The F40 experience

Words, words are truly powerful, used correctly they can convey an experience but there are times where they can convey raw emotion.

It’s always a good idea to start at the beginning, in this case the beginning being a framed poster of a certain red car, a true icon of the 1980’s and in many ways Enzo Ferrari’s epitaph. Yes, the F40, just saying “F40” raises the hair on the back of my neck.

Every so often I have been lucky enough to see an F40, often is perhaps not the correct word, for these sightings have been sporadic at best but each time I have felt a certain emotion. It can best be described as a mix of awe and astonishment. I remember the first time I saw an F40 in the wild; its owner had brought it to Killarney Race Track and promptly demonstrated its power by laying thick black lines down the pit lane, smoke billowing off the back wheels.

Of course when he parked the car people surrounded it like bees drawn to honey or Italians drawn to a fine bottle of wine.
Someone asked “What is the car like”, the owner turned “It’s fantastic, every man should have one”.

I have for a long time bought into the F40 legend and it’s always been a car I wanted to experience. Countless articles were read and digested like a piece of fine chocolate cake, many a time I could imagine myself there in the passenger seat.

There is a rather tired cliché “the best things are worth waiting for “ but that strangely didn’t feature as I stood in the middle of nowhere and admired the lines of a F40. It’s an uncompromising car but it walks the line between being beautiful and much like a tailored suit walks the line between being elegant and ostentatious.

It’s a much smaller car than one would expect and every aspect of styling has a purpose, from the low nose to the high rear wing, itself a statement of intent but again one which doesn’t come across as overbearing or dominating.

Legends abound about the F40 but as I stand next to it, grasp the catch to open the delicate door those legends are far from my mind. Opening the door one is greeted by a sizeable sill, perhaps a rite of passage to negotiate before dropping down into the body hugging red racing seat, itself finished in fire retardant fabric. Once in that seat the ambience is pure race car, everything is function and when I say everything I am not talking about much, there are some rudimentary switches, no door handles, that duty is taken care of by a piece of cord.

How does it feel to sit here after waiting all those years? Surreal and strangely calming, I have a moment to gather my thoughts, it’s incredible to be sitting here and I actually pinch myself to see if this isn’t some very elaborate dream, it isn’t.

Looking down at the floor, the infamous green glue like substance is present and correct. This car has normal seat belts and not a harness but this does nothing to diminish a massive sense of occasion.

Behind me the V8 fires up and settles into what can be best described as a rough idle, the whole car shaking. Looking behind me I am greeted by the sight of two intercoolers staring at me with a certain menace, rear visibility is compromised at best.
On this wide open stretch of road in the middle of nowhere, literally in the middle of nowhere, there is nothing barring a few mountains in the distance.
When moving the engine adopts a grumble, as if to say “please let’s not trundle around like this much longer”

Acceleration happens like this, one moves forward, the revs increase and one moves a bit faster, the revs increase more but there isn’t really much additional acceleration then BAM one is slammed back into the seat as behind one the turbo’s start to whistle menacingly this over laid by the roar of the V8. The acceleration is brutal, clack next gear and it happens all over again and the horizon which seemed far away doesn’t see so far away anymore. De acceleration is accompanied by various pops from the exhaust and chirps from the waste gate.

When on boost the acceleration is monumental and the feeling is magical, time has done nothing to diminish the impact the F40 has nor has it done much to diminish it’s a thrilling performance. One can only imagine how this must have felt when compared to what was considered fast in 1988. Cornering is flat and the car has a certain go cart feel to it, a nimble feeling quite at odds with what one would expect. The F40 dances from corner to corner like ballerina in a performance of Swan Lake.

For all its accelerative prowess and flat cornering, the F40 is so much more than either of these things, sitting there you realise you are in the presence of greatness and that greatness takes the form of the third person in the car, the spirit of Enzo Ferrari. He personally presented the F40 to the worlds press in 1987, it would be the very last car he ever presented, it would be his swansong and it encompassed what he believed the ultimate car to be and to be able to experience this magic was the fulfilment of a dream I had since I first looked at that poster 20 odd years ago.

Yes, some things are even better than you imagine them to be.

 

Thanks for all the compliments. I should mention I also got a spin in a F50 on the same day, that review is almost complete which I will post it up once I am happy it does justice to the car.

 

Thanks for the kind words.

Still busy working on the F50 article...