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. He's had enough head injuries.ĭario 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.

'I won't ride though,' he said, declaring himself unwilling to brave what is essentially a meat motorcycle with free will. Finally, with both Ellie and I prodding him, Dario admitted to liking the horses. 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.

It was not unprompted, I knew Dario's wife and daughters were equestrians, and I asked for a horsey update. I know this-the pony part-because Eleanor showed me a video as soon as we sat down. He's also shared his breakfast table with a small pony.įrom Eleanor Franchitti’s Instagram, a horsey house guest. 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. The four-time Indy champ has been busy since he stepped out of the driver's role after a nearly fatal accident in 2013. 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 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. 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. There were no PR handlers keeping us on topic, no other reporters hovering with cell phones recording.

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