Conclusion: “Whaddaya Think About the Cars?”

[From 2009]

            Let’s start with the easiest conclusion.  The McLaren F1 remains the ne plus ultra of modern supercars, even though it was first put to paper back in the ‘80s.  Sure, some features like the “high” profile rubber and dated switchgear are negatives when compared against candidates in 2010 hyper-car meme-sphere.  The stereo system, which sounds wonderful, runs off those archaic silver round bits – though, unlike the 612 (which can also play CDs), it’s actually quite easy to select different discs and songs.  The F1 has a certain analog, hand-made appeal, something that is lacking on modern Ferraris and Lamborghinis.  And don’t even mention the overpowered bus that is the Bugatti Veyron.

McLaren now offers xenon headlight upgrades (not quite as expensive as the custom paint on the 16M, but not far behind), and rumor has it that they’re working on carbon composite brakes and an iPod interface.  But even if you add all of that, the car is still going to be 15 years old.  And that underscores the sheer superiority of the McLaren that much more:  Grace Kelly is still an icon to this day, and so is the McLaren.  You will never, ever take the McLaren for granted, whether it’s doing 200+ mph, popping away with your two girlfriends, doing a lap of the Nurburgring or picking up some Big Macs.  Our only regret was that the DOT limitations meant that we couldn’t drive it more.

            The Ferrari Scuderia Spider 16M is, on paper, insane.  The 430 Scuderia coupe is the ultimate Ferrari road car; really, it’s practical, reliable, faster than an Enzo, has luggage room for a weekend getaway, and sounds like the war chants of Norse gods in Valhalla.  So what happens when you cut the roof off?  Yes, the 16M is every bit as good a convertible as the standard 430 Spider.  But is it worth the near 33% price premium? 

Yes, oh yes.  Because what that big difference in price gets you isn’t the exclusivity, the swagger that one may feel when parked against more common 430s.  No, that price grants to you the same feeling that one must get from a high-priced, black leather-clad dominatrix.  You’re paying for that pain – the deafening roar of the exhaust, the brutal kick in the ass of an 8,000 rpm upshift, the exquisite lateral pull as you clip that imaginary apex curbing.  You don’t have to grab the 16M by the scruff of the neck and wring it violently to enjoy driving it.  You don’t have to let the F1 transmission shift violently at full-throttle, but that’s exactly what you paid that big the premium for.

And despite all of this, it works as a cross-country transport too.  Like peon 430s, it has room for luggage up front, accommodates even extra-tall drivers, and it has quite a pleasant, windless cockpit with the top down.  Add a cup-holder and cruise-control, and you’d be ready to cross Kansas again.  Even the Paris Hilton paint job had grown on me by the end of the trip.  Oh, definitely and absolutely invest a few bucks in a better iPod integration system.

The 612 Scaglietti is intended for an onion-skin thin slice of the car-buying demographic.  It’s massively expensive, it depreciates faster than condos in Phoenix, and, compared to its stablemates, it lacks the dramatic beauty demanded of Italian supercars.  But for those who must have one, those for whom ordinary S-class or 7-series or even Quattroportes are just not sufficient, then the 612 Scaglietti hits it out of the park.  For the first time, Ferrari has offered a car that can carry four real-world adults.  Now, the two in back can’t be particularly big, mind you, but it is a real back seat.  As Dan has demonstrated in Boston, a set of snow tires and the big beast will just keep rolling. 

Crossing the country is the perfect element for this grand touring machine.  If you’ve mastered the Bose system, you’re golden.  The relentless torque of the big V12 means that there is nothing that you can’t pass (aside from gas stations, har-har).  Even when the roads get twisty, it’s neat and fast, though not lithe.  Even the much-impugned F1 transmission has improved to the point where a diehard manual shifter like me would consider it.  The 612 would have been the biggest surprise of the trip, but for the fact that….

We took a hand-built, unique, Pebble Beach show car out of the box (literally), filled it up with gas and drove it across the country.  Without any mechanical issues whatsoever (aside from the duct-taped spoiler bits).  Astounding.  It was never far from my mind that, as I’m driving the Mantide, one little error and Bertone would be out its Pebble Beach centerpiece.  But the Mantide just took it all on without a ruffle.  Full credit too must be given to GM, for building the underlying Corvette so well that it can suffer a dismantling and reassembly before being flogged across America.  And the magicians at Bertone for doing that work, and dressing up the Corvette in an Italian dress out of the pages of Vogue.  So the biggest question of the trip is answered thusly:  yes, even to those who would not otherwise consider a King of the Hill Corvette, this is among the world’s most desirable supercars.

Day 8: Tahoe to Monterey, via Napa and the Golden Gate; 445 Miles; “Finish Line in Sight”

[From 2009]

Today was a great way to finish off our journey, as it captured the essence of the trip: scenic twisty mountain roads, highway sprints, gourmet dining and takeout pizza, broiling in the sun and hurrying to make up time.  The day started out with a leisurely cruise down the Eastern (Nevada) side of Lake Tahoe.  It’s fascinating how much the shoreline route around the lake can change in just a few miles.  There are pristine mountain curves in the park area, preceded by expensive lake-side mansions and followed by the pure American capitalism of the slightly-cheesy casinos. 

Route 50 leading out of Tahoe was scenic and fun, allowing some good shots by Brian Konosoke, a photographer from LA, who spent much of the day shooting from the passenger seat of the 16M.  When we hit the flats, we crossed Sacramento in traffic.  Dan decided that having made it all the way across the country with minimal traffic, we should try a short-cut to Napa, so we picked up routes 128 and 121.  This added a few miles, but was a lot more fun, especially once we made it past a convoy of three rented RVs slowly picking their way down the narrow mountain curves.

In need of a slightly more upscale repast, we stopped at étoile at Domaine Chandon.  A magnum of champagne for the table (just a glass each), and we feasted on everything from oysters to foie gras, tea-smoked duck to steak tartare.  We slowly rolled our way back to the cars in the 95+ degree heat, and made our way to the Pacific coast.

Shoreline Highway, Route 1 in California never fails to impress, whether slightly inland at Point Reyes National Seashore or right on the edge of the ocean at Mt Tamalpais.  If you could live in a place as beautiful as Marin county, would it be worth the hassles of living in California? 

Once we made our way past Muir Woods, we dove towards the Golden Gate bridge.  Alas, we hit some traffic, from everyone trying to get back to SF on Sunday evening.  Still, as we rolled through the big tunnel just North of the bridge, everyone wanted to hear the brutal sounds coming out of the 16M.  Gleeful waves, thumbs-up and quick horn beeps from nearby cars all called out for encores of the throaty exhaust cacophony.  

In San Francisco, we debated whether to take the cars down the curvy, touristy section of Lombard street. Dan was game for it - I had done it in a Lamborghini Gallardo last year, so we knew it was possible -- though it’s intimidating as heck to pull up to the intersection and see nothing but sky out the windshield; no road beneath you, no pedestrians in front, nothing!  But as we got to the Van Ness / Lombard fork, the long line of cars awaiting their turn up then down the street dissuaded us, particularly as it was now evening and we had to make our way down to Monterey to meet up with the transporter with the McLaren, and pick up the keys for the house in Pebble Beach.

So we started bogeying down the 101, keenly aware of the CHP patrols and thinking about the distance covered thus far without a single police stop, much less a ticket.  Coming down RT 17, it felt like one last great run to us, with curves seemingly banked more than Daytona Speedway - folks here commute on this daily?!?

We rolled into Monterey late into the evening. We pulled the McLaren out of the truck, and all four supercars loped into the exclusive enclave that is Pebble Beach.  The guard at the checkpoint just waved us through, and we finally parked at the end of our journey.  Since it was nearly 11pm and we still didn’t eat, we took the 612 out again for some take-out pizza and a 12 pack of beer. Sitting around the kitchen, eating, drinking and making toasts, we were exuberant, content and exhausted.  4600+ miles, no accidents, and zero tickets (never did get the scanner working at all).

Study after scientific study has come to the conclusion that true happiness in life can be had by spending time with friends, particularly doing memorable, fun things with your buddies.  Clearly, the impetus behind the trip had been the cars, but we’d like to think that even without the rolling concours, we’d have had just as much fun together.

Day 6: Gateway to Delta, NV, including Arches National Park and Moab; 395 Miles; “Heaven and Hell”

[From 2009]

We’re eager to get started, bright and early, before the desert sun gets too high.  Bruce gives us a private tour of the Gateway Colorado Auto Museum on site, full of classic Americana, including the 1954 Oldsmobile F-88 Convertible concept car.  Fascinating to see how it and the Mantide share some common design language.  Bruce, knowing these roads well, offers to pre-run the morning drive for us in one of the rentals available from the resort, a Ford GT.  Bruce promises, “hey, if you guys thought that the road coming into Gateway Canyons was memorable, you’re going to be blown away by the scenery heading out to the South.”

And he’s dead-on.  As we drive along the Dolores river, we liken it to a quarter-scale Grand Canyon – if the Grand Canyon had a paved road running through it, and no tourists.  Bruce explains that their busiest times are during shoulder seasons, when outdoor explorers like to visit, resulting in mid-August drives with almost no traffic. 

I start the day behind the wheel of the McLaren.  I’ve been lucky enough to drive a variety of exotic cars, but nothing is more magical than this – not an Enzo Ferrari, not single seat race cars, nothing.  And, admittedly, it’s more than a little intimidating, even aside from the $2.7 million price tag.  While it doesn’t have the visceral openness of a superbike, its performance is certainly evocative of one.  And the McLaren philosophy does shine through:  highly-tuned, normally aspirated motor; perfectly balanced suspension without compromises; and no fussy electronic stability or braking aids, much less a paddle shifter.  You, the steering wheel, the gas pedal and four contact patches.  What you do with it is up to you.

And as we fly down RT 141, Dan and I are playing tag.  Bruce has gone ahead with a radio to make sure the road is ours, and we take full advantage.  Whichever car is in the lead, the other is right behind, right up to 160 mph.  We slow to 120 mph for the curves, then punch it when the road opens up to the horizon.  Cattle guards at 100 mph are interesting, almost as interesting is when you catch up to a dualie pickup truck, and think it’s creeping along, when you look down and realize that this local is doing 110 mph.

The differences between the McLaren and the Bertone come into focus.  The Mantide, much like the underlying Corvette ZR1, delivers staggering performance in an envelope that any reasonably talented and experienced driver can tap.  The McLaren is not afraid to draw a line in the sand and tempt you to come close to it, knowing that crossing it will mean serious regret.  In summary, the Mantide delivers 95% of the performance of the McLaren with about 70% of the effort – which is good or bad, depending on what you’re looking to get out of the experience.  Put another way, an apt analogy would be the difference between Grace Kelly and Angelina Jolie.  Both beautiful, sexy, complex, intriguing, but wholly different personae.

Heaven.

We’re deep in Tabeguache, when we pass a sign promising a scenic outlook ahead.  The radio crackles with Dan’s comment, “if everything we’ve seen thus far is ugly and not scenic, the outlook ahead must be a Michelangelo fresco on a mesa!”  Pulling over, we marvel at the ghostly remnants of the Hanging Flume, built into the side of the sheer canyon cliff to convey yet more water for mining needs.  We soon press on, as the sun is high in the sky and we’re headed for Utah.

Hell.

We’re driving on some true desert roads now; long, straight stretches running into the Horizon, broken up only by a hill climb in the Manti-la Sal National Forest.  Back in the Mantide, I’m starting to feel the effects of the sun.  As mentioned, the Mantide cockpit is effectively a greenhouse.  The GM air conditioning pumps plenty of frigid air, but the redesigned vents are just chilling my knees and legs.  The outside temps are over 100 degrees, and I think the inside temp around my head is pretty close to that.  Dan mentions over the radio that he’s going to investigate replacing the clear Lexan with electrochromic glass, as on the new 612s.  Doesn’t do me any good now, the heat is really getting to me.  I slow down to 50-60 mph, as I just don’t have the spirit to go faster.  The other guys run up ahead to Moab to meet the transporter, while I just limp along.  I’ve drank 4 big bottles of water, and I still chug down another 32 ounces when I meet them for lunch in Moab, all cranky and bothered – sorry, guys.

Arches National Park is the highlight of the trip for Mark, who is eager to get some beauty shots of the cars in front of many natural arches as possible.  Dan has volunteered to take over in the Mantide,

while I collapse in the 16M with Glenn.  Made of sterner stuff than me, Dan maintains his good humor and that British stiff upper lip as he too is sitting in the sun while Mark shoots us around the park. 

Granola junkies wearing Camelbak pouches hiking in the sun don’t care about the cars, but families in RVs still crowd and gawk.  The 612 has proven so relaxing, Nathaniel and Mark are now eager to go for a hike through some of the arches.  Nat has a flight out of Salt Lake City to catch, so Mark offers to stay behind and take him there.

            Glenn, Dan and I book for Western Utah.  I-70 in Colorado may be the most spectacular piece of interstate in the country, but I-70 through Fishlake National Forest gives it a run for the money.  I lose count of the number of Suburbans and pickups, many with big lift kits and monster truck tires, doing over 90 mph out here.  And I thought that the 15-16 mpg that the Ferraris are getting was bad.

We make our way to the little down of Delta, Utah, at the effective Eastern end of the interesting bits of RT 50.  Toss our bags into the Days Inn and grab some remarkably tasty Mexican food at Mi Rancherito next door.  Dan gets carded for his beer; not surprising in Utah, but Glenn is a bit dismayed that he does not get carded for his sangria.  When it arrives in a bottle with an accompanying margarita glass, he discovers why – it’s a sangria soft drink.  Ah, Utah!

Day 5: Denver to Gateway Canyons Resort; 411 Miles; “This Is the Best Road in America”.

[From 2009]

We arrived last night in Denver at 1 am, staying at another Ritz-Carlton property, though very different in atmosphere from the Ritz in St Louis. Same great comfy bed, though, and I’m very grateful for the five hours of sleep.  Also arriving last night was Nathaniel Greene, Dan’s neighbor, who’s flown in to join in the drive for two days.  Today will be the only day spent in one state.  Sitting down to our breakfast repast at the Ritz, Dan and I realize that this is the first meal ordered off a menu since the diner in New Jersey.  Clearly, we need to upgrade our dining options.

The transporter is parked outside the Ritz, and we roll out the McLaren to a gathering crowd.  Saddling up all four cars together for the first time, we head North through the resort town of Estes Park and into Rocky Mountain National Park.  Nathaniel, 36, who’s not driven a Ferrari previously, is as giddy as a schoolboy.  And even after the long-haul the rest of us have endured, that giddiness is infectious, as we’re again facing some interesting mountain roads rather than flat interstate.  Even the loose gravel scattered all over the roads approaching the park don’t dissuade us from our good cheer; Dan’s attitude towards rock chips is,. “eh, cars can be repainted.”

Making the climb into the mountains though, does reveal a major drawback.  We flatlanders haven’t really acclimated well to the altitude.  In particular, I’ve neglected to keep properly hydrated, so combined with the lack of sleep, I’m sucking wind even crossing a parking lot for a view.  Uh-oh.  I feel even worse about my middle-aged decrepitude when, while sitting in the Mantide catching my breath, a pair of women bicyclists pass me, ascending the mountain as if commuting to school.  Dang.

Above the tree line, not only were we succumbing, but the McLaren as well.  Whether it’s the weak 91 octane gas available here or the altitude, the McLaren no-likey, running rough and wanting to stall.  Conversing over the radio, we suggest that what the McLaren really needs is an Italian tune-up.  The roads in the park aren’t conducive, however, filled as they are with vacationers and RVs.  While the views are the most magnificent to date, clearly, it’s time to beat a hasty retreat. 

We stop at Shadow Mountain Lake for gas, and decide to blow off lunch to make it to our destination by dinnertime.  Everyone else loads up on chips, cookies and yet more sandwiches in triangular plastic boxes, I have a craving for hot dogs.  The store doesn’t sell cooked hot dogs to go, but they do have packages in the case.  Hmmm… I buy a pack, stick three of them in a coffee cup, microwave for a minute, and chow down in the parking lot.  About upgrading our food options….  To my surprise, the guy in the checkout line behind me comes up to me outside, introduces himself as the local distributor for the hot dogs I just bought, and pushes $3 into my hand, to thank me for my patronage!  I guffaw, thank him for his generosity, and think about the ridiculousness of the situation:  I’m driving a $2 million car, eating micro-waved hot dogs out of a coffee cup, and a guy pays for them for me.  Only in America.

I-70 in Colorado is perhaps the most scenic stretch of interstate in the country, as it winds through canyons past Vail.  In a quandary; do we push it up a few notches, to make dinner at our destination, or slow down and keep absorbing the scenery?  Our stomachs dictate the answer, so we press onward.

Departing the highway just East of Grand Junction, we take RT 141 towards Gateway, Colorado.  We soon discover that RT 141 is easily our favorite road of the trip.  Ninety miles of smooth two lane road, with almost no crossroads, traffic, buildings, or anything, other than the occasional cattle guard.  And as the road heads South, it descends deeper into the awe-striking Unaweep Canyon vistas.  We’re soon driving the Pace at average speeds above 80 mph, with periodic bursts up to 150 mph, as Dan and I swap the lead between the Bertone and the McLaren.  The English supercar likes this altitude much better, as it’s thrown off its earlier recalcitrance, perhaps due to the Italian tune-up it received on I-70.  Radio silence is broken only for repeated bursts of “Oh. My. God.  Look at this.  This is the most beautiful drive in the world.  Where are all the tourists???”

We do arrive at our destination, the luxurious Gateway Canyons resort before dinnertime.  As we park the cars, a rainbow forms overhead, pointing to the giant mesas that form the resort’s trademark silhouette.  A sign of heaven.  The five of us take over the bar for dinner, downing pitchers of margaritas and wolfing down a side of beef.  Bruce Stover, COO of the resort, joins us for dinner, and gives us a history of the place.  Offering full spa treatments, full adventure outfitting and even guided driving tours with supercar rentals available, Gateway Canyons intends to be one of the leading destinations for auto (and outdoor) enthusiasts in the country.  You owe it to yourself to get out here to see this undiscovered gem of the fast car community.

Day 7: Delta to Lake Tahoe; 520 miles; “The Loneliest Road in America”

[From 2009]

Route 50 is promoted as “The Loneliest Road in America”, and in a sense it is.  Chalk-line straight for miles and miles and miles, it’s interrupted only periodically from climbs to cut through mountain notches.  This is an utterly foreign concept to native Northeasterners.  Back home, everywhere we look, there are hills, buildings, forests.  Out here, you can see the parallel road lines receding to the horizon.

And while the pavement isn’t perfect, RT 50 is otherwise a great place to go fast and enjoy the scenery.  You typically have a one or more minute warning as to oncoming traffic, with virtually no cross streets or, for that matter, any signs of human existence, other than the asphalt.  So we take this as yet another opportunity to exercise the 16M and Mantide, easily reaching some impressive speeds.  

The exhaust on the Ferrari opens up above 3,000 RPM, and turns into a rage-filled snarl accelerating past 5,000 RPM.  This sound is utterly irresistible.  The best way to hear it, of course, is to be doing 120 mph in the Mantide and have the Ferrari blow by you going at least 30 mph faster.  For one 20 mile stretch, I averaged 120 mph in the Ferrari.  I don’t know if it’s more impressive or less impressive to add that the entire 20 mile high-speed stretch required not one application of the brakes or more than a minimal turn of the steering wheel.  As an aside,  we leave Delta, Utah at 8:35 am, and cross into Nevada, at 90 miles later, at 8:40 am – technically, 750 mph!

We’re not the only fast movers on RT 50.  Aside from the aforementioned pickups and SUVs not wasting time, even a Prius was doing over 90 mph coming down out of the mountains.  As we cruise through Nevada, we pass through some small towns, many of which are faded relics of their glorious, bygone eras.  This is reminiscent of nothing so much as the town of Radiator Springs from Cars. 

We stopped for a mighty fine burger with onion rings and chili in at the Owl Club & Steak House in Eureka.  Leaving town, we had our only close encounter with law enforcement on the trip:  a sheriff heading East shot us with radar.  Luckily, we were still digesting the chili and weren’t going much more than 80 mph.  The sheriff hit his flashing lights, but didn’t even slow down – just a warning to us to play nice.  Another sheriff gave both cars a nice wave as we passed through Cold Springs. Ah, Nevada is most excellent!

By the late afternoon, we drive through Carson City and arrive at Lake Tahoe.  While we’ve seen plenty of beautiful scenery on this trip, Tahoe added a big water feature to our panoramic memory gallery.  We’re spending the night in suites at the Village at Squaw Valley, a bucolic ski development very similar to Tremblant and Whistler.  

For once, we’re not rushing to dinner or bed!  Mark has caught up to us here, having stopped for a quick drive across the Bonneville Salt Flats in the 612 – hey, it’s aluminum, right?  Glenn’s brother Bob has also joined us for the final leg, arriving in his Ferrari Challenge Stradale.  We feast on sushi and sake, delighted with the drive thus far but also cheerful at almost being done.