The 2015 Porsche 911 Targa will make every Bostonian want to go full peacock.
Question: What’s the difference between a Porsche and a porcupine?
Answer: With the Porsche, the prick is on the inside. That’s my favorite car joke, or at least it was until I drove a Porsche for myself. Only then did I realize whom the joke is really on: the rest of us.
Right now, a 2015 Porsche 911 Targa is glaring at me from outside the window of a Boston coffee shop. Even though I know full well that I need to give her back at the end of the week, I’m relishing a sick, misplaced sense of pride that, at least for the time being, she’s my baby. Every now and again I’m compelled to pull out her sleek key, glance to my left and right, then click the lock button. Yup, that’s mine.
This Porsche is as sexy as lingerie, and no less silky on the road. I can barely choke down my morning espresso before I sprint back into her driver’s seat. The interior is lipstick red, made of plush leather that’s sewn so meticulously you can imagine a little German seamstress—glasses on the tip of her nose, thimble on her finger—stitching the steering wheel together like intricate embroidery. They say the stitching of a car’s interior reveals a lot about how well its company is doing. Clearly Porsche is doing wunderbar.
Idling in front of the coffee shop, I hold down a switch on the dash and the convertible top folds back and tucks itself away as neat as a Swiss Army knife. You don’t drive a Porsche to blend in—you go full peacock.
Behind the wheel, the Targa achieves the elusive middle ground between comfortable sports car and buckle-your-chin-strap rocket ship. Pulling onto the Mass Pike, I radio ground control: “Houston, we’re T-minus 10 seconds for takeoff.” I pop the Porsche into manual. From here on, I shift gears using paddles on the steering wheel. And as for those gears, I got seven of ’em.
I press my foot to the floor and the vehicle moans onto the road. Few things deliver more satisfaction than the symphony of this car’s high-performance engine. The world spills over my head like I’m flying through a car wash too fast to get wet. A smile is plastered to my face. This 911 is named after one of the greatest sports car races of all time, the Targa Florio, and now I can see why.Herb Chambers Porsche of Boston, 1172 Commonwealth Ave., 617-278-9300