The sense of occasion and of privilege is both immense and immensely intimidating. Then a mechanic starts one of the cars; it explodes to life with an impatient, unsteady growl and barks rampantly at the merest tickle of throttle. It’s a sound suggestive more of the 430 Scuderia’s V8 – 2007’s hardcore version of the F430 – than its own, slightly apologetic V12 sibling.
The cars look magnificent – the stance, the blood-red paint, those matt grey canopies, the aggressive black wheels, the wider bumpers and sills – and clearly echo the 250 GTO. Even when you’re well aware that the GTO’s secrets lie under its skin, you’d still swear that the look has been more radically evolved than it has, such is the extra visual impact it brings to bear over the GTB. I don’t think I’ve ever known a car that’s combined the contradictory traits of race-car brutality and feminine sensuality quite so coherently.
Scuderia DNA is once again present when you open the driver’s door. The dash, doorcards and centre console are upholstered in serious-looking carbon, Alcantara and ‘technical’ fabric, and the footwells are full of matt-finished chequerplate. The seats are narrower and more supportive than the GTB’s, the bolsters trimmed in grippy Alcantara, the centres scalloped to shave grams where you don’t actually require the support, and finished in a technical honeycomb fabric you might associate with expensive trainers. You don’t sink into these seats as you do the luxuriously plump GTB’s and – tssk – you’ll have to actually use your hands to adjust them (and then only to adjust the backrest, and slide them back and forth), but they’re still very comfortable, and the extra support and combined 17kg saving are worth the sacrifice.
A week before the GTO launch I took the chance to drive the 599 GTB (research). It is a sensational grand tourer, but it is flawed: the soundtrack is too one-dimensional, the gearchange too ponderous, and, when you really let loose in what is undeniably a bonkers quick car, the chassis feels one step behind your inputs, the steering too light in its first movements; you don’t feel quite as in control of proceedings as you could.
I don’t need to leave Mugello’s car park to feel the depth of transformation wrought on the GTO. The steering feels quicker and chunkier, the gearchange far faster, the body control absolutely in sync with your commands.
Up in the Tuscan hills, the strengths amplify and gel as the GTO scythes through the twisting countryside with utter precision. The throttle buzzes with energy, the brake pedal has an instant integrity that suggests reserves far beyond what’s actually required, and the steering has weight and detail from the second you move it off centre.
