I find myself on rolling country hills, long grass tilting with a soft breeze, and give the gas a tentative push to the floor. The engine note changes, becoming less broad and keener; the shimmying of the cabin actually stills. The Diablo bounds forward, an adrenaline shot to the heart.
Later Diablo models got all-wheel drive, a feature now standard on Lamborghinis. But original Diablos are rear-wheel-drive, and the push from the back is like a backslap. The rear tires actually squeal.
The car bounds over a hill and down a squiggly lane, sucking down to the asphalt. Tire grip is excellent and the suspension is good. The brakes, which lack anti-lock, are less than commensurate to the car’s power.
The steering is also unassisted, which makes pulling out of a parking spot a tug-of-war, but it’s excellent on broad sweeping turns. The car is a handful, in the very best of ways.
I pass a group of teens pulled over on the side of the road and they shout, “Go go go!”
More than two decades on, the Diablo sure isn’t perfect, but it continues to inspire a dream or two.