The N2 in a Ferrari 355 GTS

I’m sorry to say that the Route 66 comparison seems like complete nonsense to me. That’s because Route 66 was generally a straightish road, dotted with diners that made coffee which tasted as it came out of the rear end of a cow. The N2, by contrast, is a 739-kilometre strip of tarmac that twists and slices through Portugal from Chaves in the north, to Faro in the sunny south. And you just might get a decent coffee or two along the way – not cow pee.

A Diva

I recently drove the N2 in a Ferrari 355 GTS, which, let’s be honest, was a staggeringly bad idea. The 355 is not the obvious choice for a cross-country epic. It’s not exactly comfortable, it has a removable roof panel that creaks like an old wardrobe, luggage space designed for Barbie & Ken and a rear engine that was engineered in Maranello with one clear instruction. “Rev your nuts off.” The 355 GTS is definitely not a grand tourer; it’s a mechanical opera singer that flatly refuses to properly clear its throat below 5,000 rpm. Basically, it’s a Diva. A glorified go-kart with leather seats.

But, Portugal is a country made for quirky motor cars. The roads are amazingly good, other drivers are brisk but not suicidal, and the police (where present) are refreshingly uninterested in a red Ferrari making a noise like Satan having a hissy-fit.

Participation

Starting at the top in Chaves, close to the Spanish border, the morning smelled of decent coffee blended with cool air. You see, this is the north, where it’s kind of green and damp and the mornings can actually feel quite fresh. Once fully caffeinated, I jumped into the car, slotted the lever through the metal gate of the six-speed manual box into first, because the 355 comes from an era when Ferraris still demanded your participation. Immediately, the 3.5-litre V8 wakes up like an angry colony of wasps. At low speeds the 355 feels a bit awkward, the clutch is weighty, the steering chatty and the ride about as supple as a wooden bar stool. But then the road opens out, the revs rise, and suddenly, it all makes sense.

Watch the full video here 👇👇👇

At 8,500 rpm, the Ferrari doesn’t so much accelerate as detonate, accompanied by a sound that should be protected by UNESCO. Trees blur, hills fold into one another, and the glorious N2 immediately begins doing what it does best. Climb, twist and tease. This is not a road for pure horsepower, it’s a road for balance, feel and a willingness to trust that the next corner will be even better than the last one. And, it will be!

The middle bit that nobody talks about

Everyone bangs on about the start and finish of epic roads. But the genius of the N2 is the middle bit. The bit that threads its way through the vast, empty Alentejo. There are cork trees that look like they’ve had a bad skin-fade done by a drunken Turkish barber, and you’ll often see heat-haze shimmering off the tarmac. Here, the car can settle down. Third gear, fourth gear all come at the flick of the wrist. The 355’s steering is hydraulic and therefore feels alive rather than a bit numb like the newfangled electric jobs we see today. In a 355, the steering wheel wriggles gently in your hands, telling you all about cambers, the surfaces and the N2’s actual moods. Modern Ferraris isolate you from this sort of thing, like a butler intercepting your mail. But the 355 delivers everything directly, warts and all, along with an occasional slap on the face.

As for the engine? Ohh, the engine! Naturally aspirated, absolutely no turbochargers to rain on your parade, no fake noises; just eight magically silken cylinders inhaling pure Portuguese air and exhaling absolute joy. In the villages, old men stop mid-conversation, dogs pause their barking. Somewhere, a child deciphers what this weird red thing is. This is what life should be about. Unadulterated, pure fun!

Lunch, wine and dodgy decisions

Portugal understands lunch. It is not a soggy supermarket sandwich eaten while staring at a spreadsheet. Nope. It’s an event. I stopped off somewhere close to nowhere in particular, ate grilled sardines that tasted of smoky charcoal and drank wine that costs less than bottled water in the UK, but somehow still manages to taste utterly divine. All the while, the Ferrari sat there ticking and clicking like an old paraffin lamp as it cooled down after a spirited drive. This is the moment when sensible people would stop for the day. And frankly, the wine tasted so moreish that I had to be sensible too. So, an unplanned day of debauchery, sipping wine in a shady hotel courtyard, became a very necessary addition to the itinerary. But hey-ho, it’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

Heading south

The following day, the N2 drops south, the road begins to flow and the bends open out. The surface improves, and the car can now get properly warm and properly angry. It comes alive in a way that modern cars simply don’t. There’s no traction control to save me from my own stupidity, there’s no dual-clutch gearbox doing all the thinking. Basically, if I cock it up, I’d know about it pretty damn quick. But get it right (and occasionally I did), the sensation is purely intoxicating. The rear end squats, the nose bites and the V8 operatics commence. Time compresses into a series of perfect motoring moments strung together by tarmac. This, I guess, is why people forgive Ferraris for all their little quirks, it’s why people tolerate Italian electrics, and it’s how some cars become legends.

Faro, finally, but all too quickly

By the time Faro appeared, the sun was low, the car was filthy, hot, but utterly glorious. By this point, I’m almost totally deaf, hideously sunburnt, everything ached, and I definitely needed a long soak in a Radox bath followed by a full body massage. But, despite all of the above, I’m still grinning like a bloke who’s made several terrible life choices, but nevertheless enjoyed every last one of them.

You see, the N2 hasn’t just connected two ends of a country. For me, it has connected a car to a place in a way that feels profound yet faintly ridiculous. And yes, it damn nearly killed me in the process, but, by the same token, I never felt so alive!

So. Would a Ferrari 355 GTS be my first choice for another long road trip? Absolutely not. Would I do it again tomorrow? In a heartbeat, YES! That’s because some roads deserve a great car and some cars deserve a great road. Portugal’s N2 and Ferrari’s last truly old-school V8 beast just happen to be one of those rare, perfect, but slightly unhinged marriages. And frankly, the world could use a few more of those, despite the backache.