Sound of Speed

I'm usually listening to some sort of music while I pound out these posts. But I have a problem: I heard a song live, and it's stuck in my head. And it's not like I can't find a recording of it. But with such things, it's impossible to recreate that feeling and experience of being there.

You see, I just went for a ride in a Porsche 911 GT3.

And to be honest, I'm having a hard enough time trying to make my thoughts coherent within my own head, let alone finding a way to express them using something so clumsy as words. All I know is that I'm wearing a massive smile that I can't seem to shake.

Let's rewind for a second. My love of Porsches spawned with Need for Speed: Porsche Unleashed, way back in 2000. I'm not even sure if I thought it was that big of a deal at the time. Unlike most young boys, I kinda skipped the sports car faze. Maybe it was because I grew up in small towns where such sights were rare. But either way, that old, pixelated game planted a seed, and I promptly forgot about exotic cars for the next 6-7 years. And later I picked up playing other Need for Speed titles again, which was fun, sure. But I really got the bug when I started watching Top Gear, and now as a 20-something year old man, I'm enamoured by cars. I can't shake it. I've successfully transitioned from following video game news like a hawk, to being completely obsessed with the auto industry.

And for some reason or another, that seed planted 11 years ago has sprouted and bloomed into a total love for all things Porsche. Not the outrageous Lamborghini or the refined Aston Martin or the classic Ferrari. I appreciate the sight and sound of them, sure, but it's only the news of Stuttgart's finest that I'll click first above all else when it appears in my news feeds. I crave Porsche. I even have a keychain with the crest, which is horribly mismatched to the Acura key it's bound to. It's almost insulting.

And yet, I've never really been in a Porsche. I've peered at them closely in parking lots and inspected them from behind the velvet ropes at auto shows. To my credit, I tried to get in one once. It was a 996 Boxter at some used auto lot, that had the roof down. I figured that if that wasn't an invitation to get in and sit down, nothing else would be. Turns out the car had an alarm. The salesman at the lot looked at me, rolled his eyes, and told me to screw off while he went inside to find the keys that disable the blaring sounds. What happens once inside a Porsche forever eluded me as a mystery.

So when I moved this last spring, and discovered that an authentic Porsche enthusiast lived in my neighborhood, it kinda blew my mind. He has a well-stocked garage, and some of his friends will come over to hang out and work on their own examples of Germany's finest. And it's such a treat, because every other time I come home from a long day at work or school, I'm often greeted by the beautiful site of a Porsche in my neighbour's driveway. Sometimes two. Of different models. From different years. A 911 Turbo. A GT3 RS4. A 996, a 997, a 964, a 993... It's absolutely wonderful. And it all happens within a few minute's walk from what I call home base. It blows my mind how lucky I was to move here, when I didn't have the faintest idea what gem of opportunity would be lurking nearby. The very definition of serendipity, my friends.

So it took me the entire summer to work up the courage to actually speak with the guy, after figuring out how to best compose myself to not look like awkward and obsessive. But a month ago on one Saturday morning, instead of turning the ignition in my car to drive to work I opened the door, got back out, and strolled down the street to talk with him as he was washing his car in the driveway. Turns out that he's a super fantastic guy. Really friendly, and was glad to show me his GT3 and tell me about it. Told me about the modifications and how he took it out to the track as often as he could. I drank it all up.

And this morning, not even two hours ago, he took me for a 20min ride.

There are no words.

I'd want to say something like 'sublime', but even that feels grossly insufficient. What I immediately noticed was how low the car was, and how foreign (yet satisfying) it felt to lift up the door handle from such an angle. Then I got in and sat down. The seat swallowed me whole - and not like an overly padded Ikea chair. It gripped me. The headrest made sure I was sitting up straight and paying attention. Almost as if saying "Keep your eyes forward - you won't want to miss this." And then we pulled out of the driveway and headed to the highway. I noticed how stiff the suspension was, and how it communicated so eloquently every crack and bump in the road. I loved it. Some would call it uncomfortable, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Then it came time to merge, where we promptly got held up behind a minivan puttering along, almost oblivious to the fact that they should be speeding up to match the 100kp/h flow of traffic. A bit of an anti-climatic start, but when we pulled out to pass all that frustration was swept away.

100kph in second gear. Second gear. The time in which we reached it was over woefully quick, but it was like someone dumped a bucket of water on me. The first thing I noticed was the wrestling match between my back and the seat, as I was pushed back during those precious few seconds of incredible acceleration.

The next thing I was blown away by was the sound. Generally, in Top Gear or articles or whatever other car reviews, they mention how glorious the exhaust note is. And really, I kinda wrote it off as a fluff piece to pad the content. I mean yeah, they sounds good in those videos, but whatever. But sitting in that car as the tachometer passed the 4000RPM mark... The words fail me, again. You can see the acceleration, and you can feel it. But being able to hear it, and so richly... Being a 911, the engine is in the rear. It was like being chased, no, it was like being pushed by some inconceivable embodiment of pure fury. But what did it sound like?

Well, I can tell you that this particular GT3 was modified to use a complete Akrapovic Titanium exhaust system.

...

Damn, this is hard. It's like saying, "Yeah man, Eric Clapton played that guitar part with a Fender Stratocaster." You know what it is, and you know what it kind of sounds like. But you have no idea what it sound it makes.

It reached down into my being and it grabbed something and gave it a squeeze. You felt it. If you could inject adrenaline directly into your soul, this is what you'd feel. I'm not even going to try mashing words like 'growl', 'rumble', 'whine' and a consortium of other adjectives together, because it just won't do it justice. Suffice it to say that it was, easily, two-thirds of the joy of being in that vehicle.

There were other perks. The interior material was gorgeous, and I couldn't stop myself from running a finger up and down the stitching. The cockpit was elegant - nothing felt cluttered. Just precise and driven by purpose. The cornering was marvelous - the amount of grip was phenomenal. It was like the reverse of a hovercar, as if we were being sucked down into the road. And getting to be behind the soft curve of the headlamp (a classic and defining feature of all 911's) was so elegantly inspiring.

And at one point as we had almost returned home, I looked to the right at the side mirror, and I saw the spoiler's tip perched above the swell of the wheel arch. All that came to mind was "Damn."

I really don't know how else to summarize this. For once I don't have a sarcastic conclusion or a delicate song selection to properly express the emotion I'm trying to convey. And maybe that's why I'm still not listening to music while I finish this post. I want to hold onto that glorious aural manifestation of a naturally aspirated flat 6. I want to cherish it and never let it fade away.
-Cril