Simply the Best: 2010 Ferrari 458 Italia
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ferrari
The first Ferrari I ever drove was red with a tan interior and looked like sex on wheels. It was also a sphincter-shrinking bunny boiler; a sulky, evil-handling device that tried to kill me for no apparent reason midway through a quick left hander. That yowling little V-8 nestled behind my shoulders, those pert red Pininfarina curves and the iconic Cavallino Rampante on the steering wheel still worked their magic on the car-crazy kid that lurks inside every auto writer. But it was a shock to realize I would have been much faster along the same roads, without the sweaty palms and sharp intakes of breath through every turn, driving an Acura NSX or an R32 Nissan Skyline GT-R instead of the Ferrari 348 tB
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The last Ferrari I drove was also red with a tan interior and looked like sex on wheels. I am older and supposedly a little wiser these days, but the sight of the first new Ferrari since the Enzo that didn’t look like a pastiche of 1960s design cues still snapped a frisson of desire through my synapses as I strode up to it, ignition key in hand. And two hours later, after a 90-mile blast along one of my favorite California backroads — a writhing, empty ribbon of tarmac I save for special cars like the Porsche Cayman S, BMW M3, and Corvette ZR1 — I was quite prepared to declare the new Ferrari 458 Italia the best sports car I have ever driven.
The 458 Italia does away with the machismo nonsense that great sports cars must somehow be tamed. For years I read road tests where writers waxed lyrical about the click-clack of metal on metal as they worked a Ferrari shifter through that iconic metal gate. What they were really telling you was how good a driver they were, because they had mastered the difficult art of getting a Ferrari through a fast second-third gear-change. The 458 Italia has buttons and paddles and two pedals and can mooch around town like a Buick, with the transmission computer deciding which of the seven ratios it should be using. But find a quiet canyon road, switch the Manettino to Race mode, start working the paddles, and… oh Lordy! You’ll be half a mile down the road while the click-clack guy’s still trying to find third gear.
The 458′s new seven speed dual-clutch manual transmission delivers virtually seamless full throttle upshifts; with the 557-hp, 4.5-liter V-8 screaming to its 9000-rpm redline behind you, and the upshift warning lights strobing across the top of the steering wheel, it’s like you’ve borrowed Fernando Alonso’s company car for the weekend. And like Fernando, you can grenade the brakes with your left foot as you fan the left hand paddle on the entry into a tight corner. The massive carbon-ceramic rotors will have the seat belt digging into your chest as the engine bra-bra-braaaps on the downshifts as fast as you can tug that paddle.
The front end lunges at the apex the moment you pull the steering wheel off center, and the linearity of the system is such that you can place the 458′s front wheels with millimetric accuracy. The feedback through the steering wheel rim is constant and deliciously detailed, too; it’s almost as if you’re gently brushing your fingertips across the tarmac. After a few miles you also realize you can get on the gas much earlier than you expect coming out the turns, as the electronically controlled differential cleverly vectors the torque between the rear wheels to not only deliver maximum traction, but also help rotate the car. The way the 458 comes out of turns — and the way you can also feel exactly what is happening where the rubber meets the road at the rear of the car — is quite unlike any other mid-engine, two-wheel drive sports car I have ever driven.
The 458 shrugged off mid-corner lumps and heaves that demanded the occasional stab of opposite lock in the ZR1, and even had the M3 skittering across the road at times. You can keep the shocks in the softer setting, even in Race mode, which helps deliver the remarkable ride and generous grip even on indifferent roads. It’s a beautifully composed chassis; calm, well-mannered, and deeply communicative.
As I headed back to town, I discovered that screaming V-8 would pull cleanly from as little as 1400 rpm in seventh gear. I discovered, too, an unexpected swell of torque around 5000 rpm that meant I could short-shift and still maintain momentum. I almost schmoozed the 458 along the road, and was effortlessly cleaner, neater, quicker than I had been in the Porsche Cayman S along this same road a couple years earlier.
The 458 Italia surrounds you so completely with its talent, it almost feels an organic extension of your senses. With the Ferrari 348 I was bitterly disappointed to learn Maranello’s magic was mostly myth; that I’d been seduced by Glenn Close rather than Elle MacPherson. With the 458 Italia the magic is real. Because this Ferrari turns mere mortals like you and me into driving gods.
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The last Ferrari I drove was also red with a tan interior and looked like sex on wheels. I am older and supposedly a little wiser these days, but the sight of the first new Ferrari since the Enzo that didn’t look like a pastiche of 1960s design cues still snapped a frisson of desire through my synapses as I strode up to it, ignition key in hand. And two hours later, after a 90-mile blast along one of my favorite California backroads — a writhing, empty ribbon of tarmac I save for special cars like the Porsche Cayman S, BMW M3, and Corvette ZR1 — I was quite prepared to declare the new Ferrari 458 Italia the best sports car I have ever driven.
The 458 Italia does away with the machismo nonsense that great sports cars must somehow be tamed. For years I read road tests where writers waxed lyrical about the click-clack of metal on metal as they worked a Ferrari shifter through that iconic metal gate. What they were really telling you was how good a driver they were, because they had mastered the difficult art of getting a Ferrari through a fast second-third gear-change. The 458 Italia has buttons and paddles and two pedals and can mooch around town like a Buick, with the transmission computer deciding which of the seven ratios it should be using. But find a quiet canyon road, switch the Manettino to Race mode, start working the paddles, and… oh Lordy! You’ll be half a mile down the road while the click-clack guy’s still trying to find third gear.
The 458′s new seven speed dual-clutch manual transmission delivers virtually seamless full throttle upshifts; with the 557-hp, 4.5-liter V-8 screaming to its 9000-rpm redline behind you, and the upshift warning lights strobing across the top of the steering wheel, it’s like you’ve borrowed Fernando Alonso’s company car for the weekend. And like Fernando, you can grenade the brakes with your left foot as you fan the left hand paddle on the entry into a tight corner. The massive carbon-ceramic rotors will have the seat belt digging into your chest as the engine bra-bra-braaaps on the downshifts as fast as you can tug that paddle.
The front end lunges at the apex the moment you pull the steering wheel off center, and the linearity of the system is such that you can place the 458′s front wheels with millimetric accuracy. The feedback through the steering wheel rim is constant and deliciously detailed, too; it’s almost as if you’re gently brushing your fingertips across the tarmac. After a few miles you also realize you can get on the gas much earlier than you expect coming out the turns, as the electronically controlled differential cleverly vectors the torque between the rear wheels to not only deliver maximum traction, but also help rotate the car. The way the 458 comes out of turns — and the way you can also feel exactly what is happening where the rubber meets the road at the rear of the car — is quite unlike any other mid-engine, two-wheel drive sports car I have ever driven.
The 458 shrugged off mid-corner lumps and heaves that demanded the occasional stab of opposite lock in the ZR1, and even had the M3 skittering across the road at times. You can keep the shocks in the softer setting, even in Race mode, which helps deliver the remarkable ride and generous grip even on indifferent roads. It’s a beautifully composed chassis; calm, well-mannered, and deeply communicative.
As I headed back to town, I discovered that screaming V-8 would pull cleanly from as little as 1400 rpm in seventh gear. I discovered, too, an unexpected swell of torque around 5000 rpm that meant I could short-shift and still maintain momentum. I almost schmoozed the 458 along the road, and was effortlessly cleaner, neater, quicker than I had been in the Porsche Cayman S along this same road a couple years earlier.
The 458 Italia surrounds you so completely with its talent, it almost feels an organic extension of your senses. With the Ferrari 348 I was bitterly disappointed to learn Maranello’s magic was mostly myth; that I’d been seduced by Glenn Close rather than Elle MacPherson. With the 458 Italia the magic is real. Because this Ferrari turns mere mortals like you and me into driving gods.
