you waiting for the all famous start up and depart of this stunning, by today's standard's very small car with insanely large feet, especially in the rear. After a few turning of the key chain to the correct key up position, you find the hole and insert it. Good, step one accomplished.

You have decided there is no need to go to the Gym today, your leg exercises starts as you depress the clutch and pop the joy stick in the middle, slapping it back and forth to confirm there will not be a crank of the motor while still in gear, because the possibility of your leg letting go of the clutch pedal is a very very strong reality. Turn of the key, half accelerator depressed, Vorrrroooooom, to life it comes. Mean as hell, but now a more "grown up" noise, as if to say, I am here,,but no need to let the entire world know I am here like my younger brother the LP400. It quickly settles down to a nice easy to live with 1100 RPMS as it awaits your direction of the next move.

Into first gear you pull the joy stick, not as if it belongs there, but as you know it is here it belongs. The release of the clutch and the depress of the gas is an act of anticipation, not a no brainier, it is required to be a nice even passing of the right foot down and the left foot up. If not mastered correctly, it will laugh at you as it dies and says try again dummy. The low growl as it starts to climb in speed and RPMS, is quickly replaced by it's shear neck snapping, eye popping, "oh crap" extremely rapid acceleration. The requirement to quickly up shift is a priority in order to keep up with the power band and insanely rapid acceleration. As it approaches higher RPMS, it's second rocket jet pack kicks in, asking yourself, do you want to stay on this road or launch into hyper speed. In what must have been the first 0-60 in mind blowing low seconds ever recorded, you have already exceeded the National Speed limit in most states with out even a second breath.

The exhaust is just barking, begging, calling out to anything with in a 1/4 mile to just come and try to pass me, nope, I am Italian, I am in the lead and not giving it up. Not can I only go straight fast, but with my Hugh paws, I can rapidly and safely cut in and out of small openings with pure confidence and the excitement of yahooo another one passed and I am solo in front. You have no idea of your speed, only a guess-ti-mate, the newer dash design would require you to look away from the road for a lifetime to locate and record your speed with your own eyes. You know you are way beyond the limits and decide the time to come under the 150MPH mark of the engines confirming this speed sound has come. Application of the brakes is a pleasure, an assit that is greatly appreciated and good to know it is there when needed, not just an option.

As you have traveled more then half the distance back now, at speeds you don't want to be publicized, you are glad you filled the rather small to today's standards gas tank prior to departure. The top stacked carburetor's have no reality on the price of gas nor the volume of it. They drink it like a nite out on a Friday nite in Vegas at the "all you can drink free" Black Jack table's. But as in Vegas, it is worth all the drain, JUST for the one big hit that you always remember. The gas gauge falls faster then the second hand on your watch, but again, in the day to feed this car was under 35 cents a gallon..and if you could not afford that, you did not deserve the car. There is a reason these cars did not come with EPA estimate window stickers, if they did you would start a second job just to drive it on the weekends.

The joy and pleasure of the drive in two incredible machines is nearing the end. You are in your last 5 miles and back into the Metro area. Your driving form as well as your speed has come down to the local "Soccer Mom's" mini van pattern. But all is OK as you re-play the day back in your mind, with a hugh smile on your face and 80's songs playing in your mind that you still know all the words to. This time of absolute pleasure on a late Sunday after noon is quickly snapped out of with the vision of State Police lights reflecting off of your interior, since you cant really see them in your rear view mirror over the DD rear hump.

You smirk as the Trooper approached your car on the passenger side, knowing he is going to have to get on his knee's to get down far enough to speak to you through the little opening that is called the open window. After a polite request to exit my vehicle was made, most likely to save his back pain from bending down so low, I complied. I was in complete and secure manner as I knew I was not violating the speed law or any other infractions, only the slight possibility of having no front plate. After requesting my driver license, registration and proff of insurance was met, a conversation began with "What is the problem Trooper?" To my amazement "they" had received a "few" calls of a speeding Blue "Ferrari" coming through the pass some miles back. A small smile and low laugh came from me as I pointed to my car and said it was a "Lamborghini" not a Ferrari. Handing back my documents, he smiled, saying, "Yes-cant stand those speeding Ferrari's".."Have a nice day". I think he and I both KNEW the road that had been traveled was well deserved and the almost home safe and sound was good enough for him as it was for me.

I cant think of a better way to spend a Sunday then in a Lamborghini!

 

Great read thank you for sharing it with us! May you continue to enjoy it in the best of health. Congrats!

 

Terrific read Roy, thanks for sharing. Where are the pics?