My years as a Porsche driver: (Episode One)
It was sitting on a used car lot one Saturday afternoon, looking dull after many years in the African sun. A 1960 Porsche 356 Speedster replica, with a low price stuck on the window. The little boy in me was out and drooling over this find, even before my car came to a stop.
Porsche 356 Speedster:
However, an inspection discovered that somebody had hacked a watercooled VW Microbus engine into the Porsche and as a result, the local Porsche purists would not touch it. The low sticker price explained that, or maybe the local greasy used car salesman had just run out of zeros.
My mind premeditated all the reasons it should be bought and totally discarded why I should not (it’s a male thing I think).
So Monday afternoon I drove off into the sunset with the Porsche hood down. Or rather, drove off into the side winds at the first traffic light.
When shopping for a convertible, no one tells you that to drive a car without a roof, is not good for you. Your receding hairline recedes further. Your girlfriend’s makeup now appears on the back of her neck and birds are very good at accurately dropping, well, last night’s supper. In addition you continuously tan on all the exposed parts of your body.
By the second weekend, we had done the Saturday night cruise, the Sunday morning breakfast run and Sunday afternoon beach drive. Yes it was a babe magnet; they had this thing that after spending on having their hair done, it is ideal to be seen in a convertible to display their new found beauty. However, around 30 mph, the hair just reshapes itself straight back.
Monday, it was off to work at 6 am. However, first I had to invest in a very padded jacket, leather snoopy helmet and big welding goggles, as no one had mentioned the early morning cold in a classic convertible either.
A week after purchase, I came to realize that the top down thing ain’t my scene and as I was soon walking a wide arc around the new toy, as it was surrendered to the garage.
A month later, on a sunny hot Southern Hemisphere day, we took the Porsche down to spectate the local drag races.
With the noon sun beating down on my head, the high octane penny dropped. You see, I had discovered driving around town that this car with the high torque VW motor, was always quick against the local taxis at the traffic light drag races. So with a borrowed helmet and the work week’s petrol money, we entered the drag races under class D Altered or something.
Like good racing folk, we checked the oil and convinced the officials of a built in (non-existent) roll cage. Soon we enthusiastically crept onto the starting line for our first run. On pull off, the Porsche gearbox moaned its smelly objection, the bodywork shuddered like a tsunami and we did a 15 second run, or thereabouts. The spectators were amused at this obvious hip hop attempt at passing a driving test.
Thereafter, after every John and Peter had provided their advice, we dropped the rear tyre pressures and were told that we should launch the car at around 3000 rpm. On the next run it immediately ran a staggering 13.1 second ¼ mile, beating the yuppie guy in the turbo Golf GTi and setting a very quick time.
By our 6th run we had won D Altered for the day. We were very impressed with ourselves and our new found talent as potential world drag race champions.
Mr. Bell was still busy inventing cell phones, so we rushed off to the local to tell the normally skeptical friends, of our win.
However, when Sunday morning came around, we heard the new career destroying news that by leaving early and by not attending the drag race prize giving, we had forfeited our winning trophy and all prizes.
After altering my C.V. to now exclude drag racing, I had to avoid the local for a while, as the normal skeptical friends were still there, being cynical …. and we still held no evidence of a trophy to prove our obvious talents.
A year or two later the Porsche was swapped for a Works Rally Toyota, but that is another story…..
Why I love a Porsche Speedster replica, see the video at:
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