Jason Lee

If you think about all the times you have fallen in love, it always happens when you least expect it — crashing you head on.

This time, it nearly did me in. 
I was drunk and cruising eBay when I came across her; a 91 928 GT being under sold. It was supposed to be a quick flirtation, guess the reserve, steal the car and sell her on at profit, the automotive equivalent of a Saturday one-night stand, bore all of her holes and move her on before the sun comes up.

I guessed the reserve was £15K, bidding was at £13.5, I set the snipping software at £15.5 and went to bed.

Guess what happened next? 

Well, you’re wrong — someone out bid me and the car was gone…or at least so I thought.

The seller got in touch with me two days later and told me the winner of the auction had stiffed him, he offered it to me for my high bid of £15.5. I sent the money immediately. A couple of days later she arrived on the back of a transporter, all fat arse and full of promise.

I had never driven a 928 before so as soon as she was off the transporter I was behind the wheel and on the road expecting a smoke show; fuck, was I wrong…it was terrible. 

Changing gears was like trying to stick your fingers in a virgin hole; every attempt met with fierce resistance, when I did get it in to first it took off like a scalded dog only to die at the next corner and limp along like a grandmother rocking a Zimmer frame.

What the fuck? Had I been sold a mutt?

I spoke to a local garage owner would claimed to have a knowledge of 928’s. Yeah you know how this goes, two and half thousand of the queen’s best beer tokens later and I got the same pile of shit back.

I am stuck at this point, the catholic in me won’t let me sell this lemon onto to someone else and I don’t want to waste any more money on it, but I am now £18K in the hole on a car I didn’t really want in the first place.

"It’s the point at which she is hot and wet and begging to give you more. You could take her there, but why?"

I spoke to a couple of friends of at my home Tipec branch (The Independent Porsche Enthusiast Club) who correctly diagnosed an air flow issue was the cause of the performance issues.

As much I didn’t want to spend anymore more money on the old girl; I stuck her in OCD Porsche, Wirral and explained the problem. Two weeks later they gave me this monster back; this beast that roars up to 90 mph and sits there waiting for you to get serious with it — now we’re talking.

It still had the gearing issue on which there were many theories; none stacked up.

I played my ace at this point. I have an old Aussie buddy who lives in Canada named Jay Lloyds; if Porsche made it, this geezer has worked on it. A desperate email was sent…

“…dude, I know your 3500 miles away and I am asking the impossible but…” I explained the symptoms. 
It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. Within 24 hours I received a set of instructions back,

“Start the car, run it for 3 minutes, turn It off, engage the clutch and the brake together and then select first and turn it back on and let me know what happens...”

Fuck me…it worked. It slipped through the gears beautifully; I got back in touch with Jay, what was that???

“it’s got a new clutch buddy, remember what I taught you about fast clean gear changes, forget it, ride the clutch for a couple of hundred miles and it will be right...”

The next two or three hundred miles were spent going through this weird start up ritual. Each time, the gearing became smoother. I started to relax…slowly the car started to suck me in. I found myself changing. No longer did I dread having to use the car. I started to long for it looking for any reason to get out on the motorway and open her up. I kept staring out the window looking at her. 
Where to?

What excuse can I use to get her out on the road?

A Sunday morning car meet 75 miles away?

An hour on the motorway network first thing Sunday when it was otherwise empty — fuck yeah!

Summer came and went all too quickly. Winter was coming and everyone around me was talking about parking their babies up for the season. I couldn’t do it. The thought of months without this car was too much to bear. Winters here are wet rather than cold. This car could handle it. It had to because five or six months without her was unthinkable.

You could read this and think this was a conscious process, it wasn’t.

Like all great seductions I didn’t see it happening, it slowly enveloped me. Not over or month or two, this took more than year. Slowly, causally, day by day, drive by drive.
The bomb finally dropped on me in February. A couple of the members of my Porsche crew were going to a car show local to them, but two hours away from me. That’s four hours return of me and my baby cruising alone.

I was there.

I stayed for about an hour, it was good to see the guys after the winter but the whole time I was desperate to get back behind that wheel. This trip was just an excuse to have four hours on my own with her — no stereo, no conversation just that beautiful V8 rumble, all that power, and me.

I left, turned onto a dual carriageway and opened her up to about 80 mph. It’s the point at which she is hot and wet and begging to give you more. You could take her there, but why? There is a certain pleasure in feeling her desire and holding her off, making her wait…feeling her want it.
Out of nowhere, rice rocket appeared in the rear view mirror. All cheap body kit and shiny wheels, looking like a suck and fuck stripper and clearly trying to take me on. Really? I had a moment, drop the hammer or…

The truth of my relationship with this car really hit me at this point, I could abuse her to put this upstart in its place, I could push her hard, out run this fucker and show him what real acceleration was like, risk her a little and for what? 

You’re in love with a beautiful woman who gives as good as she gets and some rent a ride in clear heels waves her skinny arse in your face…what do you do? 

You ignore her of course. I causally moved over without dropping my pace and let him drag his arse passed me—I didn’t even give him the satisfaction of looking in his direction. 

I arrived home—changed. I had felt it happening but now I knew and it was undeniable. This was a love like no other I had ever felt for a car; complete, unrestrained—she owned my soul completely. 

You want the happy ending now? 

Fuck you, life isn’t like that. 

I have the opportunity of a life time, a one shot deal, but there is a catch; I have to relocate 3500 miles to Toronto. I could take her with me but it wouldn’t be the same, I know deep down it wouldn’t. I don’t want to drive her on the wrong side of the road, it would be awkward and require a level of effort that currently doesn’t exist between us. 

She’s got to go. 

At the moment when I should be happiest I am conflicted. To fulfil a dream I have to give up the car. If I give up the car I may never find another like it. Like all great love stories, this one ends with a shitty twist…

Jason Lee is the founder and Editor in Chief at Pomopar, a magazine about the passion for Porsche.

photography by Lukasz Dulski


Rosé mil
05/01/2016 10:33

What a great story of a love worth fighting for. You'll never find the human version because you're such a jerk. Get your arse out of the fast lane so you can know how to go slow from one thing to the next without losing substance. Hope it works out for you, you sexist punk. Go back to church.


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