HE ROAD ahead has turned to sand. As
had the last one and the one before that.
We watch the bitumen taper to nothing as
a yellow strip bisects the brown landscape
to a hazy horizon. A speck on the skyline
coalesces into the inevitable white Toyota
trayback, its driver slowing to check if
we’re okay. This trio of European supercars
couldn’t have arrived at a more alien
environment. As the sun hits its zenith, it’s
too hot for cicadas or birds. Your soles bond
to the patched and battered blacktop if you
stand still for more than a moment. After
some brief discussion, it’s agreed. We’ve
found just about the perfect place to test
these open-topped blue-bloods.
Were you in the market for a supercar,
the Venn diagram was usually composed
of serious drivers and show ponies, with
little to no overlap. Pilots and polishers.
The drop-top versions almost always
inhabited the latter circle, representing
the preferred choice for the affluent but
attention-starved. As such, they tended
to attract a healthy dose of derision
from those who figured they knew what
they were doing behind the wheel. To
this crowd, a 911 Cabriolet or a Diablo
Roadster was an aberration; an exercise
in missing the point. And that heuristic
worked for them until fairly recently, but
the latest generation of cabrios, roadsters,
spiders, targas – call them what you will –
has proven that there’s next to no dynamic
penalty involved in choosing the open
version. So why wouldn’t you? That’s
what we are here, gently desiccating in
western New South Wales, to find out.
It’s not a comparison per se. How could
it be given the huge gulf in price between
the three cars? Call it a celebration of the
current state of the convertible art with
each car providing context to the others.
The most accessible, relatively speaking,
is the Mercedes-AMG GT Roadster at
$283,711, packing a 350kW/630Nm 4.0-litre
twin-turbocharged V8 that drives the rear
wheels through one point of commonality
between all three cars: a seven-speed
transmission. Next up is the $388,500 Audi
R8 V10 Spyder, the only naturally aspirated
car here, generating 397kW and 540Nm
from its 5.2-litre behemoth. You’ll need to
fork out $526,888 for a Ferrari 488 Spider,
but given that Maranello usually prioritises
a bigger options spend to get your name
higher on the waiting list, it’ll probably be a
fair amount more. Maybe not the $665,033
of this particular Bianca Avus example, but
what price do you put on 492kW and 760Nm
from a 3.9-litre, dry-sumped twin-turbo V8?
I’d already heard Ponchard bemoaning
the firmness of the AMG GT’s seats
so choose the Audi for the long drive
west out of Sydney. After a couple of
minutes spent jiggling the electric seat
adjustments, I come to the conclusion that
I don’t fit in this car. If you’re tall, the
Audi isn’t a great choice. Aside from my
head creating an involuntary bubble roof,
the monoposto – that curved arch that
encircles the area in front of the driver’s
seat – gives a hemmed-in feel, not helped
by the only convenient storage interfering
with your left elbow. For all its styling
curlicues and virtual display slickness,