Year after year, car guys drive to the same places with the same people. Why do they do it? Discuss.

Rolling into the Chunnel car park and finding twenty of your friends waiting for you in similar cars is a great feeling. Camaraderie engulfs the entourage, with anticipatory awe permeating the queue of cars headed for check in.

Off the train in la belle France half an hour later, we gathered to discuss the route options. A red Carrera GT filling up next door was a positive Porsche portent, with the same good vibrations evident throughout our journey west to Rouen and south towards Sarthe. An unbelievable amount of rain means marine terminology is required to describe making way along the A28, each 911 creating a huge rooster tail of spray. France is famed for its joi de vivre though, so torrential rain and a few wet clothes do not dampen our high spirits.

A sodden autoroute might seem an odd place for an epiphany of sorts regarding the ritual annual migration of some automotive enthusiasts. But as my eager 911 surged through the tidal pools of standing water, with my buddy’s black Speedster in our wake, headlamps ablaze through a dull blanket of mist, it suddenly dawned upon me that I could quite happily see this picture in my rear view mirror once a year without regret. At last I was beginning to understand.

The sun was waiting for us in Le Mans itself, and our weekend was a blast. For me, those four days of fun, and the time spent touring Northern France the following week, bore more than a passing resemblance to Big Brother, the Channel 4 TV show now in its ninth season. Many say the BB format has had its day, but this epitome of people watching on the small screen continues to attract 3.3.million viewers an episode, the unpredictability of unscripted drama proving hugely fascinating for many devoted fans.

Big Brother game rules ensure a similar format year to year, but as time passes, the increasing familiarity between contestants and the ever-evolving narrative regularly ups the entertainment ante. The complex interactions taking place between the housemates is constantly tested and twisted by the programme directors, in their quest to stimulate the participants, and engross the addicted audience.

Fresh casting and plot twists are core to the attraction of Big Brother and annual road trips too, as participants change and events are never entirely predictable. Only those with no sense of adventure could be expected to stick to a convoy ad nauseum, so our flock of Porsche fans would regularly split up and regroup during the week, despite there being no prearranged plan. Sitting in a service station with little brother and my Speedster-driving amigo on the way down, it was not in the least bit surprising to see six of our pals arrive in the peeing rain and park up alongside our cars. Our dishevelled drive down set a precedent of voluntary participation; perfect for the relaxed holiday we had in mind.

Once comfortably ensconced in our rented house, we found we were sharing the facilities with another British classic car club, who had been coming to the same place for ten years. Their experience of events during that time gave them some stories to tell, mostly centred around how the new English landlord at the local auberge wasn’t a patch on the old French one. Sadly, we saw no reason to disagree.

As the weekend unfolded, a sizeable amount of personal detail was made public, much of it not repeatable. We learned for example, that one of our number restricted his motorway driving to maximum fourth gear, in case he had to accelerate suddenly. We also discovered that we had a master chef in our midst, who amazed us all with a sublime spag bol following two nights of negativity at the hands of the aforementioned hotelier. On the other hand, a certain someone levered himself into our happy house on a pity card and then wriggled vigorously when faced with his share of the bill: inappropriate behaviour noted for future reference!

My previous visit to the Classic had been with six other 911 friends who left us with good memories. Although none of them were with us this time around, it was a delight to see the first timers enjoying the event and each other’s company so heartily, every step of the way. It was also a boost to have additional help close by, when mechanical issues arose for some cars during the trip.

Our party included new friends from down under, who really immersed themselves in the proceedings. The new owner of my old SC Cabriolet also joined in, and it was great to spend quality time with all these guys. The village Bastille Day celebrations on our last night together as a group were the perfect finish to what had been an exceptional weekend.

The cultural phenomenon that is Big Brother will continue to inform our consciousness long after the show has been thrown on the televisual scrap heap, so I hope that our car communities continue to embrace interactive road trip versions for many years to come. It may transpire that not all of our jaunts will be as enjoyable as this last one, but when the rewards are as substantial as they have been on the last two events, it’s worth the slim risk of an occasional disappointment. Roll on 2010!

The daily papers are awash with tales of woe: soaring energy prices, crashing economies and knife-wielding thugs at the gates of every school. With so much bad news everywhere, peace of mind now depends on getting no news at all. “No news is good news” as all of our grandmothers used to say.

Our grandparents’ generation endured their catastrophes, and we must have ours - that is the way of the world. As one generation matures and begins their weary descent towards decrepitude, so the next generation must step up to take the reins.

As the end of the oil age looms into view, many enthusiasts of the internal combustion engine have begun to lament the inevitable cessation of the activity they hold nearest to their hearts. I am talking of course about enjoying the unbeatable combination that is open roads and open throttles. But the era of new energy need not be as scary as many would have us think. A quick sift through some of the well-populated Internet car forums is proof positive that the next generation of hot rodders will not let the lack of a petrol engine stand in the way of an entertaining drive.

I recently added to my fleet of much-loved vehicles (9 at last count) by buying an elderly Volkswagen Golf GTi from a fellow 911 enthusiast. The GTi is a very nice car, but as I am not much of a one for preserving originality, I have been swotting up on effective performance mods on the Golf boards, like the one at ClubGTI.co.uk. I have to say that the achievements of some of the kids on there are not to be sniffed at, particularly when it comes to the complicated business of designing, building and mapping quick and reliable Electronic Fuel Injection (EFI) systems.

For some time now, I’ve had a full Megasquirt DIY EFI setup and 964 cams squirreled away in the rafters of my garage, waiting to be installed on my Carrera 3.0. Since buying the Megasquirt, I have been mega busy, and project time remains elusive. The car is still keeping up with my buddies, so I don’t have the same impetus to change stuff that I might have had 20 years ago. Not that I could have done this stuff 20 years ago. Much has changed since I started playing with motors.

When I got my first car, a Datsun 100A 2 door in dazzling Drab Green (christened “Rusty” by my sister after much of the trim fell off on our first drive out the dual carriageway), there was no such thing as accessible performance upgrades. If you wanted it, you had to make it yourself.

I lived in Insurance Hell, also known as Ireland, and my Third Party, Fire and Theft premium in the first year of car ownership was three times Rusty’s £500 cost. Modifying one’s car in Ireland was considered to be an act of moral turpitude second only to scrapping a tractor, so performance exhausts and uprated air filters were unheard of. In-car audio did not exist outside of a BMW dealership, unless you count those little triangular speaker boxes that sat on top of the rear shelf, freely sliding around in corners - the early days of surround sound.

There were two car accessory shops nearby, whose main product lines were nylon seat covers and static strips, moulded in black rubber with a fork of white lightning. One hung these off the back of the car, to discharge the onboard electricity produced by polyester trousers rubbing against nylon seat covers. Shame this was also before the days of Buy One: Get One Free.

These days, things are different. The Internet has transformed tinkering into a global tuning movement, and what one enthusiast does to his car in Stockholm will be on a similar car in Southend a few hours later. The auto accessory shops we grew up with have all but vanished, replaced by modern day Temples of Tuning, with more alloy wheels on sale under one roof than Rover would have used in a year back in the seventies.

Not all kids are into the bling rims and pumping tunes though; the race for headline HP numbers amongst the hot hatch brigade is more ferocious than ever. Some of the up-and-coming members of the young-men-in-sheds scene are pulling twice the original factory horsepower out of old-school mechanical injection cars without resorting to boost, which is seriously impressive stuff. Alongside these guys are pioneers building bespoke powerplants using engine parts dragged out of scrapyards, before adding mix-and-match injection systems to take driveability and fuel economy to whole new levels. This is all very worthy work from youngsters who the media would have you believe are only interested in binge drinking and Nuts magazine.

It will be interesting to watch what growing up on a diet of DIY engine management systems will allow the next generation to do with hybrid technology, as it depreciates to a level where they can afford to take it apart and put it back together in faster fettle. One thing is worth remembering: these could be the characters who will make it possible to keep running our older 911s using alternative drivetrains when the oil runs out. So watch this space - carefully.

The secret of success is a question that has tested the greatest minds for centuries, and most agree that the recipe relies on two critical ingredients: hard work and vision. The historic backdrop to today’s photo shoot is a perfect example of hard work and vision, combined in perfect proportions to yield spellbinding results.

Taking a year to buy, a year to plan and two years to execute, this recently restored medieval manor house is unspeakably impressive, and is testament to the tenacity of its owners, Graham and Babs Stanton. The strength of their vision, and desire to create something truly special, meant that the budget for the rebuild bore scant relationship to market value. “I probably spent more than it’s worth to other people” muses Graham, “but nothing like what it’s worth to me”. The owner of our stunning feature car can sympathise completely.

Matteo Amoroso and I came to 911 ownership at the same time. In April 2004, while I was picking up my SC Cabriolet in the south of France, Matteo was flying to Baton Rouge from his then home in Charlotte, North Carolina; wrapping up a six-month Porsche hunt with the purchase of a Guards Red 1988 3.2 Coupe.

Having tracked Caterhams, Elises, Subarus and single-seaters in the UK before a new business venture lead to a Stateside move in 2002, Teo was no stranger to quick cars, and it wasn’t long before the US-spec 3.2 needed more power. Having weighed up the pros and cons of 3.4 build versus 3.6 transplant, Matteo eventually sourced a low-mile 3.6 engine, Euro ECU, handmade exhaust, RS clutch and full conversion kit from Steve Timmins at www.instant-g.com.

Eurowerks in Charlotte installed the new motor, along with wide arches front and rear, 9.5 and 11 x 17 inch Lindsey wheels on sticky BF Goodrich rubber, adjustable suspension and so on. Much fun was had with the Carrera until, in October 2005, a careless van driver ran the red 911 off the road and into oblivion. Driver and passenger emerged unscathed, but the car was a write off. There was only one way forward: buy the salvage and start again.

The original intention with the damaged ‘88 was that the chassis would be jigged, bodywork repaired and the car would go back on the road. But the Carrera had other ideas. The Celette bench could not fully straighten some of the points essential for good geometry, so the decision was taken to scrap the shell, and use the parts from the crumpled coupe to build something a little more exciting.

Choosing the look was a no-brainer. Teo’s love of the wide body impact-bumper look was already well established, especially when emblazoned with vivid early ‘70s paint. An article in one of the American magazines, about a wonderfully OTT ‘74 RSR replica, resplendent in silver with purple and blue graphics, sealed the deal on the car they were building: IROC racer all the way. When it came to colour, one shade stood out above all others: Mexico Blue.

Since fitting the 3.6 in the Carrera, Teo’s friends at Eurowerks had split their company into two parts, the original Eurowerks for servicing and Zuffenhaus for bespoke fabrication and race car preparation. The newly formed Zuffenhaus was no ordinary Porsche shop. As former art students, Keith Walters and Aaron Winans are devoted aesthetes, and R-Gruppe membership marks them out as dyed-in-the-wool hot rodders. In January 2006, Zuffenhaus found Teo a rust-free, non-sunroof ‘74 tub, which had already been widened as an intended race chassis. The rebuild ball was rolling.

The basic brief was fairly straightforward: the engine had to thrive on revs but be relaxed enough for everyday road use, the suspension had to be easily adjustable for street or track, and the cabin had to retain space in the back for the kids. With such a simple mission statement, Team Teo felt they could have the car ready for Easter that year. How we laugh now when we think back to those innocent days.

Steve Timmins was again charged with making the motor, and what a motor he would make, as Matteo opted for an immense specification. The heads were machined to use 52mm inlet and 43mm exhaust valves with enlarged 45mm ports. Valve guides were replaced and the case was modified, before being topped with a set of 3.9 pistons and cylinders from CMW, worked by beautiful Carrillo rods. Dougherty Racing supplied a pair of DC62 cams, to be teamed with CMW’s titanium valve train hardware. Jenvey throttle bodies manage the intake, with sequential injection controlled by a MoTeC M600 ECU.

With the engine build in progress, 400 miles away at Zuffenhaus, work on the chassis began. The first job was to prepare the ‘74 for the ultimate in suspension systems, about to arrive from Smart Racing and Cary Eisenlohr at ERP. A jig was made and the front towers were cut away to weld in Smart Racing camber boxes. The rear towers were braced and reinforced to permit the use of coilovers. Then the front and rear floorpans were modified to allow for fitting of the infinitely adjustable and highly authentic 935 suspension setup from ERP. The widened rear arches were removed and replaced with the early-style flares from the Carrera. Rot was discovered in the front tank support, so that was replaced with a brand new panel.

Teo had fallen in love with the G50 gearbox fitted to his ‘88 3.2, and wanted to retain the same transmission type for the RSR. The build was being blogged on the Pelican Parts 911 Technical Forum, and a chance exchange with board moderator Bill Verburg led to the purchase of a G50/31 transmission direct from Porsche in Germany.

The G50/31 is the six-speed transmission used in the 993RS, and features some very trick engineering, including steel syncros, Porsche Motorsport 40/65 LSD, upgraded mounts and RS short-shift rods. The ‘74 shell had obviously not been built with the G50 in mind, so rather than modify the existing tub to fit, Zuffenhaus replaced the tunnel and rear section with the same section from a 964 shell.  

Fitting this part of the project into one paragraph makes it sound like a piece of cake, but the reality was quite a different story, as Keith Walters explains. “A modification to the existing floor/tunnel and custom mounting arrangement for the six-speed would perhaps have been easier, but far more common, and not nearly as clean. From a driver’s perspective, the 993RS ‘box defines this car - it may well be the heart of the project altogether. We ended up retaining the raw, light feel of an original 911 chassis with the chosen construction method”.   

Too much painstakingly precise metalwork went into the shell of this unique automobile to list it all here. Everywhere you look, there are tasty tweaks and subtle alterations. The oil tank for example, is a relocated 964 example, slid along the chassis to a position in front of the rear axle. That alone is slick enough, but Zuffenhaus have also recessed the oil lines into the inner wing, to give plenty of clearance for the wide 315/35 R17 rubber stretched over Mike Lindsey’s beautiful 11-inch rims. This is amazing attention to detail, and it doesn’t stop there.

The IROC initially ran Brembo GTP brakes, but these were removed in favour of 930 calipers, with a custom-made RSR-style handbrake mechanism. The switch will ultimately allow Matteo to run 917-style brakes under bespoke centrelock wheels, currently being created especially for the car. A Fabcar twin master cylinder pedal box with adjustable bias controls the one-off stoppers.

With the Turbo brakes came Turbo trailing arms, modified before being fitted to the 964 floorpan alongside the 935-style spring plates and Smart Racing coilovers - another complex operation. The springs: 425 lbs front and 550 lbs rear, are controlled by Fox dampers all round, matched with Smart Racing adjustable anti-roll bars; the rear ARB clamped securely in the vice-like grip of upgraded Wevo mounts.

Engine temperature is moderated by a 72-row Mocal oil cooler in the nose, exhaling via reproduction RSR ducting, with custom exits in the front wheel wells. The impeccably finished front compartment is an Aladdin’s cave for Porsche anoraks like myself, with the camber towers, bolt-in cross brace, fuel cell, fire suppression system, damper reservoirs and immaculately-finished wiring loom all vying for eyeball time. Killer details just keep on coming.

We move towards the interior, pausing to admire the Zuffenhaus single wiper conversion, the flush-fitting 993 front and rear screens and the TRE Motorsports mirrors. The lightened door opens to reveal yet more nerd-defying detail. The interior and exterior colours match perfectly, but though the Mexico exterior is finished in paint, the cabin, trunk, engine compartment and rear wheel wells have all been powder coated to give a wonderfully smooth finish.   

The gauge panel has been filled and welded flush, and custom LED-lit clocks contrast coolly against the brilliant blue metalwork. With a rotated 10k rpm tachometer, a 320 km/h speedo and a hand-built voltmeter and transmission temperature gauge replacing the timepiece, the bespoke North Hollywood dials are slicker than a snake soaked in Vaseline.

The big-vent dashtop from the defunct 3.2 Carrera perfectly complements the leather-trimmed Pole Position seats, which now sit on lowered rails atop carpet made especially to fit the modified tunnel. Looking up sees a hand-stitched Alcantara headliner, and though Teo suggests that the seat centres and steering wheel would benefit from being trimmed to match, I think it all looks great as it is. Three-point rear seat belts and a bespoke removable roll bar mean that Matteo’s little girls have not been forgotten, and rides in Papi’s Blue Porsche definitely feature in their future (Papi meaning Daddy in Italian).

With three confirmed Porsche fanatics exercising free rein over the finer details, unfettered by the confines of a carefully controlled budget, the crusade to build one man’s ultimate classic 911 was always going to produce a unique machine, and the Mexico Blue beauty is most certainly special. But when we first meet, it is not quite in peak mechanical condition.

At the time of our pictures, the RSR had only been in the UK a few weeks and had struggled since its arrival. En route to the shoot, it was drinking fuel faster than a fighter jet and detonating badly. It had also begun to cut out randomly, due to some suspect ignition and injector wiring. To cap it all, the exhaust, though beautifully manufactured, was louder than a Spinal Tap guitar stack, totally ruling out daily driver duties and trackdays with a noise limit of under 115dB, and leaving Matteo a very unhappy bunny indeed.

Our shoot location on the Oxfordshire/Northamptonshire borders is near a number of Porsche specialists, so once snapper Howell has cleared off with his camera full of pictures, I suggest a visit to Bob Watson Engineering. Bob is a friend and an official MoTeC dealer, and with a lot of valuable experience with road and race Porsches running MoTeC systems, he is the obvious man to ask for advice.

At Bob’s, Matteo outlines his concerns and Bob outlines possible explanations. He also shows us one of Roy Lane’s repackable Tech Craft exhaust systems, which he recommends for track day cars, and which Roy himself uses on his uber-lightweight 911 3.8 hillclimbing special. After watching a 280bhp 3-litre Tuthill rally car being tuned on the in-house dyno, Matteo decides this is the place, and we leave the car for Bob to look at.

A week later, the news is in and it’s all good. A new exhaust has been fabricated and fitted, reading a mere 102dB and making the car much more user friendly. The ECU and injectors have been rewired, and the race spark plugs have been swapped out for softer items, more suited to regular road use. Bob has also remapped the RSR on his dyno, and the whole package is working as intended. Time to drive it.

Spring has definitely sprung when I arrive back at Middle Aston. The sun is out, the roads are dry and the land exudes the energetic aroma of growth. The car is rolled out from between a 935 and a 964 RSR and, as the silky smooth motor warms up in the dappled sunlight, a new life in the UK seems a much more positive prospect. Coffee finished and Porsche world put to rights, the blue meanie is all mine for a while.

Rolling onto the back road that links Bob’s workshop with the rest of the world, the remapped RSR displays impeccable poise at the lesser throttle positions. The new exhaust is the epitome of civility: not too loud and not too quiet, with a throaty burble that rises to a purposeful thrum as the six throttles open ever wider. The driving position is set up for Matteo, who’s a good three inches taller than me, but it is comfortable and confidence inspiring. Sliding the seat slightly forwards on the runners, the gearlever falls readily to hand, while the Rennline pedals are perfectly positioned. The throttle action is light and positive, and the car pulls away with no complaints.

The bigger Lindsey Fuchs and wide tyres track the road surface noticeably, but not uncomfortably so. This wandering over potholes is an exaggeration of a 911’s natural tendencies, thanks to wide rubber and pronounced negative camber all around, but the car follows a generally straight line, and at no time do I feel as if it requires reining in. Tramlining on uneven surfaces will reduce when the smaller diameter centrelock wheels on slightly narrower rubber are fitted, and some of the negative camber is dialled out for the road.

As the well-worn country lane opens into a wider main road with a better surface, the skittish steering motion mellows into a settled feel through the Momo wheel, which encourages a bit more gas. A friend following in his 217bhp SC Coupe seems to be keeping up with no apparent effort, which is a little disappointing. I remember the car’s 7,600rpm rev limit and remonstrate myself internally: must try harder.

Our route heads off the main drag and on to a deserted link road with lovely new Tarmac, whereupon I seize the moment and throw open the throttles wide in third, to see what the motor is really capable of. With no pause for thought, the RSR rockets forward at a prodigious rate, emptying the rear view mirror in a matter of milliseconds. This is much more like it.

The road writhes sinuously through the Oxfordshire countryside, and increasing familiarity with the IROC encourages more daring behaviour. Full throttle over slightly broken surfaces is a breeze, the expensive suspension proving its worth: a low-riding torsion bar 911 driven spiritedly over this surface would require a much firmer hand. The 1,050 kilo RSR takes it all in its stride, the car’s performance envelope clearly far wider than your average 911 hot rod.

Building this spectacular car from only the best components available is borne out as a great move by Matteo, as it displays stunning levels of power and grace in anything I try throwing at it. But what really sets this car on another level compared to anything else I have ever driven is the gearbox; it is superb on an epic scale.

Many modern six-speed transmissions are badly reworked fives; ill-conceived concoctions designed almost solely to get new cars past stringent emissions testing. Not this one. I don’t generally support the theory that the G50 gearbox used in the later 3.2 Carreras is a revolution when compared to a good-condition 915 as fitted to the earlier cars, but the G50/31 transmission used here transforms what some might see as a beefed-up 3.6 transplant into a true thoroughbred.

At first glance, the stubby little shift lever would not be my personal choice in a pukka 1974-shelled RSR recreation: I would prefer something a little more period. Put it in the palm of your hand however, and that point of view evaporates in the quick flick from second to third, through fourth and into fifth. The clutch action is beautifully balanced between feel and flow, there is no noise transfer from the gearbox into the chassis and the RS shift rods exert absolute control over the perfectly-spaced ratios at all times. As Zuffenhaus correctly assured me before I ever drove the blue bullet, the transmission defines this car.

A few days later, I return the RSR to Matteo through Monday morning rush hour traffic, and the package is a pleasure to use, both on and off my busy motorway drive. The supportive seats, big mirrors, responsive brakes and delicate shift all contribute honourably to a stress-free drive. The remapped motor returns excellent mpg at sensible road speeds, while the punchy throttle response allows me to slip seamlessly from slow lanes into faster ones.

The exhaust is aurally delicious, its mellifluous notes neither boomy nor brash, making cruising at 75 mph/3,000 rpm in sixth a real delight. In the two hours it takes to reach my destination, the car demonstrates ample ability as an accomplished all-rounder, and handing the keys back to a genuinely overjoyed owner is the perfect conclusion to my time with this incredible vehicle.    

Some might look upon those lucky enough to afford the build of their ultimate 911 as simply glorified cheque signers, but to regard this car and owner in that way would do both a real disservice. Matteo is a proper Porsche enthusiast, and his modern-day interpretation of an iconic 911 is an absolute cracker. Should all of Teo’s dreams end in such rewarding reality, he’ll be the luckiest man on earth, and deservedly so in my opinion.

Thanks to: Graham and Babs Stanton for the stunning location.

DP built their first Cargo in 1988, after experimenting with the roof of a VW Passat estate laid over the top of a 944 bodyshell. The conversion eventually evolved into a complete remodel of the 944’s rear section, with a fibreglass roof and rear door supported by a tubular steel framework, adding increased rigidity to the otherwise open-backed coupe.

Inside, the custom creation features a cleverly relocated spare wheel and flat load floor. The Cargo is impeccably finished, with colour-matched side panels and headlining retrimmed in leather. The conversion takes two months and costs €18,900 including VAT.     

The DP Cargo was one of the stars of the recent Essen Techno Classica, where it attracted many positive comments. Look out for a full feature in a future issue.

Sound is a key component of the 911 experience. The instantly recognisable Porsche Symphony Orchestra is a critical part of the process wherein we hand over large amounts of cash to own what is essentially just a means of getting from one place to another. Or at least it would be just another means of transport, if it didn’t have that flat six singing away in the rear.

To the dirty fingernail brigade, the air-cooled boxer engine speaks volumes in mechanical terms, with diminuendo hints of cam and valves and the basso profundo throb from the external cylinders, all accompanied by the drumming of the fan. On the move, the motor communicates via the throaty chomp of induction noise, followed by compliments to the chef from the rewarding rasp of the evocative exhaust. Even non-Porsche people know that nothing else sounds like an air-cooled 911.   

But the patter of a Porsche in motion is not all about what’s in the back. These cars are special as the sum of their parts, and most parts of an ageing 911 have something to say for themselves. I recently took my SC Cabriolet out for one last sunny Sunday morning spin before it left me for a new owner and, having not driven the car for a while (underuse being the main reason for parting with my beloved SC), I was met with a litany of squeaks and rattles, some of which I had never noticed before.

Checking the door bins first, I found the misplaced hood brush bonking away against the lined fibreglass pockets. Returning brush to glovebox revealed the spare fuel pump relay and locking wheel nut key rhythmically tapping away in unison, alongside a handful of seashells that one of the kids had given the car as a leaving present. Stopping for fuel a few miles further on, I opened the bonnet to find the dog’s long-lost chasing stick tapping on an unattached fusebox cover, and the toolkit and washer fluid top-up bottle both loose and on the move around the front compartment; I had borrowed the car’s C-spanner for another job and rushed off afterwards without putting it all back together properly.

Refuelled and ready to go, I turned the key to be greeted by complete silence, and not the nice kind. I plipped the alarm on and off, turned the key again and the starter happily whirred around. And around. And around. Turning the key off and back to the ignition position, I could hear the whistle of the CDI box but not the buzz of the fuel pump - keysound two was missing. I clunked the front lid open and checked the fuses. One new fuse later, the familiar buzz of the Bosch pump was back, and a turn of the key resulted in the thrum all Porsche fans want to hear.

As the miles went on my SC Cabriolet over the years I had it, so the sound deadening and stereo came off. I craved complete immersion in the aural ecstasy that is driving a classic 911 and, over time, became intimately familiar with the sound of my car in motion. The roof of an SC Cab folds in two parts, and unzipping the rear window while leaving the top up created an acoustic enclosure that made for many a memorable drive; racing along through the blackness of night, head and dash lights glowing and the sound of that wonderful 3-litre filling my world, gurgling gleefully off throttle, and howling with delight when the pedal was pushed to the floor.

The raging rush of air being squeezed into a fast-revving 3-litre engine, before exploding in relentless exuberance, is the sound of joy that never fades, and pinging gravel cascading along the underside of this always-happy car was just the ticket to prove that life was good. The Cabriolet was never the quietest version of the impact-bumpered cars, but the sun-loving soft top gave the car an adorable character, and a totally different ambience to the tin-top Coupe and the glass-backed Targa. Contrary to popular opinion, the car’s raison d’etre was not just about having an unhindered view of the stars, it was also about maximising the sensory whirlwind that is piloting an old-school Porsche, which it did with unrivalled panache.

The lightweight Carrera 3.0 coupe that is now my one and only 911 has a very distinct aural presence. The wonderful RS-cranked C3 motor wants to shout its origins to the world via more than one exhaust pipe, and so it shall in due course. But nothing will ever recapture the magical sound of my SC.

From that very first 800-mile drive where my little brother and I roared along, roof down through the snow-topped mountains of central France, popped and rumbled our way onto a Channel Tunnel train, hammered up a deserted M1 and gently burbled the last few miles along the back roads home, to the eager rort which bounced between the pit wall and the grandstands as we rushed down the hill joining La Source and Eau Rouge at Spa-Francorchamps, the extra-sensory experience that was driving that wicked little car will be forever etched onto my eardrums. If the new owner finds the noise anything like as inspirational, he is in for a really sensational experience.

I have sold my bike for a start. I just wasn’t using it more than twice a month (if that), and it was going to endure a winter in the cramped garage and a year of book drops, so I put it on eBay and it went to a very nice guy who is taking it back to uni with him - look out for it in the Bristol area. Did think about getting a Gilera to replace it but have gone cold on that for the time being - when the garage is up maybe.

I bought a Golf GTi which is a beautiul little thing. 90K miles from new in 1986 and only a few rust spots on the bottoms of the doors to show for it. It goes well enough though I do need to double check the timing on it as they have usually been retarded to run on 95 RON. I bought a Jetex SS exhaust and G60 manifold for it also, that should be getting picked up sometime soon. Plus I have a PAS setup coming for it - they are so heavy without that parking is a real chore for Mrs G. Then it is top mounts and suspension, bit of a tidyup on the body and job done.

Just been offered a Corrado by a buddy however which is a very pretty car; 1996 2.0 litre 8 Valve in Blackberry, so the lovely little Golf may have to go to make room for that. Not sure what to do yet, driving the Corrado tomorrow. Sarah will probably like it, but is it worth spending another grand on top to have something that essentially does the same job of spare car? Maybe not. Pic:

Lots of car stuff up in the air at the minute. We are waiting to hear back from the council regarding our loft extension planning permission, so the bank acounts are locked down pretty much (doesn’t sound like it though does it LOL). That will be great when it kicks off, as the house will then be huge and the kids will all have their own rooms. After that it is garage all the way, which should be great when done. So lots of hard work ahead, but will all pay off.

Next event for the IB Porsche boys is Classic Le Mans, and we are away from the 10th to the 18th of July - bring it on!

The recent Techno Classica at Essen in Germany was the usual mecca for Porsche fanatics. Though there was a stunning selection of Stuttgart’s finest on show, there was a noticeable shortfall of pukka 911 racing product present, leading me to wonder whether there is perhaps an opportunity for some bright spark to come up with an off season, access-all-areas, indoor historic race car show on the mainland.

What about the Goodwood Festival of Speed and Classic Le Mans you say? Yes, thrilling celebrations of amazing racing cars, but not necessarily fully open to all and sundry. The Rennsport Reunion comes close in concept, apart from being held in a thunderstorm three thousand miles away. Personally speaking, I would like to see a similar event to Essen: indoors, with the world’s greatest motorsport machinery organised by manufacturer, and where enthusiasts like myself would get a chance to examine the engineering details in depth. Is this a workable concept, or just me being sad?

Sad is a word often used to describe men of a certain age who are consumed by the intricacies of their hobby. This use of the word is utterly incorrect in my opinion, as I see nothing remiss in an awareness of the minutiae of one’s chosen subject. Ponder this example. Driving down a local road the other day, I spotted a remote-controlled aeroplane flying up from behind a hedge on my left. As we drew nearer and slowed down, my travelling companion and I saw two men about the same age as ourselves, using this field as a airstrip for flying their planes in and out of. “Cool!” I exclaimed. “Sad!” my friend insisted.

Considering that we were towing my newly purchased 944 Turbo, with an engine in six separate boxes, and no real idea why I had bought it or where it was going to go, I asked my fellow Porsche fan why he was condemning this seemingly happy scene. My passenger pointed to the runways mown into the grass, the intersections marked with traffic cones, and assured me that marking out runways for two toy planes in a field was sad with a capital S. I couldn’t have disagreed more.

Passion is all about loving every last detail, and no one who is passionate about old cars, trains, planes or anything of a similar vein should consider themselves superior to a couple of runway-mowing R/C pilots. Whether you know that a Scalextric Rover SD1 Police Car had a moulded passenger for one year only, or what the correct washer jets for a 1973 Carrera RS look like, you are forever identified as one who is especially concerned with minor details, also known as an anorak.

Some might see anorak as a negative label, derived from the anti-social overcoats worn by train spotters at the end of the platform on damp Saturday afternoons, but to me it proclaims camaraderie: all anoraks are brothers under the fake fur-lined hood. Accordingly, we should show each other suitable amounts of mutual respect.

A good friend of mine is a steam train enthusiast and devoted Hornby Dublo collector, often paying two grand or more for a mint locomotive, in a mint box. This is a clever chap you understand: a company director, with a six-figure salary but still playing with toy trains (as his wife puts it). Of course, to him these are not mere toys. They are miniature works of engineering art, in very short supply in the condition he seeks. With the greatest collections worth millions, they are a gilt-edged investment and not to be played with: all part of the many-pronged logic he employs to overcome the shocked looks from those who just don’t get it.

I admit to not fully getting Dublo, or Dinky Toys, or remote-controlled cars and planes, but I appreciate and admire the exuberance of those who devote themselves to such innocent pursuits. Ultimately, I see very few differences between the high-end Hornby collectors and my own circle of Porsche-loving friends. Our shared primary goal is social: toy fairs and track days are an excuse for guys to get together, enjoy a little hunter-gatherer banter and come home to plan the next excursion.

My interest in Porsches is first and foremost a means to get out of the house every so often, meet my impact-bumper buddies and chew the bacon sandwich fat, safe in the knowledge that no one is going to tell me it’s bad for my triglycerides. Essen for me is essentially a forty-something jolly, a four-day beerfest with some very cool cars thrown in for good measure. Nothing wrong with any of that, though I would like to see a few more race cars.

Some Porsche people take the business of ownership way too seriously. Like a gourmet meal or a wonderful bottle of wine, the love of the cars is best enjoyed over a few laughs with like-minded individuals. The delight to be found in the intimate details of our marque of choice should not be underestimated, and if that means we’re the butt of a few anoraknophobic comments, then it’s a small price to pay for innocent adult fun with friends, away from the routine of everyday life. So I say, embrace the anorak in you. As a means to escape, it’s absolutely unbeatable.  

Though they are extremely pretty cars, I didn’t enjoy driving it, so one less 924 in the world is good news as far as I am concerned. Plus it means one more clean 944 saved, which has got to be a worthy trade.

Here’s a few pics of the car on the way to its last ever (com)pressing engagement.

The main advantage of buying from abroad is obvious: better choice. Most Porsche production was exported, with the USA the biggest customer, and the vast American market offers a selection of cars far beyond what is available here in the UK. Thanks to this extensive supply, prices for most cars on the American market have remained low in relation to ever-increasing European prices. Combine this with a US Dollar priced very low against Sterling and the Euro, and it’s no wonder that huge numbers of people are importing vehicles from the ‘States; cars like this SC are cheap.

To some people, talk of US imports conjours up images of sunburnt 356s, and scruffy but solid early 911s, brought to the UK as cheap entries into classic Porsche ownership. Importing from dry states remains a useful method of acquiring rust-free base vehicles, but the current flow of Porsches across the pond spans the spectrum, from would-be restos to full-blown RSR replicas and all manner of exotica. This time last year, I spoke to a pair of Porsche enthusiasts who had snapped up a couple of Carrera GTs from a dealer in downtown New York when the dollar rate hit what was then an all-time low.

Buying abroad is one thing, but getting your purchase home is another. It is possible to organise transport to the port, paperwork at point of export, insurance, shipping and Customs clearance etc on arrival oneself, but most people chose to use a shipping company to handle everything, and many Porsche fans use Kingstown Shipping (www.kingstownshipping.co.uk). Kingstown has been shipping cars all over the world since 1986, with the majority travelling from the USA to the UK. Kingstown’s Alan Shores sheds some interesting light on best shipping practise.

“There are two options for shipping: Roll-On/Roll-Off (RO/RO - like a car ferry) and using containers” says Alan. “We prefer container shipping for classic and cherished cars, and there are several points throughout the USA where we offer shared container rates. The advantage of container shipping is more security and less hassle: cars can be non-runners and have loose parts inside. Shared container rates are an average two to four hundred pounds more expensive than RO/RO”.

“RO/RO services from East Coast USA are all fully booked for 6 to 8 weeks, partly due to the dollar rate, therefore it is difficult to get RO/RO bookings at the moment. Container shipping is also backing up now due to volume, but it’s not as bad as the RO/RO services”.

The continuing low dollar rate means that companies like Kingstown are up to their eyes in work. “We’ve been very busy for a few years now”, Alan tells me. “For the past five years, VW campers have been the most popular imports, along with Porsche 911s from the 1970s, big Dodge Ram pickups, Mustangs and so on. There are concessions for duties on vehicles of a certain age, so it’s always worth people ringing us if they’re not sure where they stand”.

The prospect of dealing with HM Customs and Excise is enough to put many people off the idea of personal imports, but the import procedure is usually straightforward and trouble-free.

Where cars over ten years old are imported into the UK from within the EU, the process could not be easier. Before arrival in the UK, the car is insured, using the chassis number. Upon arrival in the UK, the car is taken for an MOT, also using the chassis number. Once the MOT is passed, the insurance, MOT and foreign registration documents are taken to the local DVLA office, where you pay a £50 first registration fee, buy your road fund licence, and fill in a V55/5 to register a used vehicle. A few days later, you get the certificate showing your UK registration number and allowing you to order number plates, the V5C follows soon after and that’s it.

For cars over ten years old coming to the UK from outside the EU, different import duty and VAT rules apply. EU-manufactured cars imported from outside the EU by private individuals must first pay £50 import duty. This a nominal sum intended to cover duty on parts fitted outside the EU. Traders importing EU-manufactured vehicles must pay 10% import duty. Cars returning to the EU within three years of the original date of their departure/manufacture are usually exempt from duty. All importers have 17.5% VAT levied on the total cost of their purchases, which is calculated as purchase price plus shipping plus duty.

UK VAT is reduced where a vehicle is deemed to be of historical significance, but such status is almost impossible to attain. VAT is not payable where those moving to the UK import vehicles as part of their personal effects, but you will have to prove at least 12 months residency in the country of origin, and that you owned and used the vehicle for at least six months prior to import.

In many other EU countries, the VAT rates governing imports of classic cars are lower than here in the UK, but entry via these countries usually requires residency, and on lower-value cars (up to £20k or so) the process is generally not financially viable. I looked at coming in through Ireland, Holland, Sweden and France when importing my own car, and the numbers did not stack up in my case.

Cars under ten years old imported from inside the EU will have to show evidence of Type Approval, or that left-hand drive vehicles have been adjusted for safe use on UK roads. This is a very simple process. Cars under ten years old imported from outside the EU will have to pass a Single Vehicle Approval (SVA) test, which checks that the vehicle is suitable for use on UK roads. This is slightly more complicated, and feedback on SVA testing is mixed, with some cars passing relatively cheaply and approval on others costing a small fortune. Careful research is the key.

Essential reading for those contemplating the personal import process can be found at the Government’s information portal: www.direct.gov.uk/en/motoring.

Astronauts often say that the most impressive aspect of space travel is seeing a jewel-like Earth set amongst the stars, and realising just how trivial our personal concerns are when viewed against the grand scheme of things. Today, we are only a few hundred feet up, but the increased elevation has a similar impact on proceedings. Under unfettered cerulean sky, glistening lacquer ignites in the ultraviolet, and worries fade away, as we focus on an iridescent hum of light and shade, floating atop this 911’s beautifully pressed metal like a Star Trek deflector shield. It’s silver Jim, but not as we know it.

This car began life as a 1978 911SC. Originally finished in Grand Prix White, it was supplied in lightweight guise: without sunroof, aircon or front fogs, and with manual windows. Little is known of the car’s early history, but in 1986, it left Charles Ivey Porsche in Fulham, bound for Florida. At the same time, a young Irishman, new to London, was working right next door to Charles Ivey Porsche. It’s amazing to say that, 21 years on, this may not be the first time our paths have crossed. Small world.

The original Florida title shows that the car was financed by a loan from the Kennedy Space Federal Credit Union. Google Earth reveals that the owner lived just across the bay from Cape Canaveral, in one of those beautiful canal-side bungalows with a mooring out back. It’s hard to imagine a more appropriate setting for a 911 in the late ‘80s: happily ensconced in the Sunshine State, with a speedboat-owning rocket scientist for an owner.

The car stayed at the Cape until 2001, when it was discovered by 911 enthusiast Noah Pollak, fresh from university and working part-time for Pelican Porsche Parts in Los Angeles. Noah had recently slid his beloved ’77 Carrera 3.0 (known as The Red Avenger) off the road and into oblivion, and was looking for a lightweight shell to serve as a new home for the C3’s running gear. $3k later, the spaceman’s SC was his.

The bargain 911 was well and truly distressed: cheap repaint peeling off, engine and transmission past it and trim totally beyond help. Once the car had arrived in Noah’s home state of Vermont, the first jobs were to disassemble the distraught little car, strip out the redundant aftermarket aircon and trashed running gear, and steam clean away those years of neglect.

For the rebuild, Noah was lucky enough to have the assistance of Porsche independent and good friend Rick Cabell, of Eurotech in South Burlington. The owner’s then budget did not stretch to a full repaint, so he prepped and painted the engine bay in the silver he had picked for the rest of the car. The C3 power train was installed, along with much of the Red Avenger’s trim. Repaint plans were mooted early in 2002, but career came first. The new paint was finally applied in June 2003, and the Silver Shark was born.

Noah describes the next few years of ownership in terms that will be familiar to all modified car owners. “The general gist of the car is the classic slippery slope”, he says. “A combination of a developing love of the track, combined with a severe case of “while you’re in there” syndrome, in which changing a wheel bearing leads to fitting 930 brakes”.

The following year saw a huge amount of work, as the engine and gearbox were refreshed, and a Megasquirt EFI system was fitted in place of the K-Jetronic injection. The aluminium-cased 915 transmission was stripped and rebuilt by Noah’s own fair hands, with the shorter 7:31 ring and pinion from a 1972 gearbox, a taller 29:21 fifth gear, Wevo one-piece bearing retainer and a factory upgraded differential cover. The 930/02 motor was stripped and the case split, revealing a pair of broken head studs, worn valve guides and serious wear in the intermediate shaft bearings.

The engine was reassembled with steel head studs and phosphorus bronze valve guides. The spec also included 930 lower valve covers, 9.5:1 JE pistons, 964 Dougherty Racing cams, SSIs with early muffler, MSD ignition box and coil, distributor recurved by Steve Weiner at Rennsport, Pertronix ignitor, Magnecor plug leads, Racor fuel filter with water separator, and a vented oil catch tank. A Rennline RSR engine mount crossbar, and a 3.2 Carrera oil cooler in the factory underwing location completed the installation. In March 2006, Noah made the decision to switch to wilder DC40 cams and 46mm PMO carbs, selling his EFI system and cams to another C3 owner: yours truly.

Over time, the car received innumerable other modifications, including the replica Ruf bumpers (Noah digitally captured the measurements from original photos and hand-cut the slots), Turbo brakes, 17” Lindsey wheels and suspension upgrades including Bilstein Sport dampers, Sander hollow torsion bars, Tarret adjustable anti-roll bars and three-point Rennline strut brace with monoballs. Further mods included a DAS-Sport roll bar, factory short shift, Big Red oil pressure light, Momo Prototipo steering wheel, Rennline pedals and floorboards, lightweight battery relocated to the smuggler’s box and countless other changes. For fans of sports purpose short hoods, this car is special.

In 2007, working in warmer climes convinced Noah that the stripped-out SC was incompatible with ever-dwindling spare time and the need for an air-conditioned daily driver, so the Silver Shark went up for sale. 3,500 miles away, the right buyer was about to enter the market. A Saturday spin behind the wheel of my lightweight Carrera 3.0 was enough to convince Andy Perks that he owned the wrong 911. Perks’ pristine 3.2 G50 Targa was advertised for sale, finding a new home almost immediately. The hunt was then on for a rust-free, non-sunroof, 3-litre project car. There could be only one.

Noah’s last drive in his SC was from the Green Mountain State to New York harbour, where Kingstown Shipping took control. Following a few delays, the Silver Shark finally set sail for Britain, and was renamed The Ark (Noah’s floating creation) somewhere in the North Atlantic. The Ark eventually docked at Chatham in mid-December, and our trip to trailer it back to Brum was one of the most enjoyable expeditions of 2007.

Fast-forward eight weeks to today, and the car is fully legal in the UK. Tuthills carried out some work to bring it up to code and pass the MOT: changing the headlamps, fitting longer wheel studs and new seat belts, overhauling the hand brake and reducing the idle jets in the PMOs to lower emissions. Registration was slightly held up by some missing paperwork, but the DVLA eventually accepted the Florida Space Centre title as evidence of the date of manufacture, two days before a letter arrived from Porsche.

Since the car’s arrival in the UK, the interior has been cleared out - stereo, speakers and wiring deleted - and the headlining has been dyed black to smarten it up. A keen karate expert, and former cycle racer for England who now specialises in the application of robotic technology in manufacturing, Andy is a methodical, mechanically-minded individual, so much work went into tidying the engine bay. The fan and housing were powder coated, the wiring was rerouted through conduits, and drilled coil and fan straps were fabricated. The engine cover hinges were drilled and powder coated, and the entire engine bay was thoroughly cleaned. There is much left to do, but the results so far are impressive.

On the road, the car is superb. The 250bhp engine is a pleasure-filled powerhouse, and the SSIs, M&K exhaust and PMOs work together to form the Porsche Symphony Orchestra. While the driving position and brake bite both need a bit of work, the seamless surge of speed from 2500 to 6500 revs is stupendous, and The Ark acquits itself beautifully on the move, easily losing my Carrera 3 in a straight line. The transmission is superb, that tall top gear terrific with the shorter final drive. Later in the day we weigh both cars, tipping the scales at an identical 1020kgs a piece.

Before my own imports arrived in the UK (from France and Switzerland), I made lists of things I had to change, things that the previous owner had done differently to how I would have liked. But, once I’d seen my cars in the metal, everything about them clicked into place, and all I wanted to do was drive. My impact-bumper buddy is now in the same happy boat. With his hot rod ready to roll, all Andy wants to do is rack up the road trips, and proclaim the lightweight gospel to all those ready to listen. Let me hear you say hallelujah!