I still remember the first time. I'd been hanging around Ferrari of San Francisco, supposedly working but since I never made a sale and therefore never got paid, I refer to it as hanging around. One day my boss asked if I'd like to fly to Reno and pick up a car from MCM, drive it back to San Francisco. I didn't have to think twice about that. Vern Keil, the Ferrari manager for MCM, met me at the airport, took me to the office downtown, then when we left for the warehouse to get the car he said "have you ever driven one of these things?" I had, but it had been a long time and a different model. So he put me in the driver's seat and off we went. The warehouse was a sight in itself -- a huge building filled with new Ferrari's. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven right there. Pretty soon, I was behind the wheel of a brand new 308 GT4 headed west.
As it turns out, that was a fateful day for me. Vern told me they were building a new showroom and would be needing salespeople, asked if I was interested. I didn't have to think twice about that, either, and when the showroom opened a few months later I was on the staff. That's when it really got to be fun. There were opportunities galore to drive Ferrari, Rolls, BMW and all the rest of them. I ferried a few more in and out of San Francisco (tales for another day) but really wanted a chance to deliver to dealers in Denver and Phoenix, whose owners preferred that the cars be driven to them rather than put on a transport.
Months passed, then our Denver dealer came to town and he, Vern and I went out to dinner. After some discussion, the dealer asked if I wanted to deliver a car he'd just sold. Again, I didn't have to think twice. "We'll pay your expenses," he told me, "and $100 for your trouble." I looked at him funny. "Trouble?" I asked. He smiled, fully aware that I'd probably have paid him $100 for the privilege. "We'll pay you $100," he said. With the deal done I set off a few days later for Denver in a silver 308GTB. "Take your time," he'd told me, "call us when you get to town." Surprisingly, after I arrived they asked if I'd driven over to Aspen or taken other side trips. Such a thing had never occurred to me, but they said I should have taken the time to see all these places. They wanted me to enjoy the trip, have some fun.
I definitely had fun, although most of the first day was spent on two-lane highways full of RVs and trucks and few opportunities to pass. When I could pass, I'd eventually have to stop for gas or food and then they'd all pass me again. I got tired of the leapfrogging game and settled down just to drive, sandwiched between giant vehicles, frustrated. I stopped at the Great Salt Lake and put my feet in the water just to say I'd done it, but other than that, the desert between Reno and Colorado didn't have much appeal for me.
The real fun came the second day. I'd stayed overnight in Grand Junction and, as is my wont, left very early the next morning, around dawn. As expected, the highway was mine alone at that hour and I was able to let the car loose, drive steadily at its easy-cruising speed of 90mph, and enjoy the scenery. After I reached and crossed the Colorado River the scenery became truly spectacular. On my left was the river, on my right a big stone cliff, no real shoulder on either side, not another car in sight. The road was gently curvy -- enough curves for fun, but gentle enough that I could see the road ahead for a safe distance. I was in heaven.
Then, all hell broke loose for a few long seconds. Off in the distance I saw a pickup loaded with camper shells and towing a trailer filled with camper shells, sitting in a wide spot on the left, next to the river. As I watched, it began to creep slowly toward the road and I remember thinking that surely he saw me -- sun shining on a silver car flashing towards him -- and surely, he wasn't going to pull onto the highway in front of me. I let off the gas just in case. In the seconds these thoughts took I was drawing closer to him and then, he began to clearly move onto the pavement. I hit the brakes -- not in panic, but firmly, watching as the truck/trailer pulled at a snail's pace into my path and blocked both lanes of traffic, leaving me no place to go except the river or the rock wall.
The Ferrari stopped mere feet from impact -- no fuss, no squealing brakes, no fishtail or skidding, no bother. "You want me to stop? OK, no problem." From 90 mph to a dead stop in seconds. I think that was when I first began to truly appreciate the Ferrari engineering. Anybody can make a car that'll go fast. Not everybody can make one that'll stop so effortlessly from such speeds. The entire incident took much less time than it takes me to tell the story and I'm not even sure the driver of that truck ever knew I was there, at least not until I passed him a few moments later, heart pounding, adrenaline flowing.
Soon enough the traffic was with me again and I was playing leapfrog. This time, there was another player -- two guys in a red Porsche who were also playing leapfrog. Eventually, we both stopped at the same gas station and they started chatting. They, too, were headed to Denver, mentioned that the road would widen to four-lane past Glenwood Springs and I could turn the car loose. I questioned the issue of cops and tickets. They told me to just shadow them, since they'd draw the cops if the occasion arose. They also suggested that we meet for coffee in Dillon, and off we went. I stayed close enough that I could see them, but not so close that we'd appear to be racing or together, and we all had a good bit of fun on that stretch of Colorado freeway.
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| This wasn't the most spectacular run of mountains, but it was the least crowded and therefore best place to park and get mountains behind me in a photo, atop Loveland Pass. |
The Ferrari, unfortunately, wasn't happy with the altitude. When we met in Dillon they suggested that instead of driving through the Eisenhower Tunnel, we take the scenic route over Loveland Pass so I could have a good look at the Rockies. I hesitated because the car was running so rough, but they said they'd stay with me and be sure I'd have help if needed. They were right about the scenery -- utterly spectacular. Little did I realize that I'd be following this same path on a bicycle a few years later.
The men offered directions to get me near the Ferrari dealer once I arrived in Denver. We stayed together until our paths forked, said goodbye with a beep and a wave. A quick stop at a phone booth (no cell phones back then) and soon I was enjoying a nice dinner with the dealer before hopping a plane home.
Later, I drove two more back-to-back to Phoenix, but that was mostly just flat desert and, for better or worse, nothing of real interest happened. I do remember stopping at one gas station and having a guy ask, "did you win this thing in Vegas?", and at another, "Are you a movie star or something?" Guess they didn't see too many of these things in the backwoods of Nevada back then.
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