I can still remember my first Ferrari.
It was 1986, and the mother of a schoolmate brought their red 308 GTB. It was a rainy day, which only enhanced the red color against the grey, muted colors around it. It was stunning, and as all of us in Mrs. Cooper's fifth grade class stopped to look out the window, it was readily apparent that it was the first time many of us actually lusted after something.
As the years passed, I learned more about these legendary cars. I hung posters on my walls. I'd flip out over the sight of a Testarossa. I'd sit and list off the complete specs of a F40, then list off the differences between European and US spec cars. I was a hopeless Ferrari nerd.
Did you know that Ferrari chassis numbers on road cars used to end in odd numbers, and the race cars had even ones? I did.
Did you know that when they restored GTO #3765 (the one that Mike Parkes famously put into the sand at the end of Mulsanne in the 1962 LeMans), they found sand wedged in the corners of the nose? I did.
Did you know the original color of Kirk F. White's 365GTB/4 Daytona that Brock Yates and Dan Gurney drove cross-country during the first Cannonball Run race? I did. (It was gold, before it was painted Sunoco Blue.)
See? Ferrari nerd right here. Not as nerdy as some, but I can still rattle off some really obscure stuff.
Oddly enough, to this day, I have never had a ride in a Ferrari. In fact, it's only been within the last couple months that I was graciously given the opportunity to sit in one. It was a lovely silver 1966 330GT 2+2. Not quite the epitome of the Ferrari hierarchy, but its V12 sounded great, it's wire Borrani wheels were lovely, and the interior smelled of aged European leather. I nearly shed a tear as I ran my hands along the spindly, thin wooden steering wheel. The yellow in the Cavallino logo has looked brighter to me ever since.
This past weekend while on a trip to New York City, I happened across Ferrari of Manhattan on 55th and Park Ave. It's located on the corner, ground floor space made of large windows. The cars inside are lit with very bright lights making them appear to be the jewelry that they are.
I didn't want to bother the busy sales team, who were busy avoiding tourists, but my wife and our friend, Peter, dragged me in. All I could do was stand there admiring the scene. 2011 is a great vintage for Ferraris, and in front of me was a dark silver California, a screaming yellow 458, and a very red 599 that would have had confused vampires licking the fenders.
I probably could have taken a seat in any one of them, but they were not mine. They were ready to start their own part of Ferrari history; maybe to become the first object of lust for yet another 10 year old.
I just hope he remembers the whole odd/even chassis number thing.
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So what about the doorman comment? Well while inside, a gentleman in dirty jeans, a NASCAR shirt and a cigarette behind his ear walks in and sits down on a $1,200 Ferrari kids' pedal car. He then looks over to his wife, who's on the other side of the dealership, and announces, "Hey hon! I found MY Maaarr saydeeees!"
We left before Security was called.
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