Porsche road trip celebrates the one-millionth 911

Even for veteran automotive journalists it’s not often a car museum wheels its finest exhibits out the door, transports them to a destination with fantastic driving roads, throws you the keys and says: “Here you go. Have fun!” However, to celebrate production of the one-millionth 911, the Porsche Museum did just that and motoring.com.au was amongst the small selection of invitees who took to the roads of the Scottish Highlands in some of the finest ‘toys’ in the collection.

Not surprisingly, the actual seven-digit 911 – an ‘Irish Green’ Carrera S – is a special one-off which, after a brief tour taking in a handful of countries, will also reside in the Porsche Museum. We fortunate journos scored the rare honour of putting some real-world miles on not only the milestone car’s odometer, but also a selection of key 911 models through the ages, enabling us to create our own personalised time capsules of Zuffenhausen’s iconic rear-engined sportster.

Among the tantalising museum pieces available for us to steer across some of the most epic roads in Scotland were a 1967 911 Targa, a 1985 (G-series) 911 Carrera Clubsport prototype (the only one in the world), a 1991 (964) 911 Turbo and a 2000 (996) 911 GT3. Each of these is a seminal car in its own right, so we climbed behind the steering wheels of bona-fide slices of automotive history.

Without further ado, let’s cut to the chase with some seat-of-the-pants impressions of each of these classics…

1967 911 Targa
The 911 Targa was conceived in the mid-sixties as a pre-emptive measure of sorts because, at the time, North American safety regulators were threatening to outlaw open-topped cars due to their lack of rollover protection. With the Targa (named after the storied Targa Florio road race in Sicily, Italy), Porsche addressed this by having a fixed stainless-steel roll bar and detachable roof panel – essentially making it the world’s first ‘safety convertible’.

On sale from January 1967, the first Porsche 911 Targa had a plastic rear window (later replaced by a fixed glass screen) which could be unzipped and folded down.

Stuffed into the car’s rump was a 2.0-litre flat-six engine eking out 130hp (96kW), which propelled the 1080kg drop-top to 100km/h in 9.1sec and on to 210km/h if you kept the foot planted. Pretty good numbers for its day.

I’ve previously driven a selection of 1960s sports cars – among them a couple of Jaguar E-Types and C1, C2 and C3 Chevrolet Corvettes – and the prevailing memory focuses on how simply awful they were to pedal. The best thing to do was to simply get out, stand back and admire their visual purity.

In this context, it came as a surprise to find how tight and relatively easy to drive the Targa felt from behind the wheel. The 2.0-litre engine was decently punchy, and more tractable than expected, given its small displacement. While the four-speed manual transmission was also reasonably slick, the wand-like gearstick sprouting from the floor had to be moved a considerable distance to swap cogs.

The interior was predominantly black, in the Teutonic way, but there was some design flair in its large four-spoke steering wheel and the instrument cluster with its five dials sitting in an expansive row. A metal strip across the dashboard helped break up the all-black monotony.

Curiously, the heater was activated by pulling up a bafflingly placed lever (with no labelling) next to the handbrake. It all added to the quirky charm of the likeable Targa.

Across the twisty tarmac from Loch Lubnaig to Spean Bridge, the 911 Targa did adopt some amusing lean angles as we hustled along, but managed to keep pace with the rest of the (much newer) 911 convoy, which proved an eye-opener for both me and my co-driver.

Most importantly, it came across as an engaging driver’s car, with its variety of oil/petrol-infused aromas (synonymous with vehicles of its age) and the chuntering of the flat-six adding richness to the experience. It felt like a live organism in your hands – not remote and synthesised, like today’s cars.

1985 911 Carrera Clubsport prototype
In 1985, Porsche built an experimental model designated ‘911 F 22, prototype sports package 2’, and this was to form the basis for the sought-after 911 Carrera Clubsport, of which just 340 units were built from 1987-89.

It was a minimalist car in the truest sense, foregoing air-conditioning, electric windows, rear seats, sound insulation material, central locking, and even the sun visor on the passenger side, enabling it to tip the scales at just 1160kg (100 kilos lighter than the standard 911).

Although the Clubsport didn’t get a power hike, it scored lightweight intake valves plus bespoke pistons and conrods, sharpening the 231hp (170kW) 3.2-litre engine’s response and enabling it to rev to 6,840 rpm – 320 revs above the standard engine. The engine tweaks were complemented by firmer, lower (by 30mm) suspension and a limited-slip differential.

Crucially, unlike today’s lightweight specials (which invariably command a price premium), the Clubsport (or CS) actually sold about $2,000 less than its full-fat counterpart.

Visually, the Clubsport was distinguishable by its Fuchs wheels, a whale-tail spoiler from the Turbo and ‘CS’ decals on the left-front and right-rear fenders. Personally, I thought there was a lot to like about the elegant simplicity of the Grand Prix White prototype with its matching white cookie-cutter wheels.

From behind the wheel in Scotland, the CS initially felt unremarkable as it wasn’t blisteringly fast by today’s standards (0-100km/h in 6.1sec; 245km/h v-max), and nor did it seem exceptional in any other respect. It was skittish across bumpy roads and there was plenty of kickback through the four-spoke steering wheel with its rectangular hub.

But, after some miles, the CS magically came together as an overall entity. It seemed to wrap itself around you and became an extension of your limbs. In fact, the 911 CS was so communicative and involving you didn’t need to be going like a bat out of hell to enjoy it. Even the ultra-spartan interior didn’t detract from the experience.

The 3.2-litre engine had an intoxicating chatter, while the gearshift - which seemed notchy at low speeds - became slicker when you upped the pace a bit. And the car’s apparent nervousness, which was initially disconcerting, was no longer an issue as you became one with the Clubsport and began to flow with it.

It’s a cliché, but this barebones stripper amounted to more than the sum of its parts. No surprise Clubsports now swap hands for princely sums - if you can find one for sale in the first place.

1991 911 (964) Turbo
In its era, this was one of the fastest road cars you could buy. With its 3.3-litre turbocharged flat-six engine pumping out 320hp (235kW), the 1470kg 911 (964) Turbo sprinted to 100km/h in 5.0sec and hit 270km/h flat out.

Although the basic recipe for this iteration of the Turbo was much the same as its predecessors, the 964 generation ushered in innovations such as airbags for the driver and front passenger, ABS brakes and power steering. The 964 also scored inner-vented, cross-drilled disc brakes with four-piston calipers which could bring it to a standstill from 100km/h in just 2.8sec.

Unlike the Clubsport I had just exited, this car had all the luxury mod-cons you could expect from the early 1990s - among them a full leather interior, electrically adjustable seats, air conditioning, trip computer and a high-end Blaupunkt radio-cassette. Sliding into its all-grey cockpit, I settled into the sofa-like driver’s seat, which seemed at odds with the lightweight velour-trimmed pew in the no-frills CS.

Early Turbos had a fearsome reputation for being tail-happy and difficult to drive, but the 964 was surprisingly soft, refined and easy to pedal. The five-speed manual gearbox was remarkably light and slick, and even the clutch pedal wasn’t overly heavy.

The 3.3-litre engine did serve up some turbocharger lag at low to middling revs, but it wasn’t on-off power delivery as acceleration arrived in a smooth surge from about 3000rpm onwards. Once you got sufficient revs on board, it felt like a giant elastic band was flinging the car at the horizon.

Surrounding the Knockhill Racing Circuit, the roads were particularly lumpy, and it seemed the softly suspended 911 Turbo was clearly made for that terrain, flowing across it all with no violent jarring transmitted through to the cabin (I later had a thrash across the same stretch in a 997 GT3 RS which nearly dislodged the fillings from my teeth).

For all intents and purposes, the 964 Turbo came across as a remarkably docile car, yet was still able to set a brisk clip across the bumpy, twisty loop around Knockhill. The steering provided decent feedback and turn-in was crisper than the cushy suspension would have led one to believe.

All in all, the 964 was a very useable and easy-to-live-with package (for its era), and perhaps surprisingly devoid of the addictive rawness and connectedness of the Clubsport. Not what I expected at all.
2000 911 (996) GT3
It may look like a regular 911 wearing fancy-pants 10-spoke rims and an elaborate bi-plane rear spoiler, but the 996 GT3 was a proper hardcore, track-worthy offering when it was revealed in 1999 (it was also the first 911 to sport the ‘GT3’ suffix).

The free-spinning 3.6-litre engine wasn’t a tweaked version of the standard car’s powerplant, but rather a derivative of the GT1 racer’s, with dry-sump lubrication and titanium conrods which enabled it to rev safely and smoothly to almost 8,000rpm.

Other unique features included thin glass, along with several bespoke plastic and aluminium components. These, plus jettisoning most comfort features, kept weight down to a lithe 1,350kg. Factor in the uprated 360hp (265kW) engine, and the result was a car which sprinted from 0-100km/h in 4.8sec and hit a Ferrari/Lamborghini-humbling 305km/h.

The GT3 sat 30mm lower than its standard sibling, and the beefed-up suspension was adjustable for each racetrack. Brakes were upgraded via 330mm discs, four-piston calipers and racing ABS. For those who wanted to take it further, there was a Club Sport package comprising a roll cage, race seats with fire-retardant upholstery, a six-point driver’s harness, fire extinguisher and battery main switch.

Despite its credentials, my first impression on getting behind the wheel was how plain the sombre black interior appeared. Some cheap-looking plastic bits here and there also pointed to the cost-cutting Porsche carried out with the 996 generation. However when you fired it up, the plain interior paled into insignificance.

History records the 996 as the first water-cooled 911, but in the case of the GT3, you can still feel the slightly lumpy beat of the flat-six, partly due to a lightened flywheel which sharpens throttle response. Once underway, the first kilometre was decidedly underwhelming thanks to the heavy clutch pedal and notchy, gritty six-speed manual gearbox.

The steering had a fair bit of play around centre, but there was a highly textured feel (and kickback over lumpy surfaces) once you wound a bit of lock on.

On anything less than a perfect road surface, ride quality was bone-jarring – so much so at times it seemed there was no suspension at all. Of course the flip side in the GT3 was how exceptionally taut, grippy and precise it became when you explored its capabilities. Even by today’s standards this is a genuinely fast point-to-point car.

And that 3.6-litre engine was positively mighty. Throttle response was razor-sharp and it just begged to be wound out to 7,000rpm-plus. Do this and you hit high triple-digit speeds with alarming rapidity.

It may be a bit one-dimensional – as it’s far from cossetting – but, as an unashamed trackday special, the 996 GT3 verges on sacred.

2017 911 #1,000,000
You may have figured Porsche would build the one-millionth 911 as a hardcore GT3, Turbo S or ‘R’ variant, but the milestone car is in fact a Carrera S, as the company says this is the version most in line with the spirit of the 1963 original.

It’s not just any Carrera S though, as the car in question was fettled by Porsche Exclusive, and is resplendent in ‘Irish Green’, as this was company founder Ferry Porsche’s favourite hue (his first 911 was painted as such). This shade of green isn’t on Porsche’s regular palette, but it’s available to customers by special order.

There are other nods to the past, and among these are houndstooth cloth inserts in the black leather seats, a handmade mahogany steering wheel and matching wood trim (with a ‘911 Nr1,000,000’ plaque) across the dash. The circular instruments (which also feature a ‘1,000,000 911’ motif) have a silver surround, as per the original 911.

The crest on the bonnet is the same one which featured on the original 911, while the 20-inch Fuchs rims were inspired by the wheels worn by its ancestors. And the same goes for the gold badging on the rump, the ‘Galvano Silver’ wing mirror casings, door handles and air intake grille slats on the rear lid...just like 911 generation one

Mechanical tweaks are limited to a mildly uprated 450hp (331kW) engine – courtesy of larger turbos – plus the optional Sport Chrono package, a modified brake cooling system and bespoke sports exhaust system.

How did it drive? Pretty much the same as any current-model, seven-speed manual Carrera S, but the big takeaway was how much it contrasted with the yesteryear cars I had just stepped out of.

There’s no doubt it would be comfortably quicker around the Norsdschleife than any of the historic 911s – including the ultra-focused 996 GT3 – yet the contemporary Carrera S felt almost Bentley-esque in terms of its refinement, premium cabin ambience and extensive array of mod-cons.

The 991.2 Carrera S was immensely easy to drive, whatever the conditions, and it isolated you from the action far more than its ancestors. Those analogue creatures all demanded a degree of competence from the driver to bring out the best in them. In contrast, the newbie was a flattering car pretty much anyone could step into and pedal relatively briskly.

Part of this evolution – which has chiselled out the original 911’s traditional (and charming) rough edges – is in line with changing customer demands, and also recognises we spend far more time stuck in traffic and manacled by restrictive speed limits than was the case in the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s.

Consequently, the 911 has become an all-singing, all-dancing jack of all trades. It can hose off most upstarts around the ‘Ring, yet you can still comfortably pedal it all day, every day, even if the daily commute consists of nothing more than a stop-start schlep to work and back.

One has to admire the fact Porsche’s engineers have found a way to so dramatically broaden the 911’s breadth of capabilities while still retaining a tangible link to the past. If it were my money, though, I’d quite happily opt instead for the slower and more demanding – but also more character-infused – 1985 Carrera Clubsport.