Charging across Europe from London to the fastest circuit on the Formula 1 calendar, over alpine passes and autostrada, is a drive Gavin Conway will always savour.

It’s the same every time. Delicious anticipation as the ferry shudders with reverse thrust, the bow gently nudging the huge wooden buffers dockside. Looking back across the channel, I can still see the cliffs of Dover on this perfect, clear morning. Ahead of me lies the chaotic, industrial sprawl of Calais and beyond that, a drive of epic proportion. For anyone looking for a grand adventure, European style, a sprint across France and then into the car-mad soul of Italy is a pretty compelling brief.

Monza. The Holy Grail of Formula 1. During the week running up to the Monza Grand Prix, the place fills to overflowing with Italians come to watch the scarlet procession that they fervently hope will end with a one-two in parc fermé on Sunday afternoon. And for the pure love of motorsport that exists here, even those flying the standards of non-Ferrari competitors are welcomed as fellow travellers. As I will discover.

First, there’s a large chunk of continental Europe to be got through. My route will take in some French motorway at the beginning, but not far beyond Dijon I’ll abandon those mesmerically smooth toll roads. Then, I’ll join the twisting local routes and mountain passes that’ll take me past Geneva and on toward the hugely challenging cols that sweep down toward Milan.

My Jaguar XJR is on pole position on the ferry. Its supercharged V8 is already running when the dockside ramp slams onto the ferry deck, and with an underhand wave that suggests he’d like a little display, our flourescent-coated ferryman waves us away. And while the idea of doing a wheel-smoking, standing-start launch out of the ferry really does appeal, I’m pretty sure I’d be arrested. Would I be the first ever to be charged with speeding inside a ferry?

Soon, I’m covering ground at a huge rate, but so soothing and relaxed is the big Jag that I feel I could run all night. But not far beyond Dijon, I break off at Bourg-en-Bresse for the night.

Tomorrow, things will get a lot harder. I get off the smooth toll roads and head for the hills. Specifically, route D979, which will take me on a long, grandly sweeping run up to Nantua. From there, I’ll take an equally challenging sprint down to Geneva.

Early morning and the rain that threatened has been broken by the late summer sun. I’m running hard toward Nantua, calling on the Jag’s big reserves of power as the inclines get ever steeper. An impossibly tall bridge carries me over the river L’Ain, itself massively wide and fast flowing. The roads that follow are comprised of very fast sweepers, negotiated with the XJR’s supercharger on full-whine. But things are going to get a good deal tougher for the XJR, especially on the other side of Geneva.

On the run down toward Lake Leman I pass through villages, narrow high streets overhung with beautifully wrought balconies. Shutters open, windows flung wide so we get little glimpses of domesticity as I glide quietly past. On the street, thunderous juggernauts and bread-toting grandmothers jostle for space.

And then, at Thonon, I abandon the lake and head southeast on the more rural D902. Here, the scenery is classically Swiss, with enormous wooden A-frame chalets surrounded by colour-splashed window boxes. Roll the window down and you’ll not get far before hearing the tuneless clang of cowbells.

I press on toward the Swiss/Italian border. The tunnel at Chamonix is closed, so I opt to make my crossing at the remote Col du Grand St. Bernard. The Col rises some 2400 metres, and it’s here that the XJR meets its sternest test. The crossing involves a very long tunnel trip, then, you are offered the option of leaving the tunnel and going over the top of the Col or continuing underground. No contest, so I spear off into the daylight and point the Jag’s nose due south. And up.

And then I am at the border, a high plains drifter-style place with two border police straight out of a Peckinpah classic. Both are heavily armed. One is, inexplicably, in full camouflage and the other (Italian) is dressed like a very stylishly turned out mid-century dictator.

I roll out, down the other side of this extraordinary Col. It’s just as twisting as the route up, only this time it’s the brakes that take the beating. As I roll further into Italy, a very eager young chap in a MkII Golf with Italian plates closes fast on the tail of the Jag. He has no doubt spotted our British plates ­ – and the fact that we’re driving a very hot British motor – and has taken it as his patriotic duty to show me how it’s done. I’ll meet more of his kind, and they generally know what they’re doing. They just don’t believe in large margins of error. Or sometimes, any at all.

I overnight at Aosta, heading out early the next morning for the final push to Monza. But I’m early enough to wander this stunning city in the Aosta Valley, framed by the grandness of the Italian Alps. Fantastic Roman ruins litter the city – Romans ran the place as far back as 25BC.

I hustle on toward Monza, which is quite possibly the most evocative Grand Prix track in the world. To give it its full name, the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza was constructed in 1922 and was only the third purpose-built race track in the world behind Brooklands and Indianapolis. Most drivers regard it with a mix of reverence and prickly-neck fear, especially in previous decades when safety was an afterthought rather than a priority.

Simply put, Monza is the fastest F1 circuit in the world, with average lap speeds that have approached 160mph (bear in mind this is no NASCAR style oval – there are 11 corners and curves over 3.6 miles). The fast guys will be approaching 220mph on some sections. And that makes for sensational spectating. It’s one of the few tracks where you get a proper sense of just how fast a Formula One car can go.

It is also the spiritual home of Ferrari. Waves of red dominate the grandstands, the tifosi willing Ferrari’s piloti to victory no matter how slim the chance. As for me, after that drive down I feel like I’ve already won.

Words Gavin Conway Twitter | Instagram

ROADBOOK

CLASS: Formula 1 Run

NAME: Motoring to Monza

ROUTE: Calais to Monza

COUNTRY: Italy

DISTANCE: 770 miles