Ferrari F430 Scuderia: why I love supercars

Earlier this week, I drove a car which has shifted my opinion of one of the world’s most iconic car makers.

Yes; I’m ashamed to admitwhile I liked Ferraris enormously, I’d never loved them.

My previous experiences with the Prancing Horse were limited to a few miles in a 575 Maranello (a great GT, but didn’t live up to the pedestal which I had placed it on) and a rather tired F355 on a Silverstone track day.

The latter is still one of my favourite cars, but its odometer showed more than 80,000 miles, the majority of which were at the hamfisted hands of countless trackday wannabes.

And then there was the 246 Dino – possibly the prettiest car the company ever made, and a wonderful experience.

Helping to relocate Ferrari’s Birmingham showroom, I took to the road in a Ferrari 599 HGTE. It’s a staggeringly good car – comfortable and quiet when you want it to be, and a hooligan when you don’t.

But that wasn’t the car that has shifted my opinion permanently. It was the Ferrari F430 Scuderia.

First, the obvious stuff. It looks awesome, has a proper race car look inside with no carpets or radio, and unlike some lightweight street racers, doesn’t feel contrived.

Fire it up and give it some stick and it sounds like an old F1 car, with a roar that turns into a howl when the engine works itself up, and the steering has no play in it whatsoever.

By any objective measure, it’s a thing of beauty. But stepping out of the car after a 15 minute low speed, public road drive, every part of my body was tingling. It was an epiphany; a defining moment in my petrolhead-dom.

It’s a feeling every supercar should invoke.