It was the sound I remember most clearly, and it was dreadful. A high velocity meeting of metal, carbon fibre, plastic and glass no more than four feet behind our heads. I say ‘our’ because there were two of us in the Ferrari when the nose of the Porsche 911 smashed into it from behind, at which point my passenger (our photographer, bless him) was a lot less primed for the impact than I.
When it came, it was delivered with sufficient force to catapult the Ferrari violently forwards, out across a T-junction and into the path, momentarily, of whatever traffic wasn’t there (thank gawd) before we came to a dusty rest in a lay-by on the far side of the junction.
No other cars were involved, but the mess was enough to swallow on its own. It involved a 996-generation Carrera 2 we’d promised not to bring within 100 miles of Maranello, and a brand new Ferrari 360 Modena, which I’d collected from Fiorano not 10 minutes earlier and whose hind quarters now looked a lot less than brand new.
