words and shots by el jefe

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hang with us for a while and see how the sick motherfuckers do it...
I wanted to get this out while it’s still fresh.

certain things in life, I’m finally learning, come in stages. you don’t realize it when you’re in your teens because you’re too stupid and all you care to do is fornicate or masturbate your youth away in between managing your paper route and doing homework.

you can forget about your twenties because you’re doing much the same thing you did in your teens except this time you’re including alcohol and a few gateway drugs into the equation while pissing your money away at University and working as a busboy.

now your thirties…ah, that’s when you realized there were a few more gears under the palm of your hand when previously you thought first was the only one you needed. hopefully, you now understood that college wasn’t about grades, getting your whistle wet, or vomiting on the Dean’s car for laughs…it was about making connections and honing in on what completely engulfed your thoughts; a passion of sorts.
those three semi-useless chapters in your life now fade into the fourth—and this bums you out because you officially feel old, time finally begins to mean something and so you carefully begin to budget, allot, and live through it with much more gusto than before; contrary to popular belief, entering your forties doesn’t entitle you to filling your gut bucket with shit beer and farting into the cushion while you watch the game on telly. no. this is a decade in your life when things begin to happen because it all starts to make sense to you…especially when your testicles begin to slowly creep back up into your body, your anus twitches advising both of its neighbors rife with pimples and hair to clench as you hold on for dear life while hoping that your insurance policy is paid.

"...responding, involuntarily, by leaking a little bit of urine onto the front of my dungarees..."

as Matt moved the gear lever from dog-leg first and guided it forward into second while keeping the revs up, every fibre of my being went into auto-pilot as second gear was now engaged, foot was to the floor, and hands thrust the 928 into a right hook; the back end of the car had a different idea of what it wanted to do, and that’s when it hit me.

Matt met me this morning at a place I love to spend time in when I have it; Jason Gonzalez’s Maniac Racing and R7 Restoration headquarters…the place where abused, old, and tired Porsche 944s end up after Jason has a man-to-machine chat with them about becoming rejuvenized. Matt has never met Jason before; and he never met me in person either, so it was sort of a three-way bottom sniffing moment.
two of flüssig’s Fab-Four were present, Matt’s insane 928 RS, and Jason’s newly restored 944 Turbo for his lovely wife…I chose to be a hypocrite and show up to the party with my 911 so that I can’t accused of bad-mouthing the air-cooled fossil out of jealousy or spite in such company.

we got together because I wanted to see Jason’s newly finished masterpiece rendered in Indischrot and take it to an interesting location so that I could dump a wad of memory on photographing it. we couldn’t ask for a better day to not only get together, but to shoot some film…it was perfect. before we left, though, the three of us hung around for a bit and shot the bull, mostly about cars, and partly about our lives around these cars—it was, for me anyway, like we’ve been blood brothers since elementary school.

each of us is relatively seasoned living into our early forties, we’re all a year apart; Matt pushing 44, Jason just turned 43, and I was the babe at 42. here we were, living out our own dreams rather than being like our pathetic contemporaries living vicariously through some other oaf. we’re the real deal; we’re the kinds of guys lots wish they could be, and we’ve become passionately involved with a Marque most would consider a clear manifestation of middle age and a surrogate for receding hairlines, overhanging bellies, and a gentleman sausage that performs like shooting pool with a rope when it’s time to do the hokey-pokey.
it feels damn good to be in such company because we’ve all the same aspirations; to collect and enjoy these machines, and the best part was yet to come…but for now, driving to the photo shoot location was what I looked forward to. the plan was for Jason to drive the Turbo while Matt and I followed him in his rolling work of art, the 928 RS. I’ll save the juicy bits of these two Porsches for another story because what I really want to discuss was the experience of them first.

Jason rejuvenated his wife’s Turbo to the point where it looks like we were back in 1986 and he’s just bought it. everything on it gleamed. it sat rather low on rare and period correct BBS RS three piece wheels in silver that perfectly complimented the 944’s silhouette and color, while the chrome-tipped Ansa exhaust proudly erected from the rear. the cherry on top of this sundae was the “Turbo” script that adorned the 951’s passenger side fender, nothing else could declare this Porsche’s cool factor better than that appliqué.
the 928 RS was by far the most interesting of the lot, what made it so is how Matt decided to remolecularize the thing. you see Matt wanted to create a car in a style he thought Porsche would have, had the 928 been promoted to RennSport status. this car went through the most rigorous weight saving program that I’ve ever witnessed or read about…I can’t, I just cannot begin to tell you all of the things Matt deleted, bored holes through, or switched out for lighter materials because it would take a volume to explain it all. it’s ridiculous and ridiculously light with a power to weight ratio matching that of the legendary 911 RS, let your imagination play with that for a while. the old girl was wearing a Gulf blue dress with contrasting orange wheels and the number “83S” affixed on both doors, ending with a Bürzel (ducktail for you ninnies) of its own on her rump where the letters “R” and “S” announced what had just roared by.

I immediately went into fight-or-flight mode when he started the thing; responding, involuntarily, by leaking a little bit of urine onto the front of my dungarees followed by an embarrassingly audible relaxing of the bowels. the roar from the side pipe that exited from under the passenger side door was so loud, so frightening, that had a Lion been within distance of hearing it, he would’ve run for the hills with his tail tucked between his legs. so imagine the experience of riding shotgun in this sinister machine, apparently angry at the world, with this man who is its master and you can clearly begin to see why I thought I was going to have to explain to my wife through a Ouija board why I was such an idiot to climb into this thing in the first place.
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luckily, I was devoid of any bodily fluids below the waist to soil this spartan interior and anger my host.
Matt was in complete control of this beast with aplomb, and after regaining my composure from the tire scrubbing, rear twitching, right hander we just took, he was going for third gear after Jason whose furious 951 was heading off into the horizon. we were gaining on him and easily surpassing the magic three digit number on the speedometer that guaranteed us a night of endless corn-holing in the county lock-up. I stuck my head out of the window and let out a banshee scream, while this sick motherfucker was going for fourth, as we lost more distance between us and the evil red mistress sucking air through a massive turbine in front of us.

the road was a two lane highway flanked by sandy soil and pine trees with 50mph as the suggested speed; we screamed fuck you to the law, the road, and the mass of Stuttgart alloy under the hood as it screamed towards redline begging for the next cog. this, my friends, is how a group of early forties mannish-boys should behave. you’ve worked for it, slaved for it, and now it was time enjoy a bit of it one swig at time as if it were Everclear because the time that used to be on your side is now deciding that it would be a bad idea to give you anymore of it…

highball!
 


Comments

11/10/2014 09:10

Más fantástico!

I had the pleasure of driving Matt's 928RS at Frenzy. My favorite part about the experience was just being near or in it. That, and the fact that Matt trusted me enough to let me have a go at her.

Beyond that, the RS behaved as if she knew Matt was NOT behind the wheel. She's certainly a 928 you need to court a while to seduce. I only wish I had more time to experience her real character. But what I did get out of our first date is I wanted more!

And Matt is just a stellar guy! He exudes that excellent feeling of brotherhood you wrote about... very similar to you and I.

Great piece, Mang! My only dispute would be the direction my testicles are heading... ;)

Reply
11/10/2014 11:55

Bravo. You make me sound much more badass than I actually proclaim to be, but I humbly accept the commentary about the shop and the man-to-beast conversations I have with all of my subjects.

It's always like being in a time-warp when you come by - as if the second hand itself is in second gear. I just loved having you and Matt down at the shop and enjoyed the hell out of seeing his beast. I'm not sure how I let the hours pass without ever getting into the RS, but that just means that we'll have to arrange another middle-aged madmen's club event.

I also know that there are a few other guys who would love to attend.

Until then - JG

Reply
Joe Sharp
11/10/2014 16:16

I want to know what happens in your mid 60's ?

-in 20's and 30's I had a 914, 40's I had my first 87 944.
at 60 I bought my 86 944, at 61 I bought the 89 944 from Jason.

My hope would be to have an S2 Cabriolet to take to the beach!

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