 "Thanks for bringing the rain with you," says Tim Watson as he greets me at the gate of the Ferrari factory in Maranello, Italy, holding a bright red umbrella over our heads. Press Officer Watson, a blond, bespectacled Brit, is an ardent pitchman for the world's sexiest car. Not that Ferrari needs much pitching: there is already such demand for the 4,000 units produced annually that there is a two-year waiting list. And the new generation of Internet multimillionaires has only made matters worse.
Paradoxically, the company would probably be happier if there were fewer people beating down their doors these days. "We have to keep it exclusive," says Watson. "We don't want just anybody driving Ferraris."
My tour starts in the customer display room, the very place where new buyers come to chose the gearboxes, paint jobs, upholstery and other special features for their customized, hand-made cars. I feel privileged to be here: by the time they cross this threshold, prospective customers have already laid down some 25% of the purchase price, which ranges from $150,000 to $320,000. Lining the walls are paint samples — "Contrary to popular belief, they don't have to be red" — various kinds of upholstery, tail lights, steering wheels and gear shift knobs. A glass display case contains Ferrari jackets, caps, umbrellas, model cars and video games from a merchandising line that made the company $8 million last year. And in the middle of the room sits a real-life, canary yellow 360 Modena. "Ferrari is a special car," says Watson. "It has to frighten you, get your heart beating. When some people come in here, they are trembling with excitement."
Watson opens the door and invites me to sit in the driver's seat. I sink down low into the black leather upholstery and stare at the yellow logo with the black stallion at the center of the steering wheel. I caress the sensual, hide-covered seats, breathe in the intoxicating new-car smell and feel my pulse starting to rise. I study the dials on the dashboard. The speedometer goes up to 340 km/hour, the tachometer tops out at 10,000 RPMs. This isn't a car, it's a cruise missile. "What you have here," says Watson, "is a 3.586 cc V8 engine, delivering 400 horsepower. It will take you from 0 to 100 km/hour in 4.6 seconds, and cruise at 290 km/hour."
I can't resist any longer. "Can I just turn the engine on a second?" Watson looks perplexed; we are inside an enclosed area and one false move with the six-speed gearshift could send the car crashing through the nearest wall. But he takes the key out of the glove compartment and hands it to me. I slip it into the the ignition and give it a turn. There is a throaty growl as I touch the accelerator with my right foot. I push down harder, unleashing a deafening roar as the needle jumps up to 60,000 RPM and the room fills up with exhaust. That's enough foreplay for me. "Can I drive one now?," I ask. "No problem. We have a car waiting outside."
My test car is a yellow 360 Spider, almost identical to the showroom model except for its black convertible top. "This is a brand new product," says Watson, backing it out of its parking space as I buckle my seatbelt. "Goes on sale in the U.S. next year for about $170,000." I make a quick calculation: if I sell my house and stop paying my son's college tuition I can just about swing it.
As Watson weaves through the traffic en route to the test track in nearby Fiorano, he fills me in on Ferrari's recent history. "Ten years ago, we were in crisis," he says. "Our Formula One team wasn't winning, people were buying our cars as commodities to resell for profit, not to drive them. Production plummeted from 4,500 a year in the late 1980s to only 2,000 in the early 1990s. The Japanese and Jaguar were nipping at our heels."
"What turned things around?"
"New leadership and new strategy. Luca di Montezemolo took over in 1992 and made fundamental changes. He updated the product line and restructured the dealer network. We launched 13 new models in the last eight years. As a result, we now have a two-year waiting list and a turnover of $665 million."
"What's the future for a super luxury product like this?" I ask, wondering whether there is not a finite number of people willing to pay these prices for a car with no passenger seats and no luggage space (apart from the "golf bag slot").
"It looks great," ways Watson. "Montezemolo always says that the day people don't want Ferraris anymore we'll pack it up. But we don't see that happening. People are lining up to buy them."
"What's the attraction?"
"It's an emotional thing. You could say why do you have to build such a high-performance, spectacular car that costs a lot of money? But I would argue that the world would be poorer without Ferrari. It's the most technologically advanced car on the road today. But the real attraction is the Ferrari image: it stands for human endeavor. A fast, beautiful car is like a living thing. Our cars are hand-made with passion."
We arrive at the gates of the test track. Watson flashes an i.d. card at the checkpoint and drives up to a pit stop at the edge of the tarmac. "This is where we test all our Formula 1 cars," he says. "Michael Schumacher has an apartment and gym in that building over there."
Watson hits the accelerator and starts around the course at a moderate clip. "It's a tricky track," he explains. "Lots of twists and turns. We use it to test the stresses on the Formula 1."
I notice something odd. There is no stick shift. "Is this an automatic?" I ask. "No, it's the Formula 1 electro-hydraulic gearbox — the same one Michael has on his racing car. You can get it on the 360 now as an option. See the paddles on either side of the steering wheel? You upshift with your right hand and downshift with the left. And there's no clutch." Watson hits the brakes and heads into a tight curve. "Michael drops it into first gear and does a controlled skid on this one. In a road car like this, he can make it around the track in one minute." Watson glides back into the pit stop area and gets out. "All yours now."
While I am changing seats, he hits a switch and the top folds down automatically. As I settle into the driver's seat and buckle the belt, I feel thoroughly confident. Watch out, Michael. I flick the right hand paddle into first gear and take off. The acceleration pushes me back in the seat. The engine, which takes up the entire rear half of the car, makes a prodigious noise. But just as the speedometer hits 120 km/h, I have to brake and downshift for an upcoming turn. No controlled skids for this guy. Once I pull through the curve, I quickly flick the gears into third, then fourth and hit the gas. I make it to 140 km/hour before the next turn. I begin to understand the real challenge of this course: no long straightaways. To make time, you have to be an expert racing driver — or a madman. I am neither, but I refuse to admit defeat. The engine roars and whines as I accelerate, downshift, accelerate, downshift, finally propelling me to 160 km/hour after I round the last turn and head for the pit stop.
I come to a halt next to Watson, who has been timing me with his wristwatch. "Two minutes, five seconds." I am thoroughly pleased with myself. Maybe I failed to set a new track record, but I came within just one minute of Schumacher's time. Besides, the track was wet.
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