Loris Bicocchi's tan, cherubic face leers at me from the passenger seat, his eyes wide behind Prada shades. It is the most animated I've seen my oh-so-cool Italian co-pilote since our drive began.
"VOW! From this seat, it just feels... so different. So AMAZING!"
"VOW! From this seat, it just feels... so different. So AMAZING!"
And to think, all I had to do was pass a slow-moving farm truck in the most modest way possible. Rather than toggling the lever from Drive to Sport, or clicking the downshift paddle back in a come-hither motion, I overtake the truck the old-fashioned way: by burying my right foot.
For half a beat, nothing happens. Then there is an explosive lurch from the hindquarters, as the 20-inch tall, 365 rears engage in a brief, but victorious, battle for traction. All four wheels hook, leaving our stomachs and the Spanish countryside behind us in a hot wake of exhaust gas. I lift my foot and the wastegates reply with a full-bodied belch as we coast back down to a high-double-digit cruising speed.
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