Progression
I had announced this in the Infield a couple of days ago, but I bought a 1991 Porsche 911 Carrera 2. Yes, the 964.
I have been debating whether to get into a P-car for a while, and specifically a 911 of some sort. I swung between "Yes! It'll be tons of fun! YOLO!" to "You're nuts, you should invest every single penny of it into an index fund and call it a day". I was leaning towards the former when this car popped up on the local Craigslist. It was located a few hours away, but across a border. Nonetheless, I emailed the seller with a few questions.
Unfortunately for me, someone else had emailed him before me and had already set up a viewing the following day. At that point, I figured the car will be sold to the first guy, with as hot as the market is on these. I was resigned to that fate and chalked it up to another one that got away. But lo and behold, next day rolls around, and the first guy never showed up! I still have a chance to buy this car!
I canceled my plans on the following day and drove up to Canada to check out the car. It looked good, with a good stack of paperwork, so the seller and I agreed to a deal pending a pre-purchase inspection. It took another week for the car to get into inspection, which it passed, and then another week of getting the money to the seller, and finally, I took the bus up to Canada and picked it up last weekend.
It was actually really simple to import the 964 back into the US. It helps that this was originally a US car before being exported to Canada roughly a decade ago (making the re-import duty-free). Crossing the border went more or less like:
"Hi"
"Hi, I'm importing this vehicle back into the US"
"Ok, do you have a Bill of Sale?"
"Yes, let me get it" as I start rummaging through my stack of paperwork
"I just need the VIN number"
"Oh, here"
"Ok, here's your form back, take this inspection notice to that area off to the right and the officers there will tell you where to park. Good luck."
"Ok, thanks"
Park the car, grab all my paperwork, proceed into the inspection office. Wait in line. Once called up to the counter, I explained that I was importing a car, provided my passport, driver's license, the Bill of Sale, and (helpfully) explained that it was originally a Florida car so that I don't get charged duty. The officer filled out the Customs import form, stamped it, and stamped the two additional EPA and NHTSA forms, and I was on my way with the 964 officially re-imported. Easy peasy. Took maybe 30 minutes.
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Wow, what a machine. What a drive. There's a lot of charisma to the car, starting with you sitting all the way up near the windshield, and looking down that sloped hood with the two headlight tunnels rising above. That solid thunk with a bit of the high-tone clink when you close the door. That air-cooled flat-6 sounds so mechanical and distinctive. The steering is deliciously communicative in the hands, even if its a bit heavy. The gearbox throws are light and a bit long, but still very positive. That feel of the car's balance with the rear engine hanging out back. Everything feels old school mechanical in an engaging sort of way.
A couple of things though. The suspension is really stiff, which isn't great on our terrible roads. The seating position and the visibility is awesome, but the interior is frankly, bad. Lots of unmarked buttons and switchgear littered wherever there's space. The steering wheel hides half the gauges. The center third brake light is a sizable thingy mounted up high on the back window, which solidly blocks a good chunk of the view behind in the mirror. Porsche, what were you thinking?
I guess that counts as a few minor quibbles that most importantly, doesn't detract. We'll call them the eccentricity of the 964.
--
I got off the freeway for part of the drive home and took the 964 on a side road, windows down, sunroof open, twisting through trees and clearings on a mountainside along the coast. The sun setting on the right, with glimpses of the water reflecting a bright orange every little bit. The wind around me, the beauty to my side, and the glorious sound of the flat-6 singing behind me.
Yes. This is right. This is paradise.
I get the old-school 911 magic.