Porsche 911 Turbo: Owning an 80s Icon Part 1


Guest post from Shannon at The Crashing Door

Day One (28 miles)

So the first 24hrs of 911 Turbo ownership….let’s first assess the current status. It’s 8:30pm, I am still at work, I am covered in oil, I smell like a I just crawled out of a catalytic converter and I’m soaked. Well, how did we get here (thank you David Byrne)?

So when I test drove the car in question (a 1986 911 Turbo aka 930) the owner mentioned that the oil level gauge was inconsistent and often wrong. I think OK, no problem, always manually check oil and get gauge fixed at the first service. Yesterday I note that the gauge reads at about a third. I get in the car this morning and spot a dollar coin size puddle of oil underneath the sump tank, I am slightly annoyed but I think to myself, “Self, you own a 911 now, this is part of the charm”. During the drive to work the gauge is reading lower than yesterday.  I am not alarmed but concerned. I decide to turn down any requests for rides and resolve to check the dipstick before I leave.

At 6pm I go down to the dark basement of the parking garage for the 5th time today to stare at the car. I say, “hey self, let’s check that ol’ dipstick before the ride home”. Consult the manual just to be sure and discover that you should check the oil with the engine running. Never heard of that before but hey, it’s part of the charm. Fire up the car, let it warm for a minute or two and consult again where the manual says the level should be. Remove oil cap, withdraw dipstick and oh ****. Oil is just barely on the tip. Put dipstick back in quickly and….!!!! The dipstick dodges its little guide and into the bowls of the oil tank it goes. AAAHHHH!

Temperature Taming


Remember Cuxhaven, a/k/a the end of Germany?  Well, Lieutenant Moore didn’t own the franchise for post-worthy tales emanating from that fair North Sea city.  It was another Saturday, and my wife and I felt the beach calling.  Given our location, Cuxhaven was our only way to answer.  Yes, there was a beach – think Corona commercial, minus roughly fifty degrees.  But our version indeed had sand, and Hacke Beck and Jever were readily available, so it was our go-to strand at least once per summer.

I’ve forgotten any of the topless tales (think George Castanza), but the drive back served up an unexpected brew.  Right behind us on the Einfahrt to A-27 was another 205 GTI, and luckily it was also a 1.6 model.  Had it been a 1.9, this posting would not exist, unless I were to carry on about how abundant armpit hair seemed to be one way for the North Sea fraueleins to keep warm.

This was not a race, but more of a Gallic fist-bump.  It started at a steady 160 kph, but we seemed to ratchet up at 5 kph increments (slowly achieved) until we hit near-maximum velocity in the 193 kph range, where we remained, side-by-side, for a few minutes.  Grinning foolishly while gripping the wheel prudently, my occasional glances at the IP soon revealed an oil temp that was creeping into Ted Cruz territory, that is, quite to the right.

My newfound friend either didn’t bother looking down, or he had more faith in his oil and/or aluminum block.  Thus, he continued zipping along after I dropped back to a steady 140 or so, which allowed the oil temp to return to normal.  Yes, I had experienced a temporary red mist, but memories of a prior French fog ruled the day.  Even with the premature ending to the Gallic gallop, the chance to run flat-out, side-by-side, with our car’s twin was a unique thrill that we only experienced that one beachy day.