THE MUCH FEARED FOCKE-WULF FW 190 had a takeoff speed of approximately
112 mph, according to Royal Navy captain Eric Brown, who flew a captured
example in 1944 and detailed his impressions in his well-regarded
postwar book Wings of the Luftwaffe. Compare this with the Audi R8 V10
Plus, which has a slightly higher takeoff of 121 mph. That's what the
ultramodern, 12.3-inch "virtual cockpit" instrument cluster was
displaying right before I hit the infamous "ski jump" at Summit Point
Motorsports Park's Shenandoah circuit.
For most drivers, in most
cars, the ski jump is a nonevent. If you're driving a Miata or a Civic,
you'll probably hit it at about 85 mph or less. You'll notice a brief
sensation of free fall as the suspension unweights. Try the jump with a
five-liter Mustang or a C7 Corvette, you'll see perhaps 110 and get the
front wheels off the ground for a fraction of a second. The steering
will go completely light in your hands. When that happens, take a deep
breath and hold the wheel absolutely straight. If you don't, you'll
finish your lap in an ambulance.
This Audi, painted Ara Blue and
festooned with carbon-fiber trim that adds an air of purpose to the
menace of its blunt face, can do better than that. It rockets
flat-footed through Turn 11 with the kind of grip that can't be had from
common sports cars. Part of that is due to the mid-engine layout, and
part of it is due to the optional 305-width Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2
tires in back. No Focke-Wulf ever turned with more alacrity or
accelerated with more fury.
The R8 is so fast, attempts to put it
into perspective with run-of-the-mill track-day cars end up sounding
like the worst kind of bench-racer smack talk. Here's an example:
Imagine the best Spec Miata ever built, with the best SCCA driver of all
time at the wheel. Put it next to the R8 at the start/finish line. (If
you're a street-car guy, feel free to replace that Spec Miata with a new
Mustang GT; they turn about the same lap time.) Wave the flag and watch
them go. After one lap, there will be a thousand-foot gap between them,
in the Audi's favor. After five or six laps, the R8 driver would have
enough time to stop the car anywhere on the track, get out, check his
tire pressures, get back in the car, unpair his iPhone from the
Bluetooth-enabled stereo, pair a different iPhone, start it up, and
drive away, without losing his lead. This is what it means to be a
supercar.
As blisteringly fast as the Audi is, however, it might
not be the faster car in this comparison test. We've also brought a
McLaren 570S, which is waiting patiently in the paddock for its chance
to rip around the track.
McLaren now divides its lineup into
three distinct ranges. The Ultimate Series contains the 903-hp P1 hybrid
hypercar. The Super Series consists of the 650S and the 675LT. The 650S
is a product-improved version of the MP4-12C that launched in 2011; the
675LT is a track-optimized version of the same that adds power,
subtracts weight, and optimizes the aerodynamics for grip in high-speed
corners. Below the Super Series is the Sports Series, of which the 570S
is the first to hit our shores. It's meant to be a more relaxed, more
affordable entry to McLaren ownership. As we'll see, both "relaxed" and
"affordable" are relive terms. For now, however, let's return to our
blue Audi R8, which is preparing to thunder up the straight at
Shenandoah. The instant you get the steering properly unwound at corner
exit, it's time for the 5.2-liter V-10 to put its 610 hp to work. It is
naturallyólet's say defiantlyóaspirated in this me-too-turbo era. You'll
reach the 8700-rpm redline three times on your way up the hill,
unleashing a guttural wail that rattles the track's bridge as you blast
underneath it.
Ah, here we are, all systems go, lined up on the
track's left edge. Ready to fling over the crest and down to the long
braking zone before Shenandoah's other notorious feature: a replica of
the N¸rburgring's concrete-banked Karussell turn. The car's virtual
cockpit, which can display the Google Earth view of a racetrack while
you're on it, also offers a tiny speedometer. It's swinging past 120,
almost all the way to 125 mph. This would be a good time to make sure
your hands are at 9 and 3 on the wheel and to ensure that your seatback
is all the way up. Actually, you don't have a choice about that; the V10
Plus has fixed-back racing buckets. Hope you like the seating angle.
And that's where I was, in the moment that it all went very wrong. It
was my fourth lap in the Audi. I'd figured I'd need between six and 10
laps to extract my best time from the R8, but it was so damn easy to
drive quickly that my third lap was already good enough to print in the
magazine. The only place I saw possible improvement was over the ski
jump; I lifted just a hair near the top to hit it at 117 mph, which sent
the R8 four-wheels-up for about 60 feet. This time I was determined to
take it flat.
When I did, the R8 leaped from the ground. And it
yawed in midair. Nothing to do for the moment but let my hands and arms
relax in anticipation of the landing, which was going to be somewhere
between hairy and unrecoverable. Photographer Andrew Trahan was
stationed on the far side of the hill. He saw the Audi tilt and dip in
flight before the left front wheel touched down, maybe 85 feet after
takeoff.
What happened next is a blur in my memory. I was
threshold braking and furiously hucking the steering wheel back and
forth, trying to fix an oscillation that at one point had me looking at
Shenandoah's Karussel through the driver's-side window. When the speed
was down to about 65 mph, I gave up, took my foot off the brake, and
landed in the concrete banking hard enough to bottom the suspension on
all four corners and ring the Audi's unibody like a cathedral bell. Then
I was back on the throttle and hustling uphill toward Big Bend and the
start/finish line.
The time: 1:37.239. Good enough for me. I was in no mood to try it again.
THUS
WE MEET THE NEW R8 IN THE AIR, but Audi, like McLaren with the 570S,
would rather you meet it in the middle. The market for six-figure
sporting cars has a wide spectrum of intensity. On the relaxed,
long-wavelength side, we have front-engine contenders from Aston Martin
and Maserati. Bentley, with its Continental GT, and Porsche's 911 Turbo.
These are the cars you see heading into Manhattan on Monday mornings.
They are compatible with parking garages, full-size duffel bags, and the
lifestyle of a hedge-fund manager.
Over on the ultraviolent,
excuse me, ultraviolet end of the spectrum, you'll find the track-day
specials, the N¸rburgring record holders, and the utterly
uncompromising. The Ferrari 458 Speciale was a perfect example of the
genre, but the McLaren 675LT also belongs there, as does the Viper ACR.
Not all of these cars have radios or air-conditioning. Pampered bankers
need not apply.
The original Audi R8, with its 4.2-liter V-8 and
spacious and impeccably detailed cockpit, was definitely an infrared
kind of supercar. Fast, but not too fast. Dramatically proportioned, but
easy to get into and out of. A few years ago, Audi gave the R8 a
attempt to move the car's needle toward the center of to-manic spectrum.
We were not convinced.
The new one? Convincing. Engine and
chassis: borrowed from the stellar Lamborghini Hurac?n, itself a solid
contender in that supercar middle ground. Visual aggression: cranked up.
Where the first R8 was insouciantly sleek, this one is square and
stout. No longer beautiful, but undeniably purposeful. In Plus form,
it's the most overtly sporting R8 yet, radiating aggression from every
pore and backing the visuals with a drivetrain and chassis that can
effortlessly cash every check written by the styling.
The McLaren
570S, on the other hand, represents precisely the opposite idea. The
people in Woking started with the platform that underpins the 650S and
its 675LT sibling, widely regarded as the purest-blooded supercars south
of a million bucks. Then they made a series of profound and nontrivial
changes to optimize this lower-priced Sports Series car for daily use.
Although
the 570S retains the carbon-fiber structure of its more expensive
stablemates, and its outrageous dihedral doors, the sills of those doors
are cut lower for easier entry and exit. Every recent McLaren has a
narrow center console, which allows the seats to be mounted closer
together for a lower polar moment of inertia. The 570S replaces it with a
control panel that cascades from the dash in a fashion that will be
familiar to any owner of a European subcompact. The resulting extra
space between the seats is given over to no fewer than three cup
holders. This, in a two-seat car. You can't say McLaren doesn't have at
least a mild grasp of what commuters want.
There are a few more
concessions to everyday use. The active-aero system from the 650S, most
notably the pop-up airbrake, is gone. Also gone: the deliberately
offensive high-mounted dual exhaust of the Super Series cars, replaced
by conventional exits under the rear bumper that won't deafen passengers
or burn bystanders. What's left: 3189 as-tested pounds of supposedly
sensible supercar from Woking, England, powered by a 562-hp, twin-turbo
3.8-liter V-8. In our testing, it obliterated the quarter-mile in 10.6
seconds with a trap speed of 133 mph. One gets the impression that
McLaren's idea of "everyday usability" is something like Liberace's idea
of "restrained and tasteful"; you can only understand it in the context
of the firm's other products.
Even in Plus specification, which
bumps the power from 540 to 610 hp, the Audi can't quite match the
McLaren in a straight line, breaking the quarter-mile beam in 10.8
seconds at 129.5 mph. The undeniable traction advantage of Quattro is
more than offset by a 495-pound weight penalty compared with the 570S,
but on a less than perfectly prepared surface, the tables might turn.
We're talking fractions of a second here.
As a supercar
enthusiast since early childhood and a great fan of bench racing, your
author could discuss the staggering numbers attached to these vehicles
all day long. Did you know, for example, that you can get "stealth"
exhaust finish on your 570S for the low, low price of $510? Or that the
R8's V-10 doesn't reach its torque peak until a stratospheric 6500 rpm,
just shy of the C7 Corvette Stingray's redline?
In the real
world, however, there are only two numbers that matter. They are
$192,450, the base price of the R8 V10 Plus, and $187,400, the base
price of the 570S. The most expensive Audi and the least expensive
McLaren sold on these shores. That makes them natural enemies, just like
the Luftwaffe's FW 190A and the RAF's Spitfire Mk IX. We have a
dogfight on our hands, which means there can be only one winner.
TO
GIVE BOTH OF THESE VERY DIFFERENT super-cars a chance to properly
display their talents, I convinced this magazine's former
editor-in-chief, Larry Webster, to join me on a series of twisty roads
across Maryland, Virginia, and West Virginia, followed by two short
evenings at the Shenandoah road course. I expected that Webster and I
would arrive at this comparison with sharply opposing preconceptions and
loyalties. He's always adopted the pure racer's mind-set to
high-performance cars, prizing low weight and chassis agility above all
else, even when it comes to a daily driver. I'm from the other school of
thought, with two Volkswagen Phaetons, an Audi S5, and a Lincoln Town
Car in my recent ownership history. I thought the original R8 was
flawless as an every-day supercar, power and lap time be damned. From
the moment he arrived at our rendezvous point and unfolded himself from
behind the McLaren's $5960 racing seats, Webster wasted no time
confirming my suspicions.
"You can't get out of that thing
without looking like an idiot," he noted, pointing at the 570S, "but
otherwise I think it's perfect. What a brilliant combination of ride and
precision. Feels like a landmark car to me." I think the McLaren is
actually pretty easy to enter and exitóthe key is to make both of your
feet the first thing to leave the car and the last thing back inóbut I
wanted to take the R8's side for a moment.
"Well," I responded, "you can't deny that the Audi beats it in everyday use. The stereo, for one thingó"
"Stereo's fine in the McLaren," Webster interrupted.
"It
most certainly is not," I replied, and I could feel a flush in my
cheeks. "Not by my standards. The R8 provides a brilliant soundstage
that wouldn't disgrace a set of Larsen 8s. The controls feel like they
were machined individually from billets of polished stainless steel.
Don't even get me started on the climate control. To adjust it on the
570S, you have to press the fan button, then muddle through a set of
vague options that, I might add, all disappear through polarized
sunglasses." Webster looked at me like I'd spent the last three minutes
explaining my preference for a particular recipe of quiche. "Let's just
get in the cars," he said.
I'd scouted a roller-coaster two-lane
that rises and falls, hundreds of feet at a time, through the Green
Ridge State Forest at the border of Maryland and West Virginia. I've
driven this road in everything from an F-250 to a Corvette Z06, and
where it really shines is in its long, steep uphill curves. Even a
strong sports car can feel breathless trying to maintain, let alone
increase speed in these conditions, but after an hour, it was plain that
neither the R8 nor the 570S were bothered.
I'm partial to the
Audi's progressive rush of power from about 4000 rpm all the way to
redline. This is truly one of history's great sports-car engines,
combining massive power with a seeming lack of rotational inertia. On
public roads, it's just too much: too much power, too much wickedness in
the way it whips the speedometer into the go-to-jail zone without so
much as a hiccup.
But you can also grab the T-handled shifter, an
unfortunately prosaic piece that isn't worthy of the R8's otherwise
bespoke interior, toss it from "S" to "D," and let the car ease into
commuter mode. That 91-decibel bellow at full throttle becomes a mild
rumble. With a press of the Drive Select button on the steering wheel,
you can choose Comfort and let this mid-engined supercar do its spot-on
imitation of an A8 sedan. Then you can enjoy the Bang & Olufsen
stereo, the outstanding visibility in all directions except those
blocked by the large sail panels behind you, and the fuss-free manner in
which the drivetrain mimics an electric motor.
It's relaxing, so
much so that I failed to notice I was still doing outrageous speeds. I
seemed to have left Webster behind. We met up at the next gas station
and changed mounts quickly, not before exchanging a few sharp words
about the Audi's seats. I think they're terrific, but he hates the lack
of adjustment, pointing out that these cars are awfully expensive to not
have some sort of power seatback tilt. He knew about a real demon of a
road up in the mountains, so we headed that way.
I have had a
fair amount of seat time in the 650S and 675LT, so this Sports Series
McLaren was familiar territory. First impression: I really dig all the
changes. The touchscreen and more logical control layout may not match
the Audi for usability, and it's still too obviously an Android tablet
with a unique font, but it's a real improvement over the flickery center
stack in the 650S. The dashboard, made of three angled screens instead
of the electromechanical setup in the more expensive models, is bright
and legible.
Before I knew it, we passed a sign that says "High
Incidence of Motorcycle Crashes Next 8 Miles." Without warning, Webster
disappeared from view, following a banked curve around a massive rock,
the Audi's V-10 roar echoing inside the McLaren's impressively quiet
cabin. I gave chase.
In the short straights between turns, the
570S has the ability to claw the R8 back, maybe one car-length per five
seconds. But under braking and in midcorner, the Audi seems to shed that
weight differential, and on corner exit, it's murderous, sling-
shotting out without a whisper of wheelspin. Meanwhile, I was fighting
the McLaren's ECU. Instead of delivering power to the rear wheels and
letting a brake-based traction system sort it out, the 570S waits until
it thinks conditions are right before allowing the turbos to spool. This
is good in the sense that it will no doubt prevent a lot of inadvertent
throttle-on spins in the hands of inexperienced drivers, but it handed
back all the advantage I'd gained in each straight.
At that kind
of pace, individual seconds stretch into tangible objects, observed
every which way by a mind furiously calculating closing speed and
maximum corner velocity. We couldn't have been on that road for more
than seven or eight minutes. Yet in that time, I found myself captivated
by the McLaren, despite the indifferent stereo and generic interior. I
believe the phrase for it is pur sang. Pureblood. Yes, it's the discount
model. But in the space of moments, you can feel the direct kinship to
its more expensive siblings, all the way up to the almighty P1. All the
corners cut and all the costs reduced are merely peripheral, a $99
H&M suit worn by an Olympic decathlete. By the time I closed the gap
on the R8, I was a true believer.
I thought that our little
drive might have reconciled Webster to the Audi's merits; his sheer joy
in flogging the thing was obvious in his take-no-prisoners approach to
each corner entry. No such luck. When we came to a halt, he was caustic:
"That is a luscious motor that makes exotic noises and big power
without turbos. We should give it props for that alone. But the car
feels devoid of emotion. Did the designers or builders have any passion
in the thing?"
You can't argue against the Audi as a day-to-day
proposition, in this company at least. It has the same fully realized
feeling, and that same milled-steel solidity, as the A6 and A8 sedans
with which it shares a showroom. "Inarguably the more livable car,"
Webster noted. "The dashboard is brilliant. I couldn't stop looking at
it. And it's plenty quick. I just don't get worked up over it." I
noticed, however, that like me, he gravitated to the Audi's clear engine
cover during our talk. For a moment, we both just stood there and
looked at the heart of the machine. The V-10. It's one of the finest
engines I have ever experienced. And we may not see its like again. I
wonder what the 570S would be like if you could replace the powerful but
slightly anodyne twin- turbo V-8 with this strong, subtle, and
exhilarating Audi-via-Lamborghini motor. I'm sure it would upset the
weight balance. I'm not sure I'd care.
At Shenandoah that
evening, the 570S was seven-tenths faster than the R8; looking at the
data, that's almost entirely due to the power-to-weight advantage. But
it's a bit scary. From the midcorner to the exit of Shenandoah's
fourth-gear Big Bend, I struggled to get the power down without inducing
life-changing oversteer. Maybe that's good. It's hard to value anything
that comes without effort. You could be justifiably proud of getting
the maximum out of it. It takes more than a checkbook to fully
experience this automobile.
HAWKER HURRICANE. MESSERSCHMITT BF
109. Supermarine Spitfire. Focke-Wulf FW 190. Great Britain and Germany,
locked in combat over the skies of London, the English Channel,
Normandy, Berlin. Stunningly powerful and graceful machines pushed to
the maximum, no quarter asked or given. How many generations of children
have imagined diving out of the sun with cannon blazing, dispatching an
opponent with a flawless split-S or chandelle, then waving ruefully as
they parachute to the ground?
There is something both magical and
visceral about those final piston-engined fighters. They became nearly
perfect, and then in a flash, they were obsolete. Yet it is worth
nothing that people still spend unjustifiable sums of money to restore
and fly those warbirds, while the blunt-nosed jets that succeeded them
stand abandoned and forlorn in aviation graveyards. Consider these two
cars, the R8 V10 Plus and the McLaren 570S, as their spiritual and
automotive successors, perhaps the last generation of completely
piston-engined, gasoline-powered supercars.
We could easily make a
case for the superiority of either vehicle, depending on driver skill,
intended use, and how sensitive one is to things like interior quality
or in-flight stability. As compromise supercars, bridging the wide gulf
between everyday luxury cars and no-compromise track-day specials, both
machines succeed admirably. The R8 really is fast; the 570S is truly
livable.
The fact remains, however, that purchases of this nature
are primarily, and justly, driven by emotion. Desire. This is where the
Audi, extraordinary as it is, stumbles. At its heart, the R8 is a
Hurac?n with all of that car's willful ridiculousnessófrom the flip-up
start-button cover to the inexcusably massive and sunstroke-inducing
windshieldósanded over. What's the point? Where's the fun, the passion,
in that?
The 570S, on the other hand: It might be tamed for the
street, but it has the bones, and the heart, of a proper racer. The
doors are ridiculous. The interior is lamentable. Visibility isn't
great. But you'd never stop wanting to drive it, never stop thinking
about it, never stop smiling when you fall into the buckets at the end
of a long day. It's the less reasonable of our pair, and that makes it
the only reasonable winner. In this twilight of the traditional
supercar, the McLaren truly shines.
MGCLS - LAX Car Service
