The art in Italy is all-world, no doubt about it. The architecture, the food, the fashion? Unbelievable. But, I’m more of a science guy. I’m a bit more interested in my transportation to the museum and pizzeria than what’s inside of those buildings. Italy has my back in this regard. An hour north of Florence is Modena, ground zero of Italy’s automobile industry speciale. We’re talking the motherload. Ferrari, Maserati, Lamborghini, Pagani, and at one point, Bugatti. Ducati builds their redonkulous bikes here as well. Fiat and Alfa are farther north, in Turin, but they don’t really make anything special. We did rent a proper little Alfa to storm the countryside during our stay. When in Rome, and all that.
We borrowed a 2-liter, diesel-powered Giulietta. Think VW Golf. Nice car for sure, but hardly a product of the Emilia-Romagna region. Just south of Modena are the municipalities of Maranello and Fiorano Modenese. It’s where good things happen in the world of motor sport. Maranello is the home of Scuderia Ferrari, the Formula One team. It’s also the home to the Ferrari factory, the facility that produced Justin Bieber’s road car. 
Good for Justin Bieber, but really? Old-man Enzo is rolling over in his grave. During the buying process, Ferrari should have a guy that decides whether you’re serious, or full of shit. Those who are full of shit should be referred to Lamborghini. Justin Bieber should have been referred to Lamborghini. All I’m looking for here is a rudimentary awareness of something Ferrari. Anything: the history, the process, the philosophy. “I think they’re dope as hell” is not an acceptable answer.
The team and factory are on the Maranello side of its border with Fiorano. Ferrari’s private test track is in Fiorano, and is cleverly named Fiorano Circuit, or Pista di Fiorano. There’s your ballgame. Forget the lovely Ferrari museum or the bus ride around the factory campus. You visit Maranello hoping to catch a glimpse of the Scuderia shaking down F1 cars. There are no bleachers and there’s no viewing vista. You climb a fence and sit in a tree…with the 50 other nutters that have been there since 8am. It’s magnifico.
90 minutes northwest of Maranello puts us back in Milan. 20 minutes north of Milan, is Monza. The Autodromo Nazionale Monza is a 85 year-old grand prix circuit built in the middle of a giant park, twice the size of Central Park. Monza is, by far, the oldest venue on the current F1 schedule, and Ferrari’s home race. While F1 continues its trend toward new, GP-specific super-circuits, the old track cut through the trees in the Villa Reale di Monza remains a fan-favorite. Though she may find it challenging to admit, I think even Sue was able to recognize that the kidding around was pretty much over as Fernando Alonso came through the Ascari Chicane on his way to the grid to start the Italian GP. It was as if Oprah just instructed her audience to look under their seats for the keys to their door prize, only the tearful screaming was coming from grown men. The place went bat-shit crazy. For good measure, Alonso yanked a rossa rabbit out of his ass at the start to take the lead into turn 1, as if to say: ‘Mike Anzaldi, you came all the way here from the States to see me race…here is my gift to you.’ Thanks man. I’ll take mild cardiac-arrest in exchange for watching a single-seat Ferrari take the lead at Monza any time.
Alsonso heading through Ascari.
Felipe Massa.
Jensen Button in his sick whip, the McLaren MP4-26.
World Champ Sebastian Vettel under the old, banked oval.
World Championship winning Ferraris at Galleria Ferrari, Maranello.
New Maseratis awaiting delivery.
Testing a 458 Italia at Fiorano.
