Hudson
Well-known member
Phone rings early in the a.m. It's my buddy, John.
Phone calls late at night, nearly always bad news.
Phone calls early in the morning?
Nearly always a pal, wanting you to tag along somewhere fun.
"Meet me in Shelton at 10 a.m. at the Ridge Motorsports Park. You won't be sorry"
I jump into my riding suit, point the FJR south, and in 90 minutes or so, I am headed down what seems to be a deserted road just past the WSP training center in Shelton. I suddently see the flags flying at the entrance to the track, and now I am smiling ear to ear.
Porsche Drivers Event.
John's waiting near the tent. The deal is, he was invited to a special drivers and event and his girlfriend decided she'd rather go shopping instead of driving a couple of brand new Porsches around a race track. (I know. Thank goodness for blondes!). So John reaches into his vast i-rolodex and I'm the lucky sap who gets picked. Now, I think the intent was that drivers show up, they drive a couple of the latest models, and a few weeks later, one of them winds up in the garage.
John, he could easily write the check, but I'd be choosing between which of the kids wouldn't go to college if I decided to bring my own Porsche home. And it better have a roof top tent, cause that's where I'd be sleeping once Ms. Hudson learned what I'd done.
We were ushered inside the tent for bit of instruction. The drivers were all ex-pro racers. If you ever wondered where they go once they retire, it's to drivers schools for Porsche, Audi, BMW etc.
After a brief lecture, we head to the first station and grab a helmet.
I look at the three options that await us.
Holy Bratwurst, Batman! A new Carrera, a Carrera S, and a Panamera GTS. Close to 1200 hp of streudlehosen. I lean over to the instructer, and trying hard not to act out place, ask "so, which one do you recommend I try?"
She says "Oh, you can drive all of them. One at a time, then switch cars. After you're done, take a lap with the instructer to see how to really lap the track"
Pinch me, Moses! The track helpers look up and I am sure they can tell I am just a poser, but I play it cool.
John and I jump into the Carrera, and the instructor takes the lead car, talking to us from a radio. He punches it, and suddenly, we leap forward trying to keep pace as we hurtle down the straightway past 60...70...80...90, then break hard for the first turn. The track elevation changes as we scream uphill, with quick esses, a hard left, and a jog, and exit doing about 70 onto the short straitaway....80...90...break hard for a sharp hairpin, then a right hairpin, then we are dropping hard into the corkscrew....
...and just like a twenty five cent supermarket kiddie ride, it's over. But here's the thing: it's NOT OVER. OH Yes, cause it's John's turn to take the wheel and now I get to relive the ride as a passenger. John does a good job, takes the turns a might to early, but nails the throttle, and I'm squealing like a kid who just found his daddy's wallet right as the ice cream man pulls into view. We roll into the pits and my heart is beating wildly. But it's over....
...oh no IT'S JUST EFFIN BEGINNING!!!Cause as sweet as the Carrera was, we've still got the 400hp Carrera S.
Again, we each take turn floggin this bad boy. As awesome as the "laymans" Carrera is, the Carrera S is like getting whip cream, a cherry, and then a whole scoop of freaking Oreos dumped on your chocolate shake. The sound of the flat six wailing as we try in vain to catch the instructor. The lightning fast shift of the 7 speed PDK cracking off upshifts. The amazing brakes. What could possibly be better?
Well, the Panamera GTS.
Yes, that Porsche, the one that looks like the Carrera's fatter girlfriend, the one that you'd normally have to entertain like the good wingman you are while your buddy's upstairs gettin jiggy with the Carrera. But here's the thing about the chubby ones: they work a whole bunch harder to please. With its awesome V8, the Panamera hits 60 in like 4.5 seconds, and keeps hurtling forward. Just when all of your better senses are screaming at you to "SLOW THE HELL DOWN, DAMMIT, DID YOU FORGET HOW BIG SHE IS??!!", this big narwhale of a Porsche dances right through the turns, squeezes hard on the brakes, and just plain boogies.
Phone calls late at night, nearly always bad news.
Phone calls early in the morning?
Nearly always a pal, wanting you to tag along somewhere fun.
"Meet me in Shelton at 10 a.m. at the Ridge Motorsports Park. You won't be sorry"
I jump into my riding suit, point the FJR south, and in 90 minutes or so, I am headed down what seems to be a deserted road just past the WSP training center in Shelton. I suddently see the flags flying at the entrance to the track, and now I am smiling ear to ear.
Porsche Drivers Event.
John's waiting near the tent. The deal is, he was invited to a special drivers and event and his girlfriend decided she'd rather go shopping instead of driving a couple of brand new Porsches around a race track. (I know. Thank goodness for blondes!). So John reaches into his vast i-rolodex and I'm the lucky sap who gets picked. Now, I think the intent was that drivers show up, they drive a couple of the latest models, and a few weeks later, one of them winds up in the garage.
John, he could easily write the check, but I'd be choosing between which of the kids wouldn't go to college if I decided to bring my own Porsche home. And it better have a roof top tent, cause that's where I'd be sleeping once Ms. Hudson learned what I'd done.
We were ushered inside the tent for bit of instruction. The drivers were all ex-pro racers. If you ever wondered where they go once they retire, it's to drivers schools for Porsche, Audi, BMW etc.
After a brief lecture, we head to the first station and grab a helmet.
I look at the three options that await us.
Holy Bratwurst, Batman! A new Carrera, a Carrera S, and a Panamera GTS. Close to 1200 hp of streudlehosen. I lean over to the instructer, and trying hard not to act out place, ask "so, which one do you recommend I try?"
She says "Oh, you can drive all of them. One at a time, then switch cars. After you're done, take a lap with the instructer to see how to really lap the track"
Pinch me, Moses! The track helpers look up and I am sure they can tell I am just a poser, but I play it cool.
John and I jump into the Carrera, and the instructor takes the lead car, talking to us from a radio. He punches it, and suddenly, we leap forward trying to keep pace as we hurtle down the straightway past 60...70...80...90, then break hard for the first turn. The track elevation changes as we scream uphill, with quick esses, a hard left, and a jog, and exit doing about 70 onto the short straitaway....80...90...break hard for a sharp hairpin, then a right hairpin, then we are dropping hard into the corkscrew....
...and just like a twenty five cent supermarket kiddie ride, it's over. But here's the thing: it's NOT OVER. OH Yes, cause it's John's turn to take the wheel and now I get to relive the ride as a passenger. John does a good job, takes the turns a might to early, but nails the throttle, and I'm squealing like a kid who just found his daddy's wallet right as the ice cream man pulls into view. We roll into the pits and my heart is beating wildly. But it's over....
...oh no IT'S JUST EFFIN BEGINNING!!!Cause as sweet as the Carrera was, we've still got the 400hp Carrera S.
Again, we each take turn floggin this bad boy. As awesome as the "laymans" Carrera is, the Carrera S is like getting whip cream, a cherry, and then a whole scoop of freaking Oreos dumped on your chocolate shake. The sound of the flat six wailing as we try in vain to catch the instructor. The lightning fast shift of the 7 speed PDK cracking off upshifts. The amazing brakes. What could possibly be better?
Well, the Panamera GTS.
Yes, that Porsche, the one that looks like the Carrera's fatter girlfriend, the one that you'd normally have to entertain like the good wingman you are while your buddy's upstairs gettin jiggy with the Carrera. But here's the thing about the chubby ones: they work a whole bunch harder to please. With its awesome V8, the Panamera hits 60 in like 4.5 seconds, and keeps hurtling forward. Just when all of your better senses are screaming at you to "SLOW THE HELL DOWN, DAMMIT, DID YOU FORGET HOW BIG SHE IS??!!", this big narwhale of a Porsche dances right through the turns, squeezes hard on the brakes, and just plain boogies.
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