You should be reading about me roaring around in the new Aston Martin 4.7 Vantage but, as usual, the car gods had other plans. Built to cater to the fortunate few who are loathe to purchase Porsche’s stalwart 911, it turns out that the so-called “Baby Aston” that was set aside for me has suddenly, mysteriously, been relegated to the workshop with minor cosmetic damage. For days I had been looking forward to hearing what’s probably the best sounding V8 engine this side of a Ferrari F430 but now, annoyingly, I’m pacing the showroom floor waiting for a member of the sales team to bring around my replacement. Expecting to get the previous generation model with the smaller 4.2-litre motor – a car that proved to be a proper sales success – you can imagine my surprise when something significantly louder and lovelier pulls up outside the reception area. Soon clutching a hefty crystal-clad key – or Emotional Control Unit in pretentious Aston marketing speak – my discontent dies as I realise that the next day and a half of my life will be spent in the company of a DB9.
Sparking off the automotive equivalent of Beatlemania, this hallowed supercar caused such a stir when it was released in 2004 that it promptly became one of the most iconic and recognisable creations born to the 21st Century. Designed by the combined efforts of Ian Callum and Henrik Fisker, not only could the DB9’s sleek aluminium bodywork drop a pair of La Perla panties quicker than Jude Law but – more importantly – it now dressed a car that finally had the dynamic underpinnings to challenge those continental rivals forged in Modena, Sant’Agata Bolognese and Stuttgart. Indeed, this all-new Aston Martin hailed the return of cool Britannia and with its image emblazoning itself in or on almost every conceivable piece of mass media, it reinvented a brand that had been coasting along on the brink of collapse since those Bond-fuelled glory years of the swinging 1960s. For although the attractive DB7 that came before it – what was basically a subtle reworking of the aborted Jaguar F-Type – represented a quantum leap over previous models like the hideous and hideously priced Lagonda and its long-in-the-tooth cousin the DBS V8, it just couldn’t quite match the sprite and substance of the Porsche 911 Turbo or the Ferrari 550 Maranello. But thankfully, being purpose built at Aston’s new Gaydon production facility, all this changed with the DB9. You see, primed with purpose and great big wads of Ford capital, the British firm’s proud development team no longer had to MacGyver miracles with prehistoric Jaguar chassis and Mondeo bits.
Instead they were given access to a world of tactile finishes, bespoke switchgear and space aged construction methods that allowed them to finally fashion a worthy successor to their legendary DB5. In fact some cite this radical progression as the reason why Aston Martin didn’t badge their new model the DB8; it simply wouldn’t do the evolution justice.
With all this knocking around in my mind, the prospect of spending time in what has become Her Majesty’s Secret Service preferred mode of transport is, well, strangely daunting. And this isn’t because the Aston’s hand-built engine heralds an obscene amount of power or even that the price tag attached to it lurks dangerously close to the three million mark; it’s simply because – after all the hype – I don’t want my connotations of this car threatened by even the tiniest shred of disappointment. After all, it isn’t uncommon for motoring scribes to meet such superstars only to wish they hadn’t – just look at Clarkson and the Countach. But so far, opening the rising “swan door” of the gunmetal grey DB9 that’s just been given to me and slipping deep into its black leather driver’s seat, such an eventuality suddenly seems ridiculously unlikely. For once cocooned inside its voluptuous interior, this Aston Martin gets your neurons firing in a way very few cars of this calibre can emulate. More leftfield than a Ferrari and less brash than a Lamborghini, it’s no wonder why quirky petrolheads like Eddie Jordan, Wilbur Smith and Jay Leno have had, at some stage or another, a DB9 crouching in their garage. But even if you’re not a billionaire accustomed to the world of exotic cars, there’s something about this Aston Martin’s cabin, an artful grouping of the finest wood and leather, that’s deeply confidence inspiring. You see while most motors in this league can come across all aloof and intimidating, the inner dimensions of a DB9 are tailored to make you feel at one with the machine. It may have 350 rampant kilowatts waiting to shred those rear tyres at the slightest notice but the way that excellent driving position and superb visibility massage your ego, you never feel unable to control them.
Thrusting the electronic key fob deep into the dashboard’s centre consol I call the mighty V12 engine to life and head out into the cool promise of the evening air. With an entire day of driving to look forward to tomorrow, I should be taking this beast home to the safety of my garage but with its glorious architecture surrounding me, the devil infiltrates my soul with his wicked ways and I soon find myself gliding through some of Joburg’s trendiest streets. Now the last time I indulged in such odious behaviour – in an Audi R8 if you must know – I had an opened bottle of orange juice thrown at me by an enraged member of the peasantry; so I’m rather taken aback by the animosity that’s not being shown by the people occupying the many roadside bars and restaurants. Even if they question the legitimacy of the chap who’s driving it – I seriously doubt whether or not I can pull this Aston off – the DB9’s understated proportions simply fail to provoke those destructive feelings of envy that would abound if I were behind the wheel of something like a Gallardo. Perhaps this is why secret agent 007 took the streets of Montenegro in the DBS; the DB9’s wicked sister.
Waking to a chilly dawn after a most unBond-like night of solitary slumber, I prime myself with coffee and head out along Malibongwe Drive en route to the Mount Grace Hotel in Magaliesburg. I was really hoping to tackle the lairy depths of Long Tom Pass but considering that I’m only allowed to add a maximum of 500 kilometres to the Aston’s odometer, this route’s gentle meanderings will just have to suffice. After barrelling past Lanseria Airport I step hard on the wonderfully progressive brakes and take the Komdraai road through the Cradle of Humankind. A fairly long stretch of asphalt with plenty of high-speed corners, the DB9 blasts along its smooth surface with unshakable poise and dexterity. A blue-blooded Grand Tourer at heart, this is the terrain that the Aston Martin devours with consummate ease; its quick steering turning that timeless nose in with the eagerness of a true driver’s car. As the first rays of the morning sun start filtering weekly through scraggly roadside foliage, I turn right onto the R563 and – getting a fistful of appreciative thumbs from a pack of bikers – floor the throttle and watch the tachometer needle rise rapidly. This is perhaps the most thrilling part of rolling in a DB9 because the sound associated with the build up of forward momentum – what I can only describe as blunt knife butchering an expensive silk dress – never fails to rock your world. Leaving another set of twisting bends to disappear in my wing mirrors, the road straightens out and I let the mechanised fury under the bonnet propel me to unprintable speeds; a certain three-figures being reached with the engine barely having to break an idle.
Pulling into the parking lot of The Grace – an ectoplasmic heat haze rippling out of its two chrome cooling ducts – I suddenly recall that scene from Casino Royale where – in pursuit of his tragic love interest – Daniel Craig loses his cool and ends up mangling his pedigreed ride in one of the most spectacular rolls cinema has ever seen. Already agonisingly cringe-worthy at the best of times, this brief montage of ripping steel and smashing glass hits an even rawer nerve because, having sampled all the beautiful nuances of the Aston Martin DB9, I now truly know what a savage assault of perfection this really is.
Aston Martin DB9 Sport Pack Fast Facts:
The Basics:
Price: POA
Performance: 0-100km/h in 4.8 seconds, 306km/h
Power: 350kw at 6000rpm, 600Nm from at 5000rpm
Thirst: 18.4l/100km (achieved combined)
The Best:
Lively handling
Delicious V12 howl
Knee-trembling looks
Impressive Touchtronic 2 automatic gearbox
Sports car responsiveness with GT refinement
The Worst:
Useless rear seats
Only for the super rich
Jarring ride on rubbish roads
Flip-up Sat-Nav cheapens interior
Traction control a little too restrictive
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