200km/h ticked by on the digital speedo and I was still pressed into the sports seats. 230km/h flashed by, and the scenery of autobahn, cars, and trees started to blur. 260km/h rolled by and I started to think “Holy hell!”. At 303km/h I became a laser-guided Autobahn Cruise Missile. I swear I heard sonic booms echo off the Opels I passed. The Porsche and I were melded at this point, a human-machine interface so cohesive it would take three g’s of braking force from the vented discs to separate us. I thought I had found driving Nirvana at this point, but I was wrong.
303km/h on the autobahn, while fun, defeats the purpose of a 911, especially the Carrera S. With the upgrade over the standard Carrera, you get .2L extra, some 30 more bhp for a total of 355bhp, bigger brakes and wheels. These features are not meant to go faster on the autobahn with its long straights and sweeping turns. A Mercedes-Benz S-Class will out class a 911 in this regard. The Carrera S comes with all those goodies so when you get to those hidden back roads that linger just past the wall of trees off the A1, you discover the true magic that Porsche engineers into the 911.
I pulled off the A1 onto the L-149, a tight, twisty, scary piece of broken tarmac near the Mosel River Valley. Off camber turns, steep climbs, trees everywhere, and random Ford Fiestas ejecting themselves onto the roadway make the L-149 a free version of the legendary Nürburgring. It was here that I learned what Porsche really means. The faster I pushed the car, the more it pushed me. From the precise steering, to the unflappable suspension, to the seats that cradle you like an astronaut bound for Mars, everything about the car made me feel like a driving god. Screw the autobahn, I will now be commuting to work on the backroads.
However, when I pulled into my driveway, shut her down, and started to unpack my suitcases, I realized, no car will ever reach perfection, they can only excite that petrol gene in your head to such an extreme that everything else is forgiven. The jaunt down the L-149 made me forget about the useless cupholders, the sat-nav that thinks “Traffic Circle Errors” is the English equivalent to “Traffic Jam”, the tiny Asian torture buttons that are impossible to push at 200km/h, and a steering wheel that blocks my oil pressure gauge.
The 997 version of the 911 is Nirvana . . . until the next one comes out, that will most likely look like this version.