My first day of action does not get off to a good start-not for me, personally, but rather for the entire Ferrari crew. The original plan was to depart at 9 a.m., but a revised schedule was dispersed the previous evening, highlighting a notable change at 10 a.m. the following morning-F1 race in Melbourne, Australia. It's all about priorities at Ferrari, and, let's face it, Formula 1 is priority No. 1. Sadly, when the first race of the season saw the checkered flag flutter through the air, Ferrari drivers Felipe Massa had recorded a DNF and Kimi Raikkonen had placed eighth, the latter based on the 90th percentile rule; in other words, he didn't actually finish the race, completing only 53 of 58 laps. To pour salt in the wound, former four-time Champ Car champion Sebastian Bourdais of team STR was on pace to grab fourth place in his F1 debut, only to place seventh after an engine failure-a Ferrari engine failure. Of course, none of these results takes into account the fact that Ferrari's archrival, McLaren, finished first and fifth. But the beauty of racing is that there's always the next race, and lucky for the group that would be the Malaysian Grand Prix only a week away, which meant another troop viewing.

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Out of Chennai, I hopped on a two-lane road positively bustling with action-pedestrians, scooters, bulls, Toyotas, pot holes the size of Guam-you name it, I had to honk at it, avoid it, and shake my head at it. Eventually, though, the action subsided, the cityscape behind me keeping it contained, and I began to relax a bit, noticing that the topography around me had transformed to lush, rocky hills strewn with emerald palm trees and brown boulders the size of Escalades. Some of the rock formations seemed right out of a Star Trek episode-you know, one of those chapters in which the crew lands on a planet in search of something unknown but significant. I could almost hear Shatner over the two-way: "Spock ... this looks ... a lot like ... India."

Star Trek set in the rearview, the next backdrops were small villages comprised of dwellings, schools, factories, missions, hospitals, all of which looked simple, worn, and tired, but perfectly functional and content. Because many of the locals had never seen a Ferrari, they gazed at the 612s, well, as if they'd never seen a Ferrari, staring at the two machines like they were spaceships, their mouths agape and eyes wide open; ultimately, though, they just smiled, knowing they had seen something special. The children, naturally, were a bit more active, running beside the cars, following along, yelling and screaming, tapping the aluminum panels as if to say hi. To return the greeting, I stopped, grabbed the two steering wheel-mounted shift paddles to put the car in neutral, and then tap danced on the throttle, bringing to life the Ferrari's 540 horses, much to the kids' delight. Jumping and yelping ensued.

As the number of lanes increased, from two to six, so did my speed, now registering between 50-80 mph. This was good news, mostly because I'd barely made a dent in the 200-mile stretch to Bangalore. But the bad news was that those road hazards-the canines and bovines and buses and tuk-tuks-now became 50-80 mph moving chicanes, and dodging them was like avoiding curry at a local buffet. I felt like Ricky Hatton trying to elude left jabs and right hooks from Floyd Mayweather Jr. Like in boxing, though, one can only escape the punches for so long. At one point I saw the aftermath of a nasty highway collision in which a Toyota Innova wagon struck a cyclist. With a crowd of travelers all around the injured man, I could only see the bent bike lying off to the side. It looked like a pretzel. If the man weren't dead, he likely wished he were.

Another monsoon let loose as I entered Bangalore, unleashing a wiper-defying downpour whose intensity proves blizzard-like with every flash of sky-illuminating lightning. Confined to the 612's cozy cockpit, with every inch covered in soft hide befitting a Balenciaga handbag, I was thankful to be in such a lovely cruiser. With a suspension that pampers the posterior, a V-12 that seduces the senses, and a leather-wrapped steering wheel that tangos with the fingertips, the 612 delivers good vibrations for both the mind and body.