Men's Journal

Photo credit: Courtesy Corso Pilota/Ferrari

Few men are lucky enough to spend a weekend at Ferrari’s test track in Italy, learning to drive the world’s best supercars at high speeds. Fewer still get to drive with Formula One god Michael Schumacher.

By Ezra Dyer

Owning a Ferrari means more than owning a perfectly honed racing machine. It’s about being a member of an exclusive club — and the perks go beyond jealous stares. For example, holding the title to a Ferrari unlocks the gates to Fiorano, the company’s legendary private test track in Maranello, Italy, where you can enroll in Corso Pilota Ferrari driving school. Most courses run two days, and prices range from $10,340 up to $22,770 for the race-training Evolution course. Lack a Ferrari? I just saw a battered 1975 Dino 308 on eBay for $16,000, if that helps.

Despite failing to meet the lone requirement, I received an invite from Ferrari — one with a notable addendum: Also attending would be seven-time F1 champion Michael Schumacher. I’m not sure I can express what a big deal that is. Getting driving lessons from Michael Schumacher is like getting transvestite lessons from RuPaul. So as I roll through Fiorano’s gates, I envision Schumacher riding shotgun, and within a few laps declaring, “You remind me of…me,” as a lone tear runs across his cheek — sideways, because I’m cornering so hard.

The reality, I find out, is that I’ll be the passenger as Schumi takes the wheel of Ferrari’s 620-horsepower, $325,730 599 GTB Fiorano. I buckle in, ready to absorb racing genius, but within a half-lap realize it’s futile: From the passenger seat, I can’t tell that he braked, say, .005 seconds later than anyone else entering a corner. If my ass were that finely calibrated, I’d be arguing with my fellow F1 drivers over how many supermodels fit in a private helicopter.

So I egg him into doing something my gluteal nerves can appreciate. Exiting a hairpin, Schumacher floors the throttle and powerslides the 599. “I bet you could get more sideways on the next lap,” I say. He glances over impassively and replies, “You like excitement?”

I reply that yes, please, I like excitement. On the next corner he pitches the car completely sideways, nonchalantly sawing at the wheel as the rear tires send up smoke signals. For the rest of the lap, he drifts the 599 around every turn. I feel like I’ve won an audience with the pope and then convinced him to do Groucho Marx impressions.

Then it’s my turn behind the 599’s wheel. Seated beside me is instructor Thomas Kemenater, who races a Ferrari in the Italian GT Championship series. On the first few laps, the traction-control light flashes constantly. My abrupt stabs at the gas pedal keep upsetting the car, making the electronic nanny cut in to prevent wheel spin.

The goal, says Kemenater, is to drive smoothly and stay within the car’s limits so that the traction control doesn’t need to clean up my mess. I argue that it’s hard to learn the car’s threshold if you’ve never driven it with the system turned off. “Without traction control,” he replies, “we would be dead.” No need to get dramatic.

This is only practice, though. Next is the school’s main event: laps in cars that log my speed, as well as how I work the brakes, throttle, and steering. I wring out the 599, and when I’m done, walk into a room ringed with computer monitors and sit next to instructor Alessandro Balzan. My data reveals that I stomp the brake like an angry elephant — a no-no in racing because the abrupt forward weight transfer can cause the rear tires to break loose. Balzan notes that my steering inputs closely match instructors’, but that’s where the similarities end.

I often took corners in second gear, motor screaming, while the Ferrari instructor serenely glided through in third. The V12’s wail made it feel like I was flying, but I’d just need to upshift anyway. “The car has power, so you don’t need to always be at high rpms,” says Balzan. “Stay in higher gears.” Again I learn that smoothness trumps theatrics. And yet, I beat the Ferrari driver by 1.8 seconds.

How? I cheated. There are four spots on the track where we were told to lift off the gas — ostensibly due to noise regulations, but likely to slow us down. I didn’t obey as strictly as the Ferrari dude. At all.

A few years ago, NASCAR icon and former moonshiner Junior Johnson told me his philosophy on the creative interpretation of rules: “If you don’t go after the advantage,” he said, “you ain’t racin’. ” A lesson I gladly passed on to the Ferrari instructor.

—-

This article originally appeared in the October 2009 issue of Men’s Journal.

Print this article