Hot Pursuit: Gunning For 250 MPH in a Bugatti Chiron Super Sport

The Chiron Super Sport produces 1,578 horsepower from its tried, true, and still awesome 8.0-liter quad-turbo W-16 engine. Plus 1,180 lb-ft of torque. Had we been on a longer runway, it might have been possible to aim for the Super Sport's top speed of 273 mph. True, Bugatti makes an even faster car, the Chiron Super Sport 300+, which British legend Andy Wallace drove to nearly 305 mph.

For this 250-mph attempt, Bugatti brought test drivers Jamie Morrow and Pierre-Henri Raphanel to figure out the safest way to break the 400-kph barrier. Although the runway appeared to offer plenty of margin, there was a good tailwind, and some gaps in the trees toward the "shutdown" point meant we could also get some crosswind. At speeds like these, the pro drivers warned, the normally planted-like-an-oak Chiron can get pushed around.

Why was I doing this? The downside is possible violent death, massive injury, or having to deal with smashing a $4 million hypercar to pieces. The upside is the ability to say I've driven a car 250 mph. That's pretty dang sweet and all, but is the juice worth the squeeze?

I had to answer in the affirmative. The idea of top speed has fascinated me for decades. I remember in 1987 when the Ferrari F40 was the first production car to (kinda) break 200 mph—Ferrari said the successor to the 189-mph 288 GTO could reach 201 mph—besting the Porsche 959's 197 mph Vmax. Independent testing never saw the F40 crack 199 mph, but Porsche swung back anyway, and the
959 S managed 211 mph. Then the Ruf Yellowbird hit 213 mph. Amazing.

Even more amazing, in 1992 the McLaren F1 showed up, and a new king was crowned, as the production version achieved an astonishing 221 mph. But wait! In March 1998, a slightly modified F1 with its redline raised from 7,500 to 8,300 rpm and the aforementioned Wallace fella behind the wheel set a two-way average of 240.1 mph, with a 243-mph peak speed in one direction.

I feel like the car world had just dogmatically taken the McLaren F1's top end as fait accompli. Cars—at least not production cars—wouldn't ever go any faster. After all, geeks knew the gears and engine had to be fussed with to achieve that 240.1-mph "record." Because it was such a lofty, loony number that could only be achieved by a pro driver on the VW Group's secret Ehra-Lessien test track with its legendary 5-mile-long straights, the McLaren's accomplishment would stand forever.

Then came the Veyron. More than a moonshot, the 987-hp, 16-cylinder monster was the id, ego, and will of VW chairman Ferdinand Piëch, distilled in a crucible of utter unbelievability. In April 2005, the car smashed through the 400-kph barrier at Ehra-Lessien, hitting 407, or 253 mph. Whoa. Other cars have gone faster since, but what the Veyron did still shocks me. Yes, definitely, absolutely I wanted to experience Piëch's fever dream above 400 kph.

The plan for the day was simple: I'd be a passenger for one run, where Morrow would take the Chiron up to 150 mph to let me feel how he wanted the braking to happen. Not reverse rocket science, exactly, but it was like this: Quickly lift off the throttle, go firm but not too hard on the brakes, and then build pressure to the point just before the ABS kicks in. In other words, make a big stop, not a panic stop. The Chiron Super Sport is incredibly stable, and to demonstrate this fact, Raphanel did a full stop (with Morrow as passenger) from 250 mph with his hands off the wheel. I should be just fine.

We swapped seats, and I floored it for an identical 150-mph recce run. All four turbos took a moment to begin spinning and spitting, and then, boom, the Chiron Super Sport rocketed down the space shuttle runway. The crazy thing about every modern Bugatti I've ever driven (including two EB110s) is how calm they are when doing ridiculous things. Case in point, the Chiron Super Sport hits 124 mph in 5.8 seconds, so Morrow and I were at this run's top speed after about 7 seconds. And we had about 9,500 more feet of ground to cover. Rather than set the cruise control, I tried to just maintain the throttle with my foot and listen as Morrow said things to me. Yes, at 150 mph you can have a conversation inside a Chiron. I looked down and realized the speed had increased to 179 mph without me knowing it. What a beast, but braking to a stop from there was without event.

Next would be a 200-mph attempt with Morrow still in the passenger seat. I saw an indicated 206 mph, but everything seemed as easy and uneventful as the slower run, with one slight difference: We put the Chiron into Top Speed mode. Like in the Veyron before it, you insert a second key just aft of the parking brake control below the driver's left hip. With the transmission in drive, you pull the right shift paddle once to select first gear and then twist the key a quarter turn counterclockwise. The right side of the dash displays "Ettore Bugatti" in a fancy font, while the left side reads "Top Speed."

Physically, the Super Sport lowers itself on its hydraulic suspension, stows the hydraulically actuated rear wing to cut drag, and again uses hydraulics to move two flaps near the front wheels to further reduce drag. The car's computer then checks everything out—including the tires—before it allows you to launch. Once you do so, the computer takes over the shifting duties.

We were told to keep the cars between 100 and 125 mph on the return run, just to get enough air through all the radiators to cool the mechanical stuff and to keep tire temps up. I noted how uneventful 200-plus mph felt; normal supercars reach that point and run out of steam, juice, and thrust. The Chiron felt normal, like it was jogging or something. "Understressed" might be a better way to describe it. The Super Sport hits 200 mph in less than 16 seconds, so we again had a lot of time cruising, this time at just more than 200, probably a mile's worth. Braking from that speed was also a nonevent.

My confidence was high, and I began running through the checklist the pros gave me. The big one was not to look down at the speedometer. At 250 mph the car covers 367 feet per second; a football field is 360 feet long. We're in Florida, so alligators and big birds are often on the runway. In fact, before each run, something called "bird cannons" are fired to scare them off. Toward the end of the previous 206-mph jaunt, Morrow and I saw three big white cranes flying in formation about 20 feet above us. The pros instructed us to keep our helmet visors down, as a 250-mph bird strike can be fatal if the animal comes through the windshield and your visor is up. And running over a gator at 250 mph? Let's just be thankful it didn't happen.

Morrow is not in the car for my 250-mph attempt. "Mate, I'm not paid enough." Fair. Back in Top Speed mode, I bury the throttle, the four turbos begin feeding all 16 cylinders, and once again the Chiron is off like an angry, elegant rocket—until 150 mph, when it suddenly stops accelerating. I look down. "Check left tyre pressure." (The Bugatti apparently thinks it's British.) I turn around and begin driving back to the starting area. I see all the other "tyres" are sitting at about 49 psi, whereas the left front has crept to more than 50 psi. The Bugatti team drops the pressures on all four, and now the Super Sport thinks the tires are too low and it refuses to go into Top Speed mode. There's no air compressor on the runway. A plane needs to land, and the heat is coming out of the tires. A new wait begins.

About 45 minutes later I'm back in the Chiron Super Sport, tires sorted and Top Speed mode activated, and I get the thumbs-up to go. I push the gas pedal against the firewall. The big W-16 spins, waiting a tick while the four turbochargers begin recirculating the exhaust gases back through 32 inlet valves into the waiting half-liter cylinders and then, kaboom. I'm off like a cannonball in a vacuum.

Everything seems smooth and hiccup-free. I keep my eyes up, away from the speedometer, and just look for the two big flags to tell me when to lift and get on the brakes. I feel the crosswind during the last few seconds, but it's mild. And just like that, my run's over. I pump my fist in victory as I cruise back at 120 mph (which feels incredibly slow), thinking I cracked both the 400-kph and 250-mph barriers. Nothing bad happened, I and the $4 million car are in one piece, and I'll be able to see my son's face the next morning.

Except I only hit 245 mph. A whole 5 mph short. Oh, boy. Did I lift? No, don't think so. Did the Chiron make full power? Yes, more than full, actually—1,593 hp, 15 more than advertised. What happened? Dunno. Well, let's try it again.

Raphanel wants a word before I set off again. When I was done braking on the previous run, how much runway did I have left, he asks? Plenty, at least half a mile. He nods and says it's OK if I go past the flags. Makes sense to me.

This time I pay extra-special attention to keeping my right foot pinned. It is. Despite the previous warning, when I see the approaching flags, I look down and see 240 mph. Not quite enough. Worse, the wind is pushing the Chiron around, and I have to make a steering input I know in my gut is too big given the conditions. I look again and see 243 mph. I see the flags. I keep the throttle pinned. I'm staring at 243 mph, and it's not going higher. One, two, three seconds. I'm more than 1,000 feet past where I'm supposed to have braked. I'm also aware the tires aren't particularly happy doing two 240-plus-mph runs back to back. I abandon my pursuit. Didn't get there. There's talk of me having another go on fresh tires after lunch, but Florida being Florida, a lightning storm appears and lasts until I must leave for the airport.

To find out what went wrong, we spoke to Johnny Bohmer, the Guinness World Record holder in the standing mile and owner of Johnny Bohmer Proving Grounds, which leases airstrips for high-performance testing. He said even a slight crosswind saps 5 mph, and the more the car gets battered around, the slower it accelerates; the crosswind creates low pressure on the opposite side of the car, which in turn creates vortices that create drag. I spoke with Morrow the next day (Bugatti owners were there making their 400-kph attempts), and he said the car I drove sometimes hit 250 mph and sometimes only 245, depending on the wind. Bohmer's theory seemed accurate.

So no, I did not hit 250 mph. The Vbox data recorder showed my Vmax was 245.31 mph, or 395 kph, 98.75 percent of what I'd set out to do. I was crushed. For about a day it felt like failure. I texted friends, letting them know how rotten I felt. Each and every one came back with some version of, "You just went 245 mph. That's awesome!" It took me a week or so to realize they were correct. Besides, perhaps now Bugatti will let me have another go.