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Felipe did everything he had to, winning the pole and the race in convincing style. As he crossed the finish line, he was the champion -- but only for an instant. Behind him, Hamilton slipped back into fifth position on the last turn, all he needed to do to beat Massa for the crown by a single point

For Massa, the passionate Brazilian, winning the driver's title in his home race would have been the highest of highs. Yet to miss it by an inch was to miss it by a mile. His disappointment was crushing, and it was visible in his eyes, his body language, his tears. As human beings, we can't always control what happens to us, but we can control how we react to it. It was in this idiom that the world got a good look at what Felipe Massa is made of.

"I know how to win," he said in the post-race press conference, "and I know how to lose. This day, like every day in my life, is something that I will learn from. I'm so proud to be a part of this team, and we should celebrate the Constructors' championship that we won. My guys worked so hard for everything we have accomplished, and we should be proud of this day."

He then went on to thank his family, his fans, the people of Brazil, and everyone at Ferrari from president di Montezemolo down. He finished his comments by congratulating Hamilton on a great season and a well-earned championship. You may recall that a year ago, Hamilton was in a similar situation to Massa, finishing a close second. I don't remember him being quite so gracious.

Lewis Hamilton is F1 champion. Felipe Massa is a champion among men. Complimenti.

It was a logical enough question for the handsome, di Montezemolo here at the Paris motor show, as cross-town rival Lamborghini rolled out the Estoque four-door concept, one of the show's most talked-about reveals. "We will continue to build extreme cars, sporty cars, larger GTs, but a sedan is not right for Ferrari." When asked about the radical Lambo sedan concept that is on its way to production, he replied simply, "Good luck."

People still remember the Pinin, a four-door Ferrari concept designed and built in 1981 by Pininfarina, so it was a logical question to ask. But that car was never an official Ferrari project; it sold as "automobilia" not as a car, at RM Auction's Legenda e Passione sale at the Ferrari factory in May.

I agree with Mr. di Montezemolo. Every carmaker should explore unique automotive forms, but this is a place that Ferrari should never, ever go. I believe this is one of the reasons Lamborghini put forth the Estoque, because they know Ferrari will not respond in kind with its own sedan. This gives Lambo some clear air in the exoticar stratosphere.

Over the next few years, we'll find out how the Estoque, the Panamera, the Rapide, future Bentley models, and possibly others will do in this space. No matter, this particular fight will take place without Ferrari. It's a place Maranello doesn't belong, and I'm pleased they feel no need to go there.

On one hand, I get it. A guy driving a fuel-efficient car is demonstrating that he’s smart. He doesn't waste money, doesn't want to pollute the atmosphere, is mindful of earth’s resources, and supports the need to get off the drug that is foreign oil. Yet, for better or worse, our rides make certain statements about who we are.

Many books have been written about what attracts one person to another. Several have suggested that humans use material possessions as forms of the mating call, much as do certain birds when they flash brightly colored feathers. I’m not suggesting that all it takes to capture the woman of your dreams or fantasies is an F430 Spider, but I’m wondering if 88% of attractive, single females would really get more steamed up by a beige Camry Hybrid, at least in terms of a first connection.

I read a study in a men’s magazine about appearances and attractiveness. They dressed a guy in a fast-food restaurant uniform and put him in a dumpy car, and showed the photos to a control group of women. Then they dressed him in a really sharp business suit and put him at the wheel of a German luxury car. Another similar group of women rated him twice more attractive than the first population did. Remember: same guy. Just different threads, wheels, and accoutrements. So, the notion that appearances make a difference isn't complete bunk.

I’m not advocating shallow relationships or saying that women are materialistic or gold diggers or any of that, so please save those responses for another time. But I’m not buying Playboy’s stat, which says that nearly nine of every 10 women would be more attracted -- at least initially -- to the dude in the fuel sipper than in something a little racier.

What do you think?

While this aspect of her will was clear, she did not, however, specify or limit what or how many vehiculars you must buy. If you want to toast it all on one $250,000 dream machine, like the Ferrari Daytona has become for me (yes, that's Yours Truly, age 17. And, I promise, the guy at Newport Imports said it was okay to lean on it. Hey, I was a kid. I didn't know better. Won't happen again.) Or a trio of new GT-Rs if that's what you desire. If you're the kind of person who likes thousand-dollar beaters, you can now buy a football field full of them. Use the money to build up a hot rod, see how many Minis will fit in your garage, and restore the '57 Bel Air. Racers. Classics. New cars for all your buds. It's up to you.

Please share with us your Automotive Bucket List and how much you realistically believe you'll have to spend on each one, in as much or as little detail as you want. I can't wait to see what you're thinking.

The next day, after a short stop at Ramoji Film City, the largest film studio complex in the world according to Guinness, we pay a quick visit to the toy town of Kondapally, where local families produce hand-painted puniki wood models. One hundred miles completed and twice as many to go until Vizag, our final destination, the four-lane divided highway meandering through the countryside is affording me one of the few opportunities to really test the 612. Simply put: traveling on these freeways is a never-ending exercise in overtaking slow-moving vehicles and animals, calling for the repetitive cycle of using 100-millisecond redline shifts to spur 540 prancing horses, only to rein them in with the carbon ceramic brakes every time a bike, bull, or bus occupies the lane ahead. On a few occasions, I'm able to get into somewhat of a rhythm, and it almost feels like I'm lapping at a racetrack -- wide-open throttle in second gear, a rapid 2-3 upshift, quick left then right steering inputs, a stiff stomp on the aluminum brake pedal, and then all over again. One big difference, however, is that, since I'm piloting a left-hand-drive car in a right-hand-drive country, I have to rely on my co-driver, Piet, a journalist from Belgium, to let me know when the coast is clear. With this in mind, the overtaking is a quasi combo of road and rally racing. "Cow!" "Bike!" and "Truck!" are Piet's most common warnings, while "Okay, you can go," is the most welcoming. The worst? "Okay, clear... Wait, a family of four on a bike!"

Seriously, the one predictable trait of India is its unpredictability. What's around the next bend? What's going to jump out from those bushes? What are those 20 million motorcyclists thinking? Why is that 12-ton bus going the wrong way? You never know. Staying alert and on your toes is the name of the game. Relax, and it could be game over.

Luckily, my trip ends without incident. No dents or scratches or scars or bruises, just incredible moments, unforgettable memories, and one curry dinner cum praying to the porcelain god. Unpredictable, for sure. With that in mind, Ferrari's India Discovery tour actually makes some sense; after all, who would have predicted that two $300,000 612s would amass more than 8000 thousand miles plodding around India? Magic, indeed.

Our gala dinner at the fancy Taj West End hotel, where that evening Hotmail founder Sabeer Bhatia was holding his wedding reception, provides further evidence that Bangalore is brimming with rupees. Most of the attendees are local elite and two of the not so bashful, who apparently had no plans on being shown up by a pair of Scagliettis, arrive in matching F430 Spiders—an interesting phenomenon seeing that there is, let’s see, not one Ferrari dealership in the entire country (Is the India tour Ferrari’s way of laying groundwork?) “I had to import mine from Singapore and he brought his in from London,” one tells me. But after two days behind the wheel, in which triple-digit speeds proved as accessible as Tri Tip, I felt obliged to ask, “But where can you ever really drive an F430 here?” After all, hustling a Ferrari around India makes about as much sense as Paul McCartney passing on a prenup. “On Sunday mornings we take them to this empty highway where we go 280,” he boasts. That’s kilometers per hour, but, at around 170 mph, still damn fast.

The following morning we depart Bangalore at seven, a time when the city is still waking up, treating our convoy to light traffic that feels as normal as snow in L.A. En route to Hyderabad via Kurnool, a town in the west-central part of Andhra Pradesh, several sections of the two-lane are under construction, so it is slow going due to myriad dirt detours pockmarked with stones and divots. Much of the 400-mile stretch is made up of hilly terrain drenched in hues of creamed coffee and olive green, an otherwise drab, arid vastness of rocks and sparse vegetation. Construction, of both highways and bridges, turns out to be the theme of the day, and a definite sign of impending progress and growth as well as potential demise of the rice fields, small lakes, and roadside villages that we pass along the way.

Out of Chennai, I hopped on a two-lane road positively bustling with action-pedestrians, scooters, bulls, Toyotas, pot holes the size of Guam-you name it, I had to honk at it, avoid it, and shake my head at it. Eventually, though, the action subsided, the cityscape behind me keeping it contained, and I began to relax a bit, noticing that the topography around me had transformed to lush, rocky hills strewn with emerald palm trees and brown boulders the size of Escalades. Some of the rock formations seemed right out of a Star Trek episode-you know, one of those chapters in which the crew lands on a planet in search of something unknown but significant. I could almost hear Shatner over the two-way: "Spock ... this looks ... a lot like ... India."

Star Trek set in the rearview, the next backdrops were small villages comprised of dwellings, schools, factories, missions, hospitals, all of which looked simple, worn, and tired, but perfectly functional and content. Because many of the locals had never seen a Ferrari, they gazed at the 612s, well, as if they'd never seen a Ferrari, staring at the two machines like they were spaceships, their mouths agape and eyes wide open; ultimately, though, they just smiled, knowing they had seen something special. The children, naturally, were a bit more active, running beside the cars, following along, yelling and screaming, tapping the aluminum panels as if to say hi. To return the greeting, I stopped, grabbed the two steering wheel-mounted shift paddles to put the car in neutral, and then tap danced on the throttle, bringing to life the Ferrari's 540 horses, much to the kids' delight. Jumping and yelping ensued.

As the number of lanes increased, from two to six, so did my speed, now registering between 50-80 mph. This was good news, mostly because I'd barely made a dent in the 200-mile stretch to Bangalore. But the bad news was that those road hazards-the canines and bovines and buses and tuk-tuks-now became 50-80 mph moving chicanes, and dodging them was like avoiding curry at a local buffet. I felt like Ricky Hatton trying to elude left jabs and right hooks from Floyd Mayweather Jr. Like in boxing, though, one can only escape the punches for so long. At one point I saw the aftermath of a nasty highway collision in which a Toyota Innova wagon struck a cyclist. With a crowd of travelers all around the injured man, I could only see the bent bike lying off to the side. It looked like a pretzel. If the man weren't dead, he likely wished he were.

After only a mile on the road, I realize I'm in for a week of utter mayhem. The traffic is heavy, seemingly without rule, and of, well, a diverse variety. Naturally, there are the usual suspects, i.e. cars, trucks, vans, SUVs, and buses. But in India an array of other vehicles, including tuk-tuks (three-wheeled, motorized rickshaws), motorcycles, scooters, and bicycles -- all of which toot their horns and ringers as if performing Beethoven's Fifth -- transform the streets into a mosh pit of wheels. Add in throngs of pedestrians and a potpourri of on-the-loose animals -- dogs, cows, goats, and pigs, to name a few -- and what you get is a blend of traffic jam, walk-a-thon, and zoo. Making things worse, there appears to be no right of way on the road; rather, it's first come, first go, be it on two, three, or four wheels, or two or four legs.

As we near the hotel in Fisherman's Cove, a lovely stretch of beach along the Bay of Bengal, the city landscape proves equally incongruous. Shacks and tents and dilapidated dwellings mix with brand-new factories and car dealerships, well-kept colleges, and pristine pharmaceutical plants. The scene looks like a tornado ripped through, scattering trash and damaging buildings, sacrificing only the ones the wealthy constructed. Arriving at FishCo, as the locals call it, I begin wondering, What will it be like to drive a $300,000 Ferrari through these towns, villages, and cities where conditions are a striking juxtaposition of future and past, first-world and third-world? Only one way to find out.

We're invited along for stage five, a leg that spans the states of Tamil Nadu to Andhra Pradesh, covering 900-plus miles of southern India. Our journey begins in the coastal city of Chennai, India's fourth largest metropolis and one that nestles against the Bay of Bengal, about 200 miles due north of Sri Lanka. After departing Chennai, we'll head inland to the hustle and bustle of the IT mecca of Bengaluru and then north to the city of Hyderabad before making our way back to the eastern seaboard, to the coastal town of Vishakhapatnam.

And the transporter? A 612 Scaglietti, Ferrari's most luxurious Gran Turismo. Freshened for 2008 with a panoramic electrochromic glass roof, an F1 SuperFast gearbox, and a revised steering wheel adorned with an engine start button and a three-position manettino switch -- the latter to adjust the transmission and stability-control system -- the 612 received minor but vital alterations for duty in India. The modifications include a slightly raised suspension -- about 0.6 inch -- to withstand the rough and bumpy roads; a 4mm-thick aluminum underbody protector to guard the mechanicals; and a fine-mesh grille to shield the radiator from debris. Other than that, the two 612s relegated for the undertaking came as stock as those in Beverly Hills and Miami showrooms.

So if you're ready to explore the magic of India behind the wheel of a Ferrari, please join us for this unforgettable ride. And don't forget to check back for updates, replete with photo and video highlights.