The Porsche that sits in the garage at my house was finally checked over and prepared for release to the motoring public on this 29th of September, back in 1963. It was assigned to delivery on the next day. I bought it on 14 May 1964, in Greenwich Connecticut and drove it to Victorville California. On that long solo trip across these United States, I was stopped three times. Not for speeding (although I probably was) but for the simple pleasure of showing the car to the various Highway Patrolmen who had never seen such a thing before.
I don't drive the car enough and it is unhappy. It always starts though. You just have to pump the gas pedal thirty times or so to prime the carbs. There's a little rust here and there, but it is generally sound. It's strange to compare it to the cars of today. This Porsche is made of metal. There's some bakelite, but no plastic. There's a wooden floor, but no exotic metals. There's a wonderful smell about it - gas and age - and the memories related to every assembled piece are priceless.
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