Lamborghini vs Ferrari: A Tale of Two Egos

​It is known as the Capital of Cars, the Engine of Italy.    Born within a golden circle that surrounds the city of Modena, are the mythical brands whispered on the lips of car lovers the world over, along with the mega-rich, and boys of all ages. Maserati. De Tomaso.  Pagani.   The Italian sports car introduced the world to speed and luxury, the ultimate union of art and technology.   Defining this perfectly are the region’s two most famous sons:  Lamborghini, and Ferrari, vehicles that have transcended the circuits and bolts within them, commanding religious-like reverence from both drivers, and dreamers.
 
Few car enthusiasts know there would be no Lamborghini were it not for Ferrari.    Ferrucio Lamborghini was one of the wealthiest men in Italy, having made his fortune selling tractors and appliances.    An avid car enthusiast and collector, among Ferrucio’s favourites were several Ferraris, although he found them to be mechanically temperamental.   A recurring clutch issue led him to contact Enzo Ferrari, founder and namesake, a volatile character best described as being ferociously driven in the pursuit of automobile racing.   How different the vehicle landscape would be if Ferrari had taken his customer’s feedback seriously.  Instead, Enzo allowed the manufacture of Ferrari sports cars only as a means to fund his beloved racing initiatives.   Private customers had to put up with Enzo’s notoriously dismissive attitude, viewed as an unfortunate by-product for owning a vehicle of such outstanding quality.   Ferrucio was no different.  However, once informed that a tractor manufacturer had no right to criticize Ferrari’s cars, Lamborghini was compelled to repair his own models, and discovered that the mechanics of car and tractors had encouraging similarities.   If Ferrari would not improve their road models, Lamborghini had the knowledge and financial clout to do it for them. In 1963, Automobili Lamborghini was born.  With the help of hired ex-Ferrari engineers, his first model - a 350 GTV - was rolled out, built in a factory set up not far from Ferrari’s own.    Unlike Ferrari, Lamborghini would focus solely on sports cars, shying away from the racetrack.    Today, Lamborghini is a name synonymous with the Italian sports car, a better-looking thorn in the much bigger Ferrari landscape.   Did Enzo rue his decision to insult Ferrucio?   Probably not.  He was a man so focused on the chequered flag there was little time for Sunday afternoon drives in the countryside.  

​Just a few minutes across the municipal border into Bologna, you’ll find the headquarters and factory of Lamborghini.   The eponymous Bull logo, taken from Ferrucio’s Taurus star sign, appears boldly on the walls.   A parking lot holds dozens of Audis belonging to staff, now that the German manufacturer owns 100% of the Lamborghini brand.   Since the 1970’s, the company has endured bankruptcy, a sale to Chrysler (itself sold to Italian car giant Fiat), ownership by an Indonesian consortium headed by the son of the dictator Suharto, and sporadic years of economic uncertainty.   Yet it has continued to produce vehicles that have redefined design and car envy. Vehicles like the Aventador, Murciélago, the Diablo, and its predecessor, the Countach.   As a teenage boy, I had a mounted poster of a blue Countach in my bedroom, a rocket ship on earth, my ultimate dream car.   It was named after an Italian wolf whistle, for that is what it in inspired.   Subsequent generations of the Countach, along with one of a kind prototypes and concept cars, are on display in an on-site gallery, open daily to the public.     The Concept S has adjacent seat booths protected by individual windows, creating the distinct look of a jet fighter.  The LM002 looks much like a Hummer, an SUV built in the mid-1980’s, way before its time.   A green Countach sits so low on the ground it barely reaches my thigh.    On show is also a Lamborghini police car, one of two donated to the Italian police department, to be used for emergency organ transplants and blood deliveries.  It is the car you want to be arrested in.  

​Behind the gallery is the factory itself, where every Lamborghini created is carefully hand-assembled.   There are no giant robots drilling sparks into the air.  There is no loud industrial noise, or even a spot of grease on the floor.  Every 190 minutes, the cars move forward on a U-shaped production line to the next work station, where a team of white-gloved engineers set to work installing the electronics, the interior, the wheels and dashboard.  For factory engineers, they look young, healthy, and completely enthused by their job, paying attention to the finest detail, scribbling their efforts into a production book that will follow the vehicle for the remainder of its life.   Lamborghini does not keep stock.   Each model is made to order, customized according to the exact specification of the buyer.   From station to station, the car matures, until at the halfway point, a marriage takes place.   The engine, already assembled, is hoisted up and inserted into the chassis, the perfect metaphor for the soul entering the body.    At the final station, the electronics are tested, the lights flicker on, and spark plugs get their first ignition.  The birth roar of an engine is primal, like a dragon breathing fire, a lion owning the savannah.   190 minutes later, another customized model, black fly-wing doors open, will roar its approval. 
 
It takes the finest leather of five Austrian cows to furnish the interior of Lamborghini, dyed in lush colours and stitched by hand.  One upholsterer has large photos of his kids above his work desk.  My guide says “this is love, no?”, I am not sure if she’s talking about the kids, or the car. Valetino Balboni,  a 60 year-old test driver hired by Ferrucio Lamborghini himself, pulls up in a silver Gallardo LP 560-4 Spyder.    He’s been driving these cars longer than I have been alive, and he’s taking me into the countryside to demonstrate what all that marvellous production amounts to.     A car journalist might tell you that the Gallardo Spyder has a new 5.2 litre V10 engine with an output of 560 horsepower, a power to weight ratio of 2.77kg, an 18% reduction in fuel consumption and C02 emissions from previous models, and a top speed of 324 km/hr.    All I’ll say is that stepping into the Spyder for the first time made me giggle like a schoolgirl.   There is not a head on this planet (or any other for that matter) that would not swivel the second it sees this elegant creation.   No wonder that Jeremy Clarkson, presenter of Top Gear and the car man’s car man, replaced his Ford GT with a Gallardo Spyder.   Valentino presses a button, the Spyder growls to life, and we effortlessly pull into the road.   At the first intersection, I receive eight nods of envy and three photographs.  

We are but two men comfortably seated on expensive red leather with a powerful state of the art engine strapped to our backs.  Valentino shoots ahead, demonstrating the incredible power (0 to 100 km/hr in 3.9 seconds) and stop-on-a-penny all wheel drive braking. The sudden lurch of speed, as we taking sharp corners that could flip most cars, is not unlike being in a rollercoaster, catapulting forward but leaving my eyeballs trailing.   We find a quiet stretch and Valentino invites me to take the wheel.  With an advanced paddle shift transmission and various driving modes, he reassures me that I cannot make a mistake, as the car will automatically adjust itself as it needs.   Sweat is dripping from my forehead, and this low to the tarmac, heat is radiating from the ground. The temperate in the cockpit reads an incredible 50C under a relentless Italian summer sun.    I hesitantly pull forward, piloting a vehicle worth more than I could ever afford, well aware that I had signed a waiver holding me responsible for any mishaps.    Valentino was right.   The Spyder is beautifully forgiving, guiding my paddle presses, injecting fuel when needed, shifting solidly around corners.   It doesn’t take long before I have the confidence to induce G-force and make this silver bullet fly.   I drive back to the factory, pull up in front of a group of jealous tourists, and would have made a proud and gallant exit had my knees not buckled under the pure bliss of the experience.
 
It is a short drive from the Lamborghini factory to Maranello, where Enzo Ferrari relocated his factory after his original workshops in Modena were bombed during World War II.   Maranello is a mecca for racing and car enthusiasts, and is not so much a small town as a Ferrari theme park.  There are Ferrari stores and Ferrari schools, red-painted restaurants and hotels.  Images of the famous prancing horse - adopted as a logo by Enzo in 1923 from a famed Italian fighter pilot - are everywhere.  While Lamborghini and Ferrari are both Italian sports cars, it is immediately clear that Ferrari is the much larger enterprise -  a fast, bright red world unto itself. 
 
Enzo, who died in 1988, did not live to see Michael Schumacher dominate Formula 1 at the wheel of a Ferrari, but this was always his dream.  Enzo was born to race, and when he realized his own skill was not up to par with the best, he changed his destiny so that other drivers could fulfil theirs.   Originally working for Alfa Romeo, he left the company to start his own stable of race cars called Scuderia Ferrari, literally, Stable Ferrari.  Founded in 1947,  Ferrari’s impact on the world of motor racing was immediate if somewhat turbulent.  It appeared to have more success off the track, as Ferrari road cars became the sought after toys of wealthy car enthusiasts.   Yet Enzo viewed the consumer market as an afterthought.  Plugging millions into racing development, financial woes in the 1960’s forced him to sell a large stake in the company to Fiat, which today owns 90% of the company.     Yet Enzo’s tenacity, not to mention the raw power, stylish design and racing mentality of his cars, ensured not only the survival but also Ferrari’s growth into perhaps the world’s most sought after and recognized sport car brand.  Ferraris are vehicles of success, on and off the road. 

​At the Galleria Ferrari, many of the most famous Ferraris are on display for an adoring public.   From the original cars built by Enzo to the F1 triumphs of Michael Schumacher, the recreation of a pit stop inside the museum continues to emphasise the importance of the racetrack to the company.  It takes some time for me to realize that the display cars are not replicas, but the very models that dominated sport headlines around the world, having won 31 Formula 1 World Titles.   Upstairs are the sports cars, the famous Testa Rossa, the F40, the Enzo Ferrari, named in tribute.    A red 308GTS represents my personal introduction to Ferrari – the car driven by Tom Selleck in the 80’s series Magnum.  There is a marked difference from the sleekness and almost minimalistic lines I found inside Lamborghini’s showcase. These cars exude brute strength, more muscle than finesse. A special showcase houses a black 1957 250 Testa Rossa, an antique car that happens to be one of the most expensive vehicles ever sold at an auction.  It sold for a staggering US$12.1 million, and it doesn’t even have headlights.  
 
Just about every car in the Galleria Ferrari is bright red, a colour forever associated with Ferrari, even though all Italian sports cars have been painted red since a racing organization assigned it to the country in the 1920’s.   French blue, German white (later silver), British green.   Ferrari came to own the colour because it came to own the idea of Italian race cars.  Ironically, the 430 Scuderia waiting for me to test drive outside is a light metallic blue, with two silver racing stripes down the middle.    Launched by Michael Schumacher at the Frankfurt Auto Show in 2007, this model was created to complete with the Lamborghini Gallardo Superleggera, offering a lighter body, more power, and faster speed.   508 horsepower at 8500 rpm, power to rate ratio of 2.5kk/hp, an F1-trac system and E-Diff stability control, and I’m not really sure what all that means other than this is a purebred racing machine built for speed.  0 – 100 km/hr in 3.5 seconds, and with a top speed of 320 km/hr, you’re always the pace car on the smooth Italian autostrade.  
 
My test driver’s name is Gabriel, and we both agree that a job requiring you to drive in a Ferrari all day is a job worth keeping.   Of all the Ferraris he has driven at the company, this is his favourite, because this model, he tells me, was built for racing, period.   The interior is somewhat basic, the seats practical, belts tellingly over the shoulder, like the jump seat in an aeroplane.  A metal footplate lets me support myself as Gabriel screams around the bend of a quiet country road, the engine snarling as he shifts the transmission with the paddles. We are tigers lurking in the concrete jungle of automobiles, ferociously hunting prey.   After screeching past a chicane, I ask Gabriel how fast he was going.  With a wry grin, he tells me he doesn’t know.   You’d have to have a Lamborghini police car to catch us anyway, and I happen to know they’re focused on other priorities.

​It is late afternoon when we drive back to the Galleria, and in the traffic of rush hour, it seems almost cruel for the 430 Scuderia to trot at 40 km/hr back to the stable.   A race car without a race is but an appetite without the means to feed it.   I thank my pilot, awkwardly exit the cockpit, and walk over to my rented blue Peugeot 107.  Like most cars in Italy, it is a tiny vehicle capable of squeezing through narrow cobblestone streets, slotting in miniscule parking spaces, but still exceeding the 130 km/hr speed limit on the highway.   It is half the size of a Ferrari or Lamborghini, but it got me to both factories safely, with room for my suitcase and a couple friends.    Comparing it in the same breath as these mighty Italian giants seems almost sacrilegious, and yet the realist might argue they are all machines of transport, on four rubber wheels, powered by an engine.   Is a supermodel a better person because she looks better than the average housewife?   Is a sportsman a better father because he has more strength and tanned, toned muscles?    This is logic, and certainly, this is folly.   Dream machines were not designed to carry groceries or pick up the kids.   Lamborghini and Ferrari are the golden chariots that shepherd our inspiration, our quest for power, speed and beauty, the desire to transcend practicality in the name of art and technology.   Placing a price tag on such an endeavour misses the point.  For the majority of us who can appreciate if not afford the result, there’s always a visit to the Engine of Italy.