I finally got to 15,000 posts on the Pelican boards. I sat at 14,999 for awhile trying to figure out what to do for the 15K one. I've posted mostly on the Off-Topic board that I moderate over the past few years, but started on the tech board (on Sept 10, 2001) and also post on the auto-x/racing one. I've been trying to cut down lately because frankly I was spending too much time and psychic energy there. And after this one I'll probably expand that break and take the time and energy to focus on things that are more important now. It (the board) served its purpose for quite some time, but like many things, circumstance change, people change, and the things you do change as well. In the end, I didn't post in the OT, but instead in response to someone on the racing board who was frustrated about spending a bunch of money and getting beat by Miatas. I took the opportunity to do a little retrospective, and also a little introspection as the topic of racing has been in the mix lately. The post isn't perfect, but it is what I feel in *this* moment, and is, number 15,000.
I've been trying to figure out how to use my 15K post, and this is as good as any, seeing how I came here 5+ years ago never having run a competitive lap in my life, and now am so far down the slippery slope that it isn't funny. Well, ok...maybe marginally funny.
There are a couple of issues at play, and it really depends on what is important to you. I offer no value judgement on what is "better" or "right", but merely my take on things and why I now campaign my '79 911SC.
My love for the marquee goes back to high school. My water polo coach had a silver 914/2.0, and another coach had an orange 914. And of course I saw the occasional 911, especially when I would go surfing in La Jolla. My first driving was in a VW-pan dune buggy in the desert, and then at 16, a '67 VW Bug. A 911-in-training. I went through hell and back in that car. Eventually it left the driveway for a Toyota p/u, but the air-cooled, rear-engine feel/sights/smells/sounds were in my blood.
Fast forward to a point where I had a decent career, and not-so-decent marriage, and a desire to finally return to my roots, although a bit upscale. My first 911 was a fabled tale here at Pelican, and I shed her quickly due to domestic strife. But you can't keep an air-cooled guy down, so soon thereafter I had my beautiful '79 911SC with just under 41K miles sitting in the garage. Much to the chagrin of the wife (now ex).
That car became my daily driver (good bye 4-runner with the 4-banger) for the next two years. Every day and night in LA traffic. Yes, the AC sucked and I sweated. Yes, the clutch was heavy in stop-and-stop traffic. No matter. It spoke to me. It was/is a time machine. Every morning when the flat 6 whined and I smelled the oil I was home.
Fast forward to a December night coming home from a gig. Some drunk b*tch in an SUV blew out the K-rail on the 10 fwy and I was the 2nd car into the debris field. *bang*. The car was no longer pristine. She was seriously wounded. So off she went to TRE for a fixing (not covered by insurance). But I knew she would never be the same. The beauty of life is that it *never* is the same. And that can be a great thing.
At some point along the way some of the reprobates here (most notably Tyson and Jack) goaded me into taking her to the track. I have to admit after my first day at Willow I was on the fence. Yes, there was something compelling and exciting about tracking the car, but frankly I was also scared sh*tless. I've never been a big terminal-velocity guy, and am mostly risk averse (even though I have/had some other sports that some consider extreme like surfing and racing bicycles). So I ended up doing a second event, and it was more intruiging, but still there was a healthy dose of fear. Then I did a driver's clinic with POC and on the skid pad, experiencing my first throttle steering, the heavens opened up. I got it. I could make the car dance. It wasn't pretty (yet) and was often awkward and out of sorts, but every once in awhile it was magic. That was it. Game over.
So down the slippery slope she goes. Now I'm time trialing and finishing up my race license, as well as instructing newbies. Sure, I've dumped money into the car. But she is still a time machine. I'm sure tracking a Miata would give me grins, but it wouldn't transport me back to 1979. And I also could not beat the Miata over and over and have it coming back for more like the 911 does. Plus, the 911 has "character." And trailing throttle over-steer is a feature, not a bug. I still miss the mark more times than I hit it, but when the 911 is dancing, it is unlike anything else I've experienced. And once I did a race clinic and finished my first w2w event, I was just dumbstruck with joy. No, I didn't "win." It didn't matter. I wasn't perfect. It didn't matter. For those 15 laps I was dancing with one of the true icons of automotive history. No, she is not the fastest car out there. Or the cheapest. But she is tough, and she is mine. I'm sure she'll break some day soon, and I'll have to fix her again. And that's fine. I owe that to her for all the car gives back to me.
So there ya go. And as I said, no value judgement. Very few people feel the way I do about their 911. To many, it is just a car. A track toy. A tool. To me, it is much more. It is a time machine. And freedom. And joy. And sorrow. In other words, a little bit of everything wrapped up in metal, glass, rubber, gas and oil. A place to get it right and have a dance at the edge. And if you don't get it right, there is always the next lap...
