Washington - Before sliding into a European luxury car worth six figures, I first had to establish a few road-trip rules.
For instance, no jam sandwiches, bananas or disruptive wildlife allowed in or near the Maserati.
I laid down the law because, well, I sometimes treat rental cars like playpens. I have been known to stuff peels in the door pocket and cover the steering wheel with sticky strawberry fingerprints. I also tend to drive as if I were on safari, drifting into the personal space of the local fauna for a more intimate look.
But for an early November excursion to Shenandoah National Park, along Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains, I had to reform my ways. I was no longer a budget traveller rattling around in a soup can; I was an elite driver blasting through the Virginia countryside in a Maserati Quattroporte. For monolinguists, that translates to the surname of the company's founding brothers and “four doors.”
Since turning the golden age of 25, I have always rented at the bottom of the pecking order. For me, the vehicle is a delivery service, not a destination. But America's most scenic drives deserve a finer chariot, and several rental companies comply with high-end vehicles. For example, Hertz cordons off a section of its lots for its Dream Cars, which include the Jaguar XJL and the Porsche Cayenne. At more than two dozen Premier Selection locations, National customers can upgrade to a Maserati Ghibli for an additional $100 per day. And at nearly 30 locations in nine states, Exotic Car Collection by Enterprise hands travelers the keys to Ferraris, Bentleys, Teslas, Mercedes-Benzes, Audis and Maseratis, among other brands. Price check at Los Angeles International Airport: $350 a day for the Maserati Ghibli and $600 a day for the Quattroporte. (Note: I worked directly with the company for my rental.)
The morning of my outing to Skyline Drive, an evergreen on best-drives lists, I packed a bag with appropriate supplies, including tasselled suede loafers, purple Carrera sunglasses and a lust for la dolce vita. The bananas and jam stayed home.
The Maserati Quattroporte GTS sat like a purring black panther in my Adams Morgan alleyway. The flagship sedan of the 101-year-old company wasn't flashy like the Lamborghini Huracan or zippy like the Porsche Boxster. It was stately and solid, like Pavarotti.
However, the car has several bragworthy features, such as the Ferrari-built engine with more than 500 horsepower. The vehicle can reach ridiculous speeds of 190mph (about 300km/p). Care to race, peregrine falcon? Its base price is $141 500 9about R1.4-million). Cancel the race and bring me a roll of bubble-wrap instead.
Before zooming off to Shenandoah, I received a tutorial from Tim Murphy, who dropped off the car. He showed me how to operate the four-zone climate-control unit, the GPS device and the satellite radio on the touch-screen panel. He demonstrated the automatic gearbox (definitely need an opposable thumb) and the manual paddles that feed Formula One fantasies. On twisty roads, he advised me to activate the Skyhook system, which tightens the suspension like a corset. For more “get-up-and-go,” he instructed me to switch to Sport, which opens the throttle and releases the engine's growl.
“On the parkway, play with the different modes,” he said. “Listen to it, feel it, enjoy it.”
He then drove off, leaving me alone with the Maserati.
I slowly put the car into reverse, then drive, then reverse, then drive. The parking assistant beeped loudly at me, warning me of looming walls and garbage cans. It took me 10 minutes to turn the vehicle around. Two men with leaf blowers watched with a mixture of horror and amusement.
Skyline Drive, a National Scenic Byway, attracts more than 1 million people a year. During foliage season, cars form a conga line along the 105-mile route. The road has sharp elbow bends and steep hills, as well as more than 75 panoramic overlooks and a maximum speed of 35 mph. In short, you don't rush the experience, even in a Maserati.
My plan was to cover the entire route, from Front Royal to Waynesboro, in one day, then reverse course the following morning. I used the 75-mile ride to the northern entrance as a test drive. On Rock Creek Parkway, I gripped the wheel like a student driver, but I gained confidence with each passing mile. I started scanning the radio stations, hopping between eras, and opened the sunroof. I passed a BMW, smiling at my slower competition. An SUV crept up behind me, and I noticed in the rear-view mirror a couple craning their necks to read the name on the rear of my car. Once they were satisfied, I watched their vehicle recede into traffic.
By the time I landed at the national park, I was nestled in the cocoon of the molded red seat, with two fingers lightly hooked on the wheel and my left foot lounging on the metal rest. At the entry gate, a ranger informed me that the drive would take at least 3 1/2 hours.
Then she reminded me of the speed limit.
After a few wiggles, the route turned into a full-on rollercoaster track. I was tempted to throw up my hands and squeal “Wheeeee!” (For better or worse, I started to regard the car as the Italian cousin of KITT, the self-driving vehicle from Knight Rider.) In the tunnel at Mary's Rock, I switched to Sport mode and lowered the windows to hear the amplified sound of the engine bouncing off the stone walls. Up ahead, I stopped at the 3,320-foot Pinnacles Overlook to peer down at the vast bowl of apple and orange colours. A dad in a minivan approached with a camera. I stood next to the car like a “Price is Right” model, preparing for our paparazzi moment. He handed me his smartphone and asked me to take a picture of his family against the mountainous backdrop. Nature upstages Maserati.
Along the route, I called my innkeepers in Waynesboro to let them know that I would be arriving in the early evening. The voice on the other end turned stern. “Do not drive Skyline after dark,” he said. “It is dangerous.” He told me about two exit points: routes 211 and 33. I half paid attention to his directions and returned to the car, feeling snug and safe in my 4 000-pound cradle.
I spotted the first deer by Skyland Resort. The doe trotted across the two-lane road like a grand marshal at a parade. The second deer appeared in a more dramatic fashion: It barrelled into the car and slammed against the driver's side. For a split second, the buck and I were cheek to cheek, with only a square of glass separating us.
I pulled over and jumped out, equally terrified for the deer and the Maserati. I saw the animal bolt up a hill and disappear into the woods. I nervously approached the car to inspect the damage. There were no dents, scratches or even smudges.
Shortly after, I abandoned Skyline Drive 40 miles shy of the southern terminus.
“What kind of car is that?” a man with a British accent asked me through the open window of his Subaru.
“A Maserati!” the quartet of passengers exclaimed, echoing my answer.
“Good luck sticking to the speed limit,” he added before puttering back onto Skyline from the overlook.
Later that morning, I bumped into the foursome again. This time, they were stopped in the middle of the road. I followed the tilt of their heads to a tree and to a big black bear wrapped around the trunk like a fur coat. I turned off the engine and heard it crunching on berries plucked from nearby branches. Two cars joined us, and the travelers stepped outside a few yards from the bear. I parroted their moves and stood behind an older couple, using them as a shield.
A family of three arrived next, and I turned my gaze toward the little girl who had growled in the animal's direction. When I looked again at the tree, it was empty.
At Loft Mountain Wayside, I caught up with the Subaru Four and thanked them for pointing out the bear. The visitor from Richmond held up her camera to show me photos of a mother and two cubs from last year. I told her about my deer run-in; she one-upped me with a story about a bear hurtling into their moving car.
For the remaining miles, I stayed on high alert, watching for flashes of fur in the woods and bobbing white tails along the roadside. Back on Interstate 66, I freed the Masarati's inner animal, and we roared back to Washington.
If you go
Skyline Drive
Shenandoah National Park
540-999-3500 www.nps.gov/shen/index.htm
The park's northernmost entrance is about 75 miles from Washington, in Front Royal, Virginia. Sections of the 105-mile road are periodically closed mid-November through January - during deer hunting season, for example. The entire road will be closed daily from 5 p.m.-8 a.m. Nov. 30 till Jan. 3. Seven-day pass, $20 per car.
* Andrea Sachs (not the one who wears Prada) has been writing for Travel since 2000. She travels near (Ellicott City, Jersey Shore) and far (Burma, Namibia, Russia), and finds adventure no matter the mileage. She is all packed for the Moon or North Korea, whichever opens first.
The Washington Post