914 stories Options

[Ace Le Count]

Does anyone have some crazy 914 stories that they'd like to share? Maybe your son/daughter was born in one? Maybe you drag raced someone that was getting cocky because they thought their riced out civic was faster? Maybe you used a 914 as a getaway car after you robbed a bank? How has your 914 saved the day?

[KELTY360]

This is a long story, so settle in with a comfortable chair and a warm beverage.

It's early January 1982 and I'm driving my '74 2.0 from SoCal home to Seattle after a couple weeks of partying around the Rose Bowl game. In those days I did this every year, but this one was special because my favorite team, the UW Huskies were playing (they won btw, 28-0!). It's smooth sailing through California til I near the foot of the Siskyous and see a sign saying the road is closed ahead due to a snowstorm. Rather than ignoring the sign and pressing ahead through the snow flurries, I get about 10 miles down the road and stop in Yreka for the night. I was going to get a motel room but they were all booked by Husky fans heading home. So, I sleep in the 914, across the seats, wrapped around the shifter...long, cold, lumpy night. It actually seemed even longer because the foot of snow covering the windows kept all light from penentrating the cabin. I finally push the door open, clear off the windows and head off in search of the chains I'll need to get over the pass. That means backtracking 50 miles to Weed, where I discover that my Pirelli P6s are too close to the fender lip to allow any chains to fit.

Luckily, an old friend lived in Weed and offered a place on his couch til the pass reopened. A week goes by and I'm way overdue at work so I figured I'd give it a try. 80 miles later I'm at the last exit in CA and the Highway Patrol has the road blocked and won't let me proceed without chains. Now I backtrack about 120 miles down I-5, past Weed, to Redding. I decide to head to the Coast, even though I'm told the road is closed in Weaverville. No sweat, I evade the CHP roadblock by slippping and sliding on the side streets of Weavererville til I can make my break for the last snowy pass before the ocean. Porsche may have promoted the 'Ski 914' but the steep, icy climb wasn't nearly as fun as the ads made it seem. Creeping down the other side got progressively easier and the thought that I might get blocked by a rockslide never crossed my mind....but it should have. After an hour or so watching bulldozers and loaders clearing rubble, I was on my way again.

Finally free of obstacles, I blasted through Eureka and Crescent City and then angled back towards I-5 along the Russian River. I finally collapsed on a motel bed in Grant's Pass at about 1:00 am after 17 hours and 350 miles for what should have been about a hundred mile drive. Through it all, the 914 handled adversity right at the edge of potential disaster with grit and tenacity...made me proud.