Some cars are built to conquer legendary racetracks. Others are built to celebrate them. Aston Martin’s latest special edition somehow manages to do both.
Timed perfectly for the eve of the 79th running of the 24 Hours of Spa-Francorchamps, Aston Martin has unveiled the Vantage S Spa-Francorchamps, a highly exclusive tribute to one of motorsport’s most revered circuits. It’s a fitting nod to a track where the British marque has carved out countless victories over decades of endurance racing. The catch? Only 12 examples will be built, and every single one is reserved for customers in Belgium and Luxembourg.
The project comes courtesy of Aston Martin’s Q division, the bespoke arm responsible for transforming already desirable sports cars into collector-grade rarities. Unlike previous Q creations that often lean heavily on extravagant personalization, the Spa-Francorchamps edition keeps its message focused: honoring one of the world’s greatest racing venues without overcomplicating the formula.
Its exterior wears an understated dark gray finish accented by light gray racing stripes stretching across the hood, roof, and decklid. Closer inspection reveals the details enthusiasts will appreciate most. The iconic Spa circuit layout is proudly displayed on the front fenders, while the colors of the Belgian flag find their way onto the seatbacks. Special illuminated door sill plates remind occupants that this is one of just a dozen examples ever to leave Gaydon.
Fortunately, Aston Martin resisted the temptation to tinker with an already exceptional mechanical package.
Beneath the Vantage’s impossibly long hood remains the familiar AMG-derived 4.0-liter twin-turbocharged V-8, producing a formidable 680 horsepower and 590 pound-feet (800 Nm) of torque. An eight-speed automatic transmission channels every bit of that muscle exclusively to the rear wheels, delivering the sort of numbers that remain deeply impressive even in today’s supercar arms race.
The sprint to 62 mph (100 km/h) takes just 3.3 seconds, while flat out, the Vantage S Spa-Francorchamps reaches 202 mph (325 km/h). Those figures aren’t unique to this special edition, but they hardly need to be. Spa itself has always rewarded bravery over gimmicks, and the Vantage remains one of the most engaging front-engine performance cars on sale.
Buyers also receive a pair of carbon-fiber Bell racing helmets and matching driving gloves, a thoughtful addition that practically dares owners to book a track day rather than simply admire the car under showroom lights.
Of course, exclusivity rarely comes cheap. Aston Martin is asking roughly €335,000 for the privilege of owning one of these twelve commemorative machines—a substantial premium over a standard Vantage S, but one that collectors are unlikely to question.
For everyone else, the Vantage S Spa-Francorchamps serves as another reminder that some of the world’s greatest roads—and racetracks—don’t just inspire fast cars. Sometimes, they become part of the car’s identity.
Ringbrothers has always operated in that sweet spot between genius and mild lunacy—the place where creativity flourishes because nobody stops to ask whether something is sensible. The Wisconsin-based brothers, Jim and Mike Ring, built their reputation turning American muscle cars into carbon-fiber fever dreams that somehow still drive like cars rather than science projects. They started with an autobody shop. They stayed with an autobody shop. And then, almost accidentally, they became the most interesting restomod builders on the planet.
So when one half of the duo showed up at The Quail during Monterey Car Week standing next to a radically reimagined Aston Martin DBS, it felt less like a left turn and more like destiny finally catching up.
Meet “Octavia.” No, not a Škoda—though apparently the name caused a mild tightening of legal neckties somewhere in Europe. This is Ringbrothers’ vision of what Aston Martin’s early-1970s DBS might have been if it were raised on cheeseburgers, superchargers, and a steady diet of American V-8 thunder.
“We’ve combined the ferocity of American muscle with the stiff upper lip of English sophistication,” Mike Ring says, deadpan but clearly delighted. “Octavia is beyond anything we’ve built before.”
That’s not marketing fluff. This thing is unhinged in the most deliberate way.
Googling Their Way to James Bond
The origin story is peak Ringbrothers. A local client—described as “super cool,” which in Ring-speak usually means extremely patient and financially brave—asked a simple question: What do you guys want to build?
The answer, apparently, came from a Google search.
“We literally Googled ‘European muscle car,’” Mike admits. “A DBS was at the top, and we’re like, yeah dude, we want to do James Bond.”
Within a week, the owner bought a non-running 1971 DBS off Bring a Trailer. Ringbrothers had never seen one in person. That didn’t slow them down. If anything, it emboldened them.
“They’re so flat-sided,” Mike says. “Straight away we knew we had to put some booty on the back.”
Carbon Fiber, Not Rivets
“Some booty” turned into ten inches of added width. The finished car measures a staggering 82 inches wide at the rear and 78 inches up front—roughly modern supercar territory and not far off a Lamborghini Revuelto for sheer presence.
The difference is execution. This isn’t a bolt-on widebody with exposed fasteners and wishful thinking. Every panel was designed in CAD and formed entirely in carbon fiber. The proportions stay intact, the surfacing flows, and the car somehow looks more Aston than the original while being dramatically more aggressive.
“It still looks balanced,” Mike says—and annoyingly, he’s right.
From CAD screen to finished car took roughly two and a half years, with about a year of actual assembly once parts began arriving. The original DBS shell didn’t survive in any recognizable sense. Ringbrothers stripped it down, bonded the body together, and turned what remained into—yes—a martini bar.
“It’s a James Bond thing,” Mike shrugs. “We got to serve martinis.”
Forget the Straight-Six
Purists, look away now.
Octavia does not run an Aston engine. Not even close. Early conversations with Aston Martin didn’t go anywhere—Ringbrothers is refreshingly candid about that—so they pivoted to what they know best.
Enter Ford’s 5.0-liter Coyote V-8, topped with a 2.65-liter supercharger and good for 805 horsepower. It’s bolted to a six-speed manual gearbox and sends power exclusively to the rear wheels, because of course it does.
“The last thing we want to do is build something we can’t make run,” Mike says. “We’re not engineers.”
That statement becomes increasingly hilarious the longer you look at the rest of the car.
The drivetrain lives in a bespoke chassis with the wheelbase stretched by 76 millimeters. A full structural roll cage is integrated into the body. There’s independent rear suspension, C7 Corvette sway bars, Fox Racing dampers, and Brembo brakes. This is not a hot rod pretending to be a grand tourer—it’s a genuinely serious piece of hardware wearing a Savile Row suit.
Coke-Bottle Bond Villain Energy
The design work was led by Gary Ragle, with what Ringbrothers describes as “echoes” of William Towns’ original DBS shape buried in the final form. The goal was “Coke-bottle curvature,” and they nailed it. The car looks taut, muscular, and vaguely menacing, like a Bond villain’s personal transport after an intense off-screen gym montage.
Inside, the madness continues—tastefully. Carbon fiber, stainless steel, and leather dominate, with subtle (and not-so-subtle) nods to 007 lore. The standout? A dipstick handle shaped like a martini glass. Shaken, presumably, not stirred.
The Cost of Doing It Because You Want To
As for the price, Mike won’t give a number. Not because he’s being coy—but because he genuinely doesn’t seem to know.
“We’re trying to sell another one so we can spread the cost a bit,” he says. “It was quite expensive.”
That might be the understatement of the week. The raw stainless steel for the exhaust tips alone cost $1,000. A first quote for four pieces of glass came in at $92,000. That’s not a typo.
Still, Ringbrothers isn’t interested in efficiency, scalability, or anything else you’d find in a business-school case study.
“If I had to build the same car over and over, I wouldn’t be doing it,” Mike says. “I’d lose interest. If it was all about money, I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing.”
Why Ringbrothers Matters
That’s the secret sauce. Ringbrothers doesn’t chase trends or algorithms or easy wins. They chase curiosity. Every project is an extension of their taste, their humor, and their willingness to learn by doing—sometimes publicly, sometimes expensively.
Mike doesn’t see himself as an artist. He sees himself as lucky. Lucky to work with his wife. Lucky that his son is now involved in the machining side. Lucky to keep building cars simply because he wants to.
“I don’t want to retire,” he says. “This is what I’d do if I was retired.”
Octavia isn’t just a spectacular Aston Martin restomod. It’s a manifesto—proof that the best automotive creations still come from people who care more about having fun than getting rich.
They’re not curing cancer, as Mike puts it. They’re just building ridiculously cool cars.
In an age when collector cars trade hands like digital tokens and stories sometimes feel manufactured to inflate hammer prices, every so often a tale surfaces that reminds us why we love cars in the first place. This one begins in 1973 with an 18-year-old Welsh welder, a pocket full of hard-earned cash, and a train bound for London. It ends—well, for now—half a century later in Newport Pagnell, where Aston Martin Works has completed one of the most heartfelt restorations in its 70-year history.
A Teenager, a Train Ticket, and a Dream
Back in 1972, John Williams set himself a mission that would seem delusional for most teenagers today: buy an Aston Martin DB5. Not a poster of a DB5. Not a die-cast. The real thing.
Williams saved for more than a year, grabbed every overtime shift he could, and eventually scraped together £900—about £15,000 in today’s currency. In September 1973, at just 19, he made the long train ride from North Wales to London to see a used, slightly tired 1965 DB5 advertised in Motorsport magazine. The ad promised “many bills,” wire wheels, Sundym electric windows, and—most enticingly—the higher-output Vantage engine breathing through Weber carburetors.
It was, as Williams recalls, the car. His dream. And it was his.
Four Years of Glory, Then Four Decades of Quiet
Williams drove the DB5 home to Wales and used it as his daily for four years. Then life, as it tends to, intervened. A job in the Middle East. A growing family. Other priorities. The DB5 ended up on his driveway, uncovered and unused.
His wife, Sue, remembers local kids bouncing on the bonnet and one even snapping off the exhaust. Offers to buy the car came and went. Money got tight at times. But Williams held firm. As Sue told him: “You’ll never get another one.”
She was right.
Resurrection at the Source
In 2022—nearly 50 years after Williams parked the car—he and Sue delivered the DB5 “home” to Aston Martin Works in Newport Pagnell. More than 13,000 classic Astons were built here over five decades, and if any place could bring this car back from the brink, it was this one.
The DB5 arrived in a profoundly worn-down state. But it was also something special: a 1965 right-hand-drive DB5 saloon, factory-finished in Silver Birch, equipped with the coveted Vantage engine. Only 39 cars left the factory with this exact configuration.
The Works team stripped it to bare metal, restored the chassis and Superleggera frame, and hand-formed each aluminum panel. Williams and his wife visited throughout the build, watching younger craftsmen carry on the same techniques used in the 1960s.
More than 2,500 hours later, the car emerged not merely restored, but renewed.
A DB5 Better Than New
Aston Martin Works president Paul Spires calls the project “a lovely story,” and the finished car is nothing short of stunning—Silver Birch shimmering exactly as it did six decades ago, Weber trumpets gleaming in the light, the cabin trimmed with a precision that borders on obsessive.
Although Spires politely declines to dwell on numbers, he suggests that a DB5 of this specification and provenance could bring “up to £1 million” if it ever returned to the market. Not bad for a £900 investment.
But selling isn’t on the table. For the Williams family, this was never about flipping a classic. It was about reclaiming a piece of their own life story.
Reunited with “His Girl”
When John Williams slid behind the wheel of his restored DB5 a few days ago, it had been nearly 50 years since he last drove it.
“It’s been a long time coming,” he said, visibly emotional. “But it’s been worth every penny. My girl’s back and up and running—back to her former glory.”
In an automotive landscape obsessed with instant gratification, this DB5 stands as a reminder that the truest form of car enthusiasm isn’t driven by resale values or concours trophies. It’s driven by commitment. By memory. By the kid inside all of us who once pointed at a car and said, One day.
John Williams made that day happen. It just took half a century—and a whole lot of heart—to get there.
