At today’s club autocross event, I took a ride with a fellow club member who owns a Porsche 996 GT3. I wasn’t enamored of its color (lime green) but it’s a Porsche, so I let that slide. The driver was an older gentleman and I fully expected that he would be fast but not horribly aggressive in flinging it around the track. I mean, who wouldn’t be a little careful with a sports car that costs over $100,000? I was wrong. HOLY JESUS MOTHER OF GOD WAS I WRONG.
The fastest I’d ever gone on a motorcycle (if there are any Maryland state troopers reading this, please avert your eyes now) was 155 mph on my old Honda F4 on a deserted stretch of highway. I was trying to keep up with some riding buddies. I was the only girl. And I couldn’t keep up with them even at 155 mph (they were on liter bikes while my sweet little red and black Honda was only a “mere” 600). I survived that (mind-numbingly stupid) escapade and shortly stopped riding on the street and restricted myself to riding on racetracks only. Regardless, speed in a car doesn’t bother me. I’ve had past boyfriends try to impress me with their fast cars, but I never squealed and pleaded with them to slow down in the way they expected. Why would I have? They were going slowly compared to what I was used to.
So, color me surprised when I got in that Porsche today because that grandfatherly-like-yet-wickedly-fast man scared the ever-loving crap out of me. I was clinging to the door handle and the seat, eyes and mouth wide open inside my helmet, and I’m pretty sure the high-pitched screeching sound that I heard throughout the ride came from me and not his brakes. It was highly undignified but I could do nothing to stop myself. Fortunately, I don’t think he even noticed as he worked to keep that beast of a machine shiny side up and heading in the right direction. He didn’t have an in-cabin video camera as some drivers do. There will be no videos of me drooling and screaming in a Porsche on YouTube. Yay for me.
I’m proud to say that the Porsche gentleman made his fastest run of the day with me in the car – he said I was a good luck charm. My knees nearly buckled when I stepped out of that lime green monster. I’ve never met a car that made me feel like that – not even the Maserati Quattroporte I had the good luck to flog a little under the most unlikely circumstances (on a job interview a few months ago – that was the best hiring manager EVER) or my cousin’s BMW M3. I really need to get me a Porsche.