13 March 2010

My Age Old Obsession

Ever since I was a little girl, I've always had a fascination with cars.  My parents had a fairly new for the times SUV... and a fossil, so naturally I always favored my Dad's '89 Nissan Pathfinder over my Mom's '81 Audi 4000.  The Pathfinder was blue, my favorite color at the time, had a working radio, air conditioning, a pop-outable moon roof, and it rode high up so I felt "taller." Small children definitely have their priorities in order, right?  My Mom's Audi drove hard, was tight to get in and out of once my legs were longer than the rest of me, didn't have a working radio, didn't have air conditioning, didn't have a moon roof and looked so industrial with it's boring, flat silver paint; I had no choice, but to wrinkle my nose when we had to take a trip somewhere in it.  Granted, I learned much later that when my Mom bought the '81 Audi in 1981, it was a hot, zippy car that many pined after -- this was before everyone bought them and realized the inconsistency in engineering...50% lemons, 50% built to last 20+ years.  And that's exactly how long my Mom owned her Audi -- 22 years, finally trading it in 2002 for a cute little VW Jetta.  


My parents, way back when, were all about driving stick shifts and always said that with a manual, you control the car, the car doesn't control you.  Dad would gloat about his Firebird, my Mom finally spilled the beans when I was a lot older that she owned a Porsche Speedster, both stick shifts obviously and both very much coveted cars.  Sadly, my parents new philosophy on the matter is, "I'm old and it takes too much effort to drive a stick." Poo, poo on you!   I still think they're secretly jealous of my adorably energetic '09 VW GTI with a 6-speed manual transmission.  I know I love it!


When I was about 9 or 10 years old, my obsession with cars, more specifically, German engineered cars, came into full effect.  I enjoyed watching BMWs, new Audis, Benzes, and most of all Porsches, race down the freeways from the backseat window of my Mom's clunker, gaze into the interiors of parked cars and just ogle at the brilliant machinery.  When I first laid eyes on a Porsche, the '96 era 911 Turbo, I was instantly enthralled by it's lines, shape and power.  And in silver, it looks absolutely gorgeous.


Courtesy of http://www.automotive.com

Today, it still is a remarkable machine and marked the continuation of the era using this specific Porsche style body, obviously with some refinements for new technologies coming about.  So, every time I saw a Porsche on the road, I would literally scream out, "PORSCHE!" and scare one of my parents, whoever was driving, half to death and annoy the hell out of my sister.  I couldn't help it though.  My eyes were glued to them when they graced the road nearest to me.  I remember being very disappointed if the driver of the Porsche didn't push the fantastic lady to it's full potential.  Porsches are meant to be driven, not goosed.   

My parents, and sister, picked up on the fact that I had the spirit of a little boy's obsession with cars, trapped in their little girl's body.  My Dad loved it though.  We bonded over our shared love of machinery, seeing as he has a degree in mechanical and electrical engineering, it really hit close to home.  When I got older, we went to the SF Auto Show at the Moscone Center where I was in heaven photographing my loves, snagging up all the Porsche posters I could find so I could pin them to my bedroom walls, and bolting to the nearest Porsche I could find to plop my bottom in it and pretend that it was all mine.  For birthdays and Christmas, I got Porsche paraphernalia, from keychains, to model cars, to my sister painting a plaque with the Porsche emblem on it.  I'm telling you, I was truly obsessed.

Now that I've gotten older, I don't yell, "PORSCHE!" every time I see one, I don't have Porsche posters plastered on my walls, I don't have my model cars out anymore, I still have the keychain on my key ring and people still ask me what kind of Porsche I have (I, sadly, have to answer, I don't have one...yet), but I still have a true, indissoluble love of the 911 and all super cars under the Porsche umbrella.  Mind you, I don't covet the Boxster or Cayman...those are toy cars to me.  When my sister sent me a link of the new 918 Spyder to brighten a cloudy day, my love was all the more revived.  I mean come on, hellooooo lover:

      
Courtesy of Porsche and http://www.autoblog.com


Courtesy of Porsche and http://www.autoblog.com


Courtesy of Porsche and http://www.autoblog.com

Isn't she absolutely gorgeous?  A hybrid super car.  WOW.  The lines are much like her older sister, the Carrera GT, but so much more enhanced and compact.  James Dean would be proud.  He lost his life in a Porsche Spyder, but this, this gorgeous creature would make him smile.  

She has a 500-horsepower V8 engine with a pair of electric motors producing 218 extra horsepower, one on each axel, and can presumably reach 62 mph in 3.2 seconds.  Wowza.  She's a hot one that's for sure.  And she also is expected to get 78 mpg.  That fact, I don't actually believe.  Super cars aren't meant to be economical...they're super for a reason.  However, if she indeed can reach that miraculous fuel efficiency, more POWER to her.  Porsche announced that this concept car would actually go into production (YAY!!!!  More reason to bring back screaming, "PORSCHE!!" on the road).  

While I support the hybrid car movement and do value preserving the environment, obviously we live here, so it should be a priority, my only issue with hybrids is that they aren't stick shift manual.  It's all automated and incredibly dull with with little paddle flaps at the steering wheel.  I thoroughly enjoy pressing my foot into the clutch and switching gears, it's all part of the fun of driving!  I guess I'll just have to write to Porsche and tell them to make me one with a 6-speed gearbox. :-D  One day at least.

If you haven't watched Porsche's promotion video on the 918 Spyder, go, watch now.  You'll fall in love, just like me.  Porsche Intelligent Performance.

  

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