A Rose between Two Thorns...

...or is that a thorn between two roses?

This shot was taken this past Saturday at the Canadian-Belgian-Russian wave of the International press launch of the new 2012 Porsche 911 near Santa Barbara California.

The greenish one in the middle is the new car, a Carrera S.

The silver car on the left is a 997, the outgoing model, this particular one I think maybe two or three years old.

The red one on the right is a 993, the last of the air-cooled Porsches. It's a Carrera 4S four-wheel drive, perfect for our climate.

Not in this shot is a 1986 Club Sport, the first prototype - serial number 001 - of this variant. 250 horsepower from 3.2 litres, a little dodgy in the front end, 'tractor' gearbox.

 

Porsche may have made a wee tactical error in bringing this fleet of old 911s from their museum for us to drive at this event.

Why?

Because the old cars are simply brilliant.

They all drove beautifully.

The Club Sport was particularly endearing - so raw, so fast, so full of character.

Even 911 fans who have not driven the new car but have only read speculation about it are worried that it might be 'too good', might have lost the edge which has made the 911 such a terrific drivers' car over its nearly half-century of existence.

Sure, nobody wants their brand-new Porsche to spin back-end-first into the first ditch it sees.

But if the car doesn't scare you just a little bit, is it really a 911?

Now I have never really lusted after old Porsches.

Then I drove these.

The Hornet might just have to move over.

More on the 2012 911 in this weekend's Wheels.

Comments

[DJL]

Q) How do Porsche drivers arrive at heaven?

A) Backwards in a ball of flames.

I love the 911 in every way but one; I've never been able to bring myself to push the car to the edge of its envelop (or the edge of my skill level) for fear of spinning it "back-end-first". Once the back end starts to go you either need the skill and experience of a seasoned Porsche Cup driver, or the luck of the Irish to keep a Porsche headed in the right direction. To make matters worse, or so I've been told (never had the guts to try), you get little or no warning before the back lets go.