To a precocious Kindergartner with a vivid imagination, a Lamborghini Urus in brilliant yellow seems an exceptionally fine school bus, especially with her familiar Chicco booster seat latched into place. “This big, fast car is better than riding a Triceratops to school, Papa. I don’t like big, quiet cars. I like big, LOUD cars,” she says. Following a meditative amble to a lightly traveled boulevard on the way to school, she deliberately and quietly states, “Go fast now, Papa.” Peals of laughter ensue every time the throttle is mashed wide open, Urus jumping like Ferdinand the Bull just stung by a bee, the engine’s upper intake sounds soaring above the growling, snarling deep bass section of the exhaust system. In the rearview mirror, a willowy child pressed hard into a finely crafted Italian safety seat, face split with a yowling grin. No lumbering, smoky Bluebird school bus for this princess.
Urus (pronounced in Italian “Oooo-rooos”) is relentlessly quick and ferociously civilized—and docile as a lambkin burbling through morning traffic in “Strada” calibration setting. Though Urus’ chunky fender arches quote the military architecture of the Lamborghini LM002 war wagons I drove in the early 1990s, the two vehicles could not be more different. With heavy controls and a Countach-derived V12 powertrain, Le Moo Two was not an everyday Lamborghini for anyone other than well-armed Saudis on bandit patrol.
Lamborghini chief engineer Maurizio Reggiani has devised a “Super-Sports Utility Vehicle” that delivers supercar acceleration. Lamborghini conservatively claims 0-60 mph in 3.7 seconds, but testing crews at enthusiast car outlets around the world have routinely dropped the figure to 3.2 to 3.4 seconds. Keep in mind the first all-wheel drive Lamborghini Huracáns hit 60 in the 3.3 range, and Huracán was about 1500 pounds lighter. As an Official Old Timer, I can remember when getting a Porsche 911 Turbo down into the low 4-second range was considered an achievement beyond human understanding.
To produce 650 horsepower at a very reasonable 6000 rpm—that’s 100 horsepower more than the Porsche Panamera Turbo’s version of this engine—Reggiani only sacrificed a smidge of response down low. The engine gooshes out maximum torque of 627 lb. ft., one lb. ft. more than the gasoline-hybrid Panamera S E-Hybrid. The gimme? Instead of max torque arriving at, say 1900 rpm, the turbos are swirling and puffing with gusto at 2250 rpm, creating a swath of maximum torque all the way to 4500 where horsepower picks up the baton and finishes the race. Max torque arriving at 2250 will never be an issue for any Urus owner who drives with style—invisible, a non-issue.
Enthusiast hooligan journalists have consistently cracked deep into the 11-second range for the quarter mile, stunning times for a 4843-lb. beast. Admittedly, those test crews do not follow the same procedures as manufacturers—they rarely add ballast to simulate a 150-pound passenger aboard, for example—but the results tell much about Urus. Three cheers for computer scripting that allows the engine, gearbox, full-time 4-wheel drive, and traction/stability control systems to chat with such intelligence.
Reggiani opted for a long 118-inch wheelbase, creating a roomy rear seat for the first Lamborghini family car. I’m six three 240 and I’d gladly road trip in the back seat, my size 13s, long legs and big head entirely comfortable. Four American football players can fit in this rig—the cargo hold is so big you could stuff several NFL front linemen back there if they’d just hold still. Proper little ladies can climb down from booster chairs to the flat floor, then ask for a hand when stepping through the surprisingly tall, long rear door.
Urus sits up higher than a classic 4-door sports sedan, but can cut left-right-left like a talented water skier, poised and balanced. This is NOT a mere high-horsepower straight-line vehicle. Urus has essentially the same rear-wheel steering electric motor used in the Aventador S hypercar.
Mitja Borkert, bossman at Lamborghini Centro Stile, made three showcar attempts at the roofline, and eventually nailed it, that long wheelbase allowing him to sketch a Lamborghini roofline while maintaining rear headroom. Before Lamborghini, Borkert was design boss of the four-door Porsches, and was rotated to Lamborghini in part because he knew this “engineering toolkit” intimately.
Unmistakably Lamborghini in proportion and detail, Urus is not another big box SUV that blends into traffic. Like an Aventador S or Huracán Performante, Urus provokes young males at street corners to pull out smart phones to shoot video and photos, all smiles, waves, and thumbs up, hopping around, greatly appreciative of a brief acceleration demo, exhaust and engine barking. Grown men lose any sense of restraint, running through parking lots for a closer look. Lamborghini sightings bring out the inner child.
I’ve logged several thousand full-tilt miles in nearly every flavor of Huracán. Last year I pounded the stuffing out of an Aventador S coupe and it never flinched. Potential customers have not cottoned on to the seemingly improbable fact that Lamborghinis are tough as nails, fulfilling the ambition of Ferrucchio Lamborghini for big, fast, and durable GT machines. Obviously, Urus’s exotic 17.3-inch (440mm) ceramic front brakes and 14.5-inch rear discs will require more frequent replacement than metal ones—yes, 17.3 inches up front, no typo. Urus is an ultra-high-performance machine, which will require a strict maintenance schedule. But Lamborghinis give it all: exotic looks and incredible performance in vehicles built to endure.
Chin on window sill, my 5-year-old watched as our bright yellow school bus was loaded onto the flatbed hauler, soft light of late afternoon caressing its chiseled form. “Daddy, why does it have to go away? I want you to keep it forever. Stuart Little would love it.”
