The Last Ditch by Tom Paine

Regular readers will remember Speranza – the 2009 Ferrari California in which (among many other journeys) I made my epic road trip of the Lower 48 states of the USA. I have driven over 105,000 miles in her, including 14,500 on that trip. Last night I sold her. She’s now part of an eight car collection in Burton-upon-Trent.

I bought Speranza after the death of Mrs P in 2011. My late wife’s ideal vehicle was a discreet, de-badged Mercedes in which to be inconspicuously wafted about. She thought my boyish taste in cars attracted undue attention both from policemen and chatty enthusiasts. She was unhappy enough with our Maserati Granturismo (“Vittoria”) and made it clear that a Ferrari (my dream since I was 13) would be an unacceptable next step.

While I took her point about the policemen, I really didn’t mind encounters with enthusiasts. I got to chat with all kinds of people I’d never otherwise have met because they loved my macchina. 

She made me promise, before she died, that – before buying the inevitable Ferrari – I’d buy a home in London to be close to our children. So, once I’d exchanged contracts on Paine Towers, I was off to the dealer for a road-test.

I’d had a conversation years before with the former chairman of Ferrari at the Geneva Motor show. We chatted for a while in our only common language – French. He asked me what I drove and when I told him, he said “why not a Ferrari”. Jokingly (I’m two metres tall) I answered “because you only make them for little Latin guys like you.” He snorted, opened the door of the display model on their stand – the then new 599 – and uttered his only English words that day – “get in”. I fitted perfectly and made a mental note.

In December 2011 I had a wonderful road test in a 599. However, I am not that kind of driver. My ideal car is the concept pioneered by Maserati with their GT3500 in the Sixties – the original GT to which Vittoria had been a successor. A powerful, sporty car with room for passengers and luggage on a long road trip. A car you could get out of after driving to the Côte d’Azur and not need to lie down and recover.

Disappointed, I told the salesman the 599 wasn’t for me and why. He pointed to Speranza on the other side of the showroom. I said I wouldn’t fit. He said “try.” In truth I didn’t fit, but she appealed to me so much that I pretended – for fifteen years and 105,000 miles – that I did. She was never remotely as comfortable as Vittoria and my entrances and exits were probably comical to passers-by. Vittoria was a better car for me in many ways. 

My original plan was to tick Ferrari-ownership off on my bucket list and buy something else – probably another Maserati or an AMG Mercedes – after a couple of years. The Great US Road Trip changed that. Man and machine melded. I kept her for far longer than I probably should have done, because I’d made the fatal error of loving a machine. 

She was not insanely expensive to run until two things happened. Firstly we hit 100,000 miles – pretty much the life of most cars. The carbon-ceramic F1-style brakes, for example, are “lifetime” items. At around 100,000 miles, I had to replace them. That was a seriously expensive item. As was a new front suspension. That year, she cost £25,000 in servicing and maintenance alone. 

The second thing that happened was that Joe Macari – who had serviced her for years – sold out that aspect of his business to HR Owen – one of the biggest main dealers in the world. I was no longer working with fellow enthusiasts but corporate drones. Maybe it was just the customer service specialist assigned to look after me? When a company has customer service people, it always makes me wonder what all the other employees are for. Either way, I’ve never dealt with a company I liked less. I’d been on personal mobile number and Christmas Card-exchanging terms with the guys who looked after me at Macari’s. The HR Owen people greeted me each time as if they’d never met me (and really didn’t really want to). I was a source of funds and nothing more.

I am a retired gent on a decent income. I am an enthusiast and Speranza was an absolute joy to me.

She’s cheaper than a wife

I’d say, jokingly, to friends. I was prepared to devote 25% of my income to her but she was beginning to require more. So the still small voice of my frugal mother’s DNA, which has always been my financial Jiminy Cricket, prevailed. 

So, though she’ll be in my final thoughts as I lie dying, Speranza had to go. I think she’s found a good new home. I met the buyer at Milton Keynes Railway Station last night to do the terrible deed. He’s a nice young chap who is adding her to a collection of eight special cars. She’s his first Ferrari. In such hands, she’s not going to be worked hard any more. I hope her many horses are being put out to pasture. He even promised to keep calling her Speranza.

I shook his hand, wished him as much joy of her as I have had and turned sadly away. I couldn’t bear to look back, so I didn’t. I know she’s just a beautiful machine that I was lucky enough to own. I know I got to enjoy her for a good, long time. I know that human emotions should be reserved for other humans worthy of them. 

I also know what grief feels like and that’s what I am experiencing.

I remember a Catholic priest speculating about what Heaven might be like. He imagined it full of beautiful nature and lacking any noisy machinery. I told him, if I can’t drive Speranza there, it won’t be Heaven for me. 

Enzo Ferrari famously said – probably in front of his wife and children;

I have, in fact, no interest in life outside racing cars

His company only sold cars to fund the Scuderia. Il Commendatore had no time for any customers who were not going to race their cars, dismissing them contemptuously as “men in their fifties”. I was 54 when I bought Speranza and – while I never planned to race her – I set out to be the kind of GT owner that he might respect a little. She was made for grand tours so I did them.

• The Great American Road Trip. 
• A driving honeymoon showing the now ex-Mrs PII all my favourite European spots. 
• Visiting the home of the man Ferrari considered the greatest racing driver ever – Tazio Nuvolari, the “Flying Mantuan”.
• Taking her home to Maranello for a factory tour only permitted to Ferraristi. 
• Driving to Prague from London to give Babička a lift to Aquitaine to meet her new granddaughter. 
• Many, many runs to the South of France. 

So many great memories.

I can picture her now, parked outside a shabby motel belonging to the Navajo Nation in Monument Valley. I will always remember the sunset behind a butte there reflected in her rear view mirrors. I have the photo book of the road trip and many other images to look at when I can bear it.

One of the nicest moments in my ownership was when I was doing a travel blog about one of my road trips. I received an anonymous comment from someone claiming to work on the factory floor in Maranello. He said that he and others there read my blog and thought it was great that a Ferrarista actually used his macchina as intended. Most Ferraris are trophies. They’re polished, kept under cover and never properly used. I am proud that Speranza fulfilled her destiny. 

That’s some consolation at least on this surprisingly dark day in my life.