A little over a decade ago, Lamborghini's V12 assembly line looked like a colorized version of the black-and-white photos in the company museum. A few milling machines hummed and spat white fluid while a skeleton crew casually bolted together Murcielago engines as if someone had replaced their espresso beans with decaf Folgers crystals. I recall seeing a middle-aged man with a five-o'clock shadow working a flat file against a cylinder head, cautiously deburring the freshly milled part. A few feet away, but 40 years into the future, the Gallardo assembly line hummed with the efficiency, if not the speed, of a plant churning out VW Golfs or Audi A4s.

Giuseppe Marescalchi, a Lamborghini employee since 1982, has seen the ups and downs of the tiny supercar maker. During his tenure, four different owners have cut his paychecks. But even as the company stumbled along, the cars remained legendary. Over the past 33 years, the Countach, Jalpa, Diablo, LM002, and Murcielago have left the tiny factory in rural Sant'Agata Bolognese. It occurs to me that there has never been a pushrod in the factory, ever.

Marescalchi is now the Aventador Engine Line Team Leader and my guide through the modernized V12 production process. Affable despite the language barrier, he is obviously proud of the engine line that now makes five fire-breathing 6.5-liter V12s per day. The new Huracan's V10 engine is made in Audi's Gyor, Hungary, plant and arrives in Italy fully dressed. It's a great engine for sure but, like pasta, it's just different when it's made in Italy.

Marescalchi learns through the interpreter about my 2004 visit and smiles. Much has changed, he tells me. The milling machines are gone and the engine arrives as a set of components ready for assembly. A flat-screen monitor hanging above the line counts down to assure that workers stay on the five-engine-per-day schedule. Marescalchi's right, it's completely different. No one has a file in hand.

At the first station the naked aluminum block meets the crankshaft and the pistons. The V-angle, the number of cylinders, and the firing order link the Aventador's 691-horsepower V12 to the past. Nothing else is shared with the old engine. Each piston head is married to a short-throw connecting arm. In goes the massive crankshaft that will be responsible for keeping the spinning bits inside the engine at the 8250-rpm power peak. Everything is clean, but workers wear black short-sleeved shirts and black pants. No one is wearing the equivalent of a HAZMAT suit, and there are no fake doctors on this floor, either; the engine is built right out in the open, not in a hyperbaric chamber, or climate-controlled "clean room," like the Nissan GT-R's twin-turbo V6.

In the next station, the heads go together. Hydraulic lifters, valves, and springs go in. The valve guides arrive already installed to avoid adding more labor to the factory floor. My futzing with the various steps in the process is beginning to slow down the line. The boss glances nervously at the countdown clock and moves me to the next stage lest I prevent the team from meeting its daily 3500-horsepower quota.

After the head is together, it slides toward the block on a hanger. Heads bolt to the block. My engine is taking shape, but the bumbling writer and interpreter combo has slowed down the line to a crawl. A decade ago, I doubt anyone would've cared, but today the schedule exists and the doomsday clock counts down until the workday is over. An electronic bundle of wires go on. The direct-fuel-injection plumbing is fitted. We fast-forward to an already assembled engine and seven-speed gearbox, a leviathan more than six feet long that looks big enough to power a city bus. I'm allowed to snap a few ancillary items into place. The Lamborghini V12 engine is together. At least I didn't drop anything important.

At the end of the line is the crucible, the dynamometer room. Fresh off the line, every V12 goes in for a whipping to make sure it meets horsepower claims. Outside the room, a computer runs the test cycle. A monitor displays a spreadsheet showing the last twenty or so engines. Every one on the list is over 700 horsepower. A particularly strong one makes 718 horsepower. And then I spot the 738-horsepower reading. The interpreter asks about it. Marescalchi responds, "Super Veloce." He needs no translation. Lamborghini's Geneva auto-show reveal is already being test built on the line.

Perhaps the line did all their deburring the day before my arrival, but it's more likely that the ghosts of production past have been exorcized. The V12 goes together efficiently and without a fuss, provided fumbling writers are not around. I'd guess that Marescalchi is relieved to have me off the factory floor. Lamborghini fantasy camp is over and an afternoon espresso tastes even better after a pretend day of work.

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