20 some years ago, my grandfather bought a 1977 Porsche 911. It had once belonged to a law firm (a pretty swanky company car) but when he bought it from them, my grandfather had different ideas. He swapped in an engine from a mid eighties 911 (which had almost a hundred more horsepower) and a transmission to go with it. Soon after, the original front bumper went by the wayside, replaced by a much larger and clunkier one that allowed two new oil coolers to be installed. He, along with my Dad and Aunt, raced the car for a few years at tracks around California before it was garaged. In 2007, my dad had it shipped here to Colorado.
Earlier this year, I was lucky enough to drive it for the first time. It was an incredible experience, for all the reasons that people say. The steering was incredibly direct, precise like nothing else I've driven. It hung through curves like it was glued to the asphalt, wide tires gripping frantically as I pushed it to, not its limits, but my own. The big, naturally aspirated flat six roared beautifully at the upper end of its rpm range, and burbled like the purr of a big cat sitting at lights. The racing upgraded brakes were almost telepathic, the lightest touch clamping down with immense stopping power. The five speed manual gearbox has long but decisive throws that seem weighty. And the way in which it accelerated was almost unreal. Every time I went near the gas pedal, the back end would squat, and then the whole car would leap forward like a cat. It is definitely, to date, the most interesting thing of had the pleasure (and terror) of driving.