Didn't you think spring would never come? Here in Michigan, we actually thought winter would never come, but then it did, in March. There it was, 62 degrees and sunny one minute, 20 degrees and snowing snowballs an hour later. Just when we had given up on the woolen underwear, we found ourselves shoveling out.
Never mind all that. It's spring for real, and the driveway has been spit-shined for the arrival of the new Maserati Spyder, the first Maserati to be sold in America since Chrysler's ill-fated TC by Maserati. Not even that abominable bucket of loose bolts could extinguish the flame that has burned in the hearts of American Maserati fans, who remember the glory days of racing Maseratis and the allure of a long line of two-seat roadsters culminating in the Ghibli, Giorgetto Giugiaro's masterwork. We have been saying novenas for the resurrection of the Trident ever since.
If you wonder why it took so long for Ferrari (which purchased Maserati in 1997, dusted it off, and stood it back on its wheels) to send a new Maserati model our way, think "statute of limitations." Not that anyone in charge of Ferrari (namely chairman Luca di Montezemolo) would admit to such crass consideration, but, having salvaged the ravaged marque, who would want to face the wrath of hoodwinked customers left in the lurch by Maserati's last owner, Alejandro de Tomaso, holding the bag of parts?
What went so wrong? "I have so many of my own problems, I don't like to talk of the problems of others," offers the unfailingly diplomatic di Montezemolo.
I had an early chance to fling the Maserati Spyder around Italy on what would have been a perfect convertible day last fall, if the sky over Bologna hadn't looked like a seven-layer bean dip.
Does it sound as if I'm whining? I'm so sorry. It's just that by the time we got back to the city center from the countryside, I was having my own personal ozone alert day. The very polished and British president and CEO of Ferrari and Maserati North America, Stuart Robinson, pretended not to notice that I was sneezing uncontrollably next to him, all over him, into a bandanna, up my sleeve, across the inside of the windshield, straight up into the sky, down onto the carpet, right through the hotel lobby, and directly into my palatial room at the fabulous, five-star Grand Hotel Baglioni. Where I got a Kleenex from the bathroom.
I love Bologna, even when the air is deadly like this. The architecture is medieval. You can still find arcaded streets, old palaces, old Roman arched entrances into the old town, and the oldest university in Europe, founded in 1088. The main town square, Piazza NettunoNeptune's Plaza, whence came the Maserati's famed trident logoat the end of Via Indipendenza is hopping every night, kids wriggling through the crowds on scooters and sitting on the steps ringing the fountain. Bologna is the epicenter of Italian culinary arts, "Fat City" in local parlance. A bad meal is not to be found, and if you arrive during the fall truffle season, Ristorante Rodrigo will shave off a pile of that exquisite fungus onto the pasta of your choosing. Other delicacies not to be missed are culatello (aged Parma pork), gnocco fritto (fried dough), and fresh Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, preferably from Maserati collector Umberto Panini's organic farm, supplier to the Vatican.
The Bolognese are car freaks. But then, wouldn't you be, too, if Ferrari, Maserati, Lamborghini, coachbuilder Scaglietti, and the Mille Miglia's famed Raticosa and Futa passes were all out your back door?
The colorful procession of top-down Spyders garnered head spins, catcalls, headlight flashes, and thumbs up as it wound its way slowly from the foot of Neptune's fountain through streets clogged with morning shoppers, climbed (against commuter traffic streaming furiously into Bologna) a mostly one-lane road into the mountains, and eventually found stupendous SS65. Even Bologna's higgledy-piggledy street layout could not rattle the composure of the Spyder's optional navigation system. Unlike BMW's electronic Frulein, who barks "Make a U-turn as soon as possible!" the minute you're off course, the Spyder's nav signorina blithely calls for right turns where none is possible, left forks where none exists. Then, suddenlymiracolo!you're on course.
Road construction further slowed us, much to the consternation of the road workers. They didn't want us to Give 'Em a Brake, they wanted us to give the Spyder a boot. One windmilled his arm, encouraging us to go for it. A second dramatically cupped his hand to his ear, waiting to hear the sound of the Spyder's 4.2-liter V-8 roar. We, of course, obliged.
That engine is what we, too, were waiting to hear, having read European bureau chief Georg Kacher's description of its "hums and drums, gasps and rasps, bellows and roars" in our December 2001 issue. Churning out a healthy 385 horsepower at 7000 rpm and 333 pound-feet of torque at 4500 rpm, the brand-new aluminum V-8 is a real thriller, even though the Spyder weighs in at a not insubstantial 3800 (and then some) pounds. Maserati claims the Spyder will run from 0 to 60 mph in 4.9 seconds, which would beat the Porsche 911 Carrera Cabriolet and the Jaguar XKR convertibleboth cited, along with the Mercedes-Benz SL500, as prime Spyder competitors.
A real boon to the driving experience was the servo-shifted Cambiocorsa gearbox, operated with fingertip paddles on either side of the steering wheel just like its big Ferrari brother. These paddles, though, are detuned for a less dramatic shift. Explained Robinson: "Ferraris are made for extremes of operation. Maserati is a touring car, not made for the track. Still, the Cambiocorsa reproduces a perfect gear change in half the time of our most experienced test drivers." We'll take that, although you may prefer the straight-up six-speed manual.
We heard that some German journalists thought the suspension was too soft, which means it ought to feel perfectly fine on our crappy U.S. roads. We agree, though, that the steering is a bit light, especially on-center. There is a strong possibility that there will be a sportier Spyder by the end of the year that will firm up the suspension, the steering, the gearbox, and maybe even the seats, which, by the way, have wider cushions for American plushbottoms.
Not that the Spyder is a plushbottom special. Its performance is truly Italian GT: dynamic, with tons of charisma. It would be difficult for Maserati to emerge from its deep sleep as less, now that it is in the hands of di Montezemolo, our 2001 Man of the Year. "If we wanted to make a less expensive Ferrari," he said, "we would be obliged to make a cheap Ferrari. I don't want to do it, even if I have a waiting list. Instead, we have a high-level, prestigious car. Not a small Ferrari. A car with different capability but the same passion, technology, emotional driving, Italian flavor. This is not a marque strategy; it's an industrial strategy."
Robinson started the year with a list of 400 U.S. intenders (330 for the Spyder, 70 for the coupe, to be launched in May), who will be serviced by thirty new Maserati dealers, all currently Ferrari dealers as well. "We're aiming to sell 1300 to 1500," he said. "There will be a leasing program, but we anticipate most will buy one as a third or fourth car."
Now that I'm home and spring has sprung, we'll see if he's right and that old Maserati magic translates across the pond.