I’ll do my best not to sound like a school girl gushing about the whatever-brothers-band-group, but…how can you not with a car like this? Turning the key and listening to the starter churn up that V-8 is absolutely intoxicating. Then you pull out into the street and it just casually winds up to about 7000 rpm. Yes, it’s pretty special. And, of course, everyone’s staring at you. I think someone even whistled at me – me! I’ll admit, the attention takes some getting used to, and the Woody Allen-like self consciousness that’s hard-wired into every Jewish man’s DNA had me wishing at times I could enjoy the exotic car experience in anonymity.
That’s one part of the R8’s identity. Underneath the fashion model exterior lies a perfectly comfortable, luxurious grand tourer. I especially appreciated the fact that it doesn’t seem to sacrifice every ounce of ride quality in return for its ungodly handling. My mother is three weeks removed from a painful surgery but never grimaced from a bump when I gave her a ride around the block.
Source: Automobile Mag