the Walnut Diary

We all make compromises as we go through life.  Some things which seemed important turn out less crucial when we weigh their cost, but occasionally there remains a glimmer, a spark, of what might have been.

It started the day I drove my first Volkswagen and it never went away, the fantastical dream, someday, to own a Porsche.  Every bump I lurched over in my old Beetle, every corner terrifyingly cut by the back axles tucking under the car – I forgave it because, beneath the rust and flaking paint, it was at heart a Porsche.

My first new car, of course, was a VW Beetle.  I had gazed longingly at the green 911 beside it, but it cost ten times what the Beetle did, and the only way I’d ever be able to afford one would be to spend three years in law school, and I just didn’t think it was worth it.

Nevertheless I deferred the decision while I taught for a couple of years. Two weeks of jury duty sickened me on the legal system, so I reconciled myself to a life of VW’s and the teaching career for which I had conceived a sneaky affection.  If it was a Porsche and the court room or a VW and a class full of eager kids, then I’d take the Volkswagen and like it because from the beginning I derived an inordinate kick out of messing with teenage minds.

Then I got old and bought my first Toyota, the vehicle for those who don’t like to think about automobiles.  My car nerve went numb.  This was not without its compensations:  I was happier, less stressed, and I gained all of my demerit points back.  Police officers smiled at me occasionally.  Waves from pedestrians often involved more than one finger.  Gas mileage improved dramatically, and Toyotas run very well, even if their steering is, to put it kindly, a bit vague.

And of course, for real driving excitement all I had to do was try to bush-hog the horse pasture with its cadre of sunken boulders waiting beneath the hay, or manoeuvre a load of logs out a convoluted trail in the woods.

The golf cart became my favourite car.  I had willingly descended into geezerhood, and then this week, like a bolt of lightning, my car nerve came alive again.

Our son Charlie drove into the yard with a 1988 Porsche 944s.  Argh!  All those temptations I had let drift away into that fond, vague field of remembrance – they came roaring back with a vengeance and I HAD TO DRIVE THIS CAR!  Oh, I was cool about it.  I looked it over, nodding at little details, chatting small talk.  But it called to me and before long I was sitting in the driver’s seat.  The leather bolsters enfolded my spine and muttered in my ear, “Let’s start up and go somewhere far away!”

From the passenger seat Charlie slid the key into the ignition.  Well, o.k.  What can it hurt?  I hit the starter and the beast roared to life.  Keeping up the disinterested façade, I asked:  “What’s the clutch like?”  I didn’t listen to the answer.  I knew what it would be like, so I fed fire to the beast and out the lane we moved, smoothly, stalking, hiding beneath the veneer of civility.  “Nice car, good air conditioning, no rattles, good ride.”  But silently the beast was gripping my spine and saying, “Let’s see what we can do!”

I behaved myself on the way in the Chaffey’s Locks Road, and did my best to impersonate a geezer taking his kid’s new car for a drive.  But then I saw a couple of s-turns without any traffic and the beast cut loose.  Man, can that car go!  It’s not the straight-line acceleration:  pretty well any modern car can do that.  But the thing corners like, well, like a Porsche.  Steering is right there.  No vagueness at all.  The gearshift is actually a bit tricky if driven moderately.  Slam it through a corner at high rev’s though, and it works just right.

It’s been a long time since I have pulled any g’s with a car, but this Porsche left me feeling like that guy with the restored Mustang in the A&W commercial where he takes his wife out for a burger.  All the forgotten lusts came rushing back.

I turned the car back to our son, who fortunately doesn’t seem to have inherited his father’s wild streak.

For him the car seems to be a mechanical puzzle to be analyzed and savoured.  First thing he did was download the 350 page factory manual onto his laptop.  The second was to make friends with a Porsche mechanic.  The third was to clean the car.

The rest of the afternoon it sat on jack stands while Charlie inspected the underside for loose fittings and corrosion, spraying with oil as he went.

He no doubt likes the beast:  his new Audi continues to sit in our yard while he drives the old one. I know he’s a much better driver than I and I hope he’ll have the sense to keep safe – and hide the Porsche keys from his dad.