Within a second of us exiting the famous tunnel onto Yas Marina’s Grand Prix circuit, the familiar has just become anything but. I’ve emerged from the darkness and into the light here many times over the past few years, but never with such ferocity. And as my driver appears to defy the laws of physics with the stupefyingly expensive Aston Martin Vulcan, I’m glad I skipped lunch.
The noise is too much for the intercom with which Darren Turner, the man behind the wheel, had been chatting to me through just a minute earlier. I’m wearing a full fireproof race suit, racing boots, helmet and a head-and-neck-support (Hans) device, just in case the worst happens. My upper torso is immovable, pinned into the sculpted race seat, and strapped tighter than tight with a four-point harness. I’m restricted to just moving my eyes rather than turning my head – a good job, considering the g-forces I’m experiencing every time Turner gets on the brakes or takes corners flat out.
Make no mistake, the Vulcan is a masterpiece. A track-only supercar that’s completely unique, it’s without doubt the most extreme car that Aston Martin has ever made. For many fans of the brand, it makes no sense whatsoever. Why, they ponder, would anyone pay the equivalent of about Dh12 million for a car they can only drive on racetracks, and requires a dedicated team of race professionals to take care of its every need? Just one lap of Yas Marina’s full circuit would be enough to answer every one of the doubters.
Normally, I’d be offended that I was only being offered a “shotgun” ride, but in this instance, it’s perfectly understandable. The dozen Vulcans here (that’s half the entire build allocation) are all privately owned, and each is unique. Quite apart from the wallet-busting ticket price, it’s a deeply intimidating machine in every respect. For occasional track-day novices like me, the Vulcan is a liability, and I’m glad to be on the wrong side of the cabin for once.
Unlike some drivers I’ve paired up with, Turner isn’t showing off. He’s simply showing what this animal of a car is capable of. He’s one of the United Kingdom’s most successful and experienced racing drivers, and has been a key member of the team at Aston Martin Racing for 11 years, during which time he has scored wins at two Le Mans 24 Hours endurance races. So as he pushes the Vulcan, which is riding on massive Michelin slicks, up to and beyond the point of traction, I know he knows what he’s doing, and he knows exactly what the car is doing, using an almost telepathic connectivity to its chassis, steering and brakes – man and machine working in total harmony.
The engine, a 7L, naturally aspirated V12 similar to that fitted to the limited-edition One-77, is one of the world’s greats – a screaming, pummeling piece of engineering magnificence that, according to Aston’s people, sends “more than 800hp” to the rear wheels via a carbon-fibre propshaft. The engine sits behind the front wheels, making it effectively mid-mounted, and this, together with the inboard front and rear suspension and the intricate array of spoilers, splitters and wings, gives it enough downforce at speed to, in theory at least, be able to drive upside down on the roof of a tunnel – something that I’d love to try out.
As a project, this is uncharted territory for the brand, which celebrated its centenary three summers ago. Aston Martin has never produced a bona fide supercar, but it does have extensive heritage in motorsport. Surprisingly, though, the designers and engineers involved with the Vulcan are, in the main, not part of Aston Martin Racing. The car is as close to a Le Man racer as you can imagine, but it’s beautifully detailed and executed, no matter where you look. The extremely cramped cockpit is a thing of wonder, like something a sci-fi obsessed geek would design in his wildest dreams.
To enter, you need the contortionist skills of an escapologist, because of the scaffolding built into the carbon-fibre tub. With a helmet and Hans devise attached, I find the process both laughable and embarrassing, requiring the abandonment of all self-respect. But unlike most track cars and racers, the quality of fit and finish everywhere is breathtaking.
After my stint is over, Turner pulls into the pits, and an assistant opens the door, unplugs the intercom from my helmet, and helps remove everything from my head and neck. Despite this extra freedom of movement, getting out of the Vulcan is still like something in a Marx Brothers film.
Later, I press Aston’s people for an answer. Will they bite the bullet and introduce a full-on supercar now they’ve cut their teeth on this thing? All they will say is that it’s a remote possibility. Not that they need it, but as a halo product, a road-going machine with even a percentage of the Vulcan’s capabilities would put Aston Martin in the motoring premier league.
What we do know about the company’s immediate future is still extremely positive. The DB9’s replacement, the DB11, will be launched in the summer. Soon after, the new Vantage will break cover, and before the decade is out, the DBX crossover will be with us. Aston’s chief executive Andy Palmer has apparently made it known that a proper four-door saloon (not a Lagonda) will be brought to market, too, with all the new models being engineered with Mercedes-Benz electrical architecture. That age-old adage about Astons spending more time being repaired than driven will finally be banished for good.
The Vulcan’s purchase price includes three track events per year, for three years, all over the world, and this is the first. Aston Martin takes care of the logistics of getting the cars to the circuits and arranging closed sessions exclusively for these customers – all they have to do is get themselves to wherever it might be, don their race suits, get in and drive. It’s possibly the ultimate rich person’s playtime for anyone addicted to the thrills of circuit driving. And when you consider the frightening costs involved with bringing this beast to reality and getting all of these programmes together, it’s a wonder the accountants gave it the green light.
But as a hotbed for development, the Vulcan will no doubt bring Aston Martin a huge wealth of experience that will filter through to the company’s future production models. When that happens, Aston’s future will be a certainty. It has been through more highs and lows over the decades than practically any other car company, but now it’s becoming unthinkable that it might not be around for at least another 100 years.
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