December 2007 - PCA - Orange Coast Region

The Porsche Bug
Story & photos by Eric Conard
My wife Michelle and I are relatively
new Porsche owners, but probably
similar to most who’ve been featured
members in Pandemonium, we’ve both
been fond of Porsches from a young
age. I’ve had a fascination of anything
with an engine, and primarily with cars,
since I can remember. Sports cars have
always been particularly mesmerizing.
To me, the only thing that comes close to
the sports car allure is my passion for the
ocean, but that’s another story.
I think my mother recognized early on
that I had the car bug when she saw me
parallel parking my peddle-car near the
side of the garage. Even though I think
I was born with the car bug, there were
various infl uences early on in my life that
only incubated it—one of which was my
fi rst Porsche ride at the age of about four
or fi ve in an early ‘60s 356 that a friend
of my dad’s bought while stationed in
Germany. I recall being amazed how it
seemed to handle like it was on rails—
like a ride at Disneyland! And boy, did it
sound great, even though I really didn’t
have any basis for comparison at that
age.
Racing at Willow Springs.
Another of my dad’s work buddies had
an old Triumph TR3, except I mostly
remember that car being parked in a
garage…I’d learn later which cars were
more prone to this behavior. Another
of his colleagues had a brother who
raced Indy cars and he always gave me
autographed pictures. His name was Art
Pollard and unfortunately I never did get
to see him race, as he was killed during
practice at Indianapolis on May 12, 1973.
I still have his pictures.
My first “sports car,” the 240Z.
My engine fascination grew faster than
I did—fi rst in models (Cox engines in
cars, boats, and planes), to “borrowing”
the lawn mower engine to power crude
mini-bikes and go-karts. Then came dirt
bikes at the age of 10. An advantage
to riding bikes in the desert was that it
provided me an opportunity at the ripe
old age of about 12 to drive the family
car on a dry lakebed (just steering, mind
you). This was great since there was no
one around and you really couldn’t mess
things up.
As the legal age of driving approached,
most of my friends had older brothers
with typical and sometimes not-sotypical
American muscle cars, and
Orange County International Raceway
was a short hop down the freeway. You
could usually “run-what-you-brung” on
Wednesdays and Saturdays and it made
for some good stories. I ended up trying
to drag race everything I could get my
hands on, and that became a standard
by which I judged my vehicles.
The fi rst car I actually owned was a
1968 Mustang that my dad bought new.
I remember the day he brought it home.
My dad eventually sold it to my sister in
pristine condition, and about three years
later she in turn sold it to me—for a
substantial profi t, with quite a few more
miles, and in no where near the condition
she bought it. Such is life. It had a 289
V8 and I remember running a 16:69 ET
in the quarter-mile at about 107 mph.
I didn’t think this was too bad for an
engine with a two-barrel carburetor. Boy,
how technology changes!
The liberation of youth that comes with
a driver’s license enabled me and my
friends to start hanging out at Riverside
Raceway. We would go watch anything—
bikes, cars, it didn’t matter. And while the
straight-line thrill was fun, I really enjoyed
turning, and I almost immediately ditched
the big rear tires and air-shocks my sister
put on the car for some BF Goodrich
Radial TAs. Then came the learning
process on suspension and what makes
a car handle well—the lesson learned
was that old Mustangs don’t.
A frequent detail customer of mine.
At this point, the early infl uences of my
life resurfaced and I wanted something
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