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Whether you choose to head down the more open, flowing southern escarpment towards Bolzano, or plummet down the tortuous northern side towards Austria, there's little time to gird your loins, for like an Armco-lined bobsled run there's the shortest of straights before the hairpins begin in earnest. I plump for the southern descent, much to the approval of Green, who has hooked onto my tail in the GT3.
With no clutch pedal or gearlever to worry about, it's easy to jump in the Stradale and go. Picking up the pace gradually, feeling my way around its responses, it's immediately apparent the steering is more direct and tactile than the 360 modena's. The tyres are slightly wider, the suspension some 15mm lower and 20 per cent stiffer, all of which gives the Ferrari front-end a more resolute grasp of the road. The carbon brakes are far from reluctant, despite a lack of temperature, but they sound gritty and coarse, even more so as the pad and disc material begin to warm through.
We're already in the midst of a tangle of hairpins, connected with just enough straight to explore the entire reach of second gear before grinding a few more Fahrenheit into the anchors. With my senses dialled-in, the road spooling out into the distance like a theme park ride, and a rear-view mirror painted Porsche white, it feels right to stretch the Stradale's legs. Let battle commence.
With gravity and gradient on our side, the sense of speed is intensified, but the way the Stradale leaps forward is still astonishing, the sound it makes in the process utterly deafening. It starts as a hollow, inflammable gargle, deep within the induction system. Then, as 6000rpm approaches, it ignites with a wince-inducing shriek that grows and grows in intensity until, at 8000rpm, your hearing literally (and painfully) begins to distort.
With such frequent tight corners and fleeting straights, the upper section of Stelvio has a hypnotic rhythm, the F1 transmission delivering perfect, punchy downshifts at the flip of a paddle. In the mirror I can see the 911 has shrunk away slightly. It looks good under braking, perhaps even stealing a few metres back, but once the Ferrari's wheels are straight and the throttle pinned it appears to lose ground to the more instantly accelerative Stradale.
After a particularly intense flurry of hairpins, the descent enters a completely different phase as the road hugs one side of the valley and runs more or less straight for well over a mile. Without a biker or cyclist in sight, it's safe to open the Stradale out in the intermediate gears and experience that intoxicating banshee wail in third and fourth.
It's funny how a road that looks fairly straight at 60mph suddenly becomes a whole lot twistier when you add another 40mph; funny, too, how a car that feels utterly planted through tight and medium-radius corners can test your nerve and confidence through open, high-speed kinks. The Stradale does just that, its nose remaining tight, fast-acting and feelsome, but the rear-end begins to feel flighty, hinting that it may not be as impervious to lateral g as you previously thought, particularly at times when prudence tells your right foot to waver.
When the time comes for Green and I to swap steeds, I emerge from the Stradale dazed and quivering like a tuning fork. The closest thing I can liken it to for sheer intensity and delivery is the Enzo. Does the Porsche stand a chance? Only a fool would underestimate the best 911 of the modern era, but I have to say I'm beginning to wonder...
For all the Ferrari's fireworks, it's good to be in the Porsche. You feel more snug and intimately acquainted with the GT3 than the Stradale as you drop into the deep-sided seats, first one hip then the other before your ribs and finally shoulders are nestling between the Recaro's padded buttresses. Pull the seat forward a little, lower the steering wheel a smidge and you're enjoying one of the best driving positions in the business. With the seat squeezing tight and the roll-cage looping around the void space behind your shoulders, you get an increased sensation of security. Tighten the four-point harness and you're part of the machine.
Fireproof upholstery and a red ignition cut-off switch tucked under a clear plastic flip-lid underline the Porsche's track calling. It's a no-frills ambience, not to mention unerringly black, but you've still got creature comforts such as air-conditioning and a decent stereo. Admittedly it's equipment that's largely irrelevant when you're scudding over the Flugplatz, but you'd doubtless be grateful for it on the M1.
A flamboyance-free zone, there's no theatre involved in starting the GT3. Simply slide the ignition key into the dashboard and twist. The rear-mounted 375bhp flat-six spins into life with a familiar chunter, followed by a soft, dry whirr emanating from few feet further back than the Stradale's mid-mounted V8.
After the point-and-squirt ease of the 360, it feels awkward having to co-ordinate left foot and right hand to operate the clutch pedal and gearlever, but like riding a bike, it soon feels natural once more. The steering's heftier too. The Stradale's helm may be more communicative and require more effort than the standard 360, but it still lacks the weight of the GT3.
That said, the Porsche can't match the Ferrari front-end's rate of response; 911s can often feel reluctant to turn in, requiring a bit of a forearm shove to counter a natural tendency towards steady-state understeer, but it feels more pronounced in the GT3. You simply don't get the sense that the outside front tyre is fully hooked up, which never does much for your confidence, especially through high-speed corners. Without trying a Pirelli-shod GT3 it's hard to point the finger at the Michelins fitted to our test car, but experience in the current generation Carrera suggests the Italian rubber might sharpen things up.
I've got the 911 tucked into the 360's wake, but it's hard work to stay in touch. Once the road opens out, that excess weight and comparative lack of power become glaringly apparent, and on the return dash back along the open, looping 'straight' I find myself cursing the GT3's lack of grunt. It's an absurd complaint in a car capable of hitting 100mph in just 9.4sec, but the sight of a bright red Ferrari hollering off into the distance tends to give you a slightly warped perspective of what fast really is.
Ultimately the 360's lighter build, coupled with the fact that its motor has the GT3's moves covered even through the mid-range, means that when it rams home its advantage at the top end the Porsche is left struggling for breath.
Perhaps because of the Ferrari's straight-line advantage, I find myself trying harder in the tighter corners, driving around the front-end's initial reluctance and exploiting the 911's uniquely adjustable balance. It's a rewarding, absorbing process getting the rear weight bias working to your advantage, and far from the perilous tightrope walk you might imagine it to be, the GT3 remains predictable and exploitable enough to power the tail out of line as the corner opens out. It certainly feels less edgy than the Stradale, which isn't a car that encourages a fast-and-loose cornering style, at least on the road.
As we exit the final hairpin and crest the rise of the Stelvio's summit I know the Porsche has been outgunned, but the GT3's still got right under my skin. I'm not in the quivering, adrenalin-saturated state I was on emerging from the 360, a car that when pushed to extremes throws so much at you it's not a case of savouring the experience (as it is in the GT3) but simply surviving the savage sensory double-whammy of volume and velocity. Choosing between them is painful, but if you're after the raw, nefarious thrills of a racecar on the road the Stradale gets the nod.
But this isn't the end of the story, for Stuttgart is poised to unleash an even more potent weapon from its armoury, the GT3 RS. Ferrari might have won the battle, but the war is set to rage on.
Words/Pictures: Richard Meadon/Gus Gregory
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thats rubbing it in a bit isnt it
Originally Posted by Mustang
