THE ASTON MARTIN VALKYRIE PUTS ME TO SLEEP. AT 30 MPH.
Surrounded by Manama’s nighttime bustle and thrust. Yes, it’s been a long day driving probably the planet’s most exciting hypercar, but that’s not it. Instead – and prepare for a key change here – I want you to imagine that you’re an unborn child. There you are, tightly packaged yet perfectly supported. Warm. Safe. Soothed by lub-dub noises, the hum and vibration of unknown everyday life.
Welcome to the Valkyrie. From the neck down every bit of me is supported by various bits of trim and floor, lulling zizzes and vibrations run through the carbon tub, the engine’s low-rev drone is a constant, dominant white noise. I didn’t expect to liken travelling in the Valkyrie to being in a womb, but that’s the effect it has on me and, yeah, it sends me drifting towards the land of Nod. Of all the things I expected to learn about the Valkyrie,
