It could be the most beautiful sound you’ve never heard; the booming, Wagnerian-opera roar of a Lamborghini V10 being joined in duelling duet by a V12.
Either engine sound on its own is glorious, particularly when bounced off the cliffs of the Great Ocean Road along which we are low-flying at some pace, but there is a moment when the two notes reach some kind of harmonic balance and it actually sounds like they are singing together, although howling might be a better word.
As I and the driver in front both leap off the throttle for the next sharp bend, both cars give a barking bang in unison, and all the hairs on my neck do a little dance of delight.
This is no ordinary day’s driving, clearly, but it becomes even more incredible when we stop at some roadworks and I see another six Lamborghinis line up behind the Huracan Spyder I’m in and the Aventador S in front, which I’ve also been sharing.
The sound that follows as we all take off together is more than music to an enthusiast’s ear, it is like very angry angels singing.
Welcome to the inaugural Lamborghini Oceania Giro (plans are already under way for another next year), a three-day celebration of how exceedingly good life is if you happen to own one of these Italian supercars. Or two, or more.
One thrilled participant tells me at the black-tie dinner on the last night that his mate had lent him one of his two Diablos to drive in the event, after deciding to leave his Aventador at home. The bloke next to him won the award for Best Presented Car for his stunning Countach QV. That’s not his only Lambo, of course, just his favourite.
Driving a car like the Huracan Spyder – a vehicle so supremely capable, so razor sharp, fizzing fast and yet almost easy to drive at pace – on its own along this road on a sunny day would be remarkable enough, but to spend much of that day chasing the rear end of the fire-blowing Aventador S, its rear wing waving at me in a taunting fashion, reaches beyond joy. I honestly think I had a driving orgasm at one stage, and I’m glad there were no GoPros pointed at me, because I’m pretty sure I was making a sex face.
That look switched to something closer to fear when I swapped into the big-daddy V12, which I honestly think is the most hairy-handed, absurdly over-powered car the world has ever seen.
Lamborghini has poured all of the madness, the ethos of “too much is barely enough” that makes it special into the Aventador S, but the result is deeply daunting.
It is heavy, it is wide, it feels like it wants to kill you, either by crushing your lungs with its g-forces, or spearing you off the road when you get too daring with it. It is hard work to drive, in almost inverse proportion to how easy the Huracan is to handle.
The Aventador has a super-sporty setting called 'Ego', for God’s sake, and is about as at home on a tight, twisting and bouncy public road as an F1 car would be.
Surviving the driving of one is, however, hugely rewarding. You feel alive when you get out, and like there’s less room in your boxers than there was that morning (and not just because you might have shat yourself).
Personally, I’d take the cheaper, less-powerful Huracan (the V10 offers 'just' 449kW and 550Nm compared to the Event-with-doors’ 544kW and 690Nm) every time, as I honestly think I’d be faster in it, point-to-point, anywhere outside of a drag strip.
But this is a choice entirely poo-pooed by the Lambo owners I’m travelling with, many of whom are driving older vehicles without the benefits of traction control.
The people here, all of whom paid $6000 each to take part, are almost as incredible as the cars – 36 of them in total, painted in a range of lurid colours that make a rainbow look bland, including two shipped over from New Zealand (that’s $15,000 in shipping, each) especially for the occasion. And many of them dress, and party, with the kind of flair you’d expect from people who choose perhaps the world’s most showy automotive brand.
High-profile Aventador owner Sam Newman is here, wearing tartan pants with his black bow tie and jacket and a voice that’s even louder than his clothes. There is much talk of speed and adventure and the adoration of the public, and how we’d all been shadowed by the Channel Seven helicopter as we poured out of Lorne.
All of the owners seem to be self-made men – business owners, super successful tradies, and traders. All of them seem happy to the point of being high, but who wouldn’t be, after three days of driving some of the best roads in Victoria – from Melbourne up to Daylesford, down Skenes Creek Road to the Great Ocean Road – in incredible cars, living and lunching like rock stars.
It’s easy to feel jealous, but a chat with one guy in particular, the proud owner of just a single shiny Gallardo, sticks with me.
“A lot of people are a bit snippy, a bit snide, about me having a Lamborghini. They reckon it’s a bit over the top, but that car to me represents 30 years of working 90-hour weeks,” he says, his wife nodding knowingly next to him.
“In all that 30 years, I’ve only had two-and-a half-weeks' of holiday, that’s it. I’ve never really been on holiday with my kids, and they’re grown up now. We tried once, but my phone rang and I had to drag them out in the middle of a show we were watching and race home.
“Every single kilometre I’ve done in this car in the three years I’ve had it – and it’s only just ticked over 7000km – has been a reward. It’s an absolute joy. It’s more than just a car.”
Having spent a few days with a smile on my face that would look overly large on a donkey from driving that Huracan, I have to say I’d agree. Sign us up for next year. Please.