You could call it a case of Damascene enlightenment. Well, you could if you were feeling pretentious, and had come over all florid and profound. In what self-help groups often refer to as a moment of clarity, the Maserati Bora has wormed its ways into your affections. Now you are in love, or infatuated at the very least. The defining moment occurs on discovering the final few millimetres of throttle travel. On roads surrounding the romantic milieu of a sewage treatment works in Hertfordshire, slotting it into third and accelerating hard on the first straight road for ages ushers in something that bit more… choral. The quad-cam V8 makes its presence felt for the first time.
And how. There is something uniquely compelling about this engine: the one that powered the Mexico, the Ghibli, the Indy, the Khamsin, and all manner of Quattroporte saloons, let’s not forget. This burbling unit has the easy-going flexibility of an American bent-eight overlaid with a deliciously blue-blooded growl when roused. The thing is, unlike other supercars of the period, you need to give the Bora a wake-up call. Initially, Maserati’s first mid-engined production model feels short on performance, but that throttle pedal is deceitful. You think it’s all the way down, only to discover a bit more travel. That is where the good stuff lies.
But that’s the thing about the Bora,
