Enzo, you glorious bastard...

Brace yourselves, this is a long post...

Turns out the Alps are just as awesome as the Pyrenees...

Long before I ever landed in London a couple weeks back, part of me feared this leg of the trip. I had heard nothing, and I mean nothing, but bad things about Italian driving. In fact, a website that I used as a resource often when planning this trip, and written by a man that has toured nearly every nook and cranny that Europe has to offer, didn't have a section on Italy. In it's place was a explanation of his refusal to ride in Italy ever again after venturing in for a mere couple of hours prior to high-tailing back out vowing never to return. The reason? He said the driving was insane - borderline suicidal - and he would never expose himself to the dangers of it ever again. And this is a man that's done more miles around Europe than the Pope. Needless to say, if a rider of his calibre couldn't hack it, what chance did I have?

Well, after three days of riding in Italy, I have only this to say: I don't see the big deal. If I hadn't passed a sign that said 'you are now in Italy', I'd have never known anything had changed. Because it hadn't. Even a little bit. Perhaps I didn't go far enough South or something, but in the sections of Italy that I've done, it's been no different than France or Spain.

Which is good.

But, I digress. Because the whole reason I came to Italy was the prancing horse. You know the one. Granted, one would assume that on a motorcycling trip of Europe, the big Italian draw would be Ducati. And, don't get me wrong, I love Ducati as much as the next man. They make some of the best and most beautiful motorcycles on the planet. In fact, they are often referred to as the Ferrari of the motorcycle world. But do you know what else is considered the Ferrari of it's particular world? Ferrari.

I like motorcycles, don't get me wrong. But I love cars. Don't ask me why, because I can't explain it. They're loud, expensive, ruining the environment, and kill thousands of people per year, maybe even per day. But I love them. Like so many other 'typical' men out there, for some reason the 12 year old boy in me never quite went away. No matter how mighty of a mane of chest hair grew in.

When most people hear that I'm driving through the following towns - Modena, Maranello, Fiorano - they would think, 'ah, sounds like some nice Italian villages', but for any car fan worth his weight in carbon fibre, those names bring a whole different set of imagery: 360, 550 and 599 GTB respectively. I of course, was headed to the house that Enzo built.


After a quick drive by of the actual factory, I headed to the Galleria Ferrari, known by many to be the premier collection of vintage and modern Ferraris on the planet. It took less than 1 minute in the door to believe it. My only regret is that I had barely missed seeing the 1962 250 GTO on display (the cars are rotated, and I had missed it by less than a month according to the website) as it is without a doubt one of the greatest cars ever designed. But complaining about that is like complaining about Cindy Crawford because she has a mole.

Movie Trivia Pt.3: "He never drives it. He just rubs it with a diaper." Perhaps someone other than Nathan could win this time... anyone... anyone.

A couple of glorious hours later, and my pilgrimage to Mecca was complete.

Or was it?

You see, it's one thing to stare at these gorgeous machines, but it's a whole other thing to drive them. Oh yes, you read that right...


This was a day of firsts for me. You see, prior to today I had never driven a car with true F1 style paddle shifters. I had never driven a car with a mid engine layout. I had never driven a car with excess of 395 horsepower. I had never driven a car that cost $250,000...

And now, if I may, I'd like to take a minute to talk about linguistics. For you see, the following conversation - if it transpires in plain, monotone, perfect English - is memorable, sure, but when half of this same conversation happens to be in broken English, it suddenly becomes the stuff of legend. The type of exchange you remember until the day you die. Observe:

Ferrari Guy: Ok, avter these car is gone past, you put de foot down.

Travis (pauses for a second): Down?

Ferrari Guy: All de way.

And that my friends, is how, at 2:14pm local time, somewhere just outside of Maranello Italy, as the speedometer climbed to 120mph, I achieved Automotive Nirvana.

So, if you're my mom, just keep on assuming that was a typo, meant to read 120kph, but for everyone else, feel free to high five the air, because I'm doing it right back at you.

We go together like peanut butter and jam. It's just right.

And, before I leave it at that, is it just me, or should I be concerned when, over the course of broken English small talk, a man, whose daily job it is to ride in a car capable of 195 mph, but whose only requirement to be sitting in the drivers seat next to him is a valid drivers license, asks if I'm 'de guy on de motorcycle', and after receiving a confirmation of yes, his only response to me is 'you crazy'?