101

We both got our start in Walnut Creek, California.

Me in 1986 — wide-eyed, full of potential. And her, (now aptly named Babs) a 1999 Porsche 911 Carrera, thirteen years later, fresh off the lot and ready for its journey with its first owner. Fast forward thirty-five years, and somehow, on a gray coastal afternoon in a sleepy Oregon town, our paths crossed.

It started with a family coworker who casually mentioned a car being offered up for sale. Nothing official — no listing, no photos. Just a whispered lead, the kind you almost ignore. But we made some calls anyway, and after a bit of phone tag, I finally got a hold of the owner. He dropped the model: “It’s a 996.” Honestly, my heart sank. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. The 996 has its baggage — the headlights, the IMS bearing paranoia, the water-cooled departure from tradition. But my family member urged me to check it out anyway. We’d already gone through so much to get to this point. What’s a quick peek?

The car was tucked away in a quiet cul-de-sac, just around a blind bend. As I rolled up, the clouds cracked open, letting a slice of Oregon sun light up the car’s flanks. There it sat — my first look at Mirage Metallic. A color that defies camera sensors and easy description. Depending on the light, it dances between soft gold and shimmering silver. The kind of paint that makes you walk around the car twice, just to watch it change. And then I noticed something else — the aero kit. It wouldn't be until later that I would learn it was based on the early .1 GT3 aero kit cars. Not a full setup (no wing, of course — it’s a cabriolet), but that front end and those skirts hinted at something more serious, more special. Still, it wasn’t love at first sight, but something kept me staring.

I saw 19" wheels with dry, bald tires — now knowing 19s aren't perfect for these early narrow-bodies. A torn and poorly repaired, clouded rear window on the soft top. Side skirt fronts peeling off. No battery tray cover. No local shop to do a PPI. And again — it was a cabriolet. Not exactly the spec I imagined for my first Porsche. But something about it kept me from walking away.

We took it for a test drive, winding through some of the most overlooked driving roads in the Pacific Northwest. Trees arched overhead like a cathedral, and the engine note echoed off mossy rock walls like a hymn. This was my first time behind the wheel of a water-cooled 911 — and despite my hesitations, I was hooked. At one point, nervous and overthinking, I stalled the car while trying to make a three-point turn on a narrow mountain road. The owner looked panicked. That battery… But after a breathless pause, she fired back up like she had something to prove. Like she wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. I didn’t know it then, but this car would become so much more than a lucky find.

"And most of all, I’ve come to see this car as my foot in the door."

Since that day, I’ve learned a lot — about 996s, about Porsches, and about myself. I learned there’s a passionate and tight-knit 996 community that doesn’t flinch at the headlights anymore. We get it — you don’t see them while you’re driving, and the joy driving it makes you forget all about it. In fact, they’re aging well. They’re a little quirky, a little different — like us. And if anything, they’ve become a badge of pride. I’ve learned that the 996 can be one of the easiest Porsches to wrench on. The reputation for “Porsche = expensive” fades fast when you realize these cars seem to be built with simplicity in mind. With a basic set of tools, a curious mind, and some patience, you can handle a surprising amount yourself. I’ve turned wrenches I never thought I would. And most of all, I’ve come to see this car as my foot in the door — the perfect entry into the Porsche world I waited and sought after for so long. Not because it was perfect, but because it wasn’t. Because it had room for me to grow with it.

That’s the thing about 996s. They’re approachable. They’re undervalued. And they’re finally getting the recognition they’ve always deserved. For me, this wasn’t just a car — it was a beginning. And now, Babs is a forever car. From a shared birthplace to a winding road north and back again — we’ve come a long way. And we’re just getting started.