THERE’S A FLEETING CLATTER OF gravel in the nearside arches. It’s Monday morning and most people seem in a hurry, including our driver. ‘Pronto’ is the pace, the fat Chrysler people-carrier threading its way surprisingly quickly along the narrow country roads outside Modena. No one is pausing politely, so occasionally a wheel drops off the tarmac and onto the loose stones of the verge, the Chrysler squeezed aside by the off-kilter line of a preoccupied Panda or commuting Giulia coming the other way.
A thin mist is hanging over the fields and farm buildings on either side of the road, waiting patiently for a spring sun to burn off its ethereal cloak. Our driver is well prepared, dark glasses already in place. The surrounding Emilia-Romagna landscape is flat, and through the windows I can see a fair way into the distance despite the mist. But I can’t spot anything that looks like a pit complex for the Autodromo di Modena. To be honest I had no idea there was a circuit near Modena, other than Fiorano of course.
Given that I’m going to be driving a Maserati race car, perhaps it’s appropriate that we should be travelling to a track that lives in the shadow of Ferrari’s famous test facility. After all, pretty much since the 250F, the Trident has lived in the shadow of the Prancing Horse. To
