The Short Version:
Bugatti Veyron = the ultimate cost-no-object publicity stunt and engineering achievement in automotive history, but without any real identity, a reason to exist beyond stockpiling impressive stats in one clumsy, lumpy shape. Yes, it is amazing, but what is it?
McLaren F1 = The ultimate no-compromise driver's car (of its day*), representing purity of form and clarity of vision. It is exactly what it sets out be, nothing less, nothing more.
The longer version:
I'm inclined to agree with excellent points on both sides here, but I fall on the side of the McLaren F1.
The McLaren represents a purity of form driven function and no-compromise solutions to create Murray's vision of the Ultimate Driver's Car. (Damn close to my vision of it, too!) It was so successful at fullfilling the targets of this design brief, that customers insisted a racing version be produced, resulting in a truly magnificent and, for a time, dominant track machine, even over dedicated ground-up factory racing efforts of the time.
The "Bugatti," on the other hand, was designed around a set of specs and then engineered to achieve those outrageous numbers. It was never designed to be the Greatest Driver's Car On Earth, it just turned out to represent that to people who look solely at numbers to determine who holds that crown. But, factually, it was always designed to be an outrageous statement, a "look-what-we-can-do" moment, an example of everything good taken further. It goes by the edict "If a little is good, a lot is better, and too much doesn't exist." 8 liters, 16 cylinders, 4 turbos, 1001bhp, 252 MPH, sub 14 sec. to 300 kmh. Very impressive. But not my cup of tea. It weighs too much (almost 1700 lbs more than the McLaren), it hurts to look at - at least it hurts my eyes - and it simply doesn't represent what I want in my dream car. Anyone can drive it 250, as demonstrated by Captain Slow on Top Gear, and, other than the display registering those staggering numbers, there isn't much to say for the experience. Kinda like seeing the display light up "Mach 2.0" on the Concorde. Nice story, but what did it feel like? The McLaren is visceral machine, one that involves the driver in a way an over-engineered (by which I mean too much Intel inside, not enough passion and petrol fumes), over-insulated and sound-deadened luxury rocket never will.
To me, the Veyron, while completely staggering in its capability and stats, is driven more by publicity and sheer rediculous shock and awe, an excercise in excess, designed for its effect on the crowd outside rather than for the driver's benefit, his smile and adrenal gland while alone on the Karussell. The McLaren, in contrast, was not designed with anyone or any audience other than the person seated in the middle in mind. It might not outsprint an F1 car to 60 (the Veyron does). It might not be capable of over 400 km/h (the Veyron is). It might not have the latest and greatest or, in the Veyron's vein, the most of everything. But what it does have is a perfect balance of power, comfort, and usability to keep the adrenaline flowing like the Mississippi at flood-stage levels, the ability to outperform every car of its day, and almost every car since. No driver's "assists," no paddle shift, just a seat in the middle, three pedals, a wheel and six speed stick, and a one way ticket to heaven.
I like the idea of including certain other benchmarks or landmark achievements in this discussion, such as the Porsche 959. It would definaely fit in with these two as representing a huge leap forward in technology and performance.
* - I only say the F1 is the ultimate driver's car of its day (rather than all-time) because it could be argued others have passed it in recent years, such as the creations of Horatio Pagani or Koenigsegg, using similar design briefs. Personally, the center driving position still gives it a leg up on them in my book. Give me a center-seat Zonda, then we'll talk about passing the F1 for that title!
I don't care if it has electric windows. I don't care if the door gaps are straight, but when the driver steps on the gas, I want him to **** his pants! - il Commendatore