From the October 1987 issue of Car and Driver.

Grab your Guccis, status slaves: the price of fame is rising fast. Just when you thought your new double-throwdown four-wheel-driver had more than enough beans to chug you up the social ladder, we bring you devastating news. Dump your Range Rover, scrap your Isuzu Trooper, and pawn off your cute little Suzuki Samurai on your second cousin from Dubuque, because there is a big, bad new boomer roaming the streets, and it's destined to make those dinkmobiles as passé as two-tone Willys Jeepsters. Let us introduce you to a vehicle that is to chichi off-road boutique items what the L.A. Raiders are to the Joffrey Ballet. Meet the Mad Max machine. Meet the closest thing to a street-legal Tiger tank known to man. Meet the Lamborghini LM002. Meet the Rambo Lambo.

Before we proceed, let us prove our point with some stupefying statistics. If, later, we lapse into hyperbole, consider it intentional. This machine weighs 6780 pounds. That is 2472 pounds heavier than the Range Rover, which many describe as the ultimate in this genre. The Lambo carries a 5.2-liter V-12 that produces 444 horsepower, giving it almost 300 hp more than the 3.5-liter V-8 Range Rover. The LM002 will accelerate from 0 to 60 mph in 7.7 seconds, almost twice as quick as the Range Rover. Its top speed is 118 mph, or 23 mph faster than the best from Solihull. And, oh yes, the Lamborghini costs about $120,000, which is $90,000 more than the cuddly little Englishman. But as Napoleon Bonaparte observed outside the gates of Moscow, domination and intimidation never come cheap.

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Never before in recent memory have we driven a vehicle that has turned as many heads, blown as many minds, freaked as many citizens, or been as much insane, outrageous fun as the Rambo Lambo. Our LM002 was the first to reach these shores through Joe Nastasi's Lamborghini East distributorship (two more were on the boat: one destined for Chrysler, the new owner of Lamborghini, and one for that renowned trendy Malcolm Forbes), and it riveted attention upon itself wherever we went. Onlookers took hundreds of candid photos of it every time we pulled off the road. Those who spotted the "Lamborghini" logo on its chin-high hood behaved as if they had just witnessed a miracle at Lourdes.

It all began back in 1976, when a small, ambitious American defense contractor, Mobility Technology International, approached Lamborghini with a design for an all-terrain vehicle that might have military applications.

When we lifted the hood, strong men swooned. There, rising to roughly eye level, is mounted one of the same four-cam, 48-valve V-12s that power the famed Countach, except that this one ingests its fuel—a gallon about every eight miles—through six dual-throat Weber carburetors hidden inside a massive, cast-aluminum airbox. Beside the engine are a pair of immense, jarlike air cleaners intended to filter out the desert sand and other nasties kicked up during vigorous off-road outings. The reason our test vehicle's L510 V-12 was rated at 444 hp, 24 higher than the same engine in the Countach, is that Lamborghini East had not yet cleaned up its exhaust emissions to meet U.S. specs. Even after certification, the LM002 may still be more powerful than the Countach, because the emissions regs are less stringent for "light trucks" than for cars.

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But why, you puzzle, have the boys from Bologna built something so weird? Isn't the Countach bizarre enough?

It all began back in 1976, when a small, ambitious American defense contractor, Mobility Technology International, approached Lamborghini with a design for an all-terrain vehicle that might have military applications. The result, unveiled in 1977 at the Geneva show, was the Lamborghini Cheetah, a wild, low-slung four-wheeler powered by a rear-mounted, 5.9-liter Chrysler V-8. There was only one small problem: the Cheetah looked amazingly like another American-designed vehicle, a project for the Pentagon known as the FMC XR311; in fact, some of the MTI designers had previously worked on the FMC machine. Because the Cheetah was so similar to the XR311, FMC threatened legal action against both MTI and Lamborghini, and the Cheetah was quickly dropped. (In contrast, the XR311 led ultimately to the army's new HMMWV light-utility vehicle.) The whole sordid episode, plus a joint effort with BMW that also went sour, severely damaged Lamborghini's reputation and nearly caused the company's collapse. The only Cheetah ever built was destroyed in a crash in the United States.

Our Rambo Lambo made its way over hill and dale on a set of 345 (that's three, forty-five) 60VR-17 Pirelli radials, which, though DOT-rated, were previously unknown on these shores and are presumably about as expensive as a fleet of Yugos.

Lamborghini's interest in a Cheetah-like vehicle lived on, however—mainly because of the booming worldwide business in military hardware. In 1980, the Swiss brothers Patrick and Jean-Claude Mimran bought Lamborghini and began the process of restoring the company to financial health. The LM001 debuted the following year at Geneva, and by 1982 the first LM002 had been constructed. The engine, a home-grown V-12, had been relocated to the front for better traction and weight distribution than the Cheetah-like 001 had offered. The new chassis was fabricated from large steel tubes welded into a stiff space frame and was covered with a light, slab-sided, fiberglass-and-aluminum body. The suspension was fully independent, with unequal-length control arms and coil springs fore and aft. The four-wheel-drive system worked through a center-mounted two-speed transfer case, which permitted 4wd operation in low and high ranges, plus conventional rear-wheel drive. The transmission was a heavy-duty ZF S5-24/3 five-speed manual, mounted behind the engine. Inside the cabin was room for four passengers, and two to four more could ride shotgun (literally) in an open-air observation deck out back. The entire setup was mounted on the most awesome tires this side of a tractor pull. Our Rambo Lambo made its way over hill and dale on a set of 345 (that's three, forty-five) 60VR-17 Pirelli radials, which, though DOT-rated, were previously unknown on these shores and are presumably about as expensive as a fleet of Yugos.



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If the first LM002 was anything, it was complicated. This was immediately apparent to military types, who recognized that for all its formidable performance, the Lambo's usefulness in battle would be limited. Expecting a squad of dropout draftees to field-service six Webers and a four-cam V-12 would be like entrusting the Botswana Air Force with a space shuttle. It was decided, however, that the LM002 would make an ideal scout car for Middle Eastern sheiks and aspiring private-militia commanders. In order to appeal to this upscale market, Lamborghini outfitted its beast with leather seats, power windows, air conditioning, a stereo system, and other amenities necessary to properly elegant dune hopping. Jump seats were installed in the open rear deck for gun bearers or harem members.

Hauling oneself behind the leather-rimmed Nardi wheel and cranking over the big V-12, one is transported instantly into a limbo of Road Warrior Fantasies.

Several dozen of the amazing machines have in fact been shipped to the Middle East over the past few years, and they are said to be just the thing for touring the front of the Iran-Iraq War or scouting prospective oil fields in the Rub' al Khali. Until recently, though, the market for the LM002 in the United States was considered to be nonexistent. Two developments have altered that situation: first, as automobile design has come increasingly to acknowledge the laws of aerodynamics, cars have begun to look like cloned amoebas; second as the quest for individuality has spread to all segments of the market, the four-wheel-drive craze has moved upscale. Enter Lamborghini, a name that suggests nothing if not exclusivity and shock-value styling. Enter the LM002.

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We flat loved our Rambo Lambo. Our reasons, of course, were totally irrational. How can one take a $120,000, 444-hp, 6780-pound off-road monster seriously? And we must admit that the LM002 has the standard Italian exotic's complement of wacky contradictions and absurdities. But does anyone really give a damn that the turn signals are ancient, non-canceling types; or that the stereo belongs on the bargain counter at K mart; or that the low-speed steering and the clutch are so heavy that they make a Peterbilt feel like a Civic; or that the Italian electrics sometimes throw tantrums; or that we found a water line rubbing against the fan belt; or that the rear differential is threatened by head from the adjacent, oil-drum-sized muffler; or that the air conditioning, with its two tiny compressors, converts the interior into a Turkish bath whenever the mercury oozes above 80 degrees? What do we care about a few mechanical glitches in a machine that is so larger-than-life, so outrageous, so hypertrophied that comparing it with a normal automobile would be akin to measuring the palace at Versailles against a suburban split-level?

We recorded 70-to-0-mph stops in just over 200 feet—a substantially shorter distance than any number of road cars can manage with one-third as much weight.

Driving the LM002 is a trip never to be forgotten. Hauling oneself behind the leather-rimmed Nardi wheel and cranking over the big V-12, one is transported instantly into a limbo of Road Warrior Fantasies. The engine emits the wonderful, faintly ominous whine unique to big twelves. The engagement of the bear-trap clutch produces little initial movement—after all, overcoming the inertia of nearly three and a half tons is no mean feat, even for the Lambo's monster motor—but after a second's hesitation, while all the power and torque are being marshaled for the task, watch out! Once the tach needle sweeps past 5000 rpm, the LM002 sheds its street clothes and begins to operate like something out of DC Comics. The big engine howls unearthly tones through its dual exhausts, and suddenly one is seeking out 3-series Bimmers, 300E Mercs, and unready Z28 Camaros. To shock and humiliate their hapless drivers is one of the more civilized urges one gets behind the wheel of this leviathan.

Even more abuse can be heaped on the unwary in the twisty sections. The giant, ventilated, twin-caliper front disc brakes and the twelve-by-three-inch rear drums give the Lambo an extraordinary ability to control its bulk. We recorded 70-to-0-mph stops in just over 200 feet—a substantially shorter distance than any number of road cars can manage with one-third as much weight. The great brakes permit one to pile into corners at astoundingly high velocities. And the fact that the huge Pirellis put bigger patches of rubber on the pavement than anything this side of a 747 makes the LM002 extremely sticky in the right stuff. We were continually amazed by the alacrity of the Lambo under all highway conditions.

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As for the lumpy, off-road stuff, we repeatedly assaulted immense chuckholes and ditches at absurd speeds, bracing ourselves for a crash—which never came! The surprisingly supple Lambo suspension soaked up the impacts like a sprinting tiger. The brute force is pure feline when it comes to rapid off-road transit—truly the best such machine we have ever encountered. Our only complaint in this regard is that the 002 has old-fashioned manually adjusting front-wheel hubs.

You may have heard that Lamborghini has been purchased by the Chrysler Corporation. No one quite understands what this means. No one quite understands what this means. Even a Chrysler PR type we queried expressed bafflement. “Maybe it’s to help our image in Europe,” he offered. “Otherwise, I haven’t got the vaguest idea.” We suspect the acquisition has more to do with corporate ego that with image or, say, long-term company expansion. In any case, these is little likelihood that Iacocca’s boys will radically increase LM002 production. The machines are built one at a time—by hand, for all intents and purposes—and one cannot imagine that Chrysler will interfere with the 200-odd Countaches produced annually in order to kick out more off-roaders. We would, however, wager that there is a stronger world demand for these monsters than one might suspect—perhaps in the neighborhood of 1000 a year.

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Okay, now that we have told you that the Rambo Lambo is the most sensational outré vehicle to hit the road since the Bugatti Royale, what are you going to do about it? If you are truly driven by the lust for status, we suggest that you do anything to obtain the $120,000 necessary for the purchase of an LM002. You might rob 1200 convenience stores at a hundred bucks a hit, or hock everything you own, even your autographed picture of Jackie O., and bet all the proceeds in a state lottery. Whatever it takes, you simply must have this Lambo because it has suddenly consigned all other automotive status symbols—Porsches, Ferraris, Countaches, Rollers, you name it—to the trash heap of social obsolescence.

Once you take delivery of your LM002, consider the following minor modifications. First, give it an appropriate paint job—perhaps a combination of desert brown, flat black, and naval haze gray. A full military camouflage treatment might work, though you wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a staff sergeant in the National Guard. We also recommend tinted windows. And more lights. And lots of antennas. A full armor package would be nice too but it would reduce the vehicle’s performance. A gun rack is essential, though. For Uzis, of course.

See you on Rodeo Drive. Or in downtown Beirut. Or in the Khyber Pass. Your choice.

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