This is life as lived inches away from the triple exhaust of a Ferrari F40 LM, driven to death at Lime Rock Park. Whatever you’re doing on the internet right now, stop. Just stop. And listen. And watch this.
While you’re watching, think about this 25-year-old car. Is there anything else in the world which has aged with the grace of the Ferrari F40; aging, that is, by aging not a single millisecond since its debut in 1987? Is there anything more sinister than an odd number of exhaust pipes greater than one? Is there anything more violent than the sound you get from those three pipes, connected to a turbocharged V8 that’s very, very close?
Also, there are flames. Not flames of the modern Ferrari variety, but the kind of flames you get in certain cars on downshifts. Flames are good. The good kind of flames, that is.
I was seven when Ferrari built the F40. Every time I come across one, I regress to that age. That’s what supercars do. May we have them until the last drop of petrol is consumed. And then we’ll have to make synthetic petrol from the ocean or give up and die.