Issue link: http://papercitymagazine.uberflip.com/i/1543122
november | page 54 | 2010 I a m piloting a Ferrari that costs upwards of $200,000 — but I don't have two quarters to rub together. And I need them fast, to get through the tollbooth where I am halted. "How much do I owe you?" I yell out to the smiling gentleman waiting for me to produce some coins — which do not present themselves anywhere on my person, nor in my wallet. "Fifty cents!" he yells back, "and the keys to your car! What a beauuuuuuutiful machine!" He just smiles and smiles and smiles — then punches some secret button that sends the tollbooth gate flying up to let me through. This will be the first of many such capitulations in six beautiful hours in "my" hyper-beautiful new California convertible — yes, the direct descendant of the swoopy 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California piloted by one Mr. Ferris Bueller, who had a similar day off in 1986 that I'm about to have in 2010. Ferris and me? Even the colors of our cars are identical, Ferrari's famous Rosso Corsa red. So off I shoot in my Rosso Corsa California, retractable hardtop down, waving gratefully to the toll-booth man but resisting the urge to bellow out, "Keep the change!" (Bueller would've, right?) My day begins to blur from there, thanks in part to the 460 Italian horses pulling me south down the freeway, at a gallop so smooth and supple that it is literally hard to believe. Allow me to get some impressions out of the way: The faster you go in the Ferrari California, the faster you want to go. (Note to the Dallas Police Department: Or so I've been told.) There is zero vibration in the suspension or steering wheel. The tracking is glassy-smooth. The 4.3-liter V8 powerplant seems to have a mind of its own when it comes to opening its valves and releasing its guttural little sounds — but at speed, if you stomp on the throttle, things change: You unleash that famous Ferrari "ripping-silk" sound. There is nothing like it. Positively marvelous. I didn't turn on the stereo once in six hours. Half of the rear of the car hinges upward to swallow it, and the rump of the California kind of shakes and bounces as the top performs its origami tricks. (Maybe its excited to be taking its top off?) The show doesn't take long: The whole thing disappears in 14 seconds. The California is fully — and I mean fully — upholstered in hand-sewn leather. The A-pillars, the sliding covers for the sunvisor mirrors, even the seatbelt buckles are wrapped in the stuff. "If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up." But here's the thing about the California. Yes, it is packed with modern engineering. The seats' inner backrest frames? Magnesium. The transmission? Seven speeds. The little button on the console that says "Launch"? I didn't dare. (Though maybe now we know how the garage attendants went flying in the Ferris Ferrari.) But none of it gets in the way of the soul of this car. You can't help but grin when you realize that this gorgeous, growling thing was dreamt up and built by passionate people. In fact, you become more and more proud of humanity the more time you spend in the cozy California. Mind you, this revelation comes from a Ferrari neophyte: I've got a thing for German cars, not Italian, and I never really paid attention to Ferraris until now. It took only six surreal hours — punctuated by waving kids, drop-jawed friends, horn honks, thumbs up, hoots, hollers and one very excitable drive-thru lady at a Taco Cabana — to convert me to Ferrarism. There is somebody who might've seen this coming: Enver Kaba, the very nice sales manager at Boardwalk Ferrari, near Dallas, who loaned me the California for the day. He slid the car's bright-red key across his desk that beautiful morning. "It would be good to have the car back by four," he said. "But we close at five." Thank you, Enver. Thank you, Italy. Thank you, all of humanity. I ' m yours. Dear Ferris Buel ler : Detail photography rob brinkley