Can the Ferrari Purosangue cut it on New Zealand's most spectacular driving roads?
One country somehow combines all of our favourite roads from all over the world. We take in the majesty of New Zealand from the wheel of Ferrari’s magnificent Purosangue
Twenty five hours and fifty five minutes. That’s how long it takes once you leave London Heathrow to the point when you touch down in Christchurch, New Zealand: 11,784 miles in a pressurised aluminium tube, stopping once for fresh(ish) air in Singapore, a whole day in the air eating too much chicken satay and watching films that would go straight to DVD if such a thing was still a thing. Yet every minute is worth it; every hour at 36,000 feet brings you closer to a destination that takes outstanding natural beauty and wraps it in facsimiles of some of the greatest driving roads on the planet.
Such roads demand serious consideration as to which car to take to explore this remarkable landscape. Travelling to the other side of the world to produce a story also requires some serious strategic planning. And so it is that we find ourselves on a Saturday morning, waiting for the caffeine to kick in before the jet-lag thumps us between the eyes, with the keys to a Ferrari with the small matter of 715bhp produced by a 6.5-litre naturally aspirated V12 engine.
‘Our’ Purosangue started its journey several days earlier on New Zealand’s North Island, setting off from Auckland and heading south via Tauranga in the Bay of Plenty. It took in the first leg of the Asia Pacific launch of the Purosangue in Wellington ahead of the three-and-a-half-hour ferry crossing to the South Island. Then, after docking at Blenheim, it made its way to Kaikoura, a good spot for sperm whale spotting I’m told, before arriving in Christchurch and the driver handing over the keys.
Ahead of us is a two-day drive south to Queenstown with an overnight stop in Aoraki or, as it’s more commonly known, the Mount Cook National Park. The direct route is around 300 miles, but great drives are never direct so we’ll cover nearly double that distance today. We’ll take in vistas that will remind us of Europe and America’s finest landscapes. Roads that stretch for mile upon mile, buck and twist, climb and fall and remind us that, despite everything that’s going on in our world, few things beat a good drive that has no real reason to be undertaken other than because it’s there and that you can. Or, as the locals call it, a tiki tour.
Christchurch still bears the scars of the devastating earthquakes that struck in 2010 and 2011, many of the city’s central stone buildings unable to withstand nature’s force. We spend the first hour, as every tourist does, getting lost trying to leave. Meanwhile the Purosangue’s bafflingly complex and brilliantly effective Multimatic spool-valve dampers are tasked with nothing more taxing than the odd speed hump in a residential road. Our first waypoint is the town of Glentunnel, only 30 miles west, but even on such a short leg the landscape has changed, setting the stall out for the rest of this trip. Before we reach the coal-mining town the scenery has gone from featureless French countryside to deeply forested Scottish Borders and on to the sprawling beauty of Italy’s Tuscany landscape.
The Purosangue simply shrugs it all off. It’s loped along in eighth, that mighty V12 unfussed, unstressed and required to use barely any of its colossal clout. It’s playing its GT part, delivering a supple ride, its responses wound back as it breathes with any surface it comes across. It does feel rather like we’ve bought the biggest sledgehammer in the shop to crack a particularly small and stubborn pistachio shell.
Beyond Glentunnel, the landscape changes once again. It’s closing in now, the open fields becoming solid rock faces on one side, with a drop into a craggy, watery pass below on the other. And as quickly as the scenery switches, so too the weather. Low cloud rolls in, hugging the scene like a toddler wrapped around a parent’s legs. Rain starts to fall and in an instant we’re transported to UK-style drizzle and greyness. The coarse surface starts to hold water, the Purosangue splashing its way towards our first stop in Myfield, but for the first time the systems are woken up and there’s a chance to explore the capabilities of Ferrari’s interpretation of a modern super-GT.
As the road climbs, you can’t help but select the lowest useable gear to hook the Purosangue up and fire you in, through and out of whatever lies ahead. The elevated driver’s view helps with positioning along the tight route, not only to avoid the oncoming campers but to keep the vast Pirellis pointing in the desired direction. A smaller, more compact model from Maranello’s back catalogue would add some rich icing to this particular cake, especially if it was something mid-engined with a naturally aspirated V8 as its heart, a 458 for example. But a V12 that feasts on revs is no poor substitute; its reach and rhythm are addictive, even if it needs revs on its tacho to make itself heard.
Myfield is dissected by Highway 72, offering a welcome coffee shop serving punchy espresso and sugar-filled cake before we head to Geraldine, through Fairline and on to Lake Tekapo. It’s another 80 miles of constantly changing vistas. American prairies for a few miles, wet Welsh hillsides next, before the lush green landscape fades to the harder, grey granite surfaces that surround Tekapo, the second largest of three near-parallel lakes that run north-south of the Mackenzie Basin. Just like every other area of natural beauty we’ve seen so far, it simply appears and fills the windscreen. There’s no garish signage, formal parking or franchised emporiums selling tat. Park up, get out and walk around freely.
Even in such a stunning landscape the Ferrari gets attention. It’s rear suicide doors will always be a novelty, but what strikes you more is how compact the design is when parked between more regular cars. And, perhaps more surprisingly, how it stands out less than other such performance SUVs. Clearly it’s something special, its hunkered look, muscular haunches and shark nose signify that. But it looks compact, its body tightly wrapped around its aluminium frame without an ounce of fat visible, a notable lack of forced aggression to how it comes together. Although this does mean the interior space is on the compact side, too, so pack light or send your luggage ahead if there’s more than two of you plus bags.
Our final destination for day one is still some distance away, and before we reach Mount Cook we’ve a detour to the Astro cafe at the Mount John Observatory. And while its summit provides more remarkable views, the main reason for the detour is one of the roads that delivers you there. A road that, like many we have already travelled on, appears to transport us to a more familiar location, this time the Scottish Borders.
The Godley Peaks road could be lifted directly from Kielder Forest. It has every form of twist, turn, crest and compression. What has so far been a light workout for the Ferrari has turned into the sort of challenge its illustrious forebears were designed to tackle. Its V12 dismisses straights with disdain, the pull seemingly unaffected by the gear you’re in, speed climbing effortlessly. No, there isn’t the vocal accompaniment that a dozen Italian cylinders previously delivered, but the addictiveness is no weaker because of it, and even though the eight-speed auto is unobtrusive in its action, you can still select manual and move between ratios via the slender, finger-like paddles.
It’s what underpins the Purosangue that matters most here. The rise and fall of the road calls upon its complex, Multimatic-developed dampers. With two valves inside each damper they can simultaneously manage compression and rebound independently, providing an active-ride approach to maintain body control without the chassis having to lock down to do so. On this road, with hidden crests that launch the Ferrari from their peaks and leave it suspended in the air, the resulting landing is cushioned and controlled, the body movement felt but never distracting. It means that when the next crest arrives you and the car are already primed. It’s like a huge, modern-day Evo VI with a far nicer interior.
Long sweepers are punctuated by blind bends, each delivering a new surprise, though nothing catches this SUV out. Occasionally thoughts wander to other cars that might excel on this particular leg of the trip and it’s hard to get a GR Yaris out of my mind or an M2 CS. Something compact that reacts with immediacy and enjoys having its neck scruffed. An i20 N, perhaps, or a Mk2 Escort in full tarmac rally spec. Not that the Purosangue is embarrassing itself as it fires out of corners, huge forces squeezing its tail into the surface as its V12 fills its lungs and lets out its multi-layered scream.
The observatory is a far quieter place, even with the distinctive sound of a hot car cooling in the early summer air, with Alpine-like views and good coffee. But our final destination for the day should be better still, as we head for Mount Cook via a lakeside beach for a photographic opportunity…
Now, the Purosangue has four drive modes – Ice, Wet, Comfort and Sport – and you can also switch the ESC off. When you’ve been up since Wednesday and it’s still Saturday afternoon and you’re not entirely sure how much sleep you’ve had, getting a £400,000 (with options) Ferrari stuck on a soft gravel surface alongside a lake is far from ideal. Still, it gives the couple who are wild camping some entertainment as they watch this British fool try to excavate an Italian-registered bright blue Fandango from a surface that’s quickly consuming the lower reaches of its wheels. It might be summer in New Zealand but the Purosangue’s ‘Ice’ mode remains mercifully effective…
Our run to this evening’s destination is a straightforward drive along a lower lake road to Mount Cook, a journey where the destination doesn’t appear to get any closer regardless of the time you’ve been driving or the speed you’re travelling at. Between us and Aoraki, which stands at over 12,000ft, is another surreal sight, as dense grey cloud suddenly forms a rather wet curtain across our path. The temperature drops 10 degrees as we hit it, the daylight replaced with the sort of torrential rain you’d associate with a British summer. And it lasts until we reach our destination, all through the night and out the other side into morning. People have travelled from the other side of the world to catch the view and all they get is to see some clouds. As a Brit, this is a disappointment that barely registers.
The following morning we retrace our route back to the main road, bursting through the rain curtain into glorious early morning sunshine. Even better, Sunday has brought the locals out in their motoring finery. The Land Cruisers and Range Rover Sports that shared road-space with Japanese and Korean saloons and crossovers yesterday are replaced with Americana that has found its way across the Pacific and various exotics from Europe. Porsches are dominant, there are McLarens too, but Ferraris, as so often, rule the road. Although the gold paint for your 612 was a bold choice, sir.
The dairy trucks hauling trailers full of powdered milk (the South Island’s biggest export; the North deals in sheep) are parked up today, leaving even less of a hindrance for us and the motorbikes to enjoy the freedom of the morning. Through Twizel (think small, very small, US town), Glendbrook (for coffee and cake – what else?) and Omarama we arrive at the foot of the majestic Lindis Pass Alpine Highway. It’s like Silverstone, Le Mans and Monza unravelled and laid out ahead of you. There’s a section of Spa in there, too, and serious elevation paired with blind downhill braking zones to make sure you’re paying attention. And then you’re running along mile after mile of uninterrupted blacktop, or greytop actually. It’s a road on which a modern supercar would be able to demonstrate its peak performance and not have to stop until it ran out of fuel as it sucked in the horizon. The temptation to do something similar in the Purosangue is strong, but our return flight is in less than 24 hours and missing it would be an ‘issue’.
Sinuous sweepers, majestic curves that require a downshift and a blended throttle even in an SUV demand your full attention. Tightening radii draw you in, make you adjust your posture to optimise your seating position. Corners that loosen at the apex and catapult you through the exit make you almost forget the car you’re in and force you to focus on the route ahead. Doubtless a 296, anything from McLaren, or a Porsche RS screaming through the revs would leave its own indelible impression. But months later I can still picture this road, recall the memories it created. Having a V12 Ferrari helped, of course it did, but this stretch of road makes the car almost irrelevant; it’s impossible to imagine it feeling unexciting in anything with four wheels. Although you do need some meticulous fuel management not to be caught short; fuel stations are as rare around these parts as a disappointing vista.
Stop at the Cardrona Hotel between Queenstown and Wanaka and not only will you be treated to fine bangers and mash, but there’s a Ford Model T parked out front that’s being offered for free… if you buy the hotel. Of more significance, if you visit in the winter months you’ll find that not only is this an area for those who enjoy throwing themselves down a mountain on a pair of skis, but car manufacturers decamp here to set up their winter driving schools. And if Europe’s winter hasn’t been harsh enough, they bring their prototypes down for some additional winter testing too. When we arrive at our final road, it’s clear why they come here.
The Crown Range Road. New Zealand’s highest mountain road regardless of which island you find yourself on, it climbs to a 1121m peak and every metre of it is both spectacular and delivers a breathtaking view with every turn. With uncompromising rock faces to one side, a serious drop to the other, it’s a road that brings the Purosangue to life. Its ferocious performance out of any given turn and unflappable ability that allows you to lean into its supercar DNA explodes to the surface, feeding you with every last detail you need to enjoy such a glorious climb.
As you reach the summit you come to a halt to take in the final treat this marvellous ribbon of tarmac provides, hosted from a gravel car park. A gravel car park that provides not only the most spectacular view above Queenstown, but also the surreal experience of looking down on some serious aviation hardware navigating its way through the rock faces on the approach to the runway below. It’s a view that steals your time and you don’t care. Well just a bit, because the road continues down the other side. Another twisting sinew of tarmac ripe for an Italian V12 to loosen its lungs and the invitation for you to continue your tiki tour.
