On a lonely road to the southwest of Calgary, I gave an instruction to my passenger as we crested the hill. He thumbed the button on the radio and spoke to the photographer set up at the roadside.
“We'll be right back.”
Drop the steel-gated, dog-leg shifter into third with a blip of the throttle. Bring the revs to 3500 r.p.m., then roll into the power and let the boost build as the twin-turbocharged V8 builds to a shattering crescendo, right behind my head.
This is a Ferrari F40, and it's a car I've been dreaming about since I was a kid. They say never meet your heroes, but to be blunt, whoever “they are” can shut their know-nothin' yaps. Sure my dream car is a bit flimsy in real life, and not quite as warp-speed fast as some modern machines I've driven, but it is razor-edged and raw. It's everything I'd hoped for.
Looking back on 2017, I've had the chance to drive some pretty amazing machinery, atop which the F40 sits like a bright red, carbon-fibre cherry.
Here's a look back at the rides of the year:
January came with a trip to AMG's winter driving academy, located in Gimli, Man. If you've never stopped off in Gimli, it has the unique distinction of being the largest concentration of Icelandic peoples outside of Iceland, and is also where Crown Royal is distilled. It smells delicious (thanks to the distillery. Although I'm sure Icelanders smell just fine too).
As a school, the AMG winter academy won't teach you much you can use with your own Mercedes, as the cars are fitted with not-at-all-street-legal spiked winter tires. As a good excuse to fling a giant, horsepower-happy German car sideways, it nonetheless comes highly recommended.
To defrost, next stop was Arizona, where I had a chance to stop in with Dwight Knowlton, who has a new picture book out for kids. It's called The Small Silver Speedster, and it's great, just the thing for sharing with the budding gearhead in your family.
Should budget allow, I can also put in a plug for the AMG GT C convertible, a gloriously quick machine in the spirit of the classic 300SL.
Dashing among the cacti and rattlesnakes in the desert, I came upon Ford's engineers heat-testing some editions of the new Mustang: they were not pleased when we uncorked the AMG's 4.0 l V8 and chased them down to snap pictures.
Two Brits made an appearance in early spring: my friend Adam's Mini, and a lovely 1961 Jaguar Mk II. The former has been heavily modified, and now sports a motorcycle engine in the middle, with a sequential transmission and rear-wheel-drive. It sounds like a half-ton hornet's nest.
The Jaguar was far more genteel, but also wonderfully quick on its feet. A little research turned up the Mk I and Mk II's infamous appeal with the British underworld. Used for robbing banks, nicking the loot, and running from the plod, the Jag's big straight six was the business.
Suitably revved up for British metal, I departed for something of a bucket list item: the Goodwood Festival of Speed. A hill climb even held on Lord March's ridiculously long driveway, this three-day tribute to all things fast was wonderful.
It's not just for the toffs, either; an entrance ticket and the willingness to walk a bit can take you all over the track, top-to-bottom, and the pits are open if you'd like to stroll over and have a chat with someone wrenching on a priceless Ferrari.
On the way back from Goodwood, I stopped off in Ireland and did a brief circuit of the island. After plotting the route run by Paddy Hopkirk in early Irish rallies, I stopped off to drive the Dundrod circuit, and pay tribute to Joey Dunlop, probably the finest motorcycle racer ever.
A flat tire on a tricky mountain road meant I had to skip a few must-see spots in the Republic, but I'd encourage anyone to hire a car and drive the smaller roads around Ireland. It's a challenge just to hit the speed limit on the pinched, narrow lanes.
Back home, I borrowed a McLaren 570GT for a few days, and drove it quite slowly despite its huge capability. The 570GT is McLaren's idea of a grand tourer, and I had precious cargo: my five-year-old daughter, and her Hot Wheels McLaren.
After a cruise up the Duffey Lake Road, we wound back down the coast and made a triumphant entrance at the local cars and coffee meet the next morning.
Despite Vancouver being thronged with Lamborghinis, the McLaren still drew a crowd.
The list of cars driven grew week by week: a turbocharged Datsun 510; a rare Alpina B10 BiTurbo; an endurance racer MGB GT; a factory-fresh Toyota Supra twin-turbo; a manual-transmission Aston-Martin Vantage, and the new Lexus LC500.
I even managed to sneak behind the scenes of The Man In The High Castle, to see all the classic Japanese cars used in filming.
Late in the year, I flew to Hiroshima, picked up a Mazda MX-5, and drove to Tokyo, following the route originally taken by Mazda's CEO in a Triumph Spitfire. Before the original Miata was built, this drive helped Mazda's head that building a car to capture the spirit of the British roadster (except without the breakdowns) was a good idea.
Unfortunately for me, my drive coincided with a typhoon hitting Japan, but I persevered and left the top down for much of the drive anyway. It seemed a fitting tribute – if I'd wanted to more fully recreate the experience, I suppose I could have periodically disconnected one of the sparkplugs.
At any rate, it was the last long road of a year of long drives, and as I sat in the airplane watching the sun set on Mount Fuji, I counted myself lucky to have checked so many items off the proverbial bucket list.
Drives to nowhere, drives in all weather, drives with family and friends, or just by myself.
And again, that empty road in the Rockies, at the helm of a machine that made me feel like I was eight again.
May the coming year bring you as many lucky days as I have had. Grab the keys, any chance you get. Get out and explore.
And always meet your heroes. They seldom disappoint.
