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The rationale behind Lamborghini's Urus

If you've been following developments in Sant'Agata Bolognese lately, you'll know that the world's most unabashed supercar producer is adding an SUV. Code-named "Urus," it will join the brand's existing two-model (Aventador/Huracan) lineup. It's a bold move for a company with a reputation built on iconic two-seaters including the Miura, Countach, and Diablo, and by its CEO's own admission the decision "will radically change Lamborghini." Why risk the company's exclusive, extroverted image on a vehicle associated with mundane tasks and parents who can't bear the thought of driving a minivan? Two reasons, says CEO Stephan Winkelmann. "The SUV Segment is still fast growing worldwide," he notes. Indeed, global demand for SUVs is up 88 percent since 2008, making utility vehicles the fastest-growing segment around the world, according to IHS Automotive. Utilities now comprise 19 percent of the global vehicle market. In addition, "sales can be equally distributed over our three major regions...the Americas (the US is Lambo's top market), EMEA (Europe, Middle East, Africa), and Asia Pacific." Lamborghini expects Urus to double sales from its current 2,500 cars per year to nearly 5,000. Adding a third model line "supports more consistent volumes and competitiveness of the company and our dealers," he continues. Further, Winkelmann maintains that an SUV fits the DNA of Lamborghini. "Our brand has a history of many types of cars such as GTs, super sports cars, and with the LM002 from 1986 to 1992, even an SUV. We learned together with our designers and product people that the SUV represented this opportunity the best." Structural implications include an expansion of the diminutive company's roughly 1,200-employee workforce by 50 percent, or 500 new hires, and the construction of a new facility near its headquarters to build the Urus. Building the new Lamborghini in Bologna is key to differentiating Urus from the other Volkswagen Group premium SUVs (Bentley Bentayga; Porsche Cayenne; Audi Q7 and Q8; and Volkswagen Touareg) that will share the same platform, and Winkelmann put great effort into persuading VW the move made economic sense. "We worked many months building the business case for approval because we are convinced the SUV will be a success and the best place to build it is in Sant'Agata Bolognese," Winkelmann stresses. "We are not simply adding another line in an existing building. Rather, we are talking about greenfield construction.

VW pulls Lamborghini and Bentley from the Paris Motor Show

It's been slightly more than a year since the news that Volkswagen had intentionally cheated on diesel emissions testing broke. Since then, the company's reputation and image have suffered and it has struggled to regain its footing and composure. The automaker is shelling out billions in fines, so cost cutting is inevitable. Today, Reuters reports that Volkswagen subsidiaries Lamborghini and Bentley won't bring their elaborate displays to the Paris Motor Show next week. Auto shows can cost automakers millions of dollars, especially for supercar and luxury car brands that constantly try to compete and one-up with each other. Much of the money and fanfare goes to catering the media, and if an automaker has nothing new to reveal it can be difficult to justify the expense. The company told Reuters that it plans to attend smaller events that focus more on potential buyers. The Volkswagen group as a whole has shifted it's focus, both when it comes to products and auto shows like Paris. Next week, the automaker will be focusing on electric vehicles and electromobility. The company plans to reveal a new EV with 373 miles of range, eclipsing both the Tesla Model 3 and Chevy Bolt. Volkswagen has plans for 30 new electric vehicles by 2025. Lamborghini and Bentley aren't the only major automakers skipping Paris. Ford, Volvo, and Aston Martin have all decided to save money and focus their efforts elsewhere. Related Video:

2015 Lamborghini Aventador LP 700-4 Roadster Review

"Lamborghini Murcielago." That's what I would tell anyone who asked what my favorite car was. Yes, there were easier cars to drive than the wailing wraith from Sant'Agata Bolgnese, and that was partly why I liked it so. It was impossible to see out the back – reversing was easiest done with the door open, sitting on the sill. My head banged the door frame when I checked traffic on the left. The seat made my butt hurt. The cabin ergonomics were based on a design language that humans haven't yet translated. It boiled over in stop-and-go traffic. It was big. Yet it drove like nothing else, with the instant zig-zag reflexes of a mako designed in The Matrix. The Murcielago's thrills weren't laid out on the ground, you had to dig for them with your bare hands. And that's what made it outstanding. When I first drove the Aventador at its launch in Rome, I spent the day blasting around the circuit at Vallelunga. It was so easy to drive – "too easy by half," as Jeremy Clarkson would later say of it – viciously quick, unholy fun, and very good. But it was a little too easy to drive. Which is why the Murcielago remained my favorite car, ever. Until two weeks ago. The Aventador came when the rough-diamond Gallardo was Lamborghini's in-house reference for ease-of-use. But now we have the fire-and-forget Huracan. Having driven one after the other, and on the context of LA streets instead of the smooth and open landscape of Vallelunga or Laguna Seca, I now see the Aventador for what it truly is: the representation of the bull that's on the Lamborghini badge – head-down, horns-out anger. Like the Murcielago, the Aventador is big. It's more than ten inches longer than a Chevrolet Corvette, five inches wider than a Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat, and 3.5 inches wider than a Dodge Viper. It is also low, an inch lower than the already ground-floor Huracan. I won't pretend to be rational about it: the Aventador says everything I want a car to say. It's the certain, antidotal statement to brief and befuddled everyday lives. The cabin is a cockpit in every sense: close-fitted, button-filled, lit up. I'm five-foot-eleven, and I wear it like a tailored suit. I gave a ride to a guy who's six-foot-three and perhaps 260 pounds, so it can fit much larger frames but I still don't know how he got in or out through that scissor-door opening. The trunk in the Murcielago was big enough to hold a single dream.