Guest reviewer Jake Barttez takes the 911 Carrera T out for a spin and tells us nothing about it. As usual. Why do we pay him again?
As I come to the end of the four lane straight piece or road that funnels down into just two, I brake hard from 120 mph, and rev-match my way down the gears with the manual gear stick snicking into each gear selected with the confidence of a well oiled rifled bolt. As I get down to third gear and turn in, and use a touch of opposite lock to keep the back end of the Porsche in check, I wonder if I should have put my cigarette out already.
You see, I was in the first corner of a 30 mile piece of road that coils like the snake I ran over at 180 mph earlier. Both hands were going to be very busy, so I set my lips firmly on my cigarette butt and prepared to concentrate - making sure I could feel every signal from the road through the steering wheel into my well practiced hands. I note the thin railings as the only thing separating me and the Porsche and a drop into the ravine, and concentrated harder as I trail braked into a long left hander.
The first real problem comes as I smoothly transitioned left, then right, through a tricky S bend and accelerate hard to the next corner that works its way around the wall we're headed for. That's when the stripper I had left the club with earlier screamed. But, using my well practiced blip of the throttle my right foot swivels at the ankle as I brake before whipping right then left on the alcantara skinned wheel. Thankfully, she passes out again, leaving me to the business of test driving this teutonic machine.
As I carry speed into the next corner, I sense understeer. I unwind the wheel to the grip point as I relax the throttle then breath on the brake with my left foot to rebalance. All is right with the world again as I exit the corner and I'm satisfied to hear the flat-6 wail while the 911's tail wags like an excited puppy. A less experienced driver might have found themselves in real trouble, but this isn't my first rodeo in a Porsche.
I use the linear bottom end power to accelerate through the short straightaway as I hope my barely dressed companion would awaken again. I recently taught a helicopter pilot to do a loop-the-loop and it would be hard to fit that into this narrative otherwise. My mind pushes that thought aside as unimportant due to a decreasing radius and off-camber corner coming up - and at this speed our lives are in my hands. I dig deep, and torture the tires into a long soft scream as I negotiate it perfectly. Beginners often forget to keep their hands at 9 and 3, but I've driven everything from the humble Dodge Omni to the mighty Pontiac Fiero at Autocross events across the carparks of America.
At this point, my memory throws up a gem from my previous review of the previous generation 911 where I claimed it's the only important car being made in Europe. My mind struggles again to imagine a BMW or Mercedes that could match my driving skill as I enter the Meat Grinder, a series of bends so severe and adorned by jagged cliff-faces that a driver less conscientious than myself can easily shred both sides of a car with just one simple lapse. After a half-hour of strenuous manhandling, the Porsche leaves the Meat Grinder. I glance to my right and remember I have more curves to explore now the sun is coming up.