How the hell did I end up with a Boxster to call my own? Well, let’s just call it my most impulsive purchase yet.
Three weeks into my employment at Amazon, some former coworkers mentioned – over beers, of course, at the TapHouse Grill, of course – that I should consider getting a Porsche. They’re reliable, are fun to drive and a used one can come out to be fairly inexpensive. Given these facts, how could I not peruse Google and Craigslist, looking for a nice, inexpensive, automatic Porsche? Not knowing how to drive stick, see, basically led me to only consider automatics.
Next day, I mentioned the conversation to a few of my new coworkers. Almost immediately I was assaulted with a Porsche-for-sale notice from a PM on the Kindle team… and some verbose commentary on buying an automatic Porsche. Something about me being a little bitch and who-ever-buys-an-automatic-sports-car?! Who knew nerds could be so opinionated…
Long story shorter, I met with the PM, saw the car, talked to my bank about a loan, bada bing bada boom, it’s less than a week later and I’m happy owner of a 2000 Porsche Boxster. A manual 2000 Porsche Boxster. A car that I can’t drive home. Had to ask a coworker (he offered, how nice) to drive it back for me.
That weekend was sunny and perfect for learning to drive stick. Stalled a number of times, trying to go from a red light, but thankfully didn’t burn out the clutch. (That comes later.) Even tried some handbrake uphill starts, but failed so miserably that I have yet to try again.
Learning to drive stick has, at the same time, been one of the most fun and the single most terrifying experience of my life. It’s amazing how much fun it is to rev up that Stuttgart-born beauty, to tear into and out of a corner, to rev up to 100mph on the free road and take a tight corner at a too-damn-fast speed of 65mph.
Then again, learning to drive stick at night, alone, roaming around Redmond, shifting up and down for an hour at a time… The whole experience filled me with dread and a paralyzing fear. Every red light was scary, that moment between it turning green and the car PROBABLY stalling as I let go of the clutch too early, or gave too much gas and – in a state of panic – let go of both the clutch and the gas. A few days into this practice, I finally did burn the clutch. Somehow ended up entering some condo complex (or something), with speed-bumps galore. Picture it: uphill, stuck over a speed-bump, in third gear, with a honking asshole behind me. I stalled the car trying to inch over the speed-bump (in THIRD, duh), then applied too much gas but actually managed to go from a stop in third gear. DON’T TRY THAT. Just… don’t.
Obviously, I could barely force myself out the door to practice.
And that is saying quite a bit, I think. I’d just recently made the leap of faith to change companies. Just a month before I completed an almost foolish one-man road-trip through the western states, including a scenic drive-through of the Death Valley. Those events didn’t terrify me this much. Hell, first day of school in Russia; coming to the states; first day of school in various schools (we moved a lot); starting college; interviews; internship; starting a new job at Microsoft; various scary/emotional personal events, etc. None of those things terrified me as much as learning to drive stick did. It scared the shit out of me.
And now… here we are. I take the Boxster in to the office on the (few) nice days, with the top down. I drive the car every weekend. Every chance I get, I drive, and every possible chance of those, I put the top down. Best impulse purchase? Definitely. A trying ordeal? You bet your ass.
So far (this summer) I’ve taken the Boxster to Leavenworth twice. Drove it up and down the Puget Sound. Joined the local Porsche Club and went on one hell of a drive on the peninsula. Drove down to Portland for a relaxing weekend. Visited Anacortes (without the ferry, hate lines). Since purchasing the car in late April, I’ve already put something close to five thousand miles on it. Managed to stall it less than half a dozen times after that nerve-wracking week or two of practice. An achievement in my book.
