Porsche 911 special: driving the one-millionth model

Seems simple, doesn’t it? Simplistic even. But it’s true: had the 911 not combined a wild spirit with the ease of ownership of a Miele dishwasher from the outset, I’d not be writing these words now. It slipped deftly into people’s lives yet turned every journey into an occasion. And it never went wrong.

After a while, even that reputation for being tricky on the limit started to help. It marked out 911 owners as adventurers, skilled hands who laughed in the face of danger. No matter that the 911 was nothing like as difficult as my predecessors made out, or that to avoid all chance of encountering its dark side, all you had to do was keep away from the limit. And even if you did feel like prodding the tiger, so long as you obeyed the one basic ‘slow in, fast out’ rule that really should apply to all cars being driven quickly on public roads, even early 911s were fine. Pussy cats indeed.

The last normal 911 that was in any way over-exuberant on the limit (for ‘normal’, read pretty much all save the GT2s) went out of production more than 30 years ago, but the legacy lives on. Which means the legend of the 911 has become selfperpetuating to a very great extent, insofar as can you imagine how big a duffer Porsche would have to produce to kill it now? Me neither.

And it has stayed faithful to the formula. You might scoff at the very notion when you see how large the 911 has become, but relative to the generational growth of family cars like, say, a Volkswagen Golf, it has hardly grown at all. The 911 still has easily the shortest wheelbase of its competitor set, and if you have cause to keep up with a powerful midengined supercar, you’ll appreciate its relative narrowness as much now as you’d ever have done then. Probably more.

Ghosts are gathering. A 1960s short-wheelbase Targa buzzes alongside, followed by the growling prototype G-series ClubSport to cover the 1970s and 1980s. A 964-series Turbo is an interesting choice for this is one of the few genuinely difficult 911s – an urbane sophisticate in a tuxedo with a stiletto blade up his sleeve: the Patrick Bateman of the 911 world. Then there’s a 993, the last of the aircooled cars, complete with Targa top and four-speed Tiptronic gearbox. I always preferred the manual coupés, but the shape is a delight as ever. And one water-cooled car, an original 996 GT3 to serve as the final spectre of 911s from decades gone past.

I try them all before deciding what to do with the millionth car. The original Targa illustrates perfectly an enduring old 911 truth: they look fragile but are preposterously robust and respond beautifully to a firm hand and confident foot. It feels fast, too, faster than a 2.0-litre car half a century old has a right to feel.

Although it is not, the ClubSport feels like the mid-point in 911 evolution, as closely related to the cars of today as the very first. It is a joy to drive. The 964 is hilarious because it’s so quiet and so civilised yet you know it’ll mug you as soon as its back breaks loose. Don’t give it that chance.

An early rear-drive manual 993 coupé with 17in wheels and air conditioning (silver with black leather as you’re asking) would be pretty much the 911 of my dreams. It’s tiny, air-cooled, very quick, beautifully behaved, exquisitely built and completely out of my price range.

And then the old GT3. My, oh, my. Because all these cars are owned by Porsche and maintained by the factory museum, they are in as-new condition. So it not only leaps down the road, but its chassis also feels a lot more together than many modern sports cars. Like all the best 911s, it makes you want to drive it as fast as you sensibly can and then, instead of punishing your foolhardiness, it rains reward down upon your head for taking it at its word.

So now we have context; what we don’t have is time. Somewhat understandably, Porsche wants its car back and I can only ignore the supplications of my telephone for so long. I have a Carrera S long-term test car not dissimilar to this car so I could just turn around and slink slowly back to Edinburgh, write the words and no one would be any the wiser. But this is a landmark car and, save some rather lovely details (wood inside, special needles, houndstooth upholstery, the odd plaque and so on), it’s in deliciously basic spec: manual with iron brakes and very little else. I simply cannot not drive it.

I’m lucky. I get a good run of 15-20 miles of effectively uninterrupted driving, which is enough to get the one-millionth 911 singing and me feeling as privileged as if I were driving the original prototype. It feels quick – quick enough for me to wonder if it has a GTS engine on board (a £7k option on the Carrera S) – but most of all, it feels like a 911.