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Ferrari 488GTB
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Bella Machina
Words: OLIVER SMITH
Ferrari is probably one of the most recognised brands in the world, let alone the motoring industry. Steeped in so much tradition that even the uninitiated can often name at least one of the models. With this, you can imagine my excitement and also palpable sense of responsibility when the phone rang and the publishing director tells me that I’ll be taking the new 488GTB to France for a week. There are worse jobs, I suppose.
Fast-forward three months and there I am, staring the car in the face, about to be handed the keys. The first thing that strikes me is that it’s not finished in the famous Rosso Corsa. Instead, this particular car has the optional Rosso Dino paint: a very orangey red from the archives, which was worn by the 246 Dino upon launch in 1968. In some light, it’s full-on orange; in others, it’s a lighter red. Pleasing nonetheless, and a refreshing change from the retail-red that seems to grace so many cars.
The interior is trimmed in a dark charcoal alcantara with orange stitching and the superb carbon-bucket seats have an orange leather strip running down the middle along with horizontal detailing, reminiscent of the 365GTB/4. There is, as you can imagine, carbon fibre in abundance (part of the £79,829 worth of options fitted to this particular car) and the fit and finish is up there with anything from Stuttgart. Beautifully built with a handmade feel, but excluding any imperfections.
Pulling out of the Ferrari HQ car park, the heavens open and disappointingly the brisker driving had to take a backseat. This did, however, come as a blessing, giving me time to get comfortable in the car. Despite it having the ability to be a very serious machine, the Ferrari does have a more compliant side. Pop it into wet mode using the Manettino dial and all settles down with a comfortable suppleness. A bit like a sleeping lion, danger is still present, but for now you can relax a fraction.
After a brief stopover in Kent, at the superb Five Bells Inn in Brabourne, an early start sees me gunning the car towards the channel tunnel as dawn turns into day. After queuing up for the lorry carriage (this machine is a whisker under 2m wide) I board the train and steal a 20-minute snooze. On arrival, the sun is shining in la belle France and I nose the Ferrari onto the A16 heading south for Paris. The temptation to open the car up on the deserted sunny AutoRoute has to be tempered by the fact that driving a brightly coloured, British registered, post-Brexit Ferrari is probably the fastest way to find yourself in the Bastille using your one legal phone call to tell the Ferrari UK press office about your new plans to join the foreign legion.
