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@bo231841

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Thats a nice one

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Stuttgart.

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The collection has taste involved

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Right. Imagine this.

It’s six in the morning on the Autobahn, which is Germany’s way of saying “speed limits are for people who lack confidence.” The road is empty, the sky is threatening rain, and somewhere in the distance engineering is about to happen very loudly.

First up: a Porsche. Low. Wide. About as subtle as a caffeinated wasp. This thing hasn’t been designed so much as obsessed over. The engine is in the wrong place—at the back—because Porsche engineers are stubborn, brilliant lunatics who looked at physics, frowned, and said, “Nein. We do it our way.”
When it accelerates, it doesn’t feel fast. It feels inevitable. Like gravity has filled out the paperwork.

Then there’s the Audi RS.

Now this is different. This is a car that turns up to a black-tie dinner in a tailored suit… and then punches the maître d’. Quattro all-wheel drive, turbos the size of small moons, and more computing power than NASA had when they went to the moon. You could drive it through a hurricane, a war zone, or Milton Keynes, and it would just shrug and carry on.

They line up.

The Porsche screams off like it’s late for a very important race meeting in 1973. It dances. It wriggles. It feels alive, like it might actually bite you if you get it wrong.

The Audi, meanwhile, simply deploys speed. No drama. No wheelspin. Just an almighty shove as if the Earth itself has decided to rotate faster underneath it. You point it. It goes. End of discussion.

Corner after corner, they trade blows. The Porsche is all passion and purity. The Audi is relentless, terrifying competence. One makes your heart race. The other makes you question reality.

Who wins?

Doesn’t matter.

Because this—this—is peak German automotive engineering. Two manufacturers solving the same problem in completely different ways, both convinced they’re right… and both absolutely are.

And that’s why, ladies and gentlemen, the Autobahn isn’t just a road.

It’s a laboratory.

Pictures made by @gba.spots

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Asphaltjäger

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The Mercedes ML 63 AMG is, on paper, a sensible family SUV. It’s tall, practical, and has enough boot space to transport a small herd of Labradors. But the moment you press the starter button, it becomes clear that this is not a car for Labradors. This is a car for lunatics.

Because suddenly the whole thing shudders, like a polite suburban dad who’s just remembered he used to be in a metal band. Under the bonnet is an engine so big it feels like it was borrowed from a speedboat—an AMG V8 that growls in a way that suggests it’s been emotionally repressed for too long.

I remember once taking one up a narrow country lane. The sort of lane where normal cars tiptoe along, ears pricked for tractors. But the ML 63 doesn’t tiptoe. It charges. The lane was barely wider than the car, yet the AMG thundered through it, flinging leaves, twigs, and unsuspecting wildlife into low orbit.

And then you reach a straight bit, and you put your foot down—because of course you do—and the whole SUV seems to inhale the horizon like it’s trying to win a competition. It shouldn’t be fast. It’s too tall, too heavy, too… mansion-shaped. Yet somehow it just goes, like a sofa with a rocket strapped to it.

By the time you arrive at your destination, you’re slightly deaf, slightly frightened, and slightly in love. Because the ML 63 AMG is ridiculous in all the best ways: a family car that secretly wants to be an Olympic sprinter.

It’s not subtle. It’s not sensible. But good grief, it makes the world more interesting.

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Ah, the Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano. It’s not just a car; it’s a weapon dressed in Italian elegance. Under that sculpted bonnet sits a 6.0-litre V12 from the Enzo, with 620 horsepower waiting to rearrange your organs.

Press the throttle and it doesn’t so much accelerate as attack the horizon, roaring, snarling, and hurling you forward while you laugh like a lunatic. And yet, somehow, it’s civilised. The steering is perfect, the balance is pure Ferrari magic, and it makes even a boring road feel like a private racetrack.

It’s loud, dramatic, and utterly unnecessary, which is exactly why it’s brilliant.

@bo.dbr

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You see, this is the Audi RS6. And yes, it looks like a family estate – the kind of car you’d expect to see parked outside a private school, covered in mud, with two child seats in the back.

But underneath… it’s a lunatic.

A 4.0-litre twin-turbo V8, 560 horsepower, and a launch control system that turns groceries into a high-speed projectile event. It’ll do 0–100 in under four seconds, and still has room in the boot for your Labrador and a week’s worth of regret.

It’s subtle. It’s savage. And it’s probably the only car that can outrun a supercar and carry flat-pack furniture at the same time.

Brilliant.

#prestigepetrolclub

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Right, so, I’ve just blasted across the border from the Netherlands into Germany in a Porsche GT3 Touring — an engine that roars like an angry lion being poked with a stick. Now, I’m hurtling down the Autobahn, where speed limits are more of a suggestion, en route to Düsseldorf for the Classic Remise. A temple of motoring magnificence, filled with cars so beautiful they’ll make your knees go wobbly. Honestly, what a way to spend a day.

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