The McLaren Artura Spider Is A Supercar Without The Asterisk

Where does the bag go? What do I leave behind? How much of a Tetris pain in the arse is this going to be?

At this point – go time – most supercars start asking lifestyle questions. You expect to be heartbroken, to have a sour taste in your mouth before you’re even underway.

This is the first small surprise of the trip: the McLaren Artura’s a mid-engined supercar with admirable packing space, enough that I'm not asking my guest to nurse an overnight bag, or leave anything behind. No road-going buyer in 2026 should have to compromise before they’ve even turned the key.

The Artura parked outside the B.H. office wears Shibuya Spirit, a magenta that can't quite decide whether it wants to be pink or purple, depending on where the light catches it. Low, wide, and slightly ostentatious in the best possible way, it looks every bit the mid-engined McLaren we know and love. It’s fuelled (and charged) for a 24-hour sprint to the Southern Highlands and back.

‘Chameleon’ is the thread that stays with me, both behind the wheel and looking back at it when parked streetside, right until I hand the keys back.

The first stretch is highway, which isn't exactly the stuff of bedroom posters, but where the Artura makes its first good argument.

South out of Sydney on the Hume, the hybrid V6 does what a hybrid V6 should do on a highway run: settle in, drop into electric power at low speed through the inevitable pockets of traffic, and turn what's usually the most forgettable part of any road trip into something closer to comfortable.

There's no drama to this stretch, and that's the point. Conversation between us is possible – enjoyable, even. The Artura is happy to be effortless when effortless is what's called for, gliding through without the usual tax a car like this can demand of its driver. Just because it's as sharp as a tack doesn’t mean every kilometre in a straight line has to feel like you're paying a penalty for owning something exciting.

Three Blue Ducks has recently opened down here to much fanfare, and brunch is a good excuse to stretch the legs and see how the car looks outside somewhere that isn't a McLaren showroom. The answer is very good. Shibuya Spirit jumps off the pebblestoned parking lot. It also helps that they welcome EV fast charging, if the battery’s taken a beating getting you out of the city. A quick top-up serves two purposes, as you’ll want to fly under the decibel radar around Bowral (as much as a car this colour can keep a low profile).

Berida Hotel is a heritage property with an ivy-covered exterior and a winter fireplace that makes you want to take your shoes off and stay put. It also happens to be walking distance from town, which is useful when the car parked outside has become an attraction of its own. Dinner and drinks don't need to involve a late-night negotiation over where to safely leave a McLaren.

The next morning starts with coffee at Press Shop, mostly because coffee tastes better when you can see your car against a main street backdrop. Then the roof comes down, the trip changes gear, and the Artura bins its manners for a more feral driving expression.

Kangaroo Valley is the reason I always jump at the opportunity to bring a car like this south.

At the top of the hill, we stop at the abandoned Grandpa's Shed for a photocall. It’s a strange little roadside discovery that becomes a core visual memory, rather than something you would actively put on an itinerary.

The road drops away through switchbacks and elevation changes, and suddenly all the refinement from yesterday feels like it happened in another car. The Artura is sticky and precise without ever feeling unnerving, and the steering is doing most of the talking, weighted up properly through the corner rather than going light and vague the way electric setups often do. Body control stays flat and honest even when the road doesn't, so you always know exactly what the front end is doing before you've asked it to do anything. That's the confidence to put it exactly where you want and then get rewarded for doing so.

On the theme of compromises – the convertible tax is a familiar talking point: drop the roof, and something in the chassis usually gives up ground to make room for it. The Artura Spider doesn't seem to have got the memo. The carbon tub underneath does the structural work the roof would otherwise be asked for, so nothing goes soft or vague when the switchbacks arrive. No scuttle shake over the rougher sections, no sense that the car's saving anything in reserve for the coupe.

And I’m bloody thankful for it, because with the roof down, I can hear the optional sports exhaust singing, unadulterated, through the backroads. There are fewer overrun barks from a V6 this rich and clean, meaning it’s more of a class-act symphony with a bite of venom. With the roof down, dew still hanging in the morning air and the road folding back on itself, it's difficult to imagine a better argument for getting out of the city before breakfast.

I don't leave third gear the entire way down, and I’m rewarded for it. So is everyone within earshot.

From there, up through Berry Mountain, the character shifts again.

The road quietens, the views open out, and the Artura settles back into grand touring mode without losing any of the composure it just showed off in the valley below. An occasional nasty pothole reveals itself around the corners, and the balance holds through it, the car absorbing the hit rather than getting knocked off line the way a stiffer, less considered chassis would. The steering stays honest the whole way through, never numbing out just because the pace has dropped.

And this is where the Artura does something I like more than simply being fast: it changes its mind.

The same car that was making a serious case for third gear in Kangaroo Valley is suddenly happy to settle into a longer, calmer rhythm. The road doesn't need to be attacked. The views deserve some attention. The Artura's composure makes both possible.

Kiama comes next, followed by an inland detour to Jamberoo Pub for a feed before turning north again towards Sea Cliff Bridge. By now, the car has been through almost every version of a road trip. Highway. Traffic. Restaurant car park. Heritage hotel. Tight mountain roads. Big sweeping views. Pub lunch. And coastal cruising.

The ocean is throwing every shade of blue at the road, and Shibuya Spirit seems determined to compete with it; the Artura shifts from pink to purple again, and it looks almost absurdly good against the coastline.

The Artura never really tells you what kind of drive you're supposed to have. It can be the car you take because you have somewhere to be. It can be the car you take because you have absolutely nowhere to be.

The road ahead decides which Artura you get.

mclaren.com