1987 Koenig Testarossa

Why settle for the subtle pleasures of a regular Ferrari Testarossa when Koenig-Specials could create something a little more forthright. We try one of the 21 built to see if it was a good idea. This one has 800bhp…

Words ROB SCORAH

Photography NEIL FRASER

How Koenig made boulevardier Testarossa a hypercar

Wild At Heart

On the road in Koenig’s 200mph take on the Ferrari Testarossa

What do men with power want? More power. So if we extrapolate that, what do men with a supercar want? More power, a body kit and an exterior colour-coded cabin. Fair enough, but what if the soon-to- be empowered supercar is already one of the most flamboyant machines to have taken to the road? Things are going to get outlandish, that’s what.

Behold the 1987 Koenig Ferrari Testarossa Competition Evolution II, the ultimate incarnation of one of the Eighties’ most potent bedroom wall poster stars.

Depending on what angle you catch it from, you may be thinking F40, custom drag racer or 512M. Resemblance to the latter was thanks to the third owner, who thought the standard Testarossa nose just too prosaic. So he sent it back to Koenig for further surgery. All this isn’t so much gilding the lily as giving it an aluminium weave stem and razor blades for petals.

Ah, Willy König, the man who so impressed Enzo Ferrari by winning the German hill climb championship in a 1962 250GT short wheelbase, only to rather upset him two decades later with his outrageously modified Ferraris. But hey, this was the Eighties.

‘You might think that some kind of psychedelic experience was kicking off behind the wheel

In its day, the Testarossa had some stick from the old guard as being too much the poseur, and one without competition pedigree at that. Real men who yanked the Daytona’s hefty parking-speed steering with one hand sighed and shook their head. But a standard Testarossa looks relatively restrained next to this mass of ducts and spoilers. And the interior? Positively sombre.

When describing many supercars, we might gloss over the interior – but here, it’s to be celebrated. This is a symphony of excess. Open the door and there’s a sudden rush of red – of a shade you might more expect to see in Liberace’s tour bus. Climb aboard in bright, sunny conditions, that interior starts to glow. If, no doubt like some of Koenig’s more creative or hedonistic clients, you had had a few heavy or otherwise interesting nights, you might think that some kind of psychedelic experience was kicking off in here.

In place of Ferrari’s standard, tombstone seats, there’s a pair of moulded, high-backed and shoulder-embracing structures that look like they will hold you firm when the ordinary Testa’s chairs let you slide sideways once cornering forces take hold.

OK, we’re trying to ignore the vibrant blue Koenig script on the four-point harnesses – look at it long enough and the letters will burn into your retinas – but they too are an improvement on the usual same-as-a-Fiat-Uno seatbelts. And lastly, there’s the steering wheel. Thicker, slightly smaller and with moulded thumb grips.

Still, unlike the original designers, Liberace and his assistant did acknowledge that you might be generating some serious forces in this machine, and they furnished you with the body and handbracing tools to wrestle with them. Other than these items, the cabin is pretty standard, except for one final hint of the nature of this thing; the speedo now goes up to 320km/h (200mph).

Time to drive this bespoke Eighties monster. The sun is streaming through the glass, and we’re looking between the plush stitched leather and the tiny Perspex sliding window in the door. It’s easy to believe that this car might have some identity issues. With ‘the glow’, I’m feeling the need for painkillers and sunglasses. And I’m not even hungover. But I’m ready. Bring it on.

Turn ignition key, and start-up is a snuffling whinney, a snort. Then a whumf, which settles to a menacing growl of a slightly more nervous pace than the standard idle. It’s an angry-sounding car, this. Knowing how much power has been pushed from the big horizontally-opposed 12-cylinder sitting quite high behind my right shoulder, it’s quite a surprise to feel the regular benign clutch of a Testarossa. And, like its standard cousins, this monster trots off slowly on little more than tick-over, grumbling to itself as it goes. Apart from the racket, it could be a Mercedes-Benz trickling forward, such is its docility. Lamborghini should have taken note. As soon as I think that though, I reach down to click through the open gate, going from first – close in by my thigh – to second, forward and to the right. It’s a little stiff of course, at least until the oil warms up. Idling towards a main road, there’s time again to take a deep breath and prepare for what’s about to happen.

Once again, it’s a chance to take stock of the super-wide bodywork, but from the perspective of the driver’s seat. The Testarossa’s standard mirrors – generally quite good by supercar standards – have been replaced by angular and elfish little ears. There doesn’t appear to be any way of adjusting them. The one on far side gazes into space, while the driver’s one stares down the assorted ducts of the rear pod. So I’m going to have to rely on the centre mirror, which does its best to peer out of the engine cover openings and under the F40-style rear wing.

By now, I’ve reached wide, black tarmac and the Koenig’s ready to prowl. There’s a lot that’s familiar Testarossa – the supple ride, the smooth spooling up of power. It may say Competition on the wide door sills, but thankfully no one’s seen fit to harden up the suspension to the point of blurring your vision. Dampers and springs dismiss potholes with a far off thud. You feel nothing through the seat and the car tracks straight. The front wheels take a little notice of ruts and grooves, but nudge of the steering wheel keeps the front where you want it.

Yes, the Testarossa was a great tourer, allowing very low-input progress when you wanted it. But a down change and quick stab of the throttle will remind anyone that both Koenig and the Testarossa held secrets that could so easily be unleashed. The tacho needle jumps, the engine tone hardens, and, even in this weighty GT, the change in pace is immediate.

Go into a corner too hard and you’ll hear a guttural hiss from the rear end – the track of which is 244mm wider than standard – and feel a slight wiggle through the seat as the huge rear tyres break traction under the power. Complete with tyre smoke, it’s a party piece at low speed, but really it just breaks the Ferrari’s rhythm and poise. Better to roll your heel steadily, grip tightly and hang on. The bewinged sled hunkers down, digs in and takes off like a jet on a steam catapult. It makes the ferocious mechanical noises you’d hope for from an 800bhp projectile. Accompanying this is a rorty yarp rises from the exhaust, while the instrument needles climb quickly through some alarming numbers. The absurdity of where I’m sitting flashes across my awareness – the boudoir leather combined with racing seat rigidity, the reclining driving position and the shoot-from-the-hip gear change flowing all this power through the cogs. This is intense.

It’s kind of automotive glam-rock. And as tight bends approach, I wonder what this sizable rig will do, though glancing this way and that to try to get any kind of framing reference from the mirrors is useless. At least you can always have confidence in a Testarossa’s steering, the nose turning in a reassuringly exact answer to the twisting of the wheel. And no matter how much lock is applied, the car seems to be tucking itself in tighter.

The body roll of the standard car has gone, presumably tied down by the heavier duty springs and anti-roll bars. The big GT’s stance is neutral, no fighting to make it turn under power, but equally little reaction if you muck around with the throttle mid-bend. Though probably best not to try that on an 800bhp Testarossa’s limits. But it’s amazing that, despite the Ferrari-in-a-Rocky-Horror-ball-gown appearance, this unlikely machine simply deals with anything you throw at it – autobahns. A-roads, even B-roads.

Foolhardily, yes, it could follow a Caterham into narrow country lanes, and give it a damned good run for its money – at least until the Koenig’s rear end became jammed between the hedgerows and the Caterham scurried away. Apart from the insane width, the car is testament to both maker’s and modifier’s ability.

Of course, the Koenig is great at devouring continents with ease. You can drive from Calais to Geneva without breaking a sweat. It excels at blasting down coastal highways, its banshee wail drifting towards the mountains inland. Perhaps the greatest travesty against the car was Ferrari’s muting it with a muffling exhaust for Federalisation, and giving it too soft a suspension so as not to upset its plutocrat clientele. But Willy König freed up the Testarossa’s inner hooligan.

First, it’s probably worth getting the real world stuff out of the way first. The Koenig modifications – as time progresses – will probably leave this Testarossa worth less than its unmodified cousins in a market where originally means everything. It’ll be harder to sell, too, as well as maintain, should you chip its bodykit or kerb a wheel.

But does that matter when you have 800bhp at your disposal in the ultimate of Eighties excess? The Koenig is an astonishing car – it allows you to dial in as much or as little wildness as you want at any given moment. It’s a comfortable tourer, now with added vividness. The engine is superbly tractable, though if you plod through rush hour traffic, it takes on a chorus-of-the-damned moan just to emphasise its boredom. What is the ultimate satisfaction is that, with a snap of a gearchange and dab of throttle, it’s transformed.

As quick as the needles flash across their dials, the Koenig morphs from grand barque to destroyer, from paradoxically refined tourer to molten Nismo-style street racer. It leaves hot black tyre trails on the tarmac and its exhaust yowl scorches into the walls. And then back again – all in time for tea at the marina.

We hope the original owners of these boutique Eighties hotrods knew they are best taken with a slice of irony and a wicked sense of humour. That they should revel in these creations, but not take the whole thing too seriously. Adopt that approach now and you’ll be sure to have an awful lot of fun.

Thanks to: Nigel Brunt, Mentor and Iconic Auctioneers

TECHNICAL DATA 1987/8 Koenig Testarossa

Engine 4942cc flat-12, dohc, Bosch KE-Jetronic fuel injectionMax Power 787bhp @ 7500rpmMax Torque c.650lb ft @ 5000rpmTransmission Five-speed manual, rear-wheel driveSteering Rack and pinionSuspension Double wishbones, twin coil-over-dampers, anti roll bar F/RBrakes Vented discs all roundWeight 1506kgPerformance Top speed: 218mphAcceleration 0-60mph: 3.5secFuel consumption 15-20mpgCost new DM 1mClassic Cars Price Guide na‘It could give a Caterham a damned good run for its money – until the roads narrowed’

F40-style rear wing part of Koenig’s Competition Evolution package. ‘Testarossa’ means redhead in Italian, making reference to the engine’s painted cam covers. Regulation tan and black interior has been dumped for a searing shade of red. Well, it was the Eighties Vittorio Strosek made the Koenig Testarossa look less cuddly than standard.

A 320km/h speedo? You’re going to need it. Click-clack joy of a Ferrari open gate gearshift. It competed for attention, but not on any track. A more prosaic way to turn up the heat.

‘Go in too hard and you’ll hear a hiss from the rear as huge rear tyres break traction’

KOENIG SPECIALS: FROM RACER TO EXTREME ROAD CARS

The legendary or infamous (depending on how much of a purist you are) Willy König was himself a capable racer before turning to tuning. During the Sixties, he drove a Formula Junior Cooper, Ferraris 250SWB and 275GTB, and a Lola T70. He later raced a BMW M1 E26, and in 1990 won the Spezial-Tourenwagen-Trophy in a Porsche 935 K3, which he then fitted with a 962 engine.

Like other Ferrari customers before him, he became dissatisfied with his standard car’s performance, in this case a 1974 365BB, and turned to other coachbuilders and tuners to add the spark he felt was missing. By 1977, Köning opened his own tuning shop to create the cars he longed to see on the road.

Wide bodies, straked sides, gullwing doors and convertible conversions were standard fare. Twin turbochargers usually managed to grab the attention of any customers seeking that little something beyond the norm. The wildfire modifications soon jumped from Ferraris to other marques – Porsches, Jaguars, Lamborghinis and even Range Rovers would feel the heat. Such great names as Franz Albert (tuner) and Vittorio Strosek (designer) made their contribution to these outlandish creations.