von Schmitt

As a travel writer, I sometimes have the opportunity to explore something I wouldn’t normally try. Usually, such experiences look like zip-line dives over a tropical lagoon or a supernatural Shamanic journey in a distant land. While on assignment in Berlin, I was faced with something outside my normal repertoire – Power and Speed. At dinner in the chic Potsdamer Platz district in central Berlin, I found myself surrounded by enthusiastic, professional auto journalists from around the globe. The rambling conversations of  braking and torque left me awkwardly silent, out of the loop. Suddenly I was transported back in time to 7^th grade Phys Ed and warming yet another bench as everyone else got to play. I usually write about spa services, thread counts and nightclubs, not RPMs and manifolds. Cars have always been something of a foreign language to me. Ich spreche nicht carspeak. I don’t get NASCAR. Cars get me from A to B. Cars play music, have air conditioning and hopefully leather seats. Like the telephone, automobiles are magic. I don’t know how they work – they just do. 

The next morning, we journalists were corralled in the hotel’s subterranean garage where a long row of multi-colored Porsche Boxsters awaited us. A bevy of internation al journalists foamed at the mouth, eager to get behind the wheel for a day of driving. I feigned a glimmer of excitement while silently praying, Please let mine be an automatic. As everyone hurriedly took their keys and hit the road, I busied myself by kicking tires and looking under the hood (forgetting there was a trunk in the front). My greatest fear was realized when I saw that the candy-red roadster was not only manual, but it even sported a sixth gear which I’d never seen before. Is it for towing? I thought. What remained of my pride was totally depleted when the Porsche representative had to show me where to find the ignition.For fear of stalling in front of my “peers” I was intentionally the last to leave. And to my credit, as well as the Boxster’s, we gracefully exited the garage sans incident. Now all I had to do was meander the foreign streets of Berlin in search of the Autobahn, survive an 80 kilometer drive on a road where speed limits were an afterthought, and then tour the German countryside through a dozen small villages for 80 kilometers more. After which, with any luck, I would arrive at a former Soviet airfield, now used solely as a testing and driving center. What might sound like a perfect day to some, occurred to me like finally being thrown the ball but not knowing in which direction to run.

 

But something subtle and magical happened on the way to the Autobahn. On this beautiful summer morning with the top down, I became moved by the experience of it all. There I was passing the Brandenburg Gate, once a symbol of sadness and repression, now a beacon of patience and unity.  To my left I caught sight of the beautiful Reichstag Building, home once again to the German Parliament after many decades of fire and war. I had studied in Germany for over a year back in the late 1980’s, but this was my first time back to Germany in nearly 20 years, and my first ever visit to Berlin. While there was a cathartic feeling about it all, there was also something else I noticed. Being behind the wheel of a Porsche felt surprisingly natural. As I found myself at the entrance to the Autobahn I realized something important had occurred. I had found myself instinctively trusting the machine. Driving a stick, something I had not done since living in Rio de Janeiro many years before, was like riding a bike. At one with the machine, I had seamlessly and effortlessly shifted my way through Berlin while enjoying the historic landmarks, and not once did I have to stop and ask directions to the former Soviet airfield where I was headed.

 

 

Autobahn – meet Herr Schmitt. In the name of capitalism – in the name of progress and German engineering – I punched it.  It’s safe to say I found out what that sixth gear is forand it wasn’t for towing. While I didn’t meet the Boxster’s max speed of 162 mph, I did come thrillingly close, if only for a moment. Driving in the United States I rarely exceed 80mph, partly out of environmental responsibility, but mostly out of fear. But the design and handling of this car erased such fears and seemed to almost beg for a heavier foot. Far from environmentally friendly, I later learned that the Boxster averages around 30mpg on the highway, better than I had expected. After holding my own on the Autobahn, I meandered through the winding countryside and small villages for another 80 kilometers. The towns were all clean and sleepy, with occasional modern construction offering a surreal juxtaposition next to the sporadic cold war decay. Rolling green farmland with colorful roadside poppies set the stage for massive power-generating windmills. My red Porsche roadster caught the eye of each villager I passed. Could such capitalism still take getting used to in this semi-remote area of former Eastern Germany? Or did I just look really good in red?

 

As I entered a more densely forested region, the late morning tone took an eerie turn. With each left turn the road narrowed and the forest became denser. With each right, the road worsened from neglect. Before long I was limited to second gear and deep in the shadows of the trees. Then, like hiding children, decayed buildings began peeking out from the forest. I had been forewarned about this military ghost town, now little more than a marker telling me I was close to the former airfield. This former communist military base was hastily evacuated, almost overnight, nearly twenty years ago. With tree trunks protruding through windows and wildflowers commanding every rooftop, it looked as though the true victor of the cold war was Mother Nature.

At the driving center that is used by a number of European sports car manufacturers, we would take part in several exercises, each one highlighting the noteworthy aspects of the Porsche Boxster. En route to a distant location on the deserted runway, we caravanned in our respective roadsters past numerous bunker-like airplane hangers, still camouflaged with living green roofs and shrouded by trees. This natural deterrent from allied air raids from WW II served as more reminders of the topography’s not-so-distant past. At the first testing station we would experience the Boxster’s exemplary stopping power.  I can tell you that the Boxster features large, cross-drilled and inner-vented brake disks; just don’t ask me to explain what that means. I can, however, tell you what that looks like. Picture a virgin sports car driver (yes, that would be me), accelerating to almost 100 miles per hour on a straight trajectory. Then envision this Jungfrau passing through two orange cones, and with hands off the wheel, abruptly applying full force braking. That means 100% full leg power – no holding back. Going from 90-something miles per hour to a dead stop in less time than it takes for one’s life to pass before you is truly impressive. We later clocked a veteran automotive reporter at 135 mph in the same exercise.

 

 

The group then made our way to another station where Rally World Champion, Walter Roehr, awaited us. This professional racecar driver is the record holder for the fame d Pike’s Peak Race from 1986, one of the longest held records in racing history. A tall, slight man with a mischievous grin, Walter is hell on wheels. With Walter behind the wheel, and me triple checking my safety belt, we set out for some hot laps on an autocross course. Pushing the Boxster to its limit with wheels screeching and brakes smoking, Walter hugged the curves so tightly, I almost felt violated. Walter’s large hands commanded the wheel like a concert pianist works a grand piano. Thinking I would be frozen in fear with eyes closed tight during the entire ride, making promises to God I knew I wouldn’t keep, I surprisingly found myself completely relaxed. In fact, I was mesmerized by Walter’s grace, confidence and ability. It was a glimpse into the unification of man and machine a writer like me may never witness again. “Trust the machine,” Walter said at the end. “But never forget who is in control of the machine.”

 

 

 

Our third demonstration was on a drip-line fed, wet field. This watery section of the runway is where we would test the Porsche Stability Management System. We each did a wet run without this system enabled, simulating extreme braking at 60mph on a wet surface. Spinning out of control in a controlled environment is fun! But spinning around on the Autobahn would be deadly. Next we attempted the same braking maneuver with the system enabled. It was as if the water had evaporated as the car braked in a reasonable distance without any swerving. Again, I don’t know how it works – it just does.

 

 

 

I drove back into Berlin a new man. Hardly a convert to NASCAR, I did come away with a huge appreciation and respect for the art of driving. I now better understand the sixth sense a professional driver must have, and I finally came to see the sport in sports car driving. I still own my auto shortcomings, and my carspeak hasn’t improved in the slightest. I’m still not sure what torque means, but I like it. There was a shift in my understanding of people who love cars, those who see the art and science in a machine. While I will probably always find myself more drawn to secluded beaches historical landmarks and foreign discos, I now know there is an inner high-performance speed demon in most, if not all of us. Much like humankind’s quest for flight, our thirst for power and speed has expanded our ingenuity and creativity while showing us a good time.

- JVS