As my flight was landing in Bologna, I realized, true to form, that I had not looked into transportation from there to Maranello. Working my way through baggage claim and into the reception area, I felt a glimmer of hope when I saw a few handheld signs with names, sheepishly looking for mine. I should know better after all these years, but we ADD types rarely think ahead. Mr. Spontaneous Combustion, a dear friend calls me. As I shuffled around the reception area, something black and yellow caught my eye, and I read it aloud: “Ferrari.” A distinguished gentleman in a black suit glanced up and asked, “Rrrandy?” I nodded, relieved, and said it again: “Ferrari.”
After a 30-year career in racing and cars, I still get a thrill when…