RoadTrip Revelation

The 968 Sport was playing Second Fiddle to the 993; in fact it was less than that, it wasn’t even in the Orchestra.. Stored and ignored it was crying out for a Day in the Sun, its Hopkins moment, and with a Belgian Grand Prix RoadTrip on the Horizon, that day would come sooner than expected..

With the 993 laid up with Alternator Fan Issues, the 968 Sport presented itself as the only option for the Spa Journey. It was certainly ready for it having had all the necessary Refreshing and Refurbishing after a quiet spell in its life.

Early morning departure from Brighton to EuroTunnel, loaded with only a few essentials and clothing for the Long Weekend, the 968 felt light and nimble and cruised with ease. I settled into the GT seating position; the slanting windscreen closer to me than I was used to; the Nose of the car further away; the Engine Noise in front; the large rear screen providing near 100% peripheral vision with road noise much more present because of it. It was a different sensation, the cabin felt more spacious than the 993, but the car as a whole felt lighter. The Four Pot revving freely and enjoying the mid range like a song, the short shift Gear Lever finding each Gear eagerly, it wanted to pull and pull.

Glamping was the Order of Play, so all we needed to get en route was enough Bubbles for Hollie, enough Beer for me, and enough Food for both of us. Everything else is laid on by CampingF1.com, and having camped with them before, I knew that everything would be awesome..

I will be honest, I was apprehensive about the 968’s reliability. I had not stretched its legs like this before, I had not relied on it for Hundreds of Miles back to back with only a Fuelling Stop as a Breather. Sure, I had Euro AA Cover, and yes, I could fix most things with a Kit I had packed. But the Trust wasn’t in place. Needless to say, it performed faultlessly. Cruising at or around the Speed Limit with ease, smoothly, and effieiently. It was bloody great.

Onboard Entertainment was somewhat limited to either any Belgian Radio Station whose Transmission was within 1/4 Mile of the Wire protruding from the Roof of the 968, or the one cassette tape I own; an old Mix Tape from a University House Party in ’94. Still sounded pretty good. Kinda.

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With a trouble free journey to Spa [in which Congestion made up for any lack of Incident], we pulled up at Dusk, Checked In and Cracked Open a well deserved Biere..

The first six didn’t really touch the sides, it had been a long day, but with the 968 parked just within eye shot I looked on admiringly and kinda drunk, so pleased that the 968 had delivered. It received a few looks, glances and appreciative nods whilst we queued for our Pitch info, I think it may have been the only 968 on Campus.

One thing on the journey down that I noted was that the Clutch Pedal had made its way progressively closer to the Floor for Shifts. I had about an inch of travel in the Clutch, so not a lot. I had a feeling the Slave Cylinder was on its way out, but there was not much to be done about that, there, so..

We were there for three days of Motorsport, and took every opportunity we could to walk to a better vantage point, for each of the disciplines. The FIA Formula 3, the Porsche Mobil 1 Supercup and of course the Formula 1 Grand Prix, all fantastic, but sadly over shadowed by the death of Anthoine Hubert which happened in front of us as we watched the action. It was very sudden, very violent, and very upsetting to bear witness to. We left the grounds and returned to the Campsite shortly after, sobered by the accident.

Sunday’s F1 Race was an emotional and fitting victory for Charles Leclerc who dedicated his win to his long time friend Anthoine Hubert.

The Drive back to Coquelles on the Monday morning was free of the Congestion that had marred the Journey down, the 968 eating up the AutoRoute with aplomb. The Clutch Slave Cylinder held on for the leg thankfully, but I knew it was on its way out, I just needed it to hold on for few hundred more shifts back to Brighton..

Convoying with a 964 for part of the way into France was a great surprise, the 968 clocking its 164,000th Mile in the process.

Back on the Eurotunnel, UK bound, the 968 had cemented its place in my heart. What a great car. All the fuss that had been [and is still] made about this car seemed fully justified. Its handling, its simplicity, its efficacy.

Somehow I needed to make this car a permanent fixture in my life. Despite all the odds seeming to stack against me at every turn in me trying to make that happen over the last few months, it would be kismet that would decide..