It is important, I think, to at least try to end on a high. So I did. Circumstances were not quite ideal, because I was on neither mountain road nor race track. But the night before the McLaren Artura returned from whence it came after a six-month sojourn with me, I did find myself leaving Oxford at 11pm, with nothing but 100 miles of cross-country driving on decent roads between me and home. Straight through the middle of the Cotswolds.
I think also that, with a car like this, no matter how far you drive it, on however many occasions, over whatever period of time, it should still possess the capacity to surprise when you really let it rip. A performance class and a price point or two below this, and the requirement goes away: the Porsche 911 that is replacing the McLaren will doubtless be a lovely thing, but I’m not expecting it to take my breath away, ever. I expect and require the Artura to do that every time I fire it up.
And on the journey, for one final time, it duly did precisely that. But it wasn’t always this way. The majority of my half year with the car was spent on wet roads with it wearing Pirelli Sottozero winter tyres, and brilliant they are too. But as I have reported before, that combination contrived to limit the car’s performance up to almost any speed I am routinely likely to reach on a public road. Which I guess is in itself some indication of the potential that lay, as yet unrealised, within this 671bhp machine. But the Sottos were swapped for the normal P Zeros that the car comes on as standard, the sun came out and, oh my, it felt at times like it had another 200bhp. Which, in terms of what the safety systems would allow you to access, it probably did.
