Here’s Why the Lamborghini Huracan Evo Ditches the LP Naming Scheme
And also why Lambo likes its paddles on the steering column
The addition of Evo to the Huracan name reflects the ongoing debate within the auto industry over real words versus alphanumeric vehicle naming conventions. For years, Lamborghini has used the LPXXX-X convention as shorthand for describing its models. For instance, the vehicle the Evo replaces was called the Huracan LP610-4. L and P stand for longitudinal posterior in Italian and refer to both the V-10 engine's orientation (north-south) and position (back half of the car). The number 610 represents the power output (in Italy's favored unit, cavallinos) while "-4" describes the number of driven wheels.
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Lamborghini claims the shift to real words, such as Performante and Evo, makes things easier to understand for the consumer and from a branding perspective, even if global intellectual property rights make it increasingly difficult to secure such names. For that reason and the ease of translation to other languages (like Chinese), other manufacturers pursue alphanumerics with gusto. What has yet to be decided within the halls of Sant'Agata is how Evo will be used. When asked if the hypothetical Performante model would be badged Huracan Evo Performante or Huracan Performante Evo, Reggiani winced and said while he prefers the former, it's still under deep discussion.
It's a debate that rages among our staff; some prefer transmission paddle shifters attached to the steering wheel (which follow the wheel through its rotations), while others like them in a fixed position on the steering column. Lamborghini engineers have had the same debate, but settled it in the snow, with prototypes rocking each setup. After driving on a slippery course requiring a lot of steering input, including full lock-to-lock rotations, the vast majority of Lamborghini's test team agreed that in the end, it was easier to find up- and downshifts when the paddles were fixed to the column. It's worth noting that Formula 1 cars use wheel-mounted paddles but that the quickness of their steering ratio means maximum rotation (excluding emergency maneuvers) rarely approach 180 degrees.
I used to go kick tires with my dad at local car dealerships. I was the kid quizzing the sales guys on horsepower and 0-60 times, while Dad wandered around undisturbed. When the salesmen finally cornered him, I'd grab as much of the glossy product literature as I could carry. One that still stands out to this day: the beautiful booklet on the Mitsubishi Eclipse GSX that favorably compared it to the Porsches of the era. I would pore over the prose, pictures, specs, trim levels, even the fine print, never once thinking that I might someday be responsible for the asterisked figures "*as tested by Motor Trend magazine." My parents, immigrants from Hong Kong, worked their way from St. Louis, Missouri (where I was born) to sunny Camarillo, California, in the early 1970s. Along the way, Dad managed to get us into some interesting, iconic family vehicles, including a 1973 Super Beetle (first year of the curved windshield!), 1976 Volvo 240, the 1977 Chevrolet Caprice Classic station wagon, and 1984 VW Vanagon. Dad imbued a love of sports cars and fast sedans as well. I remember sitting on the package shelf of his 1981 Mazda RX-7, listening to him explain to my Mom - for Nth time - what made the rotary engine so special. I remember bracing myself for the laggy whoosh of his turbo diesel Mercedes-Benz 300D, and later, his '87 Porsche Turbo. We were a Toyota family in my coming-of-age years. At 15 years and 6 months, I scored 100 percent on my driving license test, behind the wheel of Mom's 1991 Toyota Previa. As a reward, I was handed the keys to my brother's 1986 Celica GT-S. Six months and three speeding tickets later, I was booted off the family insurance policy and into a 1983 Toyota 4x4 (Hilux, baby). It took me through the rest of college and most of my time at USC, where I worked for the Daily Trojan newspaper and graduated with a biology degree and business minor. Cars took a back seat during my stint as a science teacher for Teach for America. I considered a third year of teaching high school science, coaching volleyball, and helping out with the newspaper and yearbook, but after two years of telling teenagers to follow their dreams, when I wasn't following mine, I decided to pursue a career in freelance photography. After starving for 6 months, I was picked up by a tiny tuning magazine in Orange County that was covering "The Fast and the Furious" subculture years before it went mainstream. I went from photographer-for-hire to editor-in-chief in three years, and rewarded myself with a clapped-out 1989 Nissan 240SX. I subsequently picked up a 1985 Toyota Land Cruiser (FJ60) to haul parts and camera gear. Both vehicles took me to a more mainstream car magazine, where I first sipped from the firehose of press cars. Soon after, the Land Cruiser was abandoned. After a short stint there, I became editor-in-chief of the now-defunct Sport Compact Car just after turning 30. My editorial director at the time was some long-haired dude with a funny accent named Angus MacKenzie. After 18 months learning from the best, Angus asked me to join Motor Trend as senior editor. That was in 2007, and I've loved every second ever since.
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