Today, we’re looking for the best driving thrills the 1970s have to offer, but as usual, we’ve chosen a mixture of cars that span from dream machines to one-day-I-might-be-able-afford-that cars.

Here, the Mini shares the pages with the Lamborghini Countach and Ferrari 512BB as we answer the question: what is the best 1970s classic for driving thrills?  

Lamborghini Countach

The Lamborghini Countach doesn’t just do driving thrills – it’s a thrill full stop. The Lambo’s lines may as well have blueprinted the design of every supercar that came after it, and that might be why it feels like a car that has never aged, looking as brutal now as it was when it was revealed in 1974.

But we’re not here to talk about looks; we’re after driver thrills, and, as you can imagine, the Countach has plenty of those. It gives the whole supercar experience, good and bad, thanks to unrelenting performance and intimidating dimensions. The Countach’s motor has only recently retired, and it’s easy to see why; its V12 bark sounds like the noise of worlds clashing, and with a manual gearbox and unassisted steering, it’s an immersive analogue delight. How could it not be on this list? 

Ferrari 512BB

Old man Ferrari wasn’t keen on selling a mid-engined road car to the unskilled hands of the buying public, but after seeing the configuration dominate on road and track, he finally relented to build us this, the Ferrari 512BB.

Ferrari claimed its mid-engine monster had a 188mph top speed – a figure much disputed, often by people who drove the car – meaning it was faster than a Lamborghini Countach. Whether it was or not didn’t matter. It couldn’t be disputed that the Ferrari was more accessible to drive, with better visibility and dimensions that didn’t hog the road. It was no pussy cat, and the driving experience is dominated by the multi-level assault on your ears, which is an air-cooled, carburetted flat 12.  

Lotus Elan

The Lotus Elan focuses on driver thrills more than any other car on this list. It’s been paired to the bone, tipping the scales at under 700kg, in the pursuit of being one of the best driver’s cars money can buy. It has steering that chats lovingly through your fingertips and tiny dimensions that turn a British B road into a vast expanse of Tarmac with plenty of room for play. 

The Elan didn’t have much power but it didn’t need it. Its 1.6-litre four-cylinder twin-cam was enough to whip the Lotus from 0-62mph in under six seconds, humbling several exotics in the process, with a camy roar every bit as intoxicating as the V12s in the big cars. The downside of the Lotus is that it’s not what you’d call a ‘classic’ long-distance car, but on the right road, few could beat it. 

Mini

The original Mini is a child of the 1960s, but its endearing appeal means it was still on sale in the 1970s. By that point, the Mini was a famed giant killer, a nimble dream machine that had won the Monte Carlo Rally three times, facing competitors with three and four times the horsepower. It’s incredible to think a small, humble family car could have such pedigree. 

That meant you could pass the Mini off as a sensible econobox, a cheap and unassuming way to shepherd the kids to school and the shopping back home. Only when you’re alone can you unmask Mini’s legendary go-kart handling and the frightening cornering ability of a small front-wheel drive car that will happily slide on its axis. 

Porsche 911 RS 2.7

In the early 1970s, aerodynamics was barely a thing in road cars and then came Tilman Brodbeck and the 911 2.7 Carrera RS. Brodbeck, a young engineer who specialised in aeroplanes and aerodynamics, was challenged to dial out the front-end lift the 911 had always suffered from, only without adding lead weights to the front as had been past practice. Brodbeck’s solution was a revised front bumper that reduced drag and lift and a rear spoiler inspired by the rear end of his Fiat 850 Coupé.

While the ducktail is the RS 2.7’s trademark asset, it’s not its only one. Its air-cooled 2.7-litre flat-six sounds like a delight howling with a gravely realism that makes water cooled 911s sound muted and almost digital. Bolt that 210PS (154kW) engine to a car that weighs just 960kg, and you have a machine that’s quick even today and handles every bit as well as you’d expect of a stripped-out 911, but with predictability perhaps you don’t. 

BMW M1

The BMW M1 almost never existed. With no capacity to build a mid-engine sports car, BMW tasked Lamborghini with designing and producing the chassis. Lamborghini’s Gianpaolo Dallara designed an excellent chassis, but BMW soon doubted Lamborghini could supply the goods on the production side of the deal. Ultimately, the car’s body and frame were built separately in Italy before the car was shipped to Baur for engine installation. Theoretically, BMW would only have to check the cars before sending them to their delighted owners. However, the reality was that poor fit and finish meant BMW had to do a lot more than just fine-tuning the cars. 

Teething issues aside, the 1M was a supercar. Much like the Honda NSX did after it, the BMW took the histrionics out of supercar ownership with its excellent driving position and tractable motor. The 3.5-litre, mid-mounted straight-six was a joy, and the motor would go on to power two BMW M5s. 

Lancia Stratos

The Lancia Stratos is the kind of car that only exists in your dreams, a Bertone-styled, rear-wheel drive rally car powered by a Ferrari engine. It won the Monte Carlo Rally three times in a row and the World Rally Constructors Championship in 1975 and 1976. 

Not many cars can match the thrills of the Stratos, either. With a short wheelbase and a mid-engine layout, the little Lancia could plunge you into the undergrowth quicker than you could say, “What’s snap oversteer?” but get it right, and it could be rewarding like few other rally cars. Its engine was central to the experience, giving the Stratos the lungs of a truly exotic, and performance made it a formidable force to beat. 

De Tomasa Pantera

In the early 1970s, Ford wanted a GT car that could compete with homegrown competition from General Motors and Corvette. De Tomasa was the ideal partner for Ford, who had supplied engines for the earlier Mangusta.

Ghia set about designing the Pantera, giving it the visual wallop needed to compete with models like the Lamborghini Countach. While the Lambo looked like a full wedge, the Pantera was more like a conventional sports car with an outrageous body kit, massive rear wing and quad exhaust pipes grafted on. Connected to the other end of that exhaust was what made the Pantera unique against European rivals – its American V8 power, the Pantera’s 5.7-litre motor coughed and sputtered as a Nascar driving the Pantera from 0-62mph in 5.5 seconds and confirming how beguiling an Italian with an American engine can be.