I'm struggling to find exactly the right word to describe the new Ferrari California. Of course, it's always a struggle to find precisely the right bon mot when you were actually trained to be an engineer - a school of thought not known for expanding one's vocabulary - but Ferrari's front-engined, hardtop convertible is making it especially difficult. Pedestrian? No, that makes the gorgeous, al fresco sports car sound too much like a Camry, and no Toyota has ever engendered so much lust (from the boys) and admiration (from the female set) as this Ferrari.
Civilised? Well, that might be a slightly more apt descriptor, but then anything that slams to 100kph in under four seconds (thanks to a Fancy Dan launch control system similar to Porsche's) and tops out at almost 320kph is not exactly a Sunday-drive-to-meeting station wagon. Many of my fellow autoscribes have attempted to classify the new California as the "non-enthusiast's" Ferrari, but then one hollow, sharp-edged BLATT! from the cross-plane crankshafted, 4.3L V8's twin exhaust pipes while driving through a concrete tunnel puts paid to that silliness. Especially when you're letting all of those 453 prancing horses have their head and the walls of said tunnel are flashing by mighty fast.
The reason for all this dictional angst is that the new California is amazingly, if not completely, devoid of the foibles that are supposed to be the penalty of being rich enough to afford a Ferrari. Since Enzo first started producing road cars in 1947, Ferraris have exacted a price for their four-wheeled magic. In the early days, all those multiple carburettors needed constant fettling. Brakes sometimes didn't. Comfort was of the "it fits Guiseppe, it'll have to fit you" variety.
In more recent times, electronic fuel injection and the discovery by the Italians of electric seat adjusters and actual functioning air conditioning (will miracles never cease?) put most of those old issues to bed. But, of course, Ferrari invented some new ones, like the first of its paddle-shifting manumatic transmissions that fried clutches and felt like someone was slamming a telephone book into the back of your head every time you shifted at full throttle.
Which brings us to the California and my struggle for a single word to describe sexiness without spectacle, passion without turmoil and Ferraris without quirks. For the California is something new altogether, a product from Modena that is no more difficult to put up with than an Acura. And, I might add, not necessarily welcomed by card-carrying Tifosi, who often see these traditional shortcomings of a Ferrari as rights of passage.
Oh, for sure, the radio's reception isn't quite up to snuff and the seats are still low enough to limit ownership to those with functioning knees. But, in all other regards, the Ferrari is, well, a real car. It has a functioning navigational system, for instance, with nary an electronic foible that one might expect of something both digital and Italian. The same LCD screen turns into a display for the rear-racing backup camera that is accompanied by a truck-like beep to alert that, well, you're backing up. (When did the Italians become so politically-correct?) There's even a hi-tech TFT (thin-film transistor) instrument panel that allows drivers to select the information - engine temperature, etc - that they want displayed.
The hardtop roof collapses in a perfectly orchestrated, 14-second mechanical plié and - truly, will wonders never cease? - the California has more roof-stowed cargo space than a similarly outfitted Infiniti G37 convertible. There's even a fold-down, pass-through rear ledge in the back that allows the cabin and boot to be combined for longer items like golf bags. Gadzooks! The Italians offering a more practical car than the Japanese? OK, it costs four times as much, but surely we should be looking for locusts.
Indeed, the entire car is just so driveable. The steering, for instance, is amazingly light. My mother could wheel the California around a Spinneys car park with nary a problem. I thought I had found a foible when the transmission started holding onto gears too long in automatic mode, causing the engine to rev far higher than necessary. But then I flicked the steering-wheel mounted Manettino (that controls everything from the traction control system to the transmission shifting patterns) knob from "sport" to "comfort" and lo and behold, the seven-speed, dual-clutch trannie became as smooth-shifting and civilised as a Lexus.
On the other hand, of course, it is a Ferrari. So, when you start paddle-shifting that very same Getrag-sourced gearbox, the shifts are very quick (taking but an almost-imperceptible 20 milliseconds), just the thing to keep up with an engine that seems to rev to eight grand at the blink of the proverbial eye. For, do not be fooled by all this talk of docility and civil comportment, the California is still very much a Ferrari, which means what it is best at is getting you all hot and bothered, making you write bad cheques and leaving you - gasping and clutching - trying to explain to your new friends, the motorway police, why, oh why, temptation was impossible to resist.
Since I didn't manage to convince the good folks at Ferrari North America that an afternoon flying around Mosport International Raceway would be good for my karma, I can't tell you whether the new California has captured all of the traditional handling characteristics of a front engined (actually front, amidships) grand tourismo that has long been a part of Ferrari's repertoire. I don't know if it will be faster around a racetrack than a Porsche 911 or even a Corvette ZR1. Nor can I be absolutely certain that the immensely powerful carbon-ceramic brakes are as fade-free as advertised.
But, like absolutely every single Ferrari I've ever driven, it makes me want to find out. motoring@thenational.ae