Audi RS6 Review: Model | RS6 | Car Buyers Guide

A few months ago I was on a stretch of autobahn, very late at night. We’d spent all day thrashing a Ferrari 599 Fiorano across the Alps, and we knew the car pretty intimately by now. The road was straight and clear and 620 of Maranello’s finest were straining at the bit. I drop two gears and nail it – the Ferrari gathers speed quickly as we feel the sophisticated aerodynamics at work, sucking the car into the road. The speedo climbs more slowly as the big speeds arrive 250... 260... 270. Finally at 292km/h I lose my bottle and back off. The Ferrari is having trouble with the rough surface, and we fear we’ll round a bend and find a wall of trucks in our path. It’s a glamorous way to go, for sure, but I’d rather not cash out just yet.

Then last week I jumped in the new RS6 saloon and went faster. I hit an indicated 300km/h (Audi dials are usually spot-on) and had lunch. The end.

What, you want more? Geez, I don’t know what to tell you. We were at the launch in Germany and we found ourselves pootling along the autobahn when a gap opened up and I sank the shoe. The six-speed auto dropped a couple of cogs and the gargantuan, twin-turbo V10 stirred up all 580hp and 650Nm of torque, sent it scurrying through the Quattro all-wheel-drive system and we were literally bouncing off the limiter within a matter of moments. A truck pulled out about a kilometre ahead, so I stomped on the carbon-ceramic brakes, quickly and undramatically shedding about 150km/h in a few seconds. Once the truck pulled out of the way, we were off again. Easy. There was no sense of aerodynamics or drivetrain at work, just seamless, endless power and effortless speed. And then we had lunch. The end.

What? You want to know if the only reason I splashed a booted version of a car we’ve already reviewed across two pages is to brag that I’ve topped 300km/h? Of course not. The reason it’s here is because it transpired over dinner that the RS6s we drove at Paul Ricard a few months ago weren’t the finished product. Or so Audi claims. No matter, the cars we’re driving today have had a number of revisions and are much, much better than the awful Avants we drove last time. For one, the transmission’s reaction time has been reduced to one-tenth of a second, shift time has been halved and the rear-biased Quattro drivetrain feels more neutral and less understeer-prone than the ones we drive in France. The characteristics of the speed-dependent servotronic power steering were retuned, and the rear suspension kinematics (whatever they are) have also been modified, resulting a car that corners with more precision and confidence than the all-at-sea RS6 we almost crashed last time out. It’s a better driver’s car in almost every conceivable way, which means the negative feedback from the Avant’s launch has had an impact on the engineers in Ingolstadt.

The saloon’s also prettier than the Avant (especially with optional, 20-inch anthracite wheels), almost as practical and is rather well equipped, too. So should you rush out and buy one? God, no. It’s an awesome powerhouse, don’t get me wrong, and it’s a serious alternative to the likes of the AMG E-Class or M-Division 5-Series, but it’s a complete and utter waste in Ireland. It’s not quite wieldy enough for Irish roads and it’s surprisingly brash for an Audi, too. Also, the temptation to open it up every now and again would prove too much to resist, meaning it would only be a matter of time before you ended up in jail. It’s at its best on the autobahn, where it can flex its massive muscles and cover the equivalent of the Cork-Dublin run in less than 50 minutes. At least it would if it didn’t empty its 100-litre fuel tank twice in the process. It’s thirsty work travelling at three miles (remember them?) a minute, and it can make the driver a tad peckish too. So then we had lunch. The end.