When I got to Italy I didn't know a word of their language, but it didn't stop me from driving directly to Modena to see the famous ''F" cars being built in the flesh. We were not greeted in the most cordial of tones. Up the road, there was a small shade-tree mechanic's shop. And by then I was just hoping to get the oil changed when an American ex-pat greeted us at the door. His in-laws worked at the factory, and within a few minutes he had arranged a tour for us the following morning...
To say that these beasts are built out of passion and love is quite an understatement, in fact it's a wonder they ever released their best ones at all. Their shop was like a WWII hangar, and every inch of the grounds littered as a filthy pig-stye. Hundreds of cars of all ages sat parked like trailers after a tropical storm. Tenting in cardboard, plastic, even stacks of old tyres often held some of these beauties aloft as the crewmembers scavenged about the block, looking for a mysterious part for a god knows what. It was a lifetime experience, but needless to say, my enthausiasm for all things Italian diminished with each near-miss we encountered as these pesky things overtook us on the mountain roads.
Candidly, the pinnacle of Italian design parallels the rudiments of their emotional development. Sure, if I were 19, blessed with two estranged multi-millionaire parents, eager to placate my inner-whining child, I would have already charged an LSX to daddy's charge card.
Now, you ask is it worth the money? -Absolutely,
