by Jonathan Mellberg
photos by the author
It’s certainly not the most original line, nor the most interesting. If Michael Schumacher (famed Ferrari Formula 1 driver) read this he’d probably snort and mutter “hmf, so what? I’ve driven every Ferrari”. But we’re not talking about Schumacher. We’re talking about Mellberg. And, if one is to understand the importance of my opening statement, one must first understand the Mellberg.
It’s hard to trace the roots of my obsession with the auto, but surely it harks back to early childhood to the days of playing with Hot Wheels and “helping” my father work on cars. Years before my tenth birthday I remember him building a clock for me and my sister (as referenced in blog #1). He bought wooden, box-frame clocks and removed the stock images (roughly 8x10 inches) and replaced them with a more personal image for each of us. Don’t ask me what my sister got; I have no idea. As for me, my dad chose a Ferrari from what I’m sure was an old car calendar. That car happened to be a 1984 Ferrari 288 GTO. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I only knew it was a cool red car. And while I’m sure that my father had no idea this car would one day become my favorite Ferrari ever, we can all agree he knew enough to have chosen with good taste.
Fast forward into adulthood. A decade of reading MotorTrend, Road & Track, and Car & Driver (and most recently, Automobile) has helped fuel my fandom of all things automotive (yes, even hybrids, thanks to modern day supercar saviors such as the Porsche 918 and McLaren P1). Not much else has changed. I’m a couple feet taller. I traded BMX biking for my driver’s license and I’ve collected a few speeding tickets (if I were more nostalgic I’d simply call them souvenirs). I still have my Hot Wheels, but the 550 cars I have are all still in their plastic and stored 364 days out of the year. I got married, took out a mortgage, and helped further the name of Mellberg; my wife is pregnant with our first. Back to my obsession…
My recollection is a bit hazy regarding when my Ferrari fan boy status shifted into overdrive, but it was within the last five years. It probably happened when I realized I was old enough to rent cars from Enterprise rent-a-car. And if I could do that, it meant that with the right timing and sizable means, I could one day strap myself into the driver’s seat in one of Maranello’s finest thoroughbreds.
For those unfamiliar with the living legend of the Ferrari brand I give you these factoids: the cheapest new Ferrari one can buy is well north of $200K. The most expensive car ever sold (privately) was a Ferrari, and it fetched $52 million (the most expensive car ever publicly auctioned was also a Ferrari; it went for $38 million). Everything about Ferrari screams exclusivity, including it being one of the only major car brands to actually, purposefully limit production on its cars, not because there isn’t a market, but rather to increase value by exclusivity. And they are worth it. If you ever seen or heard a Ferrari, you’d know it. At the very least you’d know you’ve seen something special. The attention and detail given to each and every Ferrari is extremely impressive; it’s almost as impressive as a Ferrari’s performance, both on and off the track. Even the Ferrari factory is exclusive: one of the only factories in the world to feature glass roofing and trees within the factory walls to promote cleaner air and a more ideal work environment (and you can't even tour the facility unless you're an owner). Now let’s get back to my opener: I drove a Ferrari!
For my 30th birthday, my wonderful wife Tate surprised me with the help of my mother-in-law Val by purchasing for me a special experience with the Ferrari F430. The F430 was Ferrari’s entry model car from 2004-2009 and stickered for $186K. It features a mid-engine RWD layout and is powered by a 4.3L V8 churning out 485 horsepower. By comparison, your brand new Honda Accord starts at $21K, features an inline 4 cylinder engine that makes less than 200 horsepower and takes twice as long to reach 60mph as the Ferrari does.
Our experience this summer took place in Rosemount, MN, at the Dakota County Technical School, which features a short, windy track/course that is assumedly used to teach future cops how to keep their tired old Ford Crown Vic cruises on all four wheels while chasing down perps. But not on July 4th, 2014; for that day the course was reserved for gods alone. And I’m not talking about me. I'm talking about the cars.
Joining the two red Ferrari F430’s at our event were another pair of twins, two Lamborghini Gallardo coupes, one painted in graphite gray, the other bathed in pearl yellow. The Gallardo is not only one of the most mispronounced supercars in history, but most likely the first car you’d buy if you had the money for the Ferrari F430 but not the inclination. Compared to the F430, the Gallardo is more powerful, has two more cylinders, and sends all its might to all four corners with the help of all-wheel-drive. Different strokes for different folks.
Sure, I had a choice: Ferrari or Lamborghini. But for me there was no choice: Ferrari or bust. I’d been waiting my whole life to do this, and nothing could sway me from my date with the Rosso Corsa (red) beauty. So, after registering with MotorSport Lab (the company hosting the event), Tate and I and the other participants watched with glee as the pro instructors took turns doing hot laps in the F430 and the Gallardo in order to warm up the cars and prepare them for an entire day of abuse. As for me, I had only three laps to enjoy my ride, but you can bet your ass I’d make the most of those few laps.
And I did. I was lucky enough to be the first driver of the day. Clad in my red suede Puma shoes and my red Ferrari track jacket (don’t worry, I was wearing pants as well), I hopped into the passenger seat of the F430. The instructor who would be accompanying me and driving the first lap was named Kevin. He’d been doing this for 19 years. Rough life, driving Ferraris all day.
The course was set up as such: a short slalom starts the course, followed by a swooping right turn that leads uphill to a very sharp left turn. This left turn transitions to a big winding left-hand bank where you can really throttle through it before slamming on the brakes at the end to veer left and begin the slalom all over again. Kevin’s lap was, shall we say, enthusiastic. Honestly, I thought we were going to crash almost the entire time; he was that fast. It was glorious; I thought I was going to crap my pants. I could’ve ridden shotgun all day and never grown tired of the spine-tingling fear and excitement his driving generated.
But now it was my turn. My turn at speed. My turn at power. And please God, don’t let me crash it! I gently climbed into the driver’s seat while Kevin took his new place on the passenger side. The F430 idled with distinct burble, but there was a subliminal message being conveyed as well. “Dump the throttle!” whispered the Ferrari. But no, can’t do that; that no-no was made very clear by Kevin during our crash-course in supercar driving school. I took a deep breath, adjusted the seat, and curled my fingers around the leather-wrapped steering wheel, being sure not to touch the paddle shift levers (another no-no). Kevin tells me to ease into the throttle like one would while driving a manual. And then I felt it catch. “Go!” prodded Kevin. And go I do! I zipped through the slalom, slowly at first (trying to avoid the cones) and then gunned it, ramping up speed all too quickly as we bravely marched at Mach speeds toward the first sharp left turn. Time to dump the brakes. The F430 shed speed with no drama at all. I reset my bearings coming out of the left turn and jumped on the gas again as we flew back toward the crowd where my wife was recording the whole thing on her i-phone.
Lap one: done. We sat at the start of the course while Kevin gave me feedback. And by feedback I mean he’s telling me every little thing I can do to go faster and faster. What did I learn from my first lap? I could have gone much faster. Laps two and three made up for that. And at the end of the third lap I come to a chirping halt in from of the crowd. I let out a triumphant howl. The crowd cheered. No shit; they really did cheer.
As I exited the car I felt myself shaking a bit, like a washing machine slowing down after the spin cycle. And with the shakes, a big fat smile ruined what could have been a cool demeanor. Fun is what I was feeling. An over-abundance of fun. I shook Kevin’s hand and thanked him. Then I put my arm around Tate and we slowly strolled toward the parking lot. She was my crutch until I calmed down.
-Thanks for reading The Wheelspin Journal-
photo by the author
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