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“Hey there!” I said cheerfully as I approached black Cayman S. The white group driver was already strapped into his car and looked a little confused about why I was approaching him, helmet in hand, and asking how his day was going.
Once in a while, right smack dab in the middle of a perfectly good driver education event, we shake things up a bit and do something called a “white blitz.” For the uninitiated following along at home, white group drivers are our first “solo” run group, meaning that they are not assigned instructors at events. Once in a while, though, we like to do a check up. Instructors randomly get into white run group students’ cars, usually without warning, as they prepare to pit out for a run group. Sneaky? Maybe. But the element of surprise is sometimes fun. Sometimes.

The key to any great concours event is the weather. This was the one element not in our favor. The forecast was for apocalyptic thunder and hail storms to blanket the area at any given time. Both Hank and I were getting phone calls from concours participants voicing their concerns about the dismal forecast. Nevertheless, by 8:30am the crowd started to file in. Almost everyone who pulled up had a tale of sour weather to tell. But upon arrival at our tranquil estate for the day, all concerns were quickly alleviated.




I carefully move the shifter through the gates before I start the engine, a dress rehearsal for the opportunity I am about to have. Reverse up and to the left? Check. The 1-2 shift seems easy enough, and 3rd gear is spaced perfectly. Piece of cake.
Turning the key, the engine comes to life with a loud bark, and immediately settles into a turbine-smooth rumble. Foot on clutch, shifter eased gently into first, left pedal out slightly, right pedal in slightly, the revs build and….stall. Hmmm. Let me try that again. Vroom…snick…stall.
“Don’t feel so bad,” chides the Paul Miller rep with a smile. “You cannot start this car normally. You have to gently let out the clutch until it starts to catch, and then let it out a little further until the car starts to roll.” I start to try his approach before my brain kicks in again, pushes the right pedal, and stalls the car. One more time, and I am going to follow the directions to the letter, for better or for worse. I lift the clutch, the car starts to roll, I lift it a little more, and I am off! I squeeze the gas a bit, and finally, I am actually driving a Porsche Carrera GT. (copy editor's note: I heard from a reliable source that some small petite lady (my daughter) after hearing that all of the male drivers stalled the Carrera GT had no problem and did not stall it. She is still giggling about it.)