Motor Mouth: Pagani’s ‘Big Complications’ mines motorsports history

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One of the ages-old questions society is yet again ruminating is whether wealth is the result of hard work and smarts or simply good old-fashioned luck. Modern politics being what they are, the pendulum has swung a long way towards the latter. Meritocracy, I am constantly being told, is a concept very much out of fashion.

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I’ll not wade into that tempest-in-a-teapot — though I’m pretty sure faithful readers understand which side of that argument I fall on — but I will wonder what it’s like to be rich and lucky. Money, contrary to common credence, can’t buy you everything. Just ask Michael Bloomberg, he who spent nearly US$1 billion on a political campaign and didn’t win a single state in a primary campaign. Sometimes you need luck and money. To wit—

Let’s say you’re moderately wealthy — you know, you happily reside in the upper echelons of the upper-middle class. You might have a BMW, Porsche, or Mercedes dealer on speed dial. If you buy enough of them — as in, trade your S-Class in every 24 months — they might even return messages.

But you’re still not rich or lucky.

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If you’re wealthier — as in your kids are already planning to hire lawyers to fight over your estate — you might even deal directly with the factory. Even pick up your new 911 — finished in a Porsche paint-to-sample custom hue, no doubt — at the Zuffenhausen factory. Have the OEM boffins ship it to your local dealer when your continental traipse is over and done with, where you’ll be treated like the prince you’ve come to believe you are. You’re (quasi-)rich, but there’s still nothing fortuitous about taking advantage of a program designed precisely to pander to the needy egos of the slightly-more-than-moderately wealthy.

If you’re absolutely fabulously well-to-do and fancy Ferraris, you might even qualify for one of Maranello’s limited-production, big-buck Icona models. Oh, you probably also need to already own four or five Ferraris (and, no, a Portofino doesn’t count) not to mention having an “existing relationship” with the good signori at Maranello. Translated, that means you wear Prancing Horse-branded clothes 24/7 and promise not to re-sell your ill-gotten treasure to some (unapproved) ne’er-do-well. All of which may make you monastically moneyed, but owning a boat-load of Ferraris just takes beaucoup bucks; there’s nothing serendipitous about it.

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No, to be considered lucky and rich — at least by my definition — you first have to own, let’s say, six or seven Paganis. You know, a Zonda, a couple of Huayras, as well as a few of the countless specials each has engendered. That kind of wealth means you can call up Horacio Pagani himself and spitball ideas for his upcoming cars. You might even be such a potentate that he grants you exclusive glimpses at the much-anticipated third-gen Pagani, the upcoming Utopia (before even certain Canadian auto journalists with an admittedly over-healthy sense of self-importance).

But that’s still not the lucky part.

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No, to be both rich and lucky, some of that spitballing has to involve, let’s say just for argument’s sake, a lifelong desire for a modern remake of the long-tail supercars that dominated Le Mans in the ‘60s and early ‘70s. You know, those enormously winged behemoths that ruled the Mulsanne Straight back in the days when endurance racing actually mattered. Cars that, despite being more than 50 years old and of a race that pretty much everyone now ignores, remain embedded in our consciousness as the prototypical Le Mans racers.

And this is where luck starts to play a part — even the dominant part — in the conversation. Somewhere between bench-racing the difference between Ford’s GT40 and the Ferrari P3, you just happen to find out that a) Horacio absolutely loves the race cars of same era; b) his favourite car of all time (not wearing his name, of course) is Porsche’s iconic long-tail 917; and, most importantly, c) he just happens to have a new Grandi Complicazioni division within his no-longer-skunkworks factory specifically designed for requests with “big complications.”

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So, yes, he says, if you can pony up the dinero, he’d be happy to build you a one-off supercar, completely — because this is the rich part of this equation speaking up again — to whatever larger-dimension-ed specification your heart desires.

That is quite literally how the Pagani Codalunga — it means “long tail” — came to be, though somewhere along the five-year timeline — two to agree on the design specifics, two more to work out the engineering, and another 12 months to actually manufacture the bits — four other very rich people ponied up the requisite 7.0 million euros required to park a long-tail Pagani in their driveway.

So, what do you get for 10 million Loonies when you’re both rich and fortunate?

Well, a lot of people — Yours Truly included — think this is the most beautiful Pagani ever. In its faithfulness to those outlandish ‘60s and ‘70s racers, the Codalunga, besides being stretched and streamlined, is also much more simplified than Huayras previous. Oh, it still has computer-controlled air brakes, but they’re built into the rear spoiler so they don’t break up the lines of that long aerodynamic design. Ditto the side strakes. They’re now gone completely, the body flowing pretty much seamlessly from front-to-rear. The only complaint I’ve ever heard registered about Paganis is that they’re too, well, busy, all the aerodynamic add-ons seemingly trying a bit too hard.

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Not the Codalunga. Painted, as my tester was, in a semi-gloss Azzurro Sardegna, the body looks like it could have been pounded out of raw metal way back in ’67 or ‘71, its bodywork the better to remain stable on Le Mans’ interminably long back straight without inducing speed-stealing drag.

Somewhere between bench-racing the difference between Ford’s GT40 and the Ferrari P3, you find out Horacio’s favourite car of all time is Porsche’s iconic long-tail 917—and that he just happens to have a new Grandi Complicazioni division specifically designed for requests with ‘big complications’

Seriously, the pics of this car — especially the ones taken by the professional photographer, complains my editor — may be beautiful, but they still don’t nearly do this incredible car justice. It’s a little like Porsche’s 917 has been reborn with an EPA-approved powerplant, modern electronics, and actual NHTSA-approved crashworthiness (yes, one has been sold in the United States). Even if you own multiple Paganis and are rich enough that US$7.75 million is but an hour’s interest on your bearer bonds, I suspect you think this one is pretty special.

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It is also, let me tell you, pretty special to drive. On paper, one part of the attraction is that in yet again massaging Mercedes’ beast of a turbocharged 6.0 V12, AMG has managed to extract to 840 horsepower from its 6.0 litres. And another part of the paper trail is that the Codalunga weighs but 1,280 kilograms — about the same as a Subaru BRZ — which means it has about the same power-to-weight ratio as Porsche’s famed 1970 917 LH (Langheck) racer.

Out in the real world, two things stand out. The first, which is immediately apparent as soon as you start the engine, is that the extra horsepower the revised Mercedes engine produces is vastly overshadowed by its newfound enthusiasm. I don’t know if it’s the more finely tuned camshafts, some lower-inertia turbochargers, or simply just a lighter flywheel, but what once felt like a dated engine coming to the end of its life now seems full of youthful vim and vigor.

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It barks. It spits. But most of all, it revs a lot faster and harder. There’s an “incredible lightness of being” absent from previous Huayra engines that permeates the entire Codalunga. This is Pagani keeping up with the Joneses. Or, because San Cesario is right in the heart of Italy’s Motor Valley, the Ferraris, the Lamborghinis, and the Maseratis next door. Whatever they’ve done, the block may be the same, but there’s a “new” engine in there.

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The other immediate sensation — and, Lord, I hope it’s worth the US$7.75 million, guys — is that despite its seemingly ginormous stretch — 360 millimetres longer in the rear, compared with a Roadster BC – the Codalunga feels remarkably short-coupled, almost racer(-ish), compared with other supercars.

Rimac’s Neverra, as incredibly speedy as it may be, feels comparatively gargantuan behind the wheel. Ferrari’s SF90 may be more than 200 millimetres shorter overall, but, from behind the wheel, it feels bigger. In fact, tossing through tournantes — that’s Italian for “switchback hairpins” — the Codalunga feels as sprightly as the tiny BRZ I alluded to earlier. You feel like you’re waaay up front, like you can see the road right in front of the wheels.

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The effect, granted, is more illusion than real. The Codalunga is in fact, built on, more or less, the same chassis as the Huayra BC. Nonetheless, the real reason is that, again, taking inspiration from that famed 917, the Codalunga’s front bodywork, unlike the rear, is dramatically shorter than previous Paganis. The feeling of being on top of the front wheels, therefore, may be illusory, but from behind the wheel, it certainly feels real.

Whatever the case, if the idea was to emulate what it must have felt like to drive a Le Mans racer back in the ‘70s, then these rich five truly are lucky bastards, the Codalunga definitely my fave amongst all the Paganis I have driven.

Which means two things. First, that the Codalunga is an absolute stunner, captivating beyond mere two-dimensional photo and outrageous price tag. More importantly, at least to a modestly-paid automobile journalist, that last statement — “amongst all the Paganis I have driven” — means that, while I might be not nearly as rich as the cars’ five new owners, I may be almost as lucky.