Staring a supercar in the light of a sparkling cold dawn is one of those pleasures that can be enjoyed
by anyone within earshot, not just those lucky enough to be sitting behind the
wheel. In this case that means all the snoozing and snoring residents of the
Hotel Corte degli Estensi. I hope they appreciate it because the F12 Berlinetta
is quite a special way to be woken. Hold down the big red starter button on the
steering hexagon and you trigger a high-pitched whirr of starter motor for just
over a second before the 12 cylinders bank into life, startled from their
slumbers like rooms 115 to 220. The engine remains at a high, angry idle for
approximately a minute before settling to a more subdued number of revs. It’s
very F1, very theatrical and I can’t help but smile.
It’s
easier to get into a relaxed flow with the big, low Lamborghini than it is with
the F12
We’re heading down towards one of Evo’s
favorite Italian stomping grounds today, the wonderful roads around the Futa
and Raticosa passes. This means we’ve got a quick run-down the motorway for an
hour or so first and I decide to stay in the expensive red alarm clock. The
tarmac in Italy seems to have deteriorated in sympathy with the nation’s economy
and there are cracks and potholes everywhere, yet if you set the
magnetorheological dampers to their ‘bumpy road’ setting then the Ferrari irons
out the imperfections incredibly well. The auto setting for the gearbox also
works seamlessly, slickly shifting ratios and keeping the engine at a purring
level so that you can make relaxed and almost unobtrusive progress amongst the
traffic. The steering still seems laser-guided at lower speeds but falls just
the right side of twitchy, allowing you to slice through roundabouts with a
startling economy of movement in your hands.
So it ticks the GT box then? Well, yes and
no. you could and would happily drive a long way in an F12 to reach a good
road, but if you were just driving a long way then I think it might be a bit
frustrating. Unlike the Aston, which soothes away the mundane miles when you’re
tired or simply not in the mood, there’s always a simmering tension just below
the surface of the Ferrari. It’s like a rapid-response unit permanently on
call, or a sprinter in the blocks waiting for the gun. The throttle remains
eager at the top of its travel even with the Manettino set to Sport or Wet, and
although the ride is good, expansion joints still thump noisily and little
ripples still reach you. As Jethro says: ‘It’s always a bit brittle. It never
quite relaxes and chills out like the Vanquish’.
There’s
always a simmering tension just below the surface of the Ferrari
It certainly seems a happier car when we
reach the first tunnel of the day. Windows down, flack, flack, flack (this is
the trouble with seven-speed ‘boxes), flack on the left-hand paddle, pin the
throttle and instantly you could be in Monaco in Grand Prix week. From the
screaming exhausts as you’re hurled through the darkness, to the loud crack as
a gear-change fires through and extinguishes the red LEDs on the top of the
steering wheel, the F12 is pure race car. For a few brief seconds of
acceleration it completely fills the tunnel, howl reverberating off the
ceiling, the noise gaining that distinctive cavernous echoing depth before
shrinking in an instant as you burst back out into the daylight.
I say daylight, but as we climb higher the
weather rapidly deteriorates and soon we’re travelling through a cold, damp
fog, which is worrying. There’s a service area at our junction so we stop for
petrol and coffee, hoping the weather might clear if we don’t look at it for a
while. Two police cars roll past and slow for a slightly wishful look. The
distinctive blue and white liveries are slapped on Skoda Octavia estates, which
just seems wrong. Surely they should be driving something Italian so that in a
chase there’s a reasonable hope they’ll break down before they catch you.
I stick with the Ferrari and fall into line
behind Jethro in the Lambo as we head off up to the passes. The weather hasn’t
improved and the road is damp as snow banked up on the verges slowly melts, but
I feel more confident in the F12 today and feel happier to let the revs flare
and wheels spin a little. I’m hoping I might get some heat into the Michelins,
but while the ‘Vehicle Dynamic Assistance’ display colors the engine and brakes
in an encouraging green, the tires remain a resolutely chilly blue.
Nonetheless, although the Aventador’s four-wheel drive ensures it gets out of
the corners better, the Ferrari is absolutely savage down the straight and,
combined with the advantage of following, I just about manage to keep the
angular tail in sight.
Lambo’s
computer-generated instruments
The roads are now more flowing and suited
to supercars (the Ferrari feels much smaller than a 599 but it’s still wide)
and I’m pleased we made the decision to get up here. But when we park at Chalet
Raticosa, the weather’s still more miserable than Anne Hathaway singing about
her dreams. So while the others clean the cars and film details for the video,
I go off in the Ferrari to see if things are any better down one of the roads
nearby.
