Although I’ve sat in a few hundred sports cars over the last 23 years, I’ve missed out on a good many masterpieces—and that’s a bit of a drag. How can I understand all the subtleties of contemporary Ferraris and remain credible to informed readers if I’ve never been behind the wheel of, say, a 430 Scuderia or a 458 Speciale? Happily, on a fine summer day in Valencia, Spain, I was able to make amends for this gross error.
The day begins with two shades of red: Rosso Corsa for the Speciale and the much-more-orange Rosso Scuderia for the eponymous 430. Low, streamlined, and intimidating, these two radicalized berlinettas look great. And even if their lines are very different in many respects, the kinship is obvious, starting with Maranello’s ongoing obsession with creating very heavy aero support from very light appendages.
Today’s generous owners are Olivier, the proud owner of the “Scud” and a 458 Challenge, and Roger, a lively septuagenarian who also owns a Challenge Stradale (whose music he praises more than its radicalism) and a 488 Pista (which he adores, but not as much as this Speciale). Olivier hands me the key to the 430, which I enter with the same impatience I felt 20 years ago when testing “my” first Ferrari: a Challenge Stradale. The time has come to bring these road-registered, race-ready beasts full circle.
THE 430 SCUDERIA IS SAID TO BE MORE CIVILIZED than the Stradale, but by today’s standards its stripped-down styling strikes me as extreme. Seeing the (not so elegant) welds of the exposed hull at my feet, and slamming the carbon-clad door from the minimalist comfort of the bucket seat, immediately immerses me in an authentic racing atmosphere, one which takes on its full dimensions when the famous 4.3-liter engine awakens with drum and (eight) trumpets.
The V8 jewel sits there, majestic, close-up in the central rearview mirror, glued to my shoulders like a warm, invasive backpack. From the F136 E of the ordinary F430, the Scuderia’s “ED” version features a redesigned intake manifold inspired by the F430 Challenge, electronic engine management that takes advantage of innovations developed for the FXX, and specific pistons to raise the compression ratio. But the 20 horses so gleaned, for a total of 510 hp, are less spectacular on paper than the 100 kilograms (220 pounds) lost. From the hollow anti-roll bars to the titanium springs and wheel nuts, not to mention the Lexan rear window, the use of carbon fiber at every level, and a cockpit free of the superfluous, nothing escapes the weight-loss regimen. Even the steering box has been lightened.
So the power-to-weight ratio melts away and good vibrations abound, but at first glance the Scuderia doesn’t look so fierce. Visually, it quietly slips into the stream of commuter cars.
I grimace as I discover the disconcerting cold (and hot, too, for that matter) attack of the carbon-ceramic brakes, then smile fondly at the first gear change. So this is the fastest single-clutch robotized gearbox ever created? My brain is corrupted by the fluidity of modern double-clutch devices, but there’s something pleasantly natural about feeling the gearbox decompose at low speed, just as you would with a good old-fashioned shift lever.
The supernatural soon becomes apparent, however. While overtaking on the Valencia ring road, I plant my foot to the floor and upshift somewhere in excess of 8,000 rpm. The aptly named Superfast 2 (the F1 gearbox’s code name) then justifies its reputation and shows how to disengage, change gear, and re-engage in 60 milliseconds. Yes, that’s fast—the blink of an eye is about twice as long. Ferrari’s engineers found it useful to artificially create brief, violent percussions in Race mode just to add to the entertainment.
There’s no shortage of thrills aboard this unfiltered machine, which is brutally possessed by the devil when the exhaust valves open in the middle of the rev range. The primitive metallic howl that follows is akin to a hard drug, one that prompted the previous owner to install a button enabling him to abuse his eardrums at idle. Let’s just say it’s, well, a festive traveling companion.
As we depart Valencia, heading for Chabeuil then Peyrus, large, dark clouds cling to the horizon. A deluge fell upon this region the day before, and the road remains fresh, greasy, and strewn with large stones in places, but it’s not enough to dampen my spirits on the first of a long series of runs up and down the Col des Limouches—especially since the Scuderia features an electrically controlled differential, traction control, and stability control, provided the latter two aren’t put on standby by switching the manettino to CT-Off or CST-Off. As a result, despite the damp hairpins, the Ferrari shows no signs of potential treachery.
Impressions come quickly. For a start, the suspension is admirable. The damping digests imperfections surprisingly well and holds body movements perfectly in check, all without depriving passengers of a shivering connection with the road. And should the tarmac ever become more chaotic, Michael Schumacher has thought of everything.
Legend has it that the meticulous seven-time World Champion was deeply involved in the Scuderia’s development, notably at the Nürburgring, and it’s to him that we attribute the appearance of the first “bumpy road” button, which was later extended to the entire range. It’s an amazing feature. Without going into the realms of comfort, let’s just say that passengers are less affected by the road than they are by it.
Confidence at the wheel is also facilitated by the surgical precision of the chassis, its inch-perfect balance and massive mechanical grip not particularly compromised by the modest torque transmitted to the rear wheels. Yes, we’re talking about 347 lb-ft delivered at 5,250 rpm, a respectable value in absolute terms, but ridiculous compared to the 567 lb-ft at 3,000 rpm of a 488 Pista.
Today’s reign of turbochargers has blurred my bearings and senses to the point where this naturally aspirated V8, flamboyant as it is, seems almost apathetic on uphill gradients. There’s no point, then, in having a delicate right foot in the hairpins, especially as, even with precarious grip conditions, it seems to take a lot to destabilize this leech on exit.
After just over six miles of climbing, we arrive at the top of the pass, perched at 3,562 feet. It’s time to share our first impressions with Olivier, who has just climbed out of the Speciale.
“It’s a real magic carpet, it’s amazing,” he says, enthralled. “And how it pushes!”
It’s time for me to find out for myself. Here we go again, this time downhill and behind the 458’s steering wheel.
I FIND IT HARD TO BELIEVE that only six years separate the two cars. Double would seem more in keeping with the gulf I observe in almost every area, starting with presentation. In contrast to the Scuderia’s approximate finish and low-grade plastic buttons that have aged as poorly as they look, its descendant has a much more polished, streamlined, modern, and timeless interior. I would argue that Ferrari could release the Speciale as-is today without shocking anyone but the competition. Nothing about it seems old-fashioned to me, from the pure, razor-sharp exterior design concealing treasures of aerodynamics—both active and passive—to the cockpit layout, chassis, on-board electronics, and engine.
The V8, code-named F136 FL, has been enlarged from 4.3 to 4.5 liters by increasing the bore, and boasts a stunning compression ratio of 14:1. No one knows the mysteries of a combustion chamber better than Ferrari, and the result borders on witchcraft: 605 hp—35 more than the 458 Italia—and an output of 135 horses per liter, an absolute record for a production naturally aspirated engine. (For a good measure of this feat, achieved in 2013, remember that the flat six in the current Porsche 991 GT3 RS makes do with just 131 hp/l.)
With 95 more horsepower and 15-percent more torque, the Speciale is in a different league than its predecessor. The 0 to 62 mph sprint is achieved in 3 seconds flat, versus 3.6 for the Scuderia, and the 1,000-meter standing start covered in 19.4 seconds still makes the newer Ferrari one of the fastest sports cars on the planet.
The Speciale owes part of its blistering acceleration to the diabolical dual-clutch gearbox introduced on the California. The seven ultra-short gears follow one another with even greater speed than in the basic Italia: 10-percent quicker on upshifts and an astonishing 44-percent on downshifts. How can this be possible?
The 4.5-liter V8 sounds less omnipresent in the cockpit than the 4.3-liter, and less visible in the central rearview mirror, but its smoothness at low revs and the unleashing of power at higher revs make it even more spectacular and addictive. The soundtrack is also very different: purer and more harmonious, as if all the instruments in the orchestra were better tuned and able to play in concert.
From 8,640 rpm in the Scuderia, the Speciale’s maximum revs rise to 9,000, the figure at which maximum power is obtained. In other words, it pushes, sings, and screams all the way to the breaker. Amen to that.
The 458 Speciale is 198 pounds lighter than the Italia, but still 100 lbs. heavier than the Scuderia. The stripping down of the cockpit remains very thorough, but a tad less extreme and, let’s say, more meticulous than in the 430, as evidenced by the pretty aluminum plates beneath my feet. To say I feel instantly at ease behind the wheel would be an understatement. The man-machine connection is as fluid as it is instantaneous. The front end is even more incisive than the Scuderia’s, thanks to the Speciale’s light but ultra-direct and precise steering, while its rear end follows with supernatural smoothness.
Theoretically, the sharp increase in power should make management of the Speciale more delicate, except that, in Maranello, the genius of the electronics experts progresses at least as fast as that of the engine designs. The electronically controlled differential makes it possible to exploit the beast’s 605 horsepower with as much fun as efficiency.
It’s as dazzling as the almost silky road feel provided by the magnetorheological suspension, a vast improvement over the Scuderia, as well as the Speciale’s sheer speed. I’ve barely exited one hairpin before the next jumps out at me. Gears drop like whip-lashes, the carbon-ceramic brakes become parachutes, and then a quarter turn of the wheel is all it takes to swallow the obstacle with the grace of a prima ballerina and the panache of a 100-meter runner.
By now, the sun has broken through and dried out our playground. Back in the Scuderia, the landscape passes less quickly but the outdated charms of a young-old car with a more “analog” driving experience hit the mark. Exploiting it as it deserves requires a very exhilarating “real-fake” fight—and fake only in the sense that it remains considerate for such a radical sports car offering such exceptional grip. Remember that upon its release the Scuderia equaled the Enzo’s lap time around the Fiorano track.
In turn, the Speciale bested that time by 1.5 seconds, so I hop back into it for one last adrenaline shot. What a diabolical device! The more I ask of it, the more it gives; I could empty two fuel tanks in the Col des Limouches without being satisfied. In this genre, no one had done better before and no one, in my humble opinion, has done better since, except perhaps McLaren’s fantastic 600LT.
If the 430 Scuderia is as gourmet as the morel ravioli gratin I had enjoyed the night before, the 458 Speciale offers the gustatory perfection of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The former will deliver its share of thrills as you fetch the bread, while the latter, just to thrill as much, will require you to find a bakery a little further from home, if possible at the top of a mountain pass. In both cases, we’re dealing with two sacred monsters—let’s not mince words—whose stock has undoubtedly not finished soaring.
