This was not your usual interview. There were no PR handlers keeping us on topic, no other reporters hovering with cell phones recording. Dario Franchitti was relaxed, ordering appetizers and bullying me into eating them while we bounced around conversationally like an Indy car on a bad street circuit. It was delightful, but suddenly it was over, and I had a few hastily scribbled specs on a napkin and a slightly wine-tinted memory of the rest of it.
I blame Eleanor “Ellie” Franchitti. She’s a bad influence. I swear I had every intention of taking careful notes and hitting all the important talking points on my question list for Dario when I met up with them for dinner In Indianapolis a few nights before the Indy 500. It was a long list. The four-time Indy champ has been busy since he stepped out of the driver’s role after a nearly fatal accident in 2013. He’s been in the announcer’s booth for Formula E, continued working with Chip Ganassi as a driver’s coach, spent some time on track in vintage cars, and joined forces with designer-engineer Gordon Murray on a spectacular—and sold out—three-million-dollar hypercar, the T.50 and its little sibling, the T.33. He’s also shared his breakfast table with a small pony.
I know this—the pony part—because Eleanor showed me a video as soon as we sat down. It was not unprompted, I knew Dario’s wife and daughters were equestrians, and I asked for a horsey update. Ellie was more than happy to provide such, even as Dario rolled his eyes at both of us and boredom-ate parmesan cheese fries while pretending disinterest. Finally, with both Ellie and I prodding him, Dario admitted to liking the horses. “I won’t ride though,” he said, declaring himself unwilling to brave what is essentially a meat motorcycle with free will. He’s had enough head injuries.
Dario was saved from us horse-girls by the arrival of wine, which led to a toast in honor of the Franchittis’ upcoming wedding anniversary, then a retelling of their courtship which was a tangle of missed connections and crossed continents. For those of you taking notes on romantic gestures, Dario finally won Ellie over by helping hang some pictures in her flat—a task he came prepared for with plaster anchors, ladders, and a fancy level, thus convincing her of his reliable and trustworthy nature. “You can’t blame me for being cautious,” she said. “I mean, a racing driver? Who thinks that’s a good idea?” Dario protested, claiming racing drivers get a bad rap, and are in fact, more careful and attentive than the average paramour. “The good ones, anyway.” This story was told in tennis-match fashion, the Franchittis volleying the recollections across the dinner table while occasionally interrupting each other to tell me, “Please don’t write that.” I assured them that the only thing I would write about their relationship was that they were in a throuple with Taylor Swift, for the clicks, and that perhaps we should talk about cars.
One would understand if Dario never wanted to talk about cars again. His crash at the Houston Grand Prix in 2013 should have been a career ender. With broken bones and a serious concussion, his doctors told him he couldn’t risk additional brain trauma by getting back in a race car, but his whole life had revolved around racing. “I had to tell Chip [Ganassi] I quit. I had no idea if I’d ever work again. I said yes to everything that was offered.” Among those offerings was a commentating gig with Formula E, “So much prep! I thought I’d just get up there and say what was happening,” and a driver advising job with Ganassi. “There I just used experience.” There’s no training for the responsibility of telling a bunch of high-level professional drivers how to drive better.
I asked Dario if he got any pushback or argument from the drivers—some of whom, like Scott Dixon, have stats on par with Dario’s. “No, not at all. I think any athlete of a certain level, all the good ones, they’ll pay attention to anything that gets them to perform better. Dixon’s a six-time champ, but he’ll learn from a teammate. He’s not too big, too old, or too clever to ask questions.” Dario said he feels lucky to get to be a part of the team even outside the cockpit, especially at high-pressure races like the Indy 500. “I used to always get sick after Indy. It’s a lot of stress.”
Dario may be following his doctors’ advice regarding staying out of IndyCar races, but he’s still spending plenty of time behind the wheel. Eleanor isn’t the only Franchitti with a stable full of horsepower. Dario’s got an enviable collection of classic cars, including a Singer-built Porsche and several classic Ferraris his kids refer to as “the red cars.” During dinner he joked that he’s going to have to sell them all to afford the T.50 he’s got on order. Ah yes, the T.50, how did he get involved in road-testing a 650-hp superlight manual V-12 hypercar? “Oh I almost didn’t take the call,” he said, and launched into the new subject with enthusiasm.
“It was a few years ago. The house phone rings, and Ellie comes out and says, ‘Gordon’s on the phone for you,’ and I say, ‘Gordon who?’ and she just says, ‘He sounds nice.'” The nice-sounding Gordon was former Formula 1 designer Gordon Murray—most famous in consumer car circles for his work on the McLaren F1 road car. His offer was to come work on the launch of a new supercar—not electric, not covered in wings and spoilers, and not an SUV.
It wasn’t the first time Dario had a chance to give input on a street car. He worked as a development driver on the Honda NSX, but Murray was offering a chance to have more input on a machine with fewer corporate design and performance restrictions.
It didn’t take long for Dario to give him an answer, although it wasn’t without trepidation. “This is a big man,” said Dario. “A big man in a kilt. I was intimidated. But we have the same ideas about cars. The T.50 is an old-school driving experience, but a cutting-edge car.”
Gordon Murray called Dario Franchitti to offer him development driver work on the T.50, and Dario almost didn’t take the call.
As he talks about his work on the T.50, Dario gets dreamy-eyed, or maybe it’s just an overdose of steakhouse apps. Still, he’s clearly excited about the performance, above and beyond any professional spokesman duties. “The V-12, the design of it. It’s a jewel, so small, so light. And the sound! The sound in fifth gear when you get on it . . .” He trails off. “You need to experience it.” I’d be happy to, although I’ll have to borrow Dario’s, since all 100 of the planned build are sold out already.
With a start, Dario noticed the late hour. “Oh, I have to be at the drivers’ meeting tomorrow morning,” he said apologetically. We walked outside where the Franchittis’ big rental Suburban was parked. Dario snapped a photo of it. “I’m sending it to Gordon,” he said. “See if he has ideas to lighten it up.”
Senior Editor, Features
Like a sleeper agent activated late in the game, Elana Scherr didn’t know her calling at a young age. Like many girls, she planned to be a vet-astronaut-artist, and came closest to that last one by attending UCLA art school. She painted images of cars, but did not own one. Elana reluctantly got a driver’s license at age 21 and discovered that she not only loved cars and wanted to drive them, but that other people loved cars and wanted to read about them, which meant somebody had to write about them. Since receiving activation codes, Elana has written for numerous car magazines and websites, covering classics, car culture, technology, motorsports, and new-car reviews.
