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Every racing fan has dreamed about designing and building a car at least once in their life. And some have actually done it. This is the story of Leonardo and Vittorio Frigerio, and their dream come true. Photos courtesy of Effeffe Cars (IG: @effeffecars) There are various ways of approaching the classic car world. Some fall in love with classic cars because they want to relive the thrills of their childhood, they buy the car their parents once had to relive the noises, smells and vibrations. They are trying to go back to their youth. Or they remember when, as a child, they went to the races with their dad, to meet the drivers (it was easier back then), to see for themselves the incredible cars they had read about in the magazines in black and white. This is what happened with Leonardo and Vittorio Frigerio. First of all, they raced each other for fun on a few circuits, tracks that weren’t like today's “playgrounds”, but those that helped to write the history of car racing. And, like any Milanese worth his salt, most of the time they raced in old Alfa Romeos. So, historic cars on historic circuits, where they got to know every bend and every straight watching the races on TV or, if they were lucky, directly from the stands. But from here came a new spark. One of those crazy moments that makes the difference between any old racing fan and those who have the courage (and the means) for dreaming big, when messing about on the track is no longer enough. Because we all dream, but there are a few lucky and crazy ones who make their dreams come true. Leonardo and Vittorio Frigerio imagined the car of their dreams, and then they built it. And so the Effeffe brand (which stands for Fratelli Frigerio) was born. And so was the Berlinetta. Berlinetta is a name of the past, a name that conjures up a very specific type of car: a high-performing sports car with closed bodywork, a 2-seater (or 2+2 at most). The name Berlinetta embodies all the philosophy of the first car made by Effeffe. A car built today in exactly the same way as craftsmen moulded the famous GTs in the late 1950s: the mechanics borrowed from the series and redesigned to suit new needs, a hand-made chassis and bodywork. All starting from a blank sheet. An original car with a strong personality, in form and in deed, which is the best possible homage to the skill of these craftsmen. A generation we have perhaps forgotten, that offered the Italian car tradition - and the history of motoring generally - plenty in terms of uniqueness, charm and design. A product built and finished by hand, like in the past, with a tubular chassis, hand-beaten aluminium bodywork and wire wheels, seeking to guess and please the taste of the owner, expressing a timeless character. The Berlinetta prototype was born in 2014, little more than a scale model. Made and finished, but not running: the mechanics are approximate, and it has never really been fine-tuned. But it is beautiful. An authentic time-machine. It seems as if it has just been found in a hay barn and dusted down. In addition, being practically a style model, its lines are pure and smooth, not “dirtied” by license plates or indicators. So beautiful, in fact, that, almost as a game, the Frigerio brothers sent a few photos to the people in charge of the Concorso di Eleganza di Villa d’Este. And, a surprise, they sent an invitation to present the Berlinetta in the Concept Cars category. A dream within a dream, the self-built car made its début and the world’s most prestigious and glamorous elegance competition. Along with the interest and pleasure shown immediately by the public and the media, this would have gone to anyone’s head. But as we know, the Frigerio brothers aren’t the sort of people who sit on their laurels, and they decided the play another chip. They realised that their idea could become something more than just an adventure, and decided to exploit their years of relationships, acquaintances, friendships and skill to set up a workshop to produce the Berlinetta in small series. An exclusive, tailored and fully customisable product. Built as in the past by a handful of old craftsmen wanting to get back in the game, but with the help of the best technologies available today. The Frigerio brothers got the team together: an engine designer, a chassis specialist, a panel beater, a tester and a master fitter. In addition to the skills required to build a car from scratch, the only other requirement was the ability to work “old style”. The lines of the Berlinetta need no explanation. They are a well-balanced mix of classic, late-50s stylistic elements, from the muscular bumpers to the oval grille, a hint of rear fins and the double bubble roof. The definition of the lines of the car talks of an approach that is about as poetically anachronistic as you can get. The Frigerio brothers started by placing the mechanics and seats on the floor, tracing the basic outline around them with chalk, then gradually building the chassis, welding, cutting and welding again. Following the curves of the tubular metal frame, they then moved onto the bodywork, beaten entirely by hand in aluminium according to the artisanal sensitivity of Vittorio, who has a good hand, assisted by a few panel beaters with forty years’ experience. And from there, the project moved on in a kind of reverse engineering, working backwards by making 3D scans of the shapes to produce the drawings and designs. Style and proportions have that instantly recognisable Italian flair, as does the passenger compartment, entirely leather-lined with a dashboard painted in the same colour as the car, and the Alfa Romeo-derived mechanics. The engines are 4-cylinder “Bisciones” from the 1970s, developed by two authentic racing specialists of the time: Carlo and Giuliano Facetti. Who, working according to the Fia Gr2 specifications of the 1971 European Touring challenge, they were able to achieve around 200 HP at 6800 rpm, with maximum torque of around 30 Kg/m at 4400 rpm, on the road with no technological support. But why the ‘71 European? We asked Leonardo Frigerio in person: “1971 marked the turning point of the famous “Appendix J”. We chose it to add historical relevance to our mechanics, focused on the classic Alfa Romeo “twin-shaft”, the noble line of engines born with the “Giulia” and reaching the 8-valve “Twin Spark” of the Eighties. Engines with exceptional power and torque, but at the same time extremely smooth. We developed the mechanics around this, mounting 45 mm Weber DC0E2 carburettors. And as far as the transmission is concerned, we find a racing clutch, 45% self-locking differential-gear and two different set-ups: for a sportier use, we recommend a close-ratio gearbox coupled to a rear-axle ratio of 8:41, while for tourism use, a standard gearbox with a rear-axle ratio of 9:43 is better. Obviously, other combinations are available according to the client’s needs. And we should remember, the Berlinetta is a car built to order, right down to the last bolt.” The car is fitted with push-rod suspension systems inspired by the 1970s single-seaters, guaranteeing the stability and composure of the Alfa Romeos it inherited its mechanics from. “On the road it is extremely easy and balanced,” Leonardo continues, “with a quick response that we are no longer used to today. We chose an engine with just four cylinders, to lighten the weight at the front and give the car a shorter bonnet. This makes it much easier and more precise on the bends. And even in tough driving conditions, the car is direct and sincere. With its low weight and consequently low inertia, low centre of gravity and rear engine, deceleration is precise and effective, without any yawing or awkward reactions, despite the lack of a vacuum servo. The high shoulder tyres do the rest, forgiving small errors and warning well in advance of any risks on the bends. Finally, the abundant horsepower, combined with a car body well below a tonne (in fact, around 790 kg), offers some enthusiastic dynamic results.” So, the Berlinetta blends that visceral feeling of vintage cars with the pleasure and precision of driving a modern car. It is a lucky and harmonious combination of mechanics of the past with the technologies and tolerances of today. And on the road, the driving experience blends the best of these two worlds, exalting the skills of the driver. If there is one detail that best sums up the maniacal care that goes into the cars produced by Effeffe, it is probably the dashboard clock. To create this, the Frigerio brothers borrowed their idea from the biplane instruments of the early 1900s. They found a small craftsman in Brescia who designed and built it for them from scratch, lathing it from solid metal. The mechanism has a high-precision Swiss movement with manual winding every eight days. The rubies were replaced by authentic bushings, to ensure that the clock has the same anti-shock movements the vintage aeronautic instruments had. Finally, with a series of specially designed gears, the winding pin was replaced by a special rotating ring nut, to allow the clock to be wound without removing it from the dashboard. This detail explains what goes into an Effeffe better than any brochure. Today the production capacity is 6/7 Berlinettas a year, with a delivery time of 10/12 months depending on the level of customisation, which is practically total. The car is registered as a single model, and sold with German registration documents and license plates. The price is “confidential”: of course, it’s high, but as we all know, dreams never come cheap. And in a niche market, today the Berlinetta is in any case known in the four corners of the globe. Its own merchandising also includes a precious 1:43 scale model made by ZetaKit, a company that shares the Effeffe philosophy, and is almost as exclusive as the car itself. The cars produced so far can be counted on the fingers of one hand, and a unique soft-top version is on its way. It will be ready in 2022 and, rightly so, will be called the “Barchetta”. A model that takes the Berlinetta concepts to the extreme, with a 70 mm longer wheelbase to cope with greater power and guarantee more stability. The mechanical characteristics planned include turbocharged 4-cylinder and 6-cylinder V engines, with power output of around 250/300 HP, again strictly based on the Alfa Romeo. The front end will have a lighter and higher performing push-rod suspension layout and, compared to the Berlinetta, the rear suspensions will also be independent with totally adjustable geometry. The clutch and gearbox are at the rear, with a drive shaft measuring less than a metre. Another treat is the lowered petrol tank: just 10 cm high, it will in any case hold almost 50 litres of petrol and, with a specially designed chassis, will be located beneath the passenger compartment to lower the centre of gravity as much as possible. The total unladen mass will be less than 700 kg. The Barchetta will be ready for the first road tests at the end of the year, and will be presented in late summer 2022. As we say goodbye to Leonardo Frigerio, we promise that we will be one of the first to see it and test it on the road. And then? “The last part of the trilogy...,” Leonardo adds. “Using the Barchetta chassis and mechanics, we will be paying homage to the other great Italian car of the Sixties: the Gran Turismo. I can’t tell you much right now, the project is still being defined, but it will be inspired by the Alfa Romeos and Ferraris of the mid-Sixties.” So, a round tail and headlight covers? “Maybe,” Leonardo admits, with a knowing smile.

On the 50th anniversary of the Countach, engineer Luigi Marmiroli remembers when he was called in to design the heir to the "Icon". In the Eighties, he was given the task – and the honour – of defining the lines of the car that was to represent the future of Lamborghini. And the style of this car could only have been put into the skilled hands of Marcello Gandini. Photos courtesy of Lamborghini - Luigi Marmiroli Archive In early May 1984, a F1 Grand Prix race was in full swing at the Imola circuit, then named after the son of the Commendatore, Dino Ferrari. At the time I was in charge of designing the Euroracing team single-seater: our Alfa Romeo 184T had a high-performance engine, but it had a few reliability problems, especially with the turbines, and, above all, it drank far more fuel that the competitor cars. Our position on the starting grid wasn’t ideal, but we did have one car in front of Alboreto’s Ferrari. And I also fondly remember that Ayrton Senna - that’s the one – a rookie at the time, hadn’t qualified in his Toleman-Hart. That never happened again throughout his marvellous career, which ended dramatically on the same circuit, exactly ten years later. The evening before the race, a friend came to ask me to join him at Lamborghini Automobili. I arrogantly kicked him out of the paddock. A F1 designer would never go so low as to designer supercars for the road. And true to this principle to the end, seven months later I joined Lamborghini in Sant’Agata Bolognese. I was hired by the young shareholder Mimran, and given a “mission impossible”: to design a flagship supercar to replace the Countach, then nearing the end of its career. While the Miura had been considered Lamborghini’s childhood car, the Countach embodied its adolescence, allowing the company to survive one of the darkest periods in its financial history. The Countach, designed by Marcello Gandini, had a unique, inimitable character and style, which made it such a photogenic car. Because of the very limited production, it was extremely rare to see one on the road, but the photographic shoots published in the media were – and indeed still are – spectacular. Alpine, the historical sponsor and supplier of Lamborghini’s on-board entertainment systems, had created some fantastic advertising posters. These hung on the walls of young fans’ bedrooms around the world, and particularly in the United States. In fact, at the time, many people thought that the name “Countach” was the name of the manufacturer, and this made a huge contribution to Lamborghini’s worldwide fame. With the Countach, Lamborghini’s romantic period came to an end, and a new era began, involving me personally on both a technical and emotional level. This was a more technical and less “crafted” phase, aiming to meet the increasingly strict international standards that made the Countach difficult to type-approve. For example, to meet the US standards, a huge and horrible bumper had to be added on the front, drastically changing the line of the car. Everyone agrees that the Countach LP 500, Marcello Gandini’s original model, remains one of the “icon” cars of the century. Unfortunately, over time, all the changes made to the initial design, required for engineering purposes, damaged the car’s pure lines, but, in our opinion, without every completely destroying it. As we told in the article on Ferruccio Lamborghini, he was the man who embodied the philosophy of his supercars, and using the same criterion I felt that there was only one person who could design the Countach’s heir: Marcello Gandini. Before the new shareholder Chrysler arrived, the prototype of the P132 (the technical code for the Diablo) was already running with Gandini’s original design. And to be honest, I think that the pointless debate at the time over the influence of the Style Centre in Detroit on the Diablo’s original design not only didn't change the concept but in fact made it survive longer. Confirming this, the Diablo is the only supercar that bears the signature of its top stylist: Marcello Gandini. During the whole P132 design phase, we were always thrilled and indeed obsessed with keeping within the Lamborghini philosophy, of which the Countach was a marvellous expression, despite all the technical difficulties in obtaining type-approval. We borrowed the engine lay-out and the longitudinal gearbox from the Countach, because this was the ideal base for developing a highly original solution for a four-wheel-drive car. The Diablo VT (Viscous Traction) was in fact the very first supercar to adopt a 4WD solution. A viscous coupling mechanically transferred the torque from the rear to the front axle on wet or dry surfaces, thus significantly increasing the car’s safety and road holding. The design of the bodywork was based on the unusual concept of coupling different materials to optimise all the technical characteristics: steel, aluminium alloys, carbon composites... We also transferred one major component from the Countach to the Diablo: the bull emblem in the centre of the front bonnet. The huge success of the famous presentation of the Diablo in Montecarlo confirmed all the technical and stylistic efforts that went into achieving that – certainly difficult – result of creating a worthy heir to the Countach. A car that instantly went straight from the road into collections and museums. “The King is dead, long live the King”.

The iconic Lola T70 was created by engineer Eric Broadley and the body stylist / designer was by Tony Southgate in the late 1960’s. It is widely believed to be the first ‘ground effect’ cars designed, in an answer at the time to the dominating Porsche 917’s, and Ford GT40’s etc. The T70 Mk3B model was capable of 200mph on the Le Mans Mulsanne Straight in period, with power from a 5 litre V8 Chevrolet power source, in the hands of some of the best sports cars drivers of the day. The car here is a T70 Mk3B model and is a ‘continuation’, but true to the original in every respect. This car is currently raced in top flight historic sports car events, such as the Masters Historic series, and Silverstone Classic. This series of photographs are all from the Brands Hatch GP circuit, and with its’ very fast and undulating sections through the Kent countryside, the circuit once again echoes and reverberates to the glorious soundtrack just as it did in the late 60’s and 70’s Stuart Adams is an award winning professional UK based motorsport photographer. www.stuartfadams.com IG: @stuartadams.fotographik

It was in 1976 that legendary Formula 1 constructor Ken Tyrrell’s innovationary 6 wheeled Formula 1 Tyrrell P34 made it’s debut onto the Global motorsport stage. On the 13 June that year at the Swedish GP there was a famous first and second place for the P34, driven by Jody Scheckter and Patrick Depailler. Fast forward to the Masters Historic Festival, Brands Hatch 2020, and Jonathan Holtzman made is debut in a faithful ‘continuation’ P34, designated chassis no.9. The car had been built from scratch with the blessing of the Tyrrell family, using approximately 230 of the original drawings, with the car being the same spec’ as the ’76 Swedish GP cars. Painstakingly re-created to be as close as possible to the original cars, many smaller parts – where no drawings existed, had to be created from scratch. The only change to the build was to bring it into line with 21st century safety measures. A second ‘recreation’ to the designated chassis no. 10 is now nearing completion. Stuart Adams is an award winning professional UK based motorsport photographer. www.stuartfadams.com @stuartadams.fotographik

The world never stops running, even during a pandemic, and we are always in a hurry, trying to be perfect, high-performing and reliable. Every time I feel overwhelmed, I like lying on the couch looking for some good stories in a book, or in a photograph: and it was during the lockdown, on a lazy afternoon spent looking for new stories to tell, that I found Bart Kuykens on Instagram. He is a Belgian photographer that shoots analogue and black and white. Photo by Bart Kuykens (IG: @bartkuykens) The first time I saw his works I was particularly struck by their power: every single picture is dark, rough, a bit dirty, but at the same time so full of grace. We are so used to shooting tirelessly with our smartphone that we have almost forgotten what it means to wait for our roll to be developed, and to see our photographs for the first time already printed. This is a good lesson of slowness we should all learn, and Bart is an outsider in today’s ever-changing digital work. He had never dreamed of becoming a photographer in particular, but he always felt he needed to tell stories in a visual way. Through still images or video. That’s what an artist does, because it’s the mirror of his feelings, his thoughts and emotions. Bart became known as a professional photographer after the release of his art-quality automotive books called 'A Flat6 love affair': flat 6 like the iconic engine of the classic Porsches. In fact, these volumes celebrate the bond between a Porsche and its driver. Each volume documents memorable owners and their car, and the beauty of these portraits is so stunning that for a while you forget about the presence of a celebrity like Jason Kay - known as Jay Kay, frontman, leader and founder of the band Jamiroquai - and stay focused on the photograph that seems to be part of another world. Bart confesses to me that carrying on such a complex project means not including everyone you want. And the more you travel and meet people, the more interesting people you meet as well. He also finds it difficult to go back to the first two volumes because he feels his photography has changed over the years, which is a good thing, but looking back at the first images he is not entirely pleased anymore because he wants to do better. That’s exactly the same thing for a writer when he reads his own book back after ten years, for example: stories develop and change together with their authors. Talking about Porsches, he tells me that he wasn’t really into cars until in his early thirties. Mostly he gets obsessed and passionate from the moment he owns something, so this passion really started after he bought his very first one: a burgundy 3.2 Carrera. He always tells people he would miss his cameras more than his Porsche and that’s a fact. However, he loves his 1970 2.2T with its 3.2 Carrera engine: it is like an unfinished painting, and he enjoys adding or deleting things. Thinking about his work, I asked him which cameras he uses: Hasselblad and Leica, because they are reliable and fit his style of personality. The Hasselblad H1 645 is his favourite at the moment for car photography for his books. As for Leica, he loves the R7 with Summilux lenses - i.e. 35mm f/1.4 and 80mm f/1.4 - as well as the Leica CM, a pocket camera with a fixed 40mm lens. Today, many people think they are professional photographers only because they have expensive cameras, so I really appreciated what Bart told me: “Never let anybody tell you an expensive camera will give you better pictures, it’s always about the content, never about the pixels”. The first time I looked at his portraits, I immediately thought about characters from a Kent Haruf book, people who live away from the hustle and bustle of the modern world. A timeless dimension: this is the power of black and white photos. About his “old school” approach to photography, he tells me that it slows him down in the process. When shooting digital he just shoots too much and ends up with fewer good pictures. Another positive aspect is that you differentiate yourself from mainstream cultural expectations: everything is so volatile these days. Even though his works, especially the portraits, seem to be part of a past era, Bart admits that his life goes so fast. He is always looking for opportunities and new challenges, and he needs this adrenaline to feel relaxed. For this reason, he is attached only to future projects. Few people really know that behind the scenes of a good photographic project there are study and research, and every single picture hides talent and a lesson learnt. Every time I interview a professional, I’m curious to know if there is something he would suggest to a person who loves photography and wants to become a pro. “Stay true to yourself. Shoot what you love to shoot. Your own way. And have patience. And go all in”. A good picture should let you think: “Let’s stop and dream”. And here they are. A dusty and ready-to-restore Porsche and you immediately remember how many new lives are waiting for us; a kid wearing a flat cap has the sulks, and he’s irresistible, he would be perfect in The Paul Street Boys novel. And then a picture taken at Morro Bay, a man and his dog playing on the ocean shore, and nothing else matters; a girl standing close to her horse, a mutual love and no words needed. Thank you for your grace, Bart.

He once raced for Enzo Ferrari and won the 24H of Le Mans, but today his life is devoted to art. We met Stefan Johansson, 65 years old, on his recent trip to France, on Zoom: although there was a screen between us, the Swedish ex-driver told his story with no filters. Photos courtesy of Stefan Johansson (IG: @stefanjohanssonofficial) I have always imagined artists dressed in white, as if such candour could make them pure, freeing their mind from superstructures, clearing it of all pointless baggage. Ready to colour their thoughts with emotions, just like a bright, clean canvas waiting to welcome new forms. And of course, Stefan joined our Zoom meeting wearing a white t-shirt. He has just come from California, where he lives today, to spend some time in Europe. And he is in France, for a bit of rest but also to create. On the wall behind him I can see two brightly coloured paintings. Although this politely smiling man now devotes much of his life to painting, it is certainly not his first love. His surname is Johansson: a man who spent over ten years as a Formula One driver, in 1985 and 1986 at the wheel of anyone’s dream car, the Ferrari. I was born and raised in Modena, and as a child in the Eighties I spent my summer days in the countryside, just a few miles from the legendary track in Fiorano: my playtime was accompanied by the powerful roar in the background, brought by the wind to my ears. “Can’t you just hear the Red car racing,” my grandmother would say. I tell Stefan this anecdote, and his eyes widen, filled with a light that they didn’t have before, and I can see it, even though the screen between us acts as a barrier. “That was me, training on the track,” he tells me with an understandable dash of pride. “Of course, at that time there were no simulators, everything had to be tested on the car and so I spent entire days driving round the track, in the summer we went on till ten in the evening, when it got dark. For me, that was a dream come true.” At this point, I just have to ask him when and how this adventure began. He replies that it all happened very quickly. One Monday he received a phone call from Marco Piccinini, the then-sports director of Ferrari, inviting him to Modena. Two days later he was on a flight from London to Bologna and then on to the factory in Maranello, surrounded by cars covered in white cloths, like works of art to be hidden until the right time. He was led along a poorly-lit corridor, photos of racing legends like Nuvolari and Fangio hanging on the walls, to the office where Enzo Ferrari was waiting for him. From a distance, the man, the legend, was no more than a silhouette, like in a Fellini film, but here it was all real, and Stefan became a driver for the ‘Rearing Horse’ when Ferrari asked him a single question: “Are you hungry?” And then: “You’re hired.” That was it. On Friday that same week, the adventure began with the Portuguese Gran Prix, alongside Michele Alboreto, a great friend and team mate. Not only did he spend two unforgettable years at Maranello with him, but – with Tom Christensen – he competed in and won the 24 Hours of Le Mans in 1997. Still today, it was one of his most authentic, thrilling and incredible races, so I ask him how it felt to climb up to the top step on the podium. Modestly, and with a dash of humility, he replies that it was fantastic. These are the subtleties we can see in people with a big heart. He still likes to attend races today, the 24 Hours, Indianapolis (which he considers technically the most difficult race) and the Munich GP, the three competitions he thinks are the toughest in the world. How did Stefan become a driver? The passion for engines was in his blood, his father Roland was an amateur racing driver. Watching the races was something that came naturally to him, and at the age of eight he began driving a kart, and was racing by the age of twelve. From there to racing on the world’s top Formula One circuits was just a matter of time, and the rest is history. But today, I’m talking to the man who also turned his profound artistic sensitivity into a profession: the art world was always one of his passions, but at one point in the life of a driver something happens, and changes everything. On 14 May 1986, during a practice session on the French F1 circuit Paul Ricard in Le Castellet, the rear spoiler came off the Brabham BT55, travelling at high speed, driven by Elio De Angelis. The car became unstable, hit a barrier and set on fire. Stefan watched the accident, involving his best friend, who died in hospital the following day. “He was an elegant, sophisticated man, a great person. He was my best friend,” he tells me, his voice dropping a tone. We can never find a reason for death, but we can think beyond, processing our pain and turning it into something beautiful. And he decided to start painting, and painting became a therapy that placated his grief. “Painting is like driving, you need rhythm,” he says. For the past six years, his studio has been in Santa Monica, California. The perfect climate, luxuriant nature, the ocean a stone’s throw away: an unbeatable source of inspiration. Browsing his website, I note that his paintings bear the name of stretches of famous circuits: an explosion of colours that make you feel the speed, as if the world slips by carrying with it the landscapes and the people, becoming one before your eyes. This was exactly the effect Stefan wanted to obtain: to make the public understand what it means to drive a Formula One car. My favourite is Tosa, the name of one of the bends at the Imola Race Track, and I see that it is dedicated to his friend Elio De Angelis. Blue is the dominant colour: blue like the sky, blue like infinity. Cars are still a part of Stefan’s life today, managing some IndyCar drivers. But when I ask him if he feels more a manager or an artist, he confesses that today he is certainly more an artist: he loves to collect works of art, but not cars – he adds, laughing – because they take up far more space, and far more time on maintenance. Our time is up, virtually I leave Stefan in the damp warmth of France, where I know he is working on some new artistic projects. The meeting ends. Click. I think back over his stories and suddenly the haiku of a Japanese poet springs to mind. “Barn’s burnt down - now I can see the moon”. Elio De Angelis’ death brought ruins to Johansson’s life, but those very ruins opened a new world to him, made of art and new opportunities. His love of speed hits his canvases hard, and with a little imagination you can see what it must be like to be inside a blender, right before your eyes. Light and colours. I think that Stefan has found his moon.

Our story of the life and heroics of Consalvo Sanesi continues with the breath-taking account of the Milan Grand Prix in 1946. A race that definitively confirmed him as an official driver of the Alfa Romeo Racing Team. Photos by Sanesi Family, Alfa Blue Team, Fabio Morlacchi Archives At last, the war is over in Northern Italy, freed from the ex-German allies on April 25th, 1945. The Alfa Romeo factory in Portello, Milan, was partially destroyed, particularly following the Allied bombings of October 20th, 1944, when the US B.24 Liberators dropped 65 tonnes of bombs on the industrial area to the north of Milan: around 29% of the bombs hit Alfa Romeo. The result? The end of the production of airplane engines, along with the servicing activities, reduced to around 30%. The design and engineering department had been transferred some time before to the banks of Lake Orta to the north of Milan, in the Upper Novara area. The materials for the 158 and 512 racing cars, along with many spare parts, were taken to non-strategic factories in Melzo, a town to the east of Milan, to Abbiategrasso, a small town to the south-west of the Lombardy capital and to warehouses near Lake Orta. The aeronautic factory in San Martino, Pomigliano D'Arco, was also destroyed. After the war, the production resumed slowly only in Milan, with the sophisticated military-version of the 430 truck and a simplified, updated range of 6C 2500 cars. Following the national referendum on June 2nd and 3rd, 1946, Italy became a Republic. On September 1st, the first post-war race was held in Italy. This was the Turin G.P., held at the city race circuit in the Valentino Park. Alfa Romeo raced with the Alfetta 158, still in its pre-war version. The drivers were Nino Farina, Carlo Felice Trossi, Achille Varzi, Jean-Pierre Wimille, plus one new driver: Consalvo Sanesi. Varzi won the race, while Sanesi finished six laps behind. One interesting fact: on the same day, the Coppa Brezzi, a collateral race for Sport cars, marked the début of the Cisitalia D46, the small single-seater designed by Dante Giacosa. Nuvolari, the driver for the brand founded by Pietro Dusio, ended the race a legend, having thrown the steering wheel out of the car during the race and using the lever that fixed it to the steering column. September 27th, 1946, Milan. Over a million flyers printed, hundreds of cubic metres of timber, two thousand bales of straw, hundreds of reams of paper for press releases, a whole army of workers mobilised in the area near Castello Sforzesco, in the city’s central Parco Sempione. In 1910, one of the symbols of the newly-founded ALFA brand – later to become Alfa Romeo – was in fact taken from a decoration on the tower above the main entrance to the castle, the House of Visconti “Biscione” snake. The Alfa factory in Portello, then on the outskirts of Milan, was around 3 kilometres away as the crow flies, to the north-west along the axis that passes from the Arch of Peace along Corso Sempione, the straight, wide city avenue created by Napoleon Bonaparte to link Milan to Paris. It was the first day of the official practice sessions on the III Automobile Circuit in Milan, after the pre-war editions in 1936 and 1937, both won by Nuvolari in the Alfa Romeo in the top “over 1500 cc” category. With the war just over, the Monza Circuit was occupied by remnants of war put up for sale by the State. The choice of track was therefore quite limited. Due to the track being slow and short, the race was held in two 56 km-heats, 20 laps with 11 drivers each, the first 5 of which went on to the 84 km, 30-lap final. Around 80,000 spectators lined up along the tree-lined avenues in the park, most of them arriving by tram or, as they used to say, “on Shank’s pony”, on foot. The tickets for the small grandstands along the route were exorbitant, from 1,100 to 1,500 lire. At 2.15 pm, Prince Caracciolo, President of the Automobile Club d'Italia, lowered the chequered flag. The race set off with a fierce duel between Trossi and Varzi, in Alfetta 158s, Nuvolari and Villoresi in 16-valve Maserati 4CLs. Varzi won the heat, followed by Trossi, Nuvolari and Villoresi. At 3.20 pm the Minister of Foreign Trade, Pietro Campilli, lowered the chequered flag for the 2nd heat, but Farina had a false start, and was followed by all the other drivers. The angry race director, Renzo Castagneto, one of the minds behind the Mille Miglia, stood in the middle of the track waving the red flag. Sanesi started in the second row, and perhaps knocked by another driver, spun the car round and off the track, causing some minor damage to the rear of his 158. He jumped out of his Alfetta, number 32, trying to set it back on the track. He was helped, and this would have been cause for disqualification if the race hadn't been stopped. Starting the race again, Farina was once again quick on the trigger and set off slightly ahead of the others. But this time, the race continued. Farina headed full-throttle into the tortuous track, followed by Sanesi, and Sommer and Cortese in their Maseratis. Sanesi and Sommer battled head-to-head, overtaking each other several times, while Cortese was forced to withdraw from the race with mechanical troubles. Crossing the finishing line were Farina, Sanesi, Sommer. But Farina was given a minute's penalty, and was pushed back into third place. Sanesi couldn’t believe it when he came first in the second heat. At 6.00 pm, Sanesi was in the first row, between Trossi and Varzi. Nuvolari was behind them. Friends and drivers saw Tazio in a pitiful state, coughing and covering his mouth with a handkerchief with traces of blood. The Alfa mechanics arrived. They placed the electric starter shaft into the hole at the base of the grille. The mechanic signalled to Sanesi to set the contact with the magnet. Consalvo turned the switch on the dashboard. After a few revs, the Alfetta engine fired up into life, a cloud of pale blue smoke coming from the exhaust. And a smell of castor oil. In fact, the oil was Ricinavio, also used in aircraft engines. Sanesi saw Marquis Brivio lower the flag, released the clutch and forced the engine to 4,500 rpm. He shot into second place behind Trossi. Farina tried to pass him on the right, getting dangerously close to the edge of the track, where Castagneto - still angry over the Farina’s false starts, waved the rolled-up red flag at him like a club, making him slow down and fall to mid-group. First gear at 7,300 rpm, second gear, first left-hand bend, raising the foot in the turn towards the Arena, then back down on the accelerator, third gear passing through the slight bends in front of the old city stadium, then fourth gear for a short while before turning left towards the Arch of Peace. Consalvo saw Count Trossi head off slowly but surely, and was overtaken by Varzi. Farina put his foot down flat out, and Sanesi could see him in the small rectangular rear-view mirror on the dashboard. Farina overtook him, and then overtook a very surprised Varzi. The track was in good condition, but it was the hard, smooth asphalt used during the Fascist period, long-lasting but without much grip. And what was more, the roads inside the park had quite a humpback camber, to drain the rainwater off towards the flower beds. You had to hold firmly onto the steering wheel, tackling the park roads in the three lower gears; using 4th gear was impossible even though the ratios were short and the diameter of the rear wheels was smaller than usual. Nuvolari’s Maserati didn’t make it, and perhaps did him a favour; he probably wouldn’t have been able to finish the race, having practically lost all his strength. Farina spun off the track near the Arch of Peace. Sanesi drove past him, and saw that people were helping him to get back in the race. Disqualified. At the end of the 30th lap, Sanesi was 34” behind Trossi and 18” behind Varzi. He turned into the final straight, Viale Gadio, just 430 metres long, the finishing line almost exactly half way along Piazza Del Cannone, where Alfa Romeo often took the official photos of its cars. Second, third, chequered flag, and onto the podium! Behind drivers of the calibre of Trossi and Varzi, he couldn’t believe his eyes! Finally the adrenalin began to wane. On his second G.P. in the top formula, the ex-mechanic of Count Brilli Peri, a practically unknown test driver, was finally chatting with the greatest drivers in the pits, and even asked Nuvolari, “How’s it going?” The hugs from the Alfa Romeo directors, mechanics and the public paid him back for all his efforts. Even the usually tight-lipped English described him as “The Man of the Future” in the authoritative magazine ‘The Autocar’. The following day, Sanesi was back at work at Alfa Romeo, head of the experimental vehicle testing department. At the factory, all the workers were over the moon about their colleague’s achievement. The “Alfettas” won first, second and third place, but even more important, one of their own was on the podium. Consalvo Sanesi was a member of the Alfa Romeo Racing Team until the end of Alfa’s grand prix adventure, which ended with the victories in the two first World F1 Championships in 1950 and 1951. Then, on February 15th, 1952, the company board decided to end their F1 participation. Alfa Romeo in any case decided to continue racing in the Sport category, in the Mille Miglia, the Carrera Panamericana, the 24 Hours of Le Mans, and Sanesi was always at the wheel. In the following years, the Hall of Fame of the “Casa di Portello” continued to mark up an impressive number of races of all kinds, with wins and rankings, even by private drivers, helping to consolidate the legend of the company as the manufacturer of sportscars that win everywhere. Sanesi not only continued to work as a test driver, but also continued to race. (To be continued…)

1964 began with a heavy blow: in the first race in Monza I was behind the fierce new Simca Abarths by almost a lap. My Giulietta SZ had seen better days, and so I asked my father to buy me an Abarth 1000, the one with Fiat 600 bodywork and the large radiator protruding from the front. He agreed, though somewhat reluctantly, as he was very fond of the Alfa Romeo brand. This is why I kept the SZ, which I used as a service vehicle. I went to see my friend Pirovano at his body shop and had a tow hook welded to the Giulietta to tow the trailer with the Abarth to races around Europe. Then, at the end of the year, a driver called Mario Saruggia asked me to be his second driver for the Nürburgring 500 km. I had beaten him more than once that season, and perhaps that was why he decided to bring his most feared opponent on board. Saruggia was quite a character, he once told me he had paid an advance of 500,000 lire for a trip to the moon when they started taking civilian passengers… Just like today, at that time there were 120 cars on the starting grid of the Nürburgring 500 km. We were there with Saruggia’s own “Millino” (the Abarth 1000’s nickname, ed.). And then there were Ferraris, Jaguars, Abarth Sports and others. The practice sessions were held on Friday and Saturday, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. On the first day, I woke up at 8 and went straight to the pit. There I was, in my suit and helmet, but Saruggia wouldn’t even let me drive a lap. He said I had to get to know the track first. After all, I was the “guest” and during the race I wouldn’t have driven more than three or four laps. The important thing was that he was prepared and ready. On Saturday morning, the same thing happened. At that point I was very frustrated, and he let me drive two laps in the afternoon. I did the first lap, then the second, and then went back to the pit as agreed. Everyone there was speechless: I was between 5 and 10 seconds faster than the official Abarth drivers. Half an hour later, a man came up to me. “My name is Renzo Avidano,” he said. “I know who you are,” I replied. Avidano was Carlo Abarth’s right-hand man. Then I only knew him by sight, but I had a lot of respect for men like him. At that time, I was little more than twenty, and the fact of being physically small made me seem even younger. “Mr Abarth asked me if you could come to dinner with us this evening,” he said. At the time I didn't pay much attention to the invitation, and as I didn’t want to abandon my own group, I suggested we meet in Turin the following week. Avidano reported back to Abarth and then came back to me. “Mr Abarth is very sorry you can’t make it this evening, but looks forward to seeing you in Turin.” I thought he wanted to offer me a discount on spare parts, but in fact he offered me a contract: five years, 182,000 Lire a month (200,000 less the insurance fee) plus 45% of any prize money. At Abarth they also used to keep 5% for the mechanics too. This was divided among all of them, even those with the humblest tasks. And I carried on this respectful tradition later at Ferrari and Alfa Romeo as well. I went home. I got married. And then, just to ruin it all, I was called up for military service, which kept me away from the race track for eighteen months. But Abarth kept his word, and my place. A great period began with the team when I was discharged, and lasted until 1969, when I was hired by Enzo Ferrari. Carlo Abarth’s knowledge of mechanics was so great that if a driver didn’t give him enough information, he would climb into the cockpit and try the car himself. I remember one particular episode. We were in Vallelunga, where we had to test a particular modification to the front end. He was so convinced that it would work that he stood right in the middle of the Roma Curve, just outside the trajectory, with a newspaper under his feet. I was supposed to drive past him, the car just twenty centimetres away, and tear the newspaper from under his feet with the wheel. Clearly, he trusted his driver and his car, but most of all he trusted himself and his theories. He was a very direct person, with a big heart. More than once, he withdrew from a competition when he didn’t think that the conditions were safe enough for us drivers. Looking back, I think Abarth taught me some great lessons in life. I came from a wealthy family, and I must admit that sometimes I was quite cocky. Abarth took me down a peg or two, he made me realise that if I wanted to do things properly, I would have to behave differently. Thanks to him, I became not only a professional driver but above all a more responsible person.

It happens very rarely if ever, that a designer gets a chance to freely express himself. Free from the Marketing people with their benchmark comparisons of the competitor's offerings, that produce long “check-lists of features” to follow... Yes, exactly, “to follow”! Photos courtesy of Zbigniew Maurer Archive And try to explain them that this practice, while safe and fine for the “followers”, will never result in an original, innovative design and that every designer strives to become a trend-setter rather than a follower. Free from the production engineers with their rigid, platform-based synergies and production-plant related technologies to adopt. They might be satisfactory for the short-sighted economics of production processes but are inherently very limiting for the project. Quite often I had an impression that this great attention paid almost exclusively to the procedures and processes, pushed to the second place the actual final product, the car itself. Free from various “suggestions” which in reality translate into rigid impositions to execute blindly “if you know what's good for you...”. Especially when coming from highly ranked persons, not always competent in design. Nobody in no Design Center will likely serve you an ideal project in total freedom “on a silver plate”. To paraphrase The Rolling Stones “You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometime you find , you just might find you get what you need”. The Diva project was just that. It started in a very circumstantial manner, as an off-shoot of the official concept-car project named Sportività Evoluta or Evolved Sportiness. I was not lucky enough to participate in this very desirable adventure because I was busy leading two “bread and butter” or real production projects, the 938, new “Duetto” spider and 936, Alfa 166 restyling. I can't say I was suffering this exclusion because both mentioned projects were fully absorbing all my energies and were giving me many problems to resolve but also many professional satisfactions. Obviously I was curious about the progress of our Sportività Evoluta concept car project but the more I followed its development the more I realized I didn't quite agree with its philosophy. It was becoming more and more theoretical and detached from the principal rules of good sports car design. It was like a typical “Car Styling School project”, big, heavy and over-complicated. Just the opposite of my idea of Alfa Romeo spirit. In the meantime some big changes happened. The divorce of Fiat Group and General Motors declared, among other things, the sudden death of my Spider project, already at an advanced stage of industrialization. I have already been used to the fact that a good part of the projects started at Centro Stile would stop at some point of their development but still, it was a hard blow. I was very personally and emotionally involved in the Spider project. It was my proposal that first won the internal competition at Centro Stile and later with Pininfarina. Another big change was a sudden change of the responsible of our Centro Stile. As often happens in these occasions, the new boss stopped all the current projects to reorganize them and give them his imprint. This included the Sportivita Evoluta project. It was re-started from the beginning. For me it was an occasion to express my interpretation of the sportiness in the Alfa Romeo way. I had my ideas ready and clear and they were very different from the “official” project which, even under the new direction of Centro Stile, continued as big and heavy car with big, powerful engine, a typical muscle-car. My idea was a sophisticated but compact and lightweight sports car, much in the Alfa Romeo Tipo 33 Stradale spirit. Alfas have always been relatively small and light cars that would often outperform bigger and much more powerful competitors with agility and balanced handling. It was the lap time rather than top speed and acceleration in the straight line that mattered. The official project that later became 8c Competizione with Ferrari/Maserati-derived power train and chassis, was absorbing all attention and resources of Centro Stile with the lighter version gradually abandoned but never definitively stopped. The only way to continue its development was to work on it myself between other official projects with only occasional and limited help since it didn't have its own project number nor the budget and hence officially it didn't exist. It was hard enough to justify the costs of development of one sports car concept, let alone two! But this peculiar situation had its bright sides, because it was a “ghost” project, nobody cared to intervene and I enjoyed an almost total freedom in taking decisions, not only in the styling of the exterior shape but also in the general lay-out. It was a perfect example of Total Design and it became a clear homage to the Tipo 33 Stradale. Now we return to the “white sheet of paper“ situation in which a total freedom can actually be detrimental to the healthy development of any project. To proceed in absence of directives I decided to self-impose a set of strict rules, based on purely technical aspects. It simply followed the traditional Alfa Romeo approach to car design: start with the ideal racing car and then adapt it to the open road use. This was the secret of success of Alfa Romeo sports and granturismo cars in the glorious past. The big problem was that nowadays every competition category is extremely specialized and conditioned by a myriad of peculiar rules what results in racing cars being totally useless outside of their particular category. This situation caused a total detachment of racing cars from road-going cars. So I imagined to design an ideal racing car, not following any specific category but with the only goal to provide the best all-around performance with active driving pleasure in a street-legal, usable and reasonably priced sports car. Naturally I wanted to keep it as much Alfa Romeo as possible. At this time we still had our V6 “Busso” engine in production, few hundred meters from our Centro Stile, actually it was the very last manufacturing activity of the Arese plant... So it seemed natural to develop the car “around” this engine. To keep the project feasible I decided to adopt the entire power train from the contemporary 156/147 GTA cars, gearbox, diff and semi-axles included, simply translated backwards to the rear, centrally located position. I preferred this ready, compact and zero development costs solution to the more “purist” architecture with longitudinal engine location and a Hewland or similarly “exotic” transmission with all relative complications. It was my self-imposed synergy. It also guaranteed perfect proportions and ideal position of the driver and passenger in relation to the wheels. I also decided right from the beginning to respect all the ergonomic and regulatory prescriptions, just like on any production car because for me it was not just another concept car but a serious and fully realistic project. The only “concept” was to prove that it was still possible to design a True Alfa Romeo sports car.

Called to manage the design of the Lamborghini, I felt the need to meet Ferruccio. That was the only way I could absorb that authentic spirit of the cars from Sant’Agata, and find out about the secret of their founder: the obsession for speed. Photos courtesy of Luigi Marmiroli Archive It was January 1985 when Mimran brothers, shareholders in Lamborghini at that time, called me to Sant’Agata Bolognese offering me a job as technical director of the company which, under their jurisdiction, had been renamed “Nuova Automobili Lamborghini”. Eleven years earlier, in a moment of economic difficulty due mainly to Lamborghini Trattori, the founder Ferruccio had sold off shares in his car manufacturing business. Thereafter, he gave it all up, never looked back and retired to a large estate called “La Fiorita”, in Panicale, in the province of Perugia, a lovely little place near Lake Trasimeno. After so many years, the aura of his persona in any case continued to be felt in Sant’Agata Bolognese. His memory remains in the models designed under his management, still in production, as well as the historical cars that came to the company for servicing. Questioned by me, the skilled engineers, workers and managers spoke of him with enthusiasm and warm sentiment. A notice still hung on the wall by the final station on the assembly lines, a message he had put there to encourage quality in everyone’s work. It read: “The next test will be done by the customer.” So I decided to go and visit Ferruccio, to understand the spirit that drove him to create those splendid cars, which I had both the honour and the duty to continue designing. And so, one sunny Easter Monday afternoon, I turned up at “La Fiorita” pretending to want to buy a few bottles of his wine, advertised on the billboards along the roads nearby. Of course, I didn't tell him who I was, not only a new employee of his old business but also an ex-Ferrari engineer from Maranello. I knew the whole story of his row with Commendatore Ferrari. Legend has it that, due to a poorly working clutch mounted on Ferruccio’s own “Prancing Horse”, Ferrari told him he would do better to think about his tractors. At that point, Ferruccio challenged him, saying that he could build much better cars if he wanted to. However the story actually went, Ferruccio really couldn’t stand Ferrari’s arrogance towards him. As Easter Monday is a bank holiday, Ferruccio was on his own at La Fiorita and was more than happy to have someone to chat to. He invited me into the kitchen and offered me a glass of wine. He seemed very proud of his farming origins. He told me how, when he came back from the war, he started to spend time in the ARAR camps (which sold off war materials confiscated from the enemy or war surplus supplies, TN) where the military vehicles abandoned not only by the Germans but also the Allies were stored. He wanted to start building tractors. I told him that, like many farmers from Emilia, my father-in-law had also built a strange self-propelled vehicle using the same components, which he named after the first Lamborghini tractor, “Carioca”. When I got him talking about cars, his already bright eyes lit up even more. He too was a real “Speedholic”! Indeed, and rightly so, he immediately boasted that his cars were the most beautiful and fastest in the world. Ironically, he said they should be fined for speeding even when they were parked in a car park. I instantly realised that this was the first principle of his philosophy that I absolutely had to take on board. What he wanted was for his cars, with their unique, aggressive style, their technology and performance, to stand out against all the other more famous sports car brands of the era. This was the second principle. When he took me to see his garage where, in addition to some of his tractors, on show there were a white Countach and a Miura, he gave the impression that he still owned the company in Sant’Agata. Of course, this wasn’t true, but it was hard for him to admit it. The pride of all he had done in the car world had led him, charmingly, to call the wine he made “Sangue di Miura” (“blood of Miura”). So, the third principle was pride: the pride of belonging to Lamborghini, the pride of designing and building cars that transmitted the glory and thrills of the brand. I left “La Fiorita” with my bottles of wine, which I almost left behind, so pleased for having met a man who was as simple as he was brilliant. As I write these notes, I look through fresh eyes at the painting hanging on the wall opposite. It is dedicated to Ferruccio, from a great friend of his, and now a good friend of mine, Giorgio Gnesda. The drawing is done with great virtuosity, using just a biro. This painting technique is in fact known as “Hyperrealism Ballpoint Pen Drawing”. In a single glance, the painting sums up the life of Ferruccio Lamborghini, who we can certainly place amongst the highest ranks of the automobile stars of the 20th century.

The Germans at Audi were gob-smacked: a car with full rear-wheel-drive couldn’t possibly beat their "Quattro" 4WD. But the Lancia 037 managed to do just that, when in 1983 it outperformed its adversaries and won the World Championship. SpeedHolics had an exclusive interview with engineer Sergio Limone, the father of the Lancia 037, to remember how the Turin-based manufacturer’s first Group B was born, and all its Italian creativity. The prototype of this car – code name SE037-001 – will be auctioned on 15 June 2021 at Sotheby’s. Photos courtesy of Sergio Limone Archive - RM Sotheby's “The ugly duckling wasn’t so ugly after all. Perhaps a little clumsy, because function was more important that aesthetics, but it had its own strong and resolute personality, that it would be able to express as soon as the opportunity arose.” There is something sweet in the words of Sergio Limone, graduate from Turin Polytechnic and a career at Abarth, when he talks of the SE037-001, the prototype that was a forerunner of the Lancia Rally of the same name, winner of the 1983 World Championship, which he developed during a very special period in the history of rallying and the FIAT Group. In the early 1980s, after the decline of the 131 Rally, when the regulations were changing, the racing department in Turin had to decide how to replace its battle horse with a car that could be prepared quickly and, of course, be a winner. Among the various design prospects, Cesare Fiorio – deus ex machina of the long and fruitful sporting season of FIAT Auto – opted both to use the Lancia brand he was particularly fond of and which, with the Fulvia and the Stratos, had a glorious past to be relaunched, leaving FIAT to race in Group A with the Ritmo Abarth, and to use a technical layout with a mid-engine and rear-wheel-drive. “This was a very brave choice, but it was necessary because we didn’t have much time. Although the rally world was shifting towards four-wheel drives, we had to make do with what we had,” Limone recalls, “but we were convinced that the 037 would be competitive off-road and winning on the tarmac, as indeed happened in 1983.” A great responsibility for him too, who meanwhile, aged 32, had become racing car design director, taking over from Mario Colucci who had held the position for years, and who resigned following divergences with the legendary Aurelio Lampredi, then sole director of Abarth. “We certainly couldn’t ground a whole team of engineers, mechanics and drivers for two years, waiting for four-wheel drive to be developed!” Having set up the SE036 model, a prototype with a reticular chassis designed to house a Ferrari V8 engine, the forefather of the SE037 (from the early 1960s, Abarth prototypes used the codes ES and SE) began in partnership with Dallara. At that time, he was working on the Lancia Montecarlo Group 5 Endurance, a mixed-structure chassis with a central body borrowed from the Beta Montecarlo (the only coupé with a steel sheet roof, the following models had bodies with a fold-down canvas roof, in the SE037 replaced with one in plastic) fixed to two front and rear tubular subframes, supporting independent suspensions, front end, engine and transmission. In particular, a lot of precision-work went into every component in the double wishbone suspensions, with very long arms, multi-linked to the chassis to control not only the geometry but also the excursion, all to the advantage of versatility in future suspension adjustments and set-up. “The SE037 prototype is to all extents and purposes a Montecarlo that I modified to suit my needs: it was available immediately, and so it was the quickest to work on.” Sergio Limone joined forces with a model builder, who like a Sabaudian Steve Jobs, worked in a tiny shed no bigger than four home garages. He asked him to widen and lengthen the bodywork, to enhance it and make it appear fiercer, and he placed four round Ferrari-style lights on the rear and four over-sized headlights on the front that made Leonardo Fioravanti, then director of the Pininfarina Style Centre, laugh: “He told me I couldn’t put the outside lights lower than the inside ones, as it made the front look rather sad. But with my inexperience, I had done nothing more than follow the lines of the Montecarlo bonnet.” The SE037, the start and end of Sergio Limone’s career as a stylist, was however the basis for the development of an extraordinary car in many aspects. Starting from winning the World Rally Manufacturers Championship in 1983, the last win by a two-wheel drive in a world that was shifting rapidly towards four-wheel drives, and indeed that same year Hannu Mikkola won the World Drivers’ Championship behind the wheel of the Audi Quattro. The strength of the 037 was the speed at which it was built. First test in 1980, on the day before Christmas Eve, and its racing début in April ‘82: “It was a very short development, considering that everything had to be done, from road homologation to the production of 200 models distributed pretty much everywhere: the fibreglass bodywork was built by Viberti, specialised in industrial vehicles and with a large production capacity. The front chassis, made by Cecomp, and the rear one, produced by Marchesi, were sent to Pininfarina where they were welded to the Montecarlo safety cell before cataphoresis, painting and seat fitting. The prepared cars were then sent to the ex-Lancia San Paolo site, where there was a shed used for small series, and where the SE037s were fitted with the engine, which came from Abarth with the suspensions, and the gearbox, which came from ZF” in Germany. They chose the supercharged engine used in the 131 Rally, but with a Roots-type super-charger, which wasn't available on the market and was built and experimented from scratch: “We had built a turbocharged 037, but it was undrivable. At that time, Abarth also had Lancia Corse, which had experience with this type of turbocharging, but applying it to a rally car was impossible: with the typical ‘heel and toe’ driving style of road racing, the engine couldn’t guarantee the necessary continuous delivery of power”. By adopting the supercharger, the objective of 300 HP and the torque target were easily achieved, making the car perfect to drive. Another advantage of the 037 was its essentiality and the accessibility of the mechanics: “During the race, you could replace the gearbox in 13 minutes, including the stopping time, with the gearbox still hot.” Two curious facts about the project: as the spider bodies had no roof, the racing version was fitted with a roof with two bubbles, “so that two beanpoles like Alen and Röhrl, both over six feet tall, could fit in with their helmets”; and then, in the series version there was no space on the dashboard for the radio, which was “absolutely useless as it was so noisy in the passenger compartment, with the supercharger belts whistling all the time”. The racing début was in 1982, and was a disaster. “We were practically racing with a road car, and we had to pull out of the Rally Costa Smeralda due to a problem with the gear selector.” Without a racing car available, the prototype was also used as a reserve car in the Acropolis Rally, with a temporary A6 plate. The 037’s first success came with a private driver, Teodoro Perugini, in the uphill Svolte di Popoli race in August, while the first rally win came a few months later, in October, at the Pace Petroleum, an English national race that Alen used to gain some experience ahead of the RAC, where the 037 came in fourth place. Not bad for a début in the World Championships. “In ‘83 we got off to a great start with the Montecarlo, also because Fiorio came up with the idea of changing the tyres on the special stage (which was allowed at that time) using spike tyres only on the rear and on the first icy, snow-covered bends, and four slicks on the following stretches of sun-dried tarmac.” A challenging technique that was later developed further, and which required a team of 11/12 mechanics and two trucks, already experimented by Lancia in the longer races with the Fulvia. Then came the wins at the Tour de Corse, the Acropolis, in New Zealand and at Sanremo and the long-awaited Manufacturers’ World title. “On fast ground we were competitive, less so on slower stretches with lots of bends, where the four-wheel-drives had the advantage. I have to say though that we were up against the Audi Quattro, which in its second evolution had a few problems. It was another matter when the Peugeot 205 T16 came on the scene: compact, 4WD, with a mid-rear engine, and nobody could beat that.” But that’s another story, and one that only helps to exalt the story of the 037, the last champion of rear-wheel-drive and the purest essence of motorsport.

Photos by Davide Saporiti Three fascinating, terrible and for better or worse, unforgettable days… We came together this Ferrari F40 and I. We each drew the scorn of the other, and then we found peace. I didn’t drive this F40 – I only photographed it. Given the chance to get behind the wheel, I would still have declined. Clay Regazzoni was the owner, and I wouldn’t have dared drive this machine without a closer bond to his family. But believe it or not, the passenger seat was good enough. Witnessing her power and precision through the lens as she slices through the air in the most sensual ways drew more than enough emotion from me. I first discovered the F40 in the early 1990s, when she was new on the scene and I was just a kid. Fiercely red, that imposingly low center of gravity, and those huge 335 rear tires. Bonnet grills opening up to the sky to reveal the complex innards of a thirsty machine, lusting for petrol and speed. 25 years later, I visit the Clay Regazzoni Memorial in Lugano, Switzerland. It’s an underground garage, a cozy and modest nest, a precious sanctuary that collects the legendary driver Clay's efforts and emotions, without fanfare and without fireworks. There is a mixture of awe and bitterness: it welcomes fascinating relics - vintage helmets marked by battles on the track, countless trophies, memorabilia - but it is so different from any other museum, so "homely" that it really feels like visiting the garage of Clay; it is not just any other museum with cars as perfect as models and the life of a person freeze-dried in the text of an exhibition panel. Regazzoni's own cars are still there, as if he left just yesterday and still hadn't had time to prepare them for the guests. And his death was so sudden, absurd and unjust that you can't blame him. Although he was paraplegic, Clay did not give up the pleasure of sitting in his F40, having her spit blood from the exhaust: he had turned to Guidosimplex to modify his cars with controls that could only be carried out with the hands. Thus, he realized the dream of returning to driving. While racing towards the famous Nufenen pass in his very own Rossa, I observe my colleague Benjiamin at the wheel. The "normal" controls are all there, but he struggles to drive it because the horizontal lever under the steering wheel, with which Clay operated the clutch, is really quite a task for a person who still has the good fortune functioning legs. I think about those who can no longer use their legs and I wonder if I might be able to understand what it feels like to reset everything you have learned in years of driving, perhaps when you are a driver like Clay, who had for years moved his own limbs in a perfect dance – now forced to dance with half a body. I look at my feet struggling to find space in the narrow compartment reserved for them - mostly occupied by the photographic equipment - and I force myself not to complain about the luck I have and take for granted. We are inside Clay Regazzoni's very own F40. The last Ferrari wanted and built by Enzo Ferrari himself. The man who wanted Clay for his team, at all costs. We are talking about a Formula 1 ere that was still raw and merciless. For superior men only. Titans. I don't think I deserve it. And I am ashamed of myself as I observe the cockpit and criticize -- the material of the headliner that is unstuck and the right door that does not close well and the engine that, under three thousand rpm, coughs and sputters like a Beetle struggling to take pace due to the long rest in the garage. What right do I have to judge? What can I know about cars compared to a man who has dedicated his entire life to motors and who has risen to the glory of succes? This is not the usual car of any press office: it is the supercar of a man with whom I have nothing to impress. What am I doing here? The feeling doesn’t linger though. It can’t. Before long, we’re in step, entranced by the majestic pace of this piece of treasure. I come back to my senses as I read terror in Benjiamin's eyes -- he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, while the twin-turbo V8 gallops up to the limiter. There it remains, roaring and firing cannon shots from the exhausts. What the hell is going on? And then I understand: Ben has his foot on the clutch. Try to slow down the car because the accelerator is stuck. Out of pure instinct, I grab the key in the ignition and turn it OFF. The monster calms down and rolls to an inert stop. Silence falls as the accelerator pedal comes back up. We look at each other. We exhale. We will then discover that the fault lies with that cylinder of the manual controls that acts on the gas: every now and then, it blocks the pedal preventing it from returning to the rest position. Quite a scare. This Sword of Damocles, the harbinger of doom, has largely ruined the experience. A shame, because the F40, in itself, is certainly a wild animal, but much more approachable than I imagined: I can only express judgment as a passenger, but I didn’t find the car unmanageable or indomitable as it’s been described by many (stuck throttle aside). Benjiamin also considers it very precise and true. The same boost of the turbo, although really only present over 4000 rpm, is never as violent as many journalists describe it; indeed, it is rather progressive and constant up to the limiter. Of course these are still the turbo of the past, nothing in comparison to the cleanliness and progression of today's supercharged versions. But it is a truly perfect character for a racing car, because the F40 is a real racing car: despite its unsuspected qualities as a traveler (it's a bit like a big Lotus), it is, in fact, a carbon frame covered with more carbon and Kevlar, exotic materials barely covered with a layer of deliberately very thin paint; a huge contrast with the austerity of the leather case for documents, an object too elegant for a car that shouldn't even leave the circuit. The F40 emits a sound which is at times disappointing but undoubtedly Ferrari, with the characteristic Maranello timbre that comes out especially around 3000 rpms; the incessant blowing of the turbo, the bellowing of the wastegate, but above all the cannon fire that it emits in release - barrels that make the hair stand on end, so much so that at first we thought we had lost the exhaust on the street (from the same exhaust, with these eyes I saw leaking fireballs and flames of thirty centimeters). Although the radiators do an excellent job of keeping the hot spirits of the F40 at bay, the heat from the engine behind your back is clearly felt inside the cabin. The more you press on the accelerator, the more the environment fills with petrol and exhaust fumes, which only adds to the feeling of being on board a racing car. It is a mix of conflicting emotions: if on the one hand you feel in the belly of the monster, in a dangerous environment like the beaches of Normandy on 6 June 1944, on the other you realize that the F40 knows perfectly what it is doing and only asks you to be heard. “Don't be afraid” he seems to say, “I'll teach you how to go really fast”. The Nufenen pass like almost all Swiss passes, in all its highly variable weather conditions, is a fantastic location for driving and photographing. Driving through the curves in an F40 in the late afternoon, as the fog slides over the mountainsides and the Ferrari opens its way with the retractable headlights, is an image that I will hardly forget. I couldn't stop smiling while shooting, because, however I framed her, she always made the most of it: there is not a single element of that car that I don't find attractive. Not a single atom of a Ferrari F40 is out of place. And the many curious and passionate people we met, who greeted us and expressed their approval, seem to think the same way – even the envious one who showed us two fingers! After all, he too knows that an F40 is not a simple car to show off at the bar. Day one ended at 9pm, when the tank was empty and our strength gone. By now we had learned to know and respect her and, perhaps, she too seemed to have accepted the thankless task of hosting us for a few hours, because she ran better and no longer tried to kill us. The second day gets off to a bad start though, and ends even worse. Running very late due to unusually intense traffic, I arrive to some tension from everyone. Today, the idea is to take dynamic shots with a support car, so Benjiamin and I are aboard a Golf R and meet the Ferrari at the gas station along the highway, driven by Fabio its trusted caretaker. Filling up both tanks and hitting the highway, we watch that gorgeous rear end whiz north, but quickly we notice a carbon bottom panel is cracked. I suspect we did some damage the previous day, causing an intense rattle to come from the front. Fabio pulls over and stops in the emergency lane. But it’s not for the carbon crack that he’s stopped. He spreads his arms and mutters: "Game over. The clutch is gone". It just makes me think that she, the F40, is showing us who the boss is. She doesn’t want to drive, so she won’t. We open the hood to look for the origin of the problem, while an oil stain of unequivocal origin begins to spread out on the asphalt ... Here is the leaking oil pipe ... It leaks above the engine. Above the hot exhaust and, probably partly from the heat and partly from the morning breeze, an intense yellow flame comes to life and explodes in the engine compartment. "FIRE EXTINGUISHER!" screams Fabio. Benjiamin sprints to the Golf, opens the tailgate, fumbles in the trunk and returns with a small powder fire extinguisher. The precious cylinder passes into the hands of Fabio; a blue puff follows, apparently harmless but robust enough to suffocate the beginning of the fire. I only realize at that moment that I had stopped breathing. Glances cross in silence while the traffic flows on the A2. All eyes are on the small fire extinguisher. Fabio turns it around in his hands with the delicacy and respect he would have reserved for an ancient jewel of inestimable value. What would have happened if Ben hadn't thought about loading it in the car? Maybe nothing; after all, the engine compartment of an F40 is all aeronautical tubes and steel frame. But the speed with which the fire was developing makes me think that there would be a good chance of seeing the F40 up in smoke in minutes, even considering the fact that it was filled to the brim with petrol. Considering that a Ferrari F40 is worth around one million euros today, in bad luck it was a real miracle. Also because, as we soon discover, that old extinguisher has only enough life in it for that one effort, that one puff of powder. Just enough. The Ferrari is wounded in pride as we load it onto the roadside assistance trolley. We have to push it up by hand, since there is no way to screw the tow hook onto the thread. Perhaps this makes her reflect on her temper. A month later, after having made the necessary repairs, she’s back on the road for the third day of shooting – brilliant, sleek and at peace with herself. That’s great for her and us, as we’re able to complete the work and bring you these images. Heartfelt thanks to Clay's family, in particular to his daughter Alessia, for allowing us to live this incredible experience. Visit the Clay Regazzoni Memorial Room: all information on www.clayregazzoni.com.