A perfect day

So, this is what it’s all about. I get to take my little girl out in the 911. It's a perfect Southern California Sunday. We head up to Malibu for lunch, and as we finish our burgers, we proceed to drive the canyons and soak in the vibes.

She smiling. I’m smiling. The sun is smiling. Life is good. Life is damn good.

Then, your chain tensioner collapses and the sound of small machine fire fills the car urging you pull the fuck over right away. 

Suddenly your perfect day turns into, well, a different kind of perfect day. A day that involves bamboo swords, borrowed sweatshirts, giant blue slushies, and a ride on a flatbed.

Like I said, perfect.

It's the little things

August was fast approaching. Which means, so was my favorite week of the year, Monterrey Car Week. So, with the paint now firmly in "respectable-driver" mode, I turned to a few details.

Next up on the list were the all-important stripes. Listen, everyone knows that a good car wash makes your car faster. So just imagine how much power she'll make with a fresh set of 3-M hood and bonnet stripes.

I ordered about 50 swatches and eventually decided to go with the a shade of tan that closely resembles the old Sand Beige Porsche color from the same period. I enlisted the help of a buddy of who provided a few tips for laying down the vinyl. He is every bit as anal as I am and, but even then, I can't believe how damn long it took us to put them on. "Ok go. Rub it down. Looks good over here. You? Yeah. No. No? I don't think so. Let's back it up. Do we need heat? I can't see what's happening on your side. Fuck. What?! Nothing. I think we're good." And so on. When it was all said and done, we did have a chance to make a 6-pack of Bud disappear. Like I said, it's the little things.

To make of the most of my new found horsepower-through-stripes initiative, i wanted to make some more noise as well. So, I ordered up a new M&K exhaust from Pelican. It is a beautiful piece, saves a few pounds, and bolted up nicely to my fresh SS heat exchangers. But, holy shit, is it loud. As Tom, the guy who owns Mistress and helps me look after the car, put it. It sounds like you bolted on a built motor. He was being nice. He fucking hates it. But I love it (I think). Well, at least for now I do. It sounds like one part tractor and one part angry Ferrari. I think I'll put a few miles on it before I decide what to do.

And last but not least, I yanked out the old air box (much to Tom's dismay as well) and added a set of Sheridan Motorsports fiberglass rain shields. I love the way it cleans up the top of the motor. And now she makes some gnarly intake noise. 

Then it was onto the trailer for a ride up to Monterrey. It was, as always, an amazing week. And just one year after taking ownership, I was showing off the old girl all around the peninsula. She's shiny-ish, making good sounds and thanks to the stripes, is much faster too.

Drag queen

In your fucking face, Deadlines. I know most folks get those palm sweats when they think about you. But I’m used to you. I know you. My everyday life revolves around you. So, for me, deadlines are like p-shaw, nbd. I roll through deadlines like (insert, like-a-fat-kid-through-something, metaphor here).

Well, I expected to have time to spend in the garage pouring over every detail. I expected to get a lot more done to the car. I expected to document my trials and tribulations on this here ghost blog. I expected lots of stuff for christsake. But expectations rarely live up to reality. I dropped the proverbial meat in the dirt. I missed a deadline.

In that whole battle for Work/Life balance. Work had boxed Life the fuck out and Life found itself on the sidelines taking a knee. But, this thing is supposed to slide back and forth, so in an effort to help Life win, I’m throwing a ‘bow in his side and whispering sweetly in his ear, “get the fuck out there and do stuff.”

So, here’s a quick recap of what has happened over the past, oh 9 months.

I decided to put the car in the corral at the PCA Concours. As a PCA member, there are plenty of opportunities to gather for weekly coffee. There are occasional drives up the coast with 25 of your favorite strangers. And there are a handful of bigger events like the Concours. As most of you know, the 3 people who read this that is (hi, mom.), the Concours is a gathering of the best-kept, most-fussed-over, cleanest and mostest-sexiest specimens. And this one hopes to collect some of the most beautiful Porsche in Southern California.

And then there’s my car.

This is a car that hasn’t been washed in 12 years. Both sides, from tip to tail, are coated in a mismatched, flat white. The seals are dried and cracked. The dash is split open. The car looks like it may have spent a decade forgotten under a pile of boxes and firewood, in a garage in Rancho Park. Needless to say (why do people say that and then go on to say it anyway?) the car needed lots of love in a short amount of time. So how did I go from the parking lot to the floor of the Concours? Let’s back this up a bit.

First up, was getting the sides of the car painted, uh, properly. As I mentioned many months ago, I had already painted and stripped the sides twice. I was really struggling to find a good match for the paint. So, back to Finishmaster it was. I brought the car and discussed the plan with them. Because I have decided that a proper full-body respray would happen at a later date, my immediate goal is to assemble a respectable driver. Finishmaster introduced me to a new product they have, single-stage, in-the-car spray paint.

They used a little hand-held scanner to match the paint, Home Depot-style. Then, we mixed up a batch, dumped it into spray cans and off I went, stoked to spray out a perfect match. Well, after laying down yet another pass of fresh paint, I noticed something that I probably should have picked up on long before. Nearly every panel of the car is a slightly different shade of light ivory.

My quick and easy door guard patch and paint had officially turned into a shadetree master class on color matching and blending single stage paint (which I was told wasn’t possible). Long story short, I sanded it down again. Remixed another shade of custom, eye-balled mixed, light ivory and sprayed another pass. BLAMMO! It’s close e-fucking-nuff. I scotch-brited the whole car. Then put it through a round of compound and polish. And I have to say... she’s looking damn respectable for a garage dweller.

Next up, I yanked off the bumper, peeled out the old rubber seals, cleaned up this-and-that and striped in new seals. Finessing everything back into place with love and anger.

Wallah. She’s a full-on show car. As I said, I don’t know how I managed to get the car into the parking lot let alone into the building. But I have to admit, it was cool to see her under the lights next to the other objet d’art.

Screw the wooden wheel

Shortly after I bought the car, I ordered a Porsche Certificate of Authenticity, also know as a CoA. Along with other interesting bits of information, the CoA and Kardex both showed that my car was originally delivered with the highly desirable, wooden steering wheel. Of course this was all I needed to start obsessively stalking the message boards, forums, eBay and Craigslist hoping to find someone selling an original wheel. What I didn’t know at first was just how effin expensive these little treats were. Over the course of the past year, I saw the values rise appreciably. I figured, if I was ever going to do this, now was the time.

I missed out on a cherry of a wheel in Europe, which bummed me out. Then I see this chunked up gremlin on eBay. It was gnarly; delaminated, rusted, warped and desperately in need of a thorough restoration. As luck would have it, the wheel was in Los Angeles, so I made arrangements to check it out in person. At the same time, I’m in contact with a wheel resto guy back east. I’m working the damn system now, in charge and ready to strike.

I roll up to this shop, an intriguing vintage Porsche parts warehouse tucked behind a giant, sliding, corrugated steel door. After exchanging brief pleasantries with the owner, I gave the wheel a once over and confirmed the price, $1500. That’s right. $1500. My first car, a sweet ’65 Dodge, was $1500.

I think it took me a couple days to get my head straight. But when I did, I realized that it was time to ease off the old throttle a bit. My car has a beautiful, period-correct steering wheel with loads of good patina. I’m not restoring this car to sell. And, I don't have massive reserves of disposable income. Problem solved. There will be no wooden wheel in my car.

That said, I do love the warmth that wooden wheels and wooden dashes add to a SWB car. So as luck, or fate, would have it I found something else wooden to add to the cockpit to give me that warmth. A couple weeks ago when I was in Deus to pick up my super-slick Moderica Luftgekühlt chair, I spot a handful of shift knobs under the glass case at the register. They’re made by a fella that goes by the name of Joshy Robots. A Bay-area Porsche dude, he’s brought a pretty fresh “fuck it, don't over think it” style to the sacred church of Stuttgart. The knobs are made from old skate decks and were inspired by the banded balsa shift knobs used in the venerable Porsche 917 race cars.

So, screw you wooden steering wheel. I’m hooking up with wooden knob. Which is totally cool.












Here's a detail of the wooden wheel, saturated in a rich patina.
And here's the Joshy Robots number I added.


















And a bonus shot of a '68 soft window I spotted on the way to inspect the wheel. I thought it was some sort of sign. Maybe it was.

The Porsche Widow

As I mentioned before, the name on the Kardex wasn’t the name I expected to see. My buddy carefully, but unfortunately inaccurately, described his dad taking him to pick up the car, “right off the showroom floor,” in October of 1968. So when the Kardex popped up on my computer screen showing a different surname, I guess I was a little shocked.

Interest, fully piqued, I rolled up my short sleeves and got to Googling. At first I had trouble getting any leads. After several searches with slightly different variables one entry for a business which was closed down came up. I doubled down, Googling the business name and the word “phone number”. Sure enough, at the bottom of a listing that popped up was a phone number. I’m thinking, there’s no friggin way this is going to lead anywhere. But, you never know. I dial the number, anxiously awaiting the first person who owned my 911 to answer the phone. After a handful of rings… voicemail. And it was one of those robot voices. “Thank you for calling. Please leave your message after the tone.”

Me: “Hi there. This is a strange message to leave on voicemail. But my name is Scott Hidinger. I own a 1968 Porsche 911 that I believe may have been owned by someone at this number. If you know anything about this, I’d love to chat. Thanks.”

I had a bit of an adrenaline rush as I waited for someone to pick up. But after I hung up the phone, let’s just say I wasn’t holding my breath while I waited for a response.

But all be damned. A couple hours later someone from the number I called is calling me back. I fumble with the phone and answer.

Me: “This is Scott.”

Caller: “Hi there, this is Mary. You left a message on my machine about a Porsche.”

Me: “Yes, yes. Any chance you know anything about the car?”

Mary: “Yes, my husband had that car. Mmmhmmm. And he did love it. So, of course, I hated it.”

We both laughed a bit and she went on to tell me that her husband had passed in the 80’s. A life-long smoker, he had died of lung cancer. She went on to tell me some memories she had about the car. She told me how much she hated riding in it with her heels. She told me her husband used to “exercise it”, with drives up to Santa Barbara for lunch. A trip that now often takes several hours could be accomplished with relative ease in the 60’s. She fondly recalled how he used to drive up to Angeles National Forest and go shooting. And remembered how they would sometimes cruise over to Vegas, or even down to Tijuana on a Saturday to have dinner.

We spoke for maybe 10 minutes. At the end, I promised to bring by a photo of the car for her to have and she said she’d poke around for any old photos she might have. “No promises and no timelines,” she warned. At the end of the call, she thanked me.

Mary: “Listen, I want to thank you for taking me back to a time in my life I haven’t thought about for a long, long time. That was fun.”

It seems that even though Mary wasn’t the biggest fan of the car, it certainly made an indelible impression on her. I guess Porsche’s have a way of doing that.

The Rockford Files

Welp, not much to report in the way of progress. Unless of course by progress you mean, driving. Which in that case, I’m smashin’ it.

Not only did I put some time behind the wheel of the 911, but last weekend was my annual moto tour. This year we logged just over 650 miles in three days. Not a particularly impressive number by touring standards. But if you consider that nearly 80% of those miles were spent wrenching the handlebars in the twisties, well then, it’s a different story. The Sport 1000 was put into action and served well. The only hitch was a missing side stand bolt. Which prompted me to lean the bike against a shipping container during a brief stop at Iron & Resin. But otherwise, smooth smooth.

 

In other news. I made it to the Porsche Festival of Speed in Fontana. I headed out to support the Mistress boys (@mistress_silverlake) in their matching black and gold livery Mistress 911s, and my buddy Ez in his out of place, but fast, e46. The highlight of the day was when it was my turn to take to the track... during a Parade Lap… in my wife’s Jeep. C’mon, it was drizzling out there and it took serious balls and concentration to eat Chex Mix while circling the track at near highway speeds. Another exciting moment… I managed to snap a shot of the rarely-seen-in-the-wild Magnus Walker and his 78 SCHR who was hot on my seis.

 

Oh, and I attended Luftgekühlt, or Lüft 3 if you're way inside. Let me just say, it was nauseating; an overwhelmingly, amazing gathering. There were celebrities. Racecars. Wild customs. Shitboxes. Perfect restorations. 100% originals. And a tractor. That’s right, a GD, Porsche tractor. I could have spent 10 hours walking around, taking pics and talking to people about their babies. But I didn’t. Mostly because I spent 30 minutes in line trying to grab a BBQ sammy, but also because the event was only about 4 hours long and there were just too many cars to see in that amount of time. There’s very little I can say about Luftgekühlt that hasn’t been said already, but here are a few shots to add to the pile.

 
 
 
 
 

During the day I had a chat with a coupla good dudes, two buddies from Newport Beach. One of them had taken a rusted out 912 and given it new life with a Subaru STI motor. (Which is rad in my estimation). His buddy, Cam, asked if I had pulled a Kardex on my car, which I hadn’t. He said something about needing to know a guy to get one, which I didn't. And he also said maybe he had a guy, which I needed. So, last week I shot him a note. He forwarded my info to a connection of his (aka, the guy). I PayPal’d him and a few days later there it was; my very own copy of the Kardex from the original file in Germany. I used Google Translate to do some light forensics. But the one thing that didn’t require Google, surprised me most. And that was the handwritten name of the first owner: Dr. Garrett Vance. Not the fella I expected to see at the top of the page. Time to get my Jim Rockford on, but first, some shots from the drive.