Iconic Cars: Porsche

Car and Driver

• Publisher: RosettaBooks
• Year: 2015
• ISBN:
  9780795347450
• Topic: Technologie et ingénierie
• Subtopic: Transport et ingénierie de l'automobile

This fully illustrated volume of road tests, reviews and more from the experts at Car and Driver covers nearly half a century of Porsche excellence. For decades, the company started by Ferdinand Porsche has produced some of the best sportscars money can buy. The Porsche name has come to stand for automotive power, beauty, and prestige. Car and Driver has chronicled the German brand from its first commercial automobile, the 356 Roadster, to its modern lineup of supercars, super sedans, and even super SUVs. Now the magazine has collected its most important, informative, and entertaining Porsche articles in one volume. These reviews, features, road tests and comparisons cover the car maker's evolution from 1975 to today. The articles are accompanied by 79 original photos in bright color or crisp black and white.

Fear of Flying?

Not us. We race a plane in a Porsche 911 Carrera.

BY CSABA CSERE AND TONY ASSENZA

PHOTOGRAPHY BY CINDY LEWIS

from the December 1988 issue of Car and Driver

Anyone who would try to race an airplane with a car is demonstrably crazy. Airplanes are fast, are not subjected to speed limits, encounter heavy traffic only around airports, and travel as the crow flies. Racing an automobile against an airplane makes fully as much sense as entering a zebra in the Kentucky Derby. No way. Uh-uh. Absolutely out of the question. Only fools would try.

We raced a car against an airplane last summer. But only because our honor was at stake. In early spring, Flying magazine senior editor J. Mac McClellan telephoned and smugly challenged us to race one of his airplanes with one of our cars. But not just any plane or car. McClellan wanted to race Mooney's new Porsche-powered PFM private plane against a Porsche 911 Carrera. Now that Porsche has certified its evergreen flat-six sports-car engine for use in private aircraft, the Mooney and the 911, it seems, have quite a lot in common.

The idea of a Porsche airplane engine didn't interest us that much, but the race offered up a challenge we just couldn't resist. Despite the obvious disadvantages of racing a plane with a car, automobiles have actually won such contests. In 1985, driving a Saab 9000 Turbo, Erik Carlsson beat a passenger on a commercial airliner from Hamburg, Germany, to Salzburg, Austria. Germany's unlimited-speed autobahns helped, as did the delays inherent in commercial air travel. But Carlsson nonetheless proved that it can be done.

For trips of less than 250 miles, even when you consider the huge speed advantage of an airplane, a car generally makes more sense. Cars are cheaper to buy, less expensive to operate, simpler to use, and offer the added benefit of ready transportation once you reach your destination. Besides, a Porsche 911 is one of the fastest land vehicles in the world. The Mooney PFM, in the hierarchy of aircraft, is little more than a Yugo of the sky. Accordingly, we decided to go for it.

After prolonged negotiations about the proper venue for our contest, we settled on a Reno-to-San Francisco course. The ground route was slightly more than 200 miles—almost all freeway—and followed a path beaten smooth by cleaned-out California gamblers. We set our departure time for 11:45 a.m. The race would begin at Harrah's front door and end at the Mark Hopkins hotel in downtown San Francisco.

The 911 would be waiting for me in the Harrah's parking garage, while McClellan would have to take a cab from the hotel to Reno-Cannon International Airport. My biggest advantage lay in my being able to drive myself directly from the starting line to the finish, while Mac would have to use hired wheels at both ends of his flight. In addition, Mac would need to perform time-consuming preflight checks before takeoff and would be at the mercy of air-traffic control once in the sky.

To keep Mac honest, we assigned C/D associate editor Tony Assenza to the Mooney's right seat. Tony not only made sure that Mac played by the rules, he also took notes during the trip. His highflying insights are recorded in italics below.

So, without further ado, we present the first Car and Driver versus Flying Reno-to-Frisco trophy classic. And may the better Porsche win.

11:45 a.m.

We scramble from Harrah's front door. Mac and I head for the taxi stand Csaba sprints off to the car. So far it's a dead heat.

Mac doesn't know it, but I've surreptitiously brought the 911 down from the garage and parked it right around the corner. Heh heh. Mac is going to pay the price for failing to find someone foolish enough to ride with me and keep me honest. I'm under way in less than a minute. Virginia Street, one block over from Harrah's parking garage, goes straight to the freeway. By 11:50 I'm on I-80 and streaking toward the coast.

11:52 a.m.

The cab deposits us right at the plane. The advantages over commercial air travel are immediately evident. There are no lines to wait in, no luggage checks to suffer through, and no screaming, bomb-toting Libyans to worry about. The downside is that we won't have a comely hostess with us to serve complimentary drinks and honey-roasted nuts.

Before we climb aboard the Mooney, Mac runs though a ritualistic inspection. He visually checks the fuel supply in each wing, checks for water in the fuel with a plastic thing that looks like it might perform colonic irrigations on its days off, and checks to see that the propeller is still firmly attached That last inspection may sound like an odd thing to do, but 12,000 feet is the last place to start wondering if some of the prop bolts have backed off.

I get a chance to look at the Mooney up close. Despite its whopping pace tag and advanced engine design, the plane doesn't have the 911's all-of-apiece look. It doesn't even look as well built as an econobox. Sighting down the fuselage, you see waves in the riveted metal. Closer examination reveals that the construction is a sort of advanced form of origami: the metal looks as if it's been folded to an approximate shape and then riveted in place. The Mooney is also extremely light. When I pinch the wing or a control surface between my thumb and forefinger, the thing gives like a wad of bubble gum. A delinquent kid with a ball-peen hammer could probably cripple it with a couple of blows.

11:57 a.m.

Sure enough, there's always a cop around when you don't need one. A Nevada State Police cruiser appears on the road ahead, reminding me that I won't be able to use much of the Porsche's 147-mph top speed to win this race. I match the trooper's 65-mph crawl for the next ten miles. He turns off just before the California border. Finally.

12:00 noon

Mac starts the engine without having to yell "contact" to a ground guy or anything. I'm disappointed.

Inside, the Mooney's fit and finish are as low-grade as the exterior's. What plastic trim there is smacks of the cheapest quality, and none of it fits very well. Exposed screwheads and rivets add a slapdash industrial look to the cabin. The only neat pieces are the high-tech instruments, which make the most sophisticated automotive gauges look like the dials you'd find on a riding mower.

While the engine warms up, Mac calls the tower and says something incomprehensible into the microphone. The tower responds with an equally unintelligible reply. Mac must have gotten the message, though, because he pulls out a binder as thick as a New York phone book and begins to consult a page full of lines, circles, and numbers devoted to the Reno airport. The page contains vital information such as radio frequencies and traffic patterns, but to my untrained eye it looks like a schematic for a particle-beam weapon. Mac studies it for a minute, and we taxi out. We line up behind a commercial jet and another private aircraft and wait to take off I promised Csaba that I'd do whatever I could to impede Mac's progress, but short of pulling a bunch of wires out of the dashboard—or whatever you call it—there's not much I can do. Maybe I'll slug him and grab the wheel once we're up.

12:11 p.m.

The 911 seems surprisingly sluggish as I climb up the Sierra Nevada near Truckee. Although I'm trying to avoid attention by keeping the 911's speed below triple digits, I don't waste any time accelerating back up to cruising speed whenever I break clear of traffic. That means frequent use of third gear. At this altitude, fifth-gear acceleration is all but nonexistent.

That concern evaporates when construction suddenly funnels I-80 into one lane. I hadn't banked on this. Fortunately, it only lasts for a mile or so.

12:15 p.m.

Mac rolls on the power, and the wheels leave the ground after rolling for what seems a long time. The mystery of flight never fails to impress me. It strips the threads of logic. In a commercial jet, the experience of flight is way out there; all the sensory inputs of speed, noise, height, and wind are damped to barely noticeable levels. In a light airplane, though, the sky looks maybe an inch and a half beyond your own skin and your senses are continually assaulted. The engine is maybe a foot in front of your knees and sounds as if it were in your lap. The prop is a couple of feet beyond, churning away. The plane is constantly correcting, dipping, bucking, and feeling like a toy on a string. It's miraculous and wonderful. It's also a little scary wh...

Table of contents

• Porsche Power
• Danny Ongais and the Ultimate Turbo Showdown
• Kremer Porsche 935K3
• Porsche 944 Turbo
• Porsche 959
• Catching Cold
• Porsche 928GT
• Ruf 993BTR
• Janis Joplin’s 1964 Porsche 356 Cabrio
• Rohr Porsche 911GT1
• Fear of Flying?
• Godzilla, Captain America, and the Neunelfer
• More Books