Part I: Ferrari Road Trip

RISING at seven thirty to be out the door at eight o’clock on a Sunday morning is, by most standards, not a gentle start to the day. Having just returned from New York at three o’clock that very same morning, you can imagine how daunting the prospect must have seemed when the alarm clock jolted yours out of REM and into a groggy fog.

Fortunately, there was good cause and plenty of caffeine on hand.

Days earlier, our friend Richard Wolf had alerted me that upwards of 40 enthusiasts from FerrariChat.com were staging a get together in Glastonbury, Connecticut to drive an hour or so north across the border into the Commonwealth of Massachusetts where with other regiments from Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and New Hampshire they’d converge on a small horse farm for lunch and golf cart polo.

He suggested I meet up with him so that from the seat of his E39 generation M5 we could take part in a brilliant caravan of Italian exotica.

“What better way to spend a Sunday?” said Richard.

What better way, indeed, said I.

“Be at my house nine sharp.”

A former air force pilot, more of the military has rubbed off on R.D. than I think even he’d care to admit. We arrive in Glastonbury with the show already in progress.

FerrariChat forum ringleader Lane (below) is dressed in black to match his tutto nero 348.

He appears in jubilant spirits and for good reason. This year’s September meet is bigger than last year’s. And a quick scene survey shows as many Porsches as Ferraris in a range of vintages from the 70s to the present – along with plenty of other lovelies: Alfa Romeos, BMWs, and even an old Cobra.

The owners mix and mingle before saddling up for the hour’s ride north and I pause to take in the happy sight of a banana yellow F355 F1.

The 355′s owner, Jay, late 30s, a good natured do-it-yourselfer from Bristol, Conn. tells me he had just purchased the car last year from some guy in the Sunshine State.  Later in the day, he’d share a harrowing account of toying with his car’s V8 that would’ve terrified many owners into having AAA and their insurance adjuster ready on speed dial.

We’ll come back to that in Part II.

The weather, so far, is holding out. There’s alternating clouds with brilliant patches of powder blue. The weather’s like any September day in New England; sweater cool in the morning and shorts hot in the afternoon.

A pleasant breeze clears the air of idling  fumes that smoke from the low exhaust rumble and tap-tap-tap‘s of thoroughbred sixes, eights, and twelves. A Glastonbury cop drives by the parking lot, amused. I with Jacqueline and Richard with Claudia get into the M5- ready to roll.

And without fanfare, but in coordinated succession,  the line of Ferraris, Porsches, Alfa Romeos, BMWs, and a Cobra sets off down the road. It’s an inspired view.

We’re led by a brilliant red 512M. The last of the Testarossas, I decide that this Ferrari has one of the finest tails in all of automotordom. Sad to think that history may treat the 512 as an afterword in the Testarossa’s decade-long story. By the time the red head saw production in the early 90s, it was already an old car. But who the hell could care either then or now? Such flamboyant beauty!

In any event, the 512 plus entourage is catching attention as we enter and exit small towns like Coventry, Mansfield, and Stafford Springs. I’m in a technicolor line of show ponies parading across hill and dale. One long seven figure train of exotica -  che bella!

Our travels take us through back country roads mostly, but there’s a brief interstate interlude.

Once we’re on the highway, well, the convoy manages to catch more than a few motorists by surprise.

Understanding that there’s some nut job leaning out the rear window of the M5 taking shots, one driver after another takes turns tailing R.D.’s blue Bimmer; like school fish shadowing a great shark.

Breaking from the pack, a bright yellow 911…

…followed by a black CTS-V. They alternate positions just aft of starboard.

Inside the M5′s cozy confines (funny that a midsize sedan should have such limited rear legroom) Richard is regaling company with salty jokes with punchlines that could peel rust off a Jag’s bumper.

Amused, Jacqueline’s looking backward recommending shots and finds an appreciation for the Caddy’s edgy style.

It’s certainly angular, I say. Nice to find an American make in this Euro crowd. Powered with a mid decade’s Vette Zo6 V8, the first gen. CTS-V would be game for chasing after Italian exotics any day. But on this Sunday, for the most part, ours is a steady, lawful procession.

And once off the highway, our pace gets even more casual.

At points, a little too casual.

But hey, we’re on a Sunday drive. And, eventually, we find Massachusetts. And Massachusetts finds us.

Route 19 directs us into the town of Wales.

It’s a small, colonial hamlet where the church is having a community fair. Our exotic convoy cuts through town traffic and the yellow 911 that’s been tailgating us takes a pit stop for petrol while the rest of the posse presses on.

The quiet secondary road takes us through Brimfield; curving past state forest on its way north towards Warren. The forests are mixed deciduous with gently sloping hills that periodically descend into lakes or marshland- truly beautiful turf.

We close in on our target destination until…

The lead Ferrari -the red 512M with the magnificent tail – has veered off the beaten path. We’re a little lost.

The 512′s driver, Paul, steps out seeking advice.

This intermezzo also allows for another lovely photo op.

Bellissima!

Coordinates reset (we’d missed our turn by one tenth of a mile), friendly chuckles all around, we’re back on the road.

And within a minute we’re turning onto Autumn View Farms -the meeting point for what would be an afternoon of gazing upon breathtaking automobiles, consuming fine grub and drink, and chewing the fat with amiable aficionados.

In Part II: a tutto rosso Berlinetta Boxer, a tale of life and death surgery for one Ferrari’s V8, and a nice Greek fellow who wants to unite the world’s sports car owners. As you’ll see, it was worth the early rise.