In 1960, my father bought an MGA and I was immediately hooked on sports cars -- MGs, Triumphs, Healeys and Jags. Then, one day, I saw a 356 cab shoot through traffic in Berkeley driven by, I imagined, a tall, sophisticated engineering professor. And, from that moment on, I was in love with Porsches, seeing them as the fast car choice of the thinking man.
In 1967, with my hair a great deal longer and while I was waiting to start college, my Dad handed me the keys to his current sports car, a 1960 MB 190, said he was going out of town and could I be useful by finding the best trade in deal for him on a new 912.
I wasn't all that sure about 911s and 912s. Were they REAL sports cars? No wood, no convertible, no wind-in-the-willows wild rides on the edge of control with underpowered engines and sub-par brakes and suspensions. They seemed so, well, clinical.
When the deal was done, I was asked to drive the new 912 from Berkeley down to Big Sur where my parents were vacationing (it WAS the Swinging Sixties, after all) (for a reference, see the film
Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice .)
It was a nice late summer day as I headed the pristine white 912 across the Bay Bridge, through the streets of San Francisco, with the Chambers Bros. playing
Time Is On My Side on the 8-track, and hit the Pacific Coast Highway.
Heading south, I had one of my life's great epiphanies: I GOT engineering and ergonomics. There were little details that blew my mind about the car, things that made me think "Wow, someone really thought about this!"
Faster and faster down the coast (it takes a long time to go fast in a 912 but, once you're there, it stays there and the car cuts like butter.)
Coming through a stand of wind-blown cypresses overhanding the road, a long, tunnel-like straight opened up ahead of me. I was already doing about 90 and I floored it, loving the feeling of the trees flashing by.
And then it happened. About 100 yards ahead of me, a tractor pulled out from the Brussels Sprout fields and into my lane. With on-coming traffic in the other lane, there was no going around it so -- my life flashing before my eyes -- I stood on the brakes and prepared for my inevitable fate.
The next thing I remember was this: I was almost at a complete stop and yet I was only half-way to the tractor. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this definition of performance or this level of engineering. From that moment on, I was hooked.
I drove the car on every visit home for many years and finally inherited it when I was in my mid-30's. Took it to Porsche Performance Driving School where I came in second in the auto cross and where Brian Redman pronounced it a cool car.
Then I had to send my kids to college. Bye-bye Mr. P-car.
In 1990, Porsche released their first press shots of the 964, a white one driving in the show. I believed it to be the single most compelling car photo I ever saw and, in 1994, kids through school and finally making what I like to call "the medium-sized bucks" I bought that same car, ice-box white. It was the single best investment I ever made in my life. There was never a time I didn't get in that car and, literally, leave all my cares behind. And there was never a dollar spent in love and care that I regretted.
In 1995, walking down the Boulevard St. Germain in Paris, I looked into a gated forecourt of an apartment building and saw my first 993, a champagne gold color, and thought there had never been a more beautiful car.
My next Porsche is now on the financial calendar for the end of the year and will probably be a nice late-model CPO 996 coupe.
But will I ever forget that 912 and what it felt like to drive a truly brilliantly designed car?
Not a chance.
D.