Pronunciation is key. Urraco … “oo-RAH-koh” – ideally with an Italian accent smoothed by a chilled grappa. Con Minas, owner of this 1974 Lamborghini Urraco P250S, politely corrects my amateur-hour effort. He notes his Greek heritage helps, as he rolls off “U-rra-co” in a manner that would make old Ferruccio proud.
The Urraco is, wholly unfairly, an overlooked 1970s Lamborghini. But this wedge-shaped mid-engined 2+2 coupe’s lifespan (1972-79) overlapped the Miura’s swansong and Countach’s birth. Try standing out in that crowd. But while these Sant’Agata V12s were the reserve of celebrities, F1 drivers and royalty, the V8 Urraco was designed as a more affordable junior model.
Half a century later, the same rings true. A Miura or Countach attracts seven figures, serious collectors, car covers and tragically low (if any) annual kilometres. But with Aussie values starting at just over $100K, an Urraco’s affordable enough to land in enthusiast hands. Which is where Con comes in. An automotive body maker by trade, mechanically-minded and with deep appreciation for Italian marques, this Tahiti Blue ‘Little Bull’ is both cherished and enjoyed on Melbourne roads.
Con shuts me down when I suggest maintaining and repairing an Urraco must give him night sweats. I hate to play stereotypes … but an early ’70s Italian supercar? Really? In 1974 Lamborghini was haemorrhaging money, cars weren’t selling, founder Ferruccio was flogging his stake in the company, and the oil crisis was proving supercar kryptonite. Hardly a recipe guaranteeing quality would be front and centre.
“It’s actually a pretty robust little machine, built extremely well,” Con says. “I can’t speak highly enough about the quality of this car. But I will say one thing. If you see anyone driving an old Lamborghini, and you have the opportunity, go and thank them. It’s not the most comfortable thing, so it’s a privilege to see one on the road.”
The Urraco’s a rare beast. The original hope was to produce around 1000 annually, but in seven years a mere 791 were built. “They made 520 of the P250s,” Con says of his model, “and about 10 per cent of those were right-hand drive.” Some 190 3.0-litre quad-cam V8 Urraco P300s were also produced, while 77 2.0-litre V8 P200s avoided Italy’s harsh taxes for engines over that displacement.
Con’s is a true-blue Aussie car – one of perhaps only 30 – delivered new to a Sydney property developer complete with ultra-rare sunroof option. It began life Pistachio green, but had a colour change early in its life. It’s an ‘S’ model, meaning the suede interior was replaced with full leather; there’s factory air-con and power windows. Incredibly, the interior remains original, complete with perfect patina on its low-mounted cream chairs.
“When I was about 15, I lived near a Lamborghini dealership,” Con recalls. “It had a handful of cars, including an Urraco. I remember the owner coming out and telling us to go away; just little kids looking at these cars. That was the seed. I thought ‘I’m going to own one of those one day’”.
Con has owned and maintained around 15 classics since, including a 1959 Maserati 3500 GT, so was well placed to commit to Urraco life. He pulled the trigger in 2013, finding this three-owner delight which today still only registers 80,000km travelled.
“It’s an absolute work of art,” he says. “The design is so pure, and just look at the asymmetric wheel arches. It’s a credit to the (Lamborghini) guys who continued at the factory in very difficult times. The world’s a better place for them, right?”
Agreed. There’s passion and emotion in Con’s voice. He ‘gets’ these Italian delights. By the late 1960s, Lamborghini had seen how a relatively affordable exotic sports car could win sales: Porsche achieved it with the 911, then Ferrari followed with its six-cylinder Dino 206.
The Urraco was first shown at the 1970 Turin motor show, penned by the great Marcello Gandini for Bertone, with a bold wedge shape, pop-up headlights and air-intake louvres. Production was delayed due to issues with an all-new aluminium transverse-mounted V8 engine and first-to-market MacPherson struts front-and-rear arrangement, so it was deep into 1972 before customers received the first editions.
Its rivals in those early years makes for delightful reading. The Ferrari Dino 246GT and later Dino 308 GT4; the Maserati Merak; Alfa Romeo Montreal; the all-conquering 911; and even the De Tomaso Pantera if you didn’t find the idea of an Italian supercar with V8 American heart too sacrilegious.
Unlike hand-built V12 Lamborghinis, many Urraco parts are interchangeable across other brands, helping swerve some of the Italian supercar ‘tax’. Rear tail-lights are from a Fiat 124, the door handles are Fiat X-19 and the starter motor and alternator commonplace Bosch items. Interestingly, the front indicators are Miura items turned upside down.
“There’s nothing too complicated on it,” Con says, while explaining engine access is easy, unlike so many mid-engine cars. “Spark plugs take five minutes to change; they’re right in front of you.”
Peering into the little bull’s sideways-mounted V8, the quartet of double-choke downdraught Weber 40 DCNF carbies fill the view. To the uninitiated, the idea of tuning these brings fear and dollar signs. “Many years ago I gave the car to someone to tune and it ended up running worse,” says Con. “I went home, bought a heap of Weber books, studied them and taught myself how to tune them. Once done, they run great. If you own a car like this, it’s best to learn about it, appreciate it, and do as much as you can.”
The driving rewards are amplified when you’ve taken part in assembling and fine-tuning the V8 orchestra. The Urraco’s all-aluminium 2.5-litre with single overhead camshafts is just behind the occupants’ shoulders, and it’s a high-revving delight with the Jaeger ‘Elettronico’ tacho’s redline not troubled until 8000rpm.
“It’s like having the Milan Philharmonic playing full bore Vivaldi flat out behind you,” Con enthuses. “When you get into the revs, I’d say about 5700rpm is its optimum torque, it’s gorgeous, sensational and sometimes overwhelming.” He says this with enough passion to make him eligible for Italian citizenship, surely? The sound’s helped by a stainless-steel quad exhaust with upswept tailpipes – reminiscent of a De Tomaso Pantera’s – while the less freely-breathing original hangs on Con’s wall.
“It’s not fast by today’s standards, but it’s quite light so feels really quick around corners,” he says. “It’s not fast off the mark, and you must take time with gear selection, especially first to second, but it’s a beautiful, mechanical change. The steering’s phenomenal rack and pinion, but it’s quite tiring to drive in town; it’s much better suited to the open road.”
Con concedes the cabin gets hot, the air-con probably hasn’t been serviced since new, and the Urraco’s non-servo brakes aren’t really a match for its performance. But he says after initially struggling to get comfortable in the cabin, he’s now adjusted and accepts it’s just the nature of the beast. Or bull. “They’re probably designed for up to one hour of driving, and that’s it, you’ve got to get out,” he says. “But it’s much comfier than a Countach. They’re made for drivers no taller than five-foot-seven.”
The cockpit exudes European class, before the late ’70s/early ’80s came along and turned many exotic car interiors in to gaudy excess-all-areas travesties. Note the skinny three-spoke steering wheel, almost delicate manual gear shifter, padded leather dash and tiny original radio. Unusual are the speedo and tacho angled towards the driver at the very edges of the instrument panel, while front-and-centre is a telltale warning light panel like something from the Starship Enterprise. Back in the day, these were more important to keep a careful eye on, rather than your speed.
It’s called a 2+2, but really, the upright rear seats are a token effort to anyone with legs. There’s simply no space behind the front chairs, but it’s nice to imagine a third party lying in the back – as transverse as the V8 – ready to enjoy an Alpine pass thrill ride.
“I’ve had to correct many issues previous mechanics have undertaken on the car, there’s been a lot of butchers, but mainly minor stuff,” says Con. “But once you understand the car, it’s a beautiful balance between simplicity, exotica and elegance. Every drive, every moment, is a special occasion in this rolling work of art. Sometimes I need to pull over and grab a coffee because my heartbeat’s going through the roof.”
Hearing the passion, you’d think Con was more Italian than this 50-year-old Lamborghini. He’s convinced me these cars don’t deserve their highly-strung reputations. I ask about failing pop-up lights, overheating engines, dodgy electronics, cracking Campagnolo rims and over-priced Michelin XWX rubber. Nope. All is well. It’s apparently reliable, functioning perfectly and running costs don’t burn his wallet.
Maybe it’s time to ditch the Lamborghini V12 dream? It appears the ‘Baby Miura’ Urraco’s the smart, beautiful little bull we wanted all along.