Marek Kronbauer has always loved cars. One of his first memories is being driven around Prague in his grandfather’s Praga Alfa [Czech automaker Praga built the six-cylinder Alfa from 1927 to ’37.—Ed.], and his grandmother was one of a very few female racing drivers in the 1930s, so benzine has always been in his blood. As for his love of Ferraris in particular, that began with a friend’s slot car set.
“It was the 1970s, the dark days of Soviet occupation, so the cars in the set didn’t look like anything real, just plastic blobs,” he recalls. “But mine was red, so for me, it was a Ferrari!”
It would be many years until Kronbauer saw an actual Ferrari, and three decades before he would own one. In 1999, after expertly negotiating the volatile market of the post-revolution Czech Republic selling imported car parts, he was able to buy an accident-damaged Testarossa from Switzerland. This cost-effective way of purchasing a Ferrari, his hands-on approach to repairing it, and the joy of driving a Ferrari he had put back on the road soon led Kronbauer to do the same with an even more badly damaged 308 GT4. A few years after the GT4 had been restored to concours condition, he was ready for another project—with one important qualification.
“For me, anything after a 360 is too modern,” he says. “It’s impossible to work on a car full of complicated electronics in my little workshop.”
And so began the search for a much older model. Kronbauer landed on 1965, the year he was born, but for quite a while nothing in his price range came up. Then, in 2009, while visiting a business partner in Germany, he discovered a bright red 330 GT 2+2 that seemed to be just what he was looking for…from a distance, at least.
On closer inspection, it was obvious the rough red paint was covering some serious rust issues. The leather interior had completely perished—the fact that the seats had been coated in thick black paint didn’t help—and the engine produced a worrying amount of smoke and noise. Although Kronbauer had plenty of experience restoring damaged Ferraris, this one seemed like far too much work.
A few weeks later, however, he found the car posted for sale online and decided he’d be unhappy if someone else got it. A deal was quickly done for €50,000 (around $54,000 at the time), then the Ferrari was dragged onto a trailer and delivered to his workshop in the north of the Czech Republic.
Kronbauer’s 330 GT 2+2 (s/n 6745GT) is one of the last of the Series I cars, with the rather unpopular twin headlights. It was sold to its first owner in France and, according to the original sales receipt, it left the factory with electric windows and a parcel shelf in place of the rear seats. When Kronbauer bought the car, it had been fitted with non-original rear seats, which were in just as poor condition as the fronts.
S/n 6745 remained in France for a little over 20 years, until 1988, when it was exported to the USA. According to historian Marcel Massini’s 330 GT 2+2 Registry, which documents the 1,038 examples built between 1962 and ’68, it was only used for three more years before being parked in the early 1990s. A decade later, the Ferrari passed through a few auction houses, where between 2004 and ’08 its price jumped from $30,000 to $112,000. The original engine was removed around this time, apparently to be used in a 250 Testa Rossa replica build, and no one knows how the replacement 4-liter Colombo V12 came to be installed.
In 2008, the Ferrari was brought to Germany, which is where Kronbauer discovered it the following year. But it took a while before he got around to working on it—a full five years, in fact.
“I had a hip replacement and was busy at work,” he explains. “Plus, I have to be mentally prepared for every new project!”
IN 2014, KRONBAUER WAS FINALLY READY to start work. In the beginning, however, the project wasn’t much fun.
“Every time I unbolted or unscrewed something, I uncovered more mess,” he says. “It just kept getting worse, and I began to think it was going to be far too much work.”
Kronbauer uncovered rotten door bottoms, large holes in the floor pan, and liberal amounts of body filler some rather unscrupulous former owner had used to cover missing metal in the wheel arches. When he took the car to a friend who owns a body shop, Kronbauer recalls, “He looked at it, had the same thought as me, and told me to take it away again!”
After Kronbauer asked for a favor, his friend agreed to work on the Ferrari in his spare time. It took a long time, but the quality of the result was worth the wait. Once the metalwork was complete, the friend sprayed the car in its original Blu Serra hue, which suits the elegant Pininfarina lines well.
Once the freshly painted car was back in Kronbauer’s workshop, it was time to reassemble everything. Underneath, every ball joint and bushing was replaced, the Koni shock absorbers were sent to a specialist near Prague for reconditioning, and a new exhaust was purchased. Somehow, s/n 6745’s stainless steel trim and bumpers had survived the years intact.
None of the interior—leather, seats, transmission tunnel cover, or door inlays—was in good enough condition to be restored, so the entire cabin was re-done from scratch by a local upholsterer who had worked on Kronbauer’s other Ferraris.
“He’s like a magician, he can do the job perfectly,” Kronbauer tells me. He’s right; the reconstructed interior is absolutely immaculate, with not a stitch out of place.
The entire wiring loom also had to be replaced, another laborious job, but fortunately the gauges could just be cleaned up. The odometer had to have a more thorough strip-down, which is why it was reset to zero.
The replacement V12 seemed to have covered more than the odometer’s 58,000 miles suggested. While the engine turned over and fired up, it smoked a lot and didn’t sound right. Kronbauer fitted new gaskets, rings, and main bearings, and reports it was a great improvement.
The Borrani wheels were corroded almost to the point of no return, but Kronbauer didn’t want to replace them. The only company he could find to restore them was PJ Hallewell Engineering in the UK.
“I wanted to just have them couriered there, but they insisted I bring the wheels to them so they could discuss the work and the price face-to-face,” he says. “It’s a very old-fashioned way of doing business, but I ended up really enjoying the experience.”
It wasn’t Kronbauer’s first road trip for Ferrari parts, and he doesn’t expect it will be the last. The knock-off hubs had to be replaced, as did the spokes, but the barrels could be saved. The end product looks stunning, and Kronbauer can’t understand why anyone would have preferred the aluminum wheels that came standard on the Series II models.
Two parts needed to complete the rebuild stand out as being extremely hard to find. The first was one of the double headlights; says Kronbauer, “When I saw it looking up at me in an Italian classic car parts market, after years of searching, I was very happy!”
The other was the rubber “donut” that fits between the gearbox and the prop shaft to make gear changes a little smoother. It was only when he learned that some front-engined Lamborghinis from the period used the exact same piece that Kronbauer managed to locate one and complete the rebuild.
S/n 6745 finally returned to the road in 2015, but the V12 still didn’t seem right. Kronbauer took the car to another friend, one who’d worked on the engines in his Testarossa and Dino, and the diagnosis wasn’t good. Then, not only did he throw out his back removing the V12, it turned out even more work than expected was needed. New pistons and rings, rod bearings, valves with upgraded rubber seals, and a new timing chain turned it into a very expensive job.
“At the time, I was very unhappy about it,” says Kronbauer. “But now, I have changed my mind; the engine is absolutely perfect and the car drives like new. The V12 has such a special sound and feel to it, and I will never get bored of putting my foot down!”
I MEET KRONBAUER ON A BRIGHT AUTUMN MORNING in the mountains of the Czech Republic, with the trees just about to turn color. It’s a perfect day for a test drive, and the engine, warmed up at idle, trails steam from its quad exhausts. With no power steering, it takes quite an effort to get the Ferrari out of its specially constructed underground garage. (Kronbauer wanted to build a workshop for his Ferraris, but since he lives in a residential area, he had to construct his house on top!)
Once on the road, the exhaust note of the glorious 4-liter V12 echoes off the houses and puts a smile on both our faces. It’s the same sound, albeit much modified for motorsport usage, that came from such legendary sports-racers as the 330 TRI/LM and prototypes like the 330 P2.
The 330 GT 2+2’s top speed is just over 150 mph, but what we really need on Kronbauer’s unpaved route up a nearby mountain is all-wheel drive. Not only is this the roughest bit of road I’ve ever driven in a Ferrari, I suspect many modern Prancing Horses wouldn’t be able to manage it. We hear a few clunks from underneath as suspension components are jerked to their maximum articulation, but Kronbauer isn’t concerned. He knows how well the car was rebuilt, and that everything underneath is as good as new.
It’s actually a rare day out for the Ferrari, since it doesn’t get driven too often. Kronbauer has quite a few other cars to choose from when he wants to go for a drive, and, given the car’s value, he’s also worried about other road users—a fair concern in the Czech Republic, where I also live.
“I know it’s a Grand Tourer, but for big road trips I don’t think it’s the best car to drive for thousands of kilometers,” he admits.
In the years since Kronbauer finished it, the Ferrari hasn’t left the country, although he’s contemplating taking it to the Ferrari Days event at the Nurburgring next year. He did recently take s/n 6745 to a classic car event with the Ferrari CZ club at his local racetrack, called Most, where I found him tearing down the straights with that incredible V12 screaming. Precious or not, this Ferrari still gets driven as Enzo intended.
