I Hear Voices

My cars are calling to me, some more than others

One of the basic tenets of car enthusiasts is that the most enjoyable cars to own and operate are the ones that communicate with you when you’re behind the wheel. Whether we’re talking about primal pre-war cars, “analog” sports cars from the pre-computer era, or even one of the rare modern models whose electronic “nannies” are as permissive as a teenaged babysitter, the experience of driving a car with real feedback is to be savored. As new cars continue to morph into autonomous pods, the stark contrast of older cars that “speak to us” makes them even more desirable.

Over my decades as a collector car owner, I have discovered a similar yet distinct phenomenon. The telltale sign that any particular car I own is destined for frequent use and long-term residence in my stable is not just that it speaks to me, but that it does so even when I’m not driving it.

Crocodile rocks

My first conscious realization of this was just a few years ago, after purchasing a 140k-mile 2006 Porsche Cayman S. The car had been used as a daily driver for 15 years, but impeccably maintained, top to bottom. It actually lived up to the online listing promise of “looks and runs like less than half the miles.” One stint behind the wheel and it was easy to see why the original owner had driven this car every day for so many years. The Cayman’s handling characteristics, matched with near-instantaneous input response, offer an intoxicating driving experience even at legal(ish) speeds.

After a couple years of ownership, it is, without a doubt, still the car I want to drive most often. It is the car that performs each function asked of it just a little better than all others. It lives rent-free in my head, and even when driving my other cars, I am thinking about it. That it has now eclipsed 150,000 miles makes it even more enjoyable to drive. I am never worrying that each extra mile I add, driving the long way home, is detracting from its value. And I can’t remember the last time I checked to see if it has acquired another stone chip to its nose.

Orange crush

I recently purchased a cosmetically challenged — yet lovely — Tangerine 1973 Porsche 914 2.0 from SCM Contributor Jim Schrager. I’d pined over the car for years, and every time I’d visit Jim’s warehouse, I’d remind him of my interest in it.

One day, as tends to happen, Jim woke up and decided it was time. Never one to delay, I was at Jim’s warehouse, check in hand, seemingly before I finished reading his email. The 914 looked worse than I remembered, and as is often the case, not nearly as nice as the pictures suggested. I had been warned.

More important, though, it is mechanically excellent and drives like a dream. When climbing behind the wheel, my first instinct is naturally to compare it to all the other 914s I’ve driven. The handling and wide power band of this one, however, left me surprised. It wasn’t until Professor Schrager explained that this single-year, pre-emissions-standards car is perhaps more accurately compared to a long-hood 911 in how it drives and responds, that I was able to make sense of the magic.

I’ve spent the past few months cleaning and using the car regularly. The charm of this car, though, is in all its flaws. It looks a bit like an orphan but drives like the wind. Yesterday, I took it back to my car barn, part of my regular rotation of cars. I wonder how long before I miss it. Will it call out to me? I have a feeling that I will be wanting to get this dingy 914 a little bit dirtier soon.

Value in use

It’s not necessarily the most valuable cars in my collection that whisper from afar. Quite the opposite, actually. Sure, I love getting my shiny Guards Red Porsche 930 out on a sunny day, and carefully cruising to a nearby destination, avoiding public parking lots. Then, just as quickly, returning it to its safe, secure home. But, unless there’s an occasion specifically for an air-cooled 911 Turbo, the car doesn’t often call my name.

Likewise, while my 986 Porsche Boxster may beckon on an early spring morning with the lure of the season’s first top-down drive, it rarely speaks out from afar. (Or if it does, perhaps it is getting drowned out by its Cayman sibling.)

In fact, for those with multiple collector cars in their vicinity, some of them get driven almost out of a sense of guilt or obligation. (We know what happens when they sit too long.) While stewarding numerous cars is a rewarding privilege, certain examples seem to have a way of making themselves most useful, most often.

This all gets at why we are compelled to pursue this hobby in the first place. Does the owner of a vintage pickup truck hear these voices? Do Pebble Beach-winning Packards have telepathic communication abilities? Having owned neither, I cannot answer those questions. I do believe all collector cars “speak” to their owners (and perhaps most loudly to prospective owners) in ways that are hard to ignore. But it is only those most special cars that haunt you from afar.

Recently, while reading through an online auction listing for a lovely and original, single-family-owned 911T Targa, I was struck by a comment made by the seller, comparing great cars to great guitars: “The ones showing lots of wear are often worn because they are simply exceptional to play. There are a lot of variations between guitars of the handmade era, and sometimes the ones with no wear are like that because they didn’t have the same magic as another.”