Sitting in it’s bay in my garage for two weeks, the car defined patience. Tonight, I walked into the garage intending not to drive it, rather to put my trickle charger on the battery instead. With the garage door open, the sunlight glanced off the Targa’s glossy black sheet metal. In the cool, breezy evening air, I swear the car spoke to me. One word: drive.
I fetched my keys and off we went. Immediately I could not believe that I had not driven my car in two weeks. Even driving through my neighborhood at 30 mph, the stress began to leave my body, slowly being exchanged for the seductive pleasure that is driving a 911.
I exited my development picking up speed to 45. I would rarely go faster than 50 mph for the entire drive. Tonight I just wanted to cruise with the windows down and enjoy the unusual July coolness. I headed for the park. I always baby the car. It’s 18 years old, after all. Yet, with only 58,000 miles, it doesn’t know its age. Still, I’ve never had it over 100 mph. While I take it to PCA shows, I don’t do autocross or any of the other driving activities. Even though I’ve had the car for two years, I just want to take care of it.
I cut a sharp corner as I drove to the park. There are winding roads, no cops and few stop signs. Were I still a kid, I’d probably be tempted to open it up. But there are deer, cyclists & pedestrians, though not tonight. I mostly kept it at 50.
The car turns heads. It’s black on black. Very glossy. You can see the world reflected in it’s blackness. I kept the top on tonight, out of laziness. Lately, I’ve been playing 80s music on the Blaupunkt as when I drive. The car, after all, is a child of the 80s. It seems appropriate.
My favorite part of the park drive is a series of turns at the end of a long road. Unfortunately tonight, that part of the road flooded recently and I have to turn around. It’s been an amazingly wet summer with lots of flooding. I turned around and headed for more civilized road. I passed a Starbucks but I didn’t stop. I just don’t need the calories. At the grocery store today, I could not believe at how big people are generally and I have to try hard not to become like that.
Dog walkers seemed to be everywhere tonight. Many other car aficionados also took advantage of the break in the rain. I saw a Honda NSX and what must have been a Ford Cobra kit. You can’t get original Cobras. I’m not talking about the Mustang Cobra, I mean the Cobra, Cobra. There were no other Porsches, though. There is a guy in my development with my same car almost. The only difference that I can tell is that he has stock wheels; mine are BBS.
I had to fly to St. Louis to get mine. I looked at over 400 911s before I found the one I wanted. Two years later, I am still a happy man. Thankfully, I have not had to do much by way of repairs. That’s a good thing. Everything associated with the good cars from Stuttgart cost money. An oil change is $150. Then again, the Targa takes 12 quarts of synthetic oil.
My trip only took 30 minutes, but it’s hard to imagine how I could spend 30 minutes in this life in any better way. Before, I was lying on the couch gruffly thinking about the work I had to do. Now I’m energized, reinvigorated, yet relaxed. Going for a drive with my baby made me feel better. There’s something to this No Substitute thing, I think.