Driven: Lamborghini Miura SV and Aventador SV

• The past and the present: Lamborghini reveals Aventador Miura limited edition
• Driven: Lamborghini Aventador SV

Iconic eyelashes, slim hips, and gorgeous curves. In 1966, one particular supermodel wasn't wowing the catwalks of Paris or Milan, but instead stunning crowds on a motor show stand in Geneva.

The Lamborghini Miura even had a suitably evocative name – inspired by a Spanish fighting bull to start a trend – yet it was also what lay beneath the sensuous yet athletic Bertone-designed bodywork that would install it into the automotive hall of fame.

While by the early 1960s motorsport teams had figured out that positioning engines behind the driver created the optimal balance for a racing car, the Miura was first to establish the classic blueprint for the road-going supercar that still holds true today: a high-performance, mid-engined two-seater.

Ferrari wouldn't sit one of its famous V12s behind the driver for another seven years, with the 1973 512 BBi (or Berlinetta Boxer). The Lamborghini also technically surpassed its more established Italian compatriot with fully independent suspension where Ferraris of the time were still employing rigid axles.

It was advanced stuff for a car maker not only just three years old at the time, but run by a man whose previous vehicles were rather agricultural – quite literally. Ferruccio Lamborghini had made his wealth building tractors.

Fifty years on, Drive found itself invited to Italy to join in Lamborghini's Miura Tour – a 500km anniversary rally featuring 21 of the 760-odd versions of the supercar also known as the P400 that were ever built. Flown, shipped or driven in from around Europe, the US, UK and as afar as Japan, the brightly coloured congregation proved Lamborghini's penchant for lairy paint schemes isn't a modern trend.

The 'cattle-cade' of Bulls included two particularly notable Miuras: the version that starred in the intro sequence of the original The Italian Job (even if most people remember that film for a certain tiny British car); and a realistic replica of the racier Jota (pronounced Yota), which was a pet project of Kiwi racing driver and Miura development driver Bob Wallace, before the car was burned accidentally to the ground.

With Lamborghini adding its current models to the mix, it was also a perfect opportunity to slot into the latest descendent of the Miura – the Aventador – to chart the evolution of supercars across six decades.

History first, naturally.

Only minutes behind the wheel of the Miura and a few beads of sweat are already rolling down my forehead. It's not due to the pressure of driving a car that can be worth anywhere between $1.5 and $3 million depending on specification and significance; there's no air-con.

The cabin-cooling feature – considered an extravagance in the day – was actually introduced as an option from the 1969 S version, though wasn't taken up by the customer who ordered the 1971 SV model we're driving. (Just 150 SVs were built and it would be the last of the Miuras before being replaced in 1973 by another show-stopping Lambo, the Countach.)

The Miura's cabin was quite futuristic for its time, though didn't quite depict a 2016 future. Seatbelts weren't standard and a passenger-side mirror had to be ordered as an extra. And vision is quite terrible without it, though at least the forward view is great – courtesy of thin windscreen pillars that are also of a bygone era.

For the dash, there are just two large, minimalist dials – speedo and tacho – in the driver's line of sight, plus a grouping of Jaeger gauges for the centre stack.

Getting underway isn't immediate. With the fuel tank located up front to help weight distribution, the ignition needs to be turned to position one for a few seconds to allow fuel to be pumped to the engine sitting immediately and visibly behind the driver. Then it's a few stabs of the accelerator before lifting the clutch to move away.

There's a nice heft to the clutch action, which perhaps shouldn't be surprising. The legend goes that Ferruccio Lamborghini decided to build his own sports cars (starting the neighbourly rivalry with the 1964 350GT) after his complaints about the clutch operation on the handful of Ferraris he owned were dismissed by the fiercely proud Enzo Ferrari.

However, the Miura's five-speed manual gearbox – teamed behind with the engine in a transaxle arrangement – requires plenty of bicep effort to push the lever between the open aluminium gates.

The throw is long but clanks satisfyingly into each slot as you accelerate; there's syncromesh but double-declutching can help avoid graunching gears on downshifts.

Second and third are sufficient for exploiting the 3.9-litre V12's enjoyable torque and appetite for revs on winding roads. The engine, positioned unconventionally sideways to keep the car's length as compact as possible, breathes through four triple-barrel Weber carburettors and thrums along at low revs before transforming into a satisfying baritone.

The steering is on the slow side and doesn't self-centre, though the weighting feels perfect at speed. Only the reluctance of the brake pedal to respond quickly to foot pressure discourages getting carried away on the approach to corners.

Less conscious of this on the autostrada, the Miura SV comfortably reaches 230km/h – the claimed 300km/h top speed no doubt reachable, especially with a long fifth gear, if it were not for traffic.

The Miura Tour had started in Lamborghini's Sant'Agata home, based on the fringes of Bologna in northern Italy. After venturing northwards to Parma, this automotive alternative to Pamplona's famous running of the bulls rolls down into Porto Venere on the Ligurian Coast.

The historic harbour town, famed for its multi-coloured, multi-storey houses, is a setting of fitting beauty to match the alluring visual of the Miura, though also a contrast to a car that sits not much more than a metre off the ground.

After parking up – imperatively in gear as the handbrake on Miuras are renowned for not working – it's time for a time shift in the other direction and step into the Aventador.

As the LP750-4 SuperVeloce version, it's the perfect spec match for our SV (even if it stood for Spinto Veloce).

Access is no longer by conventional openings but by scissor-style doors that have featured on every Miura successor since: Countach (1973), Diablo (1990) and Murcielago (2001).

The Aventador's overly firm bucket doesn't feel as comfortably malleable as the Miura's ribbed-leather seat, though the driving position is vastly better – offering both steering wheel and seat adjustment, more headroom, and not requiring knees to be awkwardly splayed.

Carbonfibre rather than aluminium is now the dominant construction material, with vast exposed sections of the black tech-weave monocoque throughout the cabin – along with swathes of sporty Alcantara. The influence of brand owner Audi on the quality, whether fit or finish or even some switchgear, is also tangible.

Casio watches hadn't even launched when the Miura was created but even the Aventador takes the digital age to a new level with its bright-yellow TFT display. Ahead of the driver, it features a vast amount of graphically presented information including selected gear, rev-counter arch, key gauges such as fuel level and engine temp, driving mode, and even a G-force gauge.

It's not often you'd get to say the Aventador's vision is better than that of another car. The ginormous side mirrors are key. They help to position a car that is intimidatingly wide at 2030mm (not including mirrors!), especially when trying to negotiate the tightest of cobbled Italian city streets that barely seem suitable for a Smart Fortwo.

The Aventador isn't worth as much as the Miura, but it still costs $882,650 (before on-roads).

In these confines, the Aventador feels like it's constantly spotting red flags – slow speed is not its comfort zone. So it's a relief to see Italian countryside again, the SuperVeloce's V12 snorting with intent as we press an accelerator pedal that's much lighter and far more progressive than the Miura's.

Lamborghini's latest V12 is still hand-built by the company (unlike the Huracan's Audi-borrowed V10), is still angled 60 degrees, and pleasingly ignores a world of near-omnipresent turbochargers.

The engine is positioned lengthways in the notably longer Aventador (4835mm v 4390mm), though, capacity is much larger at 6.5 litres, and there's clever software managing the crucial combustion process. The result is almost double the Miura's power: 552kW.

Where the Miura featured a limited-slip diff to manage getting power to the road via the rear wheels, the Aventador spreads the burden of its mighty power output among all four wheels.

The driver also has the option to flick between various vehicle settings, with Comfort, Sport and Corsa.

The SuperVeloce is at its most ferocious in the latter 'race' mode, with acceleration almost neck-snappingly violent. If you want 50 years of supercar evolution distilled into simple numbers, it's very much raging versus ageing bull: the Aventador SV's 0-100km/h claim is 2.8 seconds versus the Miura SV's 6.5.

And on sinuous Italian roads, the Miura's handling – as good as it is even today – simply can't compete with the Aventador's gripping and stopping capabilities. Advanced aerodynamics help, though the tyres and carbon-ceramic brakes also dwarf those on the older supercar.

On a visceral level it doesn't necessarily make the Aventador the more rewarding drive. Flicking paddles will never be as satisfying as palming a gearlever between gates, regardless of how much faster or more fluid the shifts are, while the Aventador's Dynamic Steering is far more effortless to twirl yet equally more artificial and less involving.

In 2061, it's also unlikely there'll be an Aventador Tour, even it will still be rightly remembered as a memorable member of an impressive Lamborghini V12 lineage. But the Miura undoubtedly remains the daddy of them all.

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