How wildly the car can behave is controlled by the manettino. This small rotary switch on the steering wheel, similar to the five or six knobs on Michael Schumacher's weekend car, controls the level of electronic assist. There are "safety" settings for ice and rain, and a default “Sport” for dry pavement. Discretion and the prospect of a 230,000-Euro repair bill kept us from switching it to full “CST Off,” but we did try the next-wildest setting, which was “Race.” “Race” allowed the tail to slide out under control of the throttle, as much as our cojones would allow. Traction control technology culled from the F1 cars helped keep the car pointed where we intended it to go and made us look more skilled than we deserved.

We’ve ridden in more outrageous supercars than the 599, and driven cruisers that are more luxurious. None combines both purposes with such deceptive ease. On city streets, we can coast along and admire all the people admiring us—or rather, our car. On circuits like Fiorano, we wring every last horsepower and millisecond out of that drivetrain. The 599 is equally happy either way.

Going full blast means no time to figure out which gear to be in, and no time to admire the Playstation scenery flashing by. It was just I and the machine, going as fast as hell. And right there was the classic moment, when the car’s various parts moved as one, and we understood what she was all about. We were slapped, rather hard as it turned out, and so smoothly that we felt the sting only as we walked away from the track.

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