i just drove faster and faster. having thought i might be dead i suppose i wanted to feel alive again really is epically fast. The VV12 produces peak torque from 2C>oo-45oorpm, so the Supersports has a spooky relentlessness about the way it accelerates. You hear the upshifts because each one is signalled by a sonic boom but the 'box is almost seamless at speed, with just the odd clunky downshift around town to break the magic. Whatever, progress is assured, phenomenally violent at times and yet laced with subtlety and finesse in the way the chassis bends huge torque to its own ends with a real lightness of touch.
Once you learn to trust that it can turn-in accurately and resists understeer determinedly you can really commit the car, loading up front and rear with one swift steering input and then instantly opening the taps to sling it out of a corner like a popped champagne cork. Now, finally, you sense that some of the rigidity has disappeared, the steering just rattling back at you as you up the ante. It's a tiny hint that the structure is compromised and it's followed by a scrap of understeer, a feeling of runaway momentum that even the ceramics are working furiously to contain. Eventually the Supersports' mass does catch up with it. But you really have to go searching for chinks because, for the most part, it feels agile, secure, adjustable and keen. And fast. Really, really fast.
1 can t really take in much more of this place. There's too much of everything to comprehend. One second you feel liberated by the vastness, the next it makes you feel minuscule and palpably mortal. My brain is overloaded and so the last stretch into Moab is just a fuzz of sensations: wonder, frustration (the speed limits, the dawdling buses), excitement, relief and heat. It's 102 degrees when we roll into Moab. The roof is up, like it has been for much of the trip due to the fierce climate, the Bentley is dusty but resolute.
We've thrown the Supersports Convertible into a situation that no owner would ever knowingly ask of it and it barely shrugged. At this precise moment I love it dearly. I can see the faults, I understand the 'footballer's car' jibes, bur I don't care. It's a magnificent car. Of course it's my duty to say that the coupe is better. But you already knew that, right? r&z r
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