The heavily disguised mules used to hone our new models are the unsung heroes of Ferrari. We explore their short lives and the sad ends they meet once their road-test days are over and the new car has been unveiled to the media and the world
It’s the moment of truth. The unveiling of a new model from a car manufacturer generates the sort of media heat and expectation that attends a film premiere or a fashion show. This is big news and big business. The staging of the event is always more or less the same: music, lights, smoke or confetti, speeches by the company’s top brass that emphasise the style and the technical features, and finally the suspense-filled seconds when the star of the show is revealed to the world, the metaphorical canvas sliding away to rapturous applause for the newborn. It’s a ceremony common to all car manufacturers and has become a tradition at international motor shows. Even if rumours and photos – real or imagined – have preceded the unveiling, only now does the new model truly come to life. But how can a vehicle that hundreds of people have worked on for the past few years, in workshops and out on roads and tracks, remain a surprise until now?
If every manufacturer has its own well-defined procedure for the conception and development of a new car, Ferrari’s is certainly very special – as it must be when you consider that the model being ‘invented’ has to marry the very latest technology with spectacular performance that is easy to handle on a daily basis by ordinary people. What processes and what Ferraris – those extraordinary vehicles with no names and mysterious histories – make it possible to arrive at the finished model? In a basement at Maranello sits a small army of these so-called ‘heroes without glory’, silent machines poised safe in the knowledge that they have completed their mission – and Ferrari Magazine has been given exclusive access to these creatures. their work may be done but they remain invincible: as soon as Angelo Tazioli, the custodian who has tended to them since their first roar, asks them to start up there is no hesitation. Each model instantly becomes a true Ferrari once again. ‘For us test drivers, at a technical level the very first aspect we are called to advise on is the mock-up,’ says Dario Benuzzi, the man responsible for testing the past three generations of Ferraris. ‘They make you try out the driving position – seat, steering wheel point and pedal positions – and how clear the instruments are. These aren’t necessarily the final positions [they are subject to change at later stages], but the first decisions are taken. At this moment we know where the steering wheel will be in the future model. ‘When the development cycle is complete [usually several years later],’ continues Benuzzi, ‘if you have made decisions and recommendations on the car, you feel an intense satisfaction. You were the driver in a great team and have personally worked with everybody [in that team], because each feature of a new model must be rigorously tested, assessed and approved.’
Being Chief test driver for Ferrari, a company whose motto – from Enzo Ferrari to Luca di Montezemolo – has always been ‘the Ferrari I like best is the next one’, is a job that carries a unique, some might say daunting, set of responsibilities. But it might also be the best job in the world: who else can boast of a 500bhp desk and music that is, in the words of conductor Herbert von Karajan, the most beautiful of all symphonies? ‘For simplicity’s sake we might say that there are two types of work being conducted concurrently,’ says Benuzzi. ‘One concerns experimenting with new technical features that could be incorporated into future vehicles. Here the work is concentrated on a specific part or new technical development; the 550 with a long wheelbase and the 612 with knobs on the bonnet are two examples of research that lead to results that could not be applied, while the testing of temperatures and electronics on the modified 599 was useful. They first tested the side external drains to reduce the space in the middle of the car and then experimented with the fuel feed and the position of the engine.’ This type of work is continuous and is performed mainly by Franco Cimatti, head of Concept engineering, and his team. Out of every 100 solutions tested, less than half make it to production, but they represent a mine of precious experience for future development. What Benuzzi says brings to mind one of the main revolutions in the automobile: the electro-hydraulic gearbox or, as it is now commonly called, the F1 gearbox. When in 1979 legendary car designer Mauro Forghieri tried to persuade Gilles Villeneuve to drive a racing car with this system, the driver gave it the thumbs down. Ten years later, the gearbox made its debut with Nigel Mansell at the Brazilian Grand Prix and was an instant hit, with all the other teams falling over each other to copy it. Did Villeneuve slip up in his role as test driver? ‘No, he didn’t make a mistake,’ replies Benuzzi, whose career had already begun when the Canadian champion came onboard.
‘It was simply that electronics in those days were not advanced or reliable enough to be incorporated into a racing car.’ This episode underlines another delicate aspect of a test pilot’s work: the ability to make rational decisions on the spot without being swept up in the heat of the enthusiasm, which is in danger of being out of sync with the available technology. If multifarious solutions are necessary for the experimentation stage, which by its unpredictable nature follows its own unique course, the route by which a car is born is structured down to the last detail. ‘Once the driving position is confirmed, the first “mulotipo” [test model] arrives to be tested on the road,’ Benuzzi explains. ‘Here the main features are evaluated one by one. There are mulotipos for testing the engine, those for the suspension systems and so on. Our analysis concerns a specific part; we have the advantage of knowing that the rest [of the car] functions perfectly because all other parts are borrowed from a model already in production.’ These experimental machines don’t tend to arouse the curiosity of those scouting Maranello in search of a scoop. The modifications are carefully disguised while the thick black covers do the rest. In any case, they look so strange that they don’t even hint as to what the engineers have in mind. take, for example, the mulotipos that united a dummy 348 and the 12-cylinder engine that became the Enzo. ‘We do not do many kilometres in the mulotipos; let’s say 10,000 tops. Their job is only to show whether or not we are on the right track. Then we get down to the real task: work on the prototype,’ Benuzzi recounts with characteristic calmness – the same relaxed demeanour that he assumes at Fiorano when he puts you behind the wheel and says ‘off you go’ (a term that signifies the moment when the normal motoring enthusiast should plunge the accelerator like a true racing driver). ‘The third prototype has the chassis and many of the features being considered for the real future model,’ he continues.
‘Many prototypes are made because [justas in previous stages] development is carried out in parallel fashion: there are prototypes for the evolution of the engine, those for the gearbox, suspension, tyres and so forth. this is the hardest phase, the one where serious problems must be identified and solved. The work is very methodical: one prototype goes out on the road and another onto the track, and when the results are achieved, via set targets, we move to the next step.’ We ask Benuzzi what role Michael Schumacher plays in all of this. ‘Certainly, this early stage is a sort of litmus test for us. the good thing about Schumacher is that he is right on the money every time: if there is a defect he spots it instantly, and, crucially, his thoughts and advice concerning the level achieved and the directions we should take are always useful.’ this phase in the development is an epic moment for these ‘heroes without glory’, prototypes embarrassed to death by camouflages that outdo anything film director Ridley Scott imagined in Blade Runner. If future models are related to existing vehicles, as was the case with the 599 and the 430, things are simpler. But when a car is born that is completely new in its architecture and configurations, as happened with the new California, the level of paranoia in the company becomes intense. ‘This is the trickiest phase of the work: when driving there is noise from the camouflaging and visibility is sometimes less than perfect. It is extremely difficult,’ says Benuzzi. ‘And often we travel at night so as to avoid getting photographed, which can complicate things further.’ Once the prototype phase is complete – it lasts for at least a year – development moves into the ‘pre-series’ stage. Here all the main decisions have been made; styles and interiors are not finalised but the details are being worked on. The vehicle is ‘hand-built’ (off the production line) as a real prototype. Each part of the car is actually called ‘prototypal’ and is adapted depending on the performance of the final elements. ‘In this phase an enormous number of approvals must be given,’ says Benuzzi. ‘Each part is subject to separate analysis. There are parts such as the steering wheel that require many months of special work.’ During the pre-series, the penultimate phase, the camouflaging is much lighter. ‘Too much camouflaging can mean hissing sounds, aerodynamic problems, issues with window sealing, etc.’ Let’s not forget that we aren’t talking about normal cars here, but Ferraris capable of 300km/h or more. At Maranello the pre-series are referred to as PS, PS1, PS2, PS3 and so on. These are mounted on the ‘pilotino’, the top-secret lines that are carefully hidden and protected, where technicians and workers learn to assemble the new model before it goes onto the production line. All these cars are destined for many kilometres of checking. Here, however, Benuzzi and his team only provide ‘first aid’ when something is amiss. ‘Luckily serious problems hardly ever crop up,’ says the test pilot. ‘I only remember the case of the Enzo with the first application of the carboceramic brakes. We had difficulties but we overcame them perfectly.’ Benuzzi’s mobile phone rings and he suddenly stops smiling. He is being summoned to Fiorano; a test drive is needed right away. Will it be a mulotipo, a prototype, or a pre-series? Who knows? Whichever ‘hero without glory’ is to be whipped into line, it is already projected onto the Ferrari of tomorrow, the one that will be – and how could it be otherwise? – Montezemolo’s favourite.
PUBLISHED IN CARS, HOME BY DAVIDE KLUZER ON 04.14.2011
Credit: Ferrari S.p.A. (www.ferrari.com)
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