While it turns out that driving the Bugatti Veyron is the easiest thing in the world, describing the experience is rather difficult. I can't even count how many times I've heard, "It's as easy as a Golf," yet I've never got much in the way of description other than, "There's nothing else like it."
The 1001 horsepower Veyron can hit 100 mph from a standstill in about five seconds. That's insane, and how the hell do you describe insanity? What might make for better reading is the story of how yours truly got to drive the Veyron Grand Sport -- the most expensive convertible in the world.
I'm seated directly across from Dr. Franz-Josef Paefgen (pictured at left), CEO of both Bentley and Bugatti at Andre's Bouchee, a delightful if not slightly decadent French restaurant located right smack in the middle of Carmel By the Sea. As those in the know will tell you, Dr. Paefgen is not only a respected automotive engineer in charge of two of motordom's greatest marques, but also a straight up car guy. After he gets done showing me cell phone pics of his British Racing Green 1962 Bentley S2, I quiz him about the new 1200 horsepower Bugatti Veyron Super Sport.
"268 miles per hour -- that's getting a little silly, isn't it?" Dr. Paefgen agrees with me, saying that top speed was essentially headline grabbing stuff for the kids. "The Veyron," he begins in his formal yet friendly German accent, "Is about acceleration and braking." Paefgen then mentions a whole series of twisting European roads where a captain of industry might best enjoy his Bugatti, as if I can relate. I look down at my heirloom tomato and rock shrimp gazpacho and meekly admit, "I've never driven one."
Paefgen looks stunned for a moment, and points a massive finger at me, "You've never driven a Veyron?" Then, moving that giant digit of his ten degrees to the right and into the face of a member of his PR staff commands, "This man must drive a Veyron." Within ten minutes my phone's blowing up with messages like, "Will 11 a.m. Sunday at the Lodge at Pebble Beach work for you?" Yes, yes it will. Mind you, this was about 9:30 pm on a Friday night. Long story made short, it's good to dine with the king.
Fast forward to Sunday at 10:30 a.m. I'm a half hour early because, well, it's a Veyron. Sunday at 10:30 am is of course right in the thick of the Concours d'Elegance. When the Veyron finally goes out of production sometime next year, just 300 examples will have rolled off (or floated along on liquid silver) the Molsheim production line. All 300 people on earth wealthy enough to afford a modern Bugatti were wandering around the Links right then wearing funny hats.
Just feet away from the concept car paddock that housed a gorgeous blue carbon fiber Super Sport sat not one but two Bugatti Grand Sports. Folks swarmed them. Everyone and their butler whipped out a camera and got their picture taken with $2.2 million worth of metal and carbon fiber. Except me. I just stood there with my arms folded, quietly smiling to myself because I knew that in a just a few short minutes I'd be behind the small diameter wheel of that biggish French/German sucker.
Just feet away from the concept car paddock that housed a gorgeous blue carbon fiber Super Sport sat not one but two Bugatti Grand Sports. Folks swarmed them. Everyone and their butler whipped out a camera and got their picture taken with $2.2 million worth of metal and carbon fiber. Except me. I just stood there with my arms folded, quietly smiling to myself because I knew that in a just a few short minutes I'd be behind the small diameter wheel of that biggish French/German sucker.
I'm introduced to three-time 24 Hours of Daytona winner Butch Leitzinger who will be both my chauffeur and passenger. I show Butch my backpack and ask if I can put it in the trunk. "There's no room for something that big," he says with a straight face. "Just put it on the floor." I do so, then climb in over the wide sill and plop down into the Grand Sport's deceptively spartan yet luxurious brown cabin. Just before he gets in a PR lady runs up and whispers in his ear, "Take him in a good road." Remember what I said about dining with the king? Butch inserts the key, gives a twist and presses the start button. I'm glad that my only Veyron experience so far took place in the open roof version, as before you die you simply must experience what that monstrous quad-turbo, 8.0-liter W-16 sounds like as it breathes life into itself. The best I can come up with is a steam factory, though it's much more cacophonous than that.
We're off and instantly I'm aware that this isn't your run of the mill hyper-uber-supercar. For one thing, it's... relaxed. Like literally, creeping around the Lodge the Grand Sport might as well have been a Citroen. Smooth, calm, comfortable, elegant even -- the only giveaways that you weren't in a 1976 Buick Electra with the top chopped off were the dozens and dozens of millionaires pointing at us and the nefarious sound of that wicked mill, almost cackling in anticipation of sucking me and Butch's brains out our ears. Even the relatively civilized Nissan GT-R feels and sounds as if it's in pain when you slowly creep around town. Not so with the Bugatti.
We proceed slowly away from civilization to find some roads near Monterey than can roughly approximate the kind of conditions Dr. Paefgen was waxing on about at dinner. Butch and I trade pleasantries and Veyron rumors (each one contains 400 pounds of fluid, not counting gas, and while the engines actually make around 1050 horsepower, Dr. Piech's favorite book as a child was 1001 Arabian Nights) until all other traffic has disappeared and a long, straight road presents itself. "I'm now going to demonstrate the acceleration. Hold onto your hat." I'll describe the feeling in a second but it was a good thing that Butch said something, or the two of us would have been picking white cotton out of the Bugatti's fuel injectors.
We proceed slowly away from civilization to find some roads near Monterey than can roughly approximate the kind of conditions Dr. Paefgen was waxing on about at dinner. Butch and I trade pleasantries and Veyron rumors (each one contains 400 pounds of fluid, not counting gas, and while the engines actually make around 1050 horsepower, Dr. Piech's favorite book as a child was 1001 Arabian Nights) until all other traffic has disappeared and a long, straight road presents itself. "I'm now going to demonstrate the acceleration. Hold onto your hat." I'll describe the feeling in a second but it was a good thing that Butch said something, or the two of us would have been picking white cotton out of the Bugatti's fuel injectors.
My turn to drive. From the captains chair there's a refreshing lack off buttons festooning every inch of the dash and wheel. All you really need to know is there are two cold, metal shift paddles behind the wheel. Touch the throttle and the Veyron lackadaisically begins moving down the road. For as elegant as the Bugatti felt from the passenger seat, it feels taut, racy and even nimble from behind the wheel, especially as you build speed. Shockingly so, in fact. Of course, even one time Veyron hater (and McLaren F1 designer) Gordon Murray has admitted that yes, the two-ton Veyron handles better than you might think. But never mind handling, we're here on Dr. Paefgen's orders to examine the acceleration and braking.
I hammer the pedal and quickly learn that the Veyron is totally unlike any other car ever built. Because of the short length of the straight, I probably had to come off the pedal around 100 mph, maybe only 90 mph. And truth be told, I've probably gotten up to that top speed more quickly. I once drove a 1400-pound Rotus Se7en with an LS2 that could hit 80 mph in three seconds. But no car gets to speed the way the Veyron does. The best way I can describe the acceleration is that it's like one of those launcher roller coasters, where you get shot up four hundred feet up into the air. But before you go up, you go straight and flat.
And that's the thing. In other cars, when you gun it, the vehicle rocks back on its haunches, there's lateral movement, sometimes you even get a bit sideways all while trying to go forward. The Veyron might as well be on tracks. There is no movement other than straight forward. No wobble, no hop, no skip, no bad behavior of any sort. You just move through time and space at a ridiculous rate of speed. Braking is largely the same only you're going backwards faster and more smoothly than you ever have. Let me assure you, Dr. Paefgen wouldn't have it any other way. - credit to Motortrends.Com
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