The haze of the heat, the sun breaking through the clouds, the unmistakable sound of a V12. I only have to see a glimpse of the Ferrari 412P’s curves and I’m right back there – immersed in the atmosphere of Daytona, 1967. Fifty years may have passed, but I remember being there with Dad like it was yesterday…
The 412P looked different to the other cars: much curvier, much brighter. All I knew is I wanted this red car to finish well. At the end of the first day, the Ferraris were out ahead – with my favorite, the one driven by Pedro Rodriguez and Jean Guichet, looking strong. I could leave the circuit happy – even if I was far too excited to sleep.
At the crack of dawn, Dad and I were back at the track. I’d hardly slept but I didn’t care. My car was now in third place… Yes! By the end of the race the Ferraris took the chequered flag three abreast. The 412P was battered and bruised. And that’s how I’ll remember her – beaten up beauty; glorious, victorious.