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?

This occurred just a couple of weeks after getting my first 914 back in 1984, when I knew absolutely nothing about these cars or really mechanics in general. I was coming home from night classes at the University of South Florida Bayboro Campus in St. Pete, Florida when the car died on I- 275 in the dark, with no flash light and no tools to speak of. Feeling desperate and stupid, I managed to squeeze under the car where I smelled a lot of gas. Totally blind, I could feel a fuel hose leaking near a fitting of some sort. With a knife I quickly cut the hose, removed the bad section and jammed it back on. Leak fixed and made it home, but I was drenched in gasoline. Looking back, it was a very simple repair, but at that time it was a real triumph and adventure. I'm lucky I didn't cause something to spark under there and immolate myself.

Ansbacher

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I was at the Naval Academy, which basically equates to a “full ride”. My dad was happy that he escaped college tuition and offered to replace my 64 Chevy van width a new car for my graduation. I had been wanting a 914 and he obliged. I wrote him a letter telling him how thankful I was for such a wonderful gift and how much the car and he ment to me.

I found the letter in a box with his personal keepsakes 26 years later after his passing.

Sons, dads, cars

When I was in High School, I started dating my wife of 39 years. My car was a Ford Pinto, and even then we called it the "blow up car", knowing that if we were ever rear ended, the cars were known to become roman candles. I was mowing my neighbor's lawn one afternoon, and he approached me and asked if I was going to the school prom soon with my girlfriend. When I told him I was, he informed me that it just wasn't right to take her on this big date in a Pinto. He had just purchased a new silver 914 and he offered it to me to use to take her to the dance! I couldn't believe it, and neither could she when I pulled up in this little racy Porsche to take her out for the big night!.

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My generous neighbor continued to let me use the 914 whenever I had a significant date night, and I will be forever grateful to him. After we were married, my wife and I always said that whenever we had a little extra coin someday, we would pick up a 914. We finally made it financially, and my wife and son went out and bought a nice yellow one and surprised me with it! When I told my friends that my wife bought my 914 for me, they asked where they could get one. I said "A car like this?". And they said "No, we can get the car anywhere, we want to know where to get a wife that will buy us a sports car!". Good luck, she's pretty special. I'm not so sure I would lend out my 914 today to some punk 16 year old kid like I was then! My neighbor was one of my heroes!

As a newly elected Councilman in a small rural central California city, I was asked by to bring my '76 teener to drive in the annual city Christmas parade through town. I pulled into the parade line and began slowly idling down the main street route with another Councilman in the passenger seat. We hadn't gone far when a man on the sidewalk approached the side of our little yellow ride and told us we were "leaking water under the car real bad". That's an interesting comment since there is no water onboard a 914 to leak! I opened my door and leaned out to look under the car, only to see gasoline spraying down mid tunnel and rapidly pooling under the car! I quickly told my Council colleague to get out of the car fast! Then I franticly waved to onlookers to create an opening among the sidewalk crowd of people, and drove the still running 914 into a dirt field and shut it off. I left a trail of gasoline on the ground behind the car at least a foot wide as I went toward the field.
After having my 914 towed to my mechanic, as you probably already guessed, the fuel line, under pressure from tank in front to the engine in the rear, decided to split after 30 years, at that opportune moment during the parade. I had the fuel line repaired and all was fine.
I was invited to the city Christmas parade again the following year. When I pulled up in my teener to get in the parade line this time, my Council colleagues were standing nearby on the curb with lighters, flicking them repeatedly and saying they were "ready for me this year!" That's how you know who your friends are in politics!!!!

Here's another "I can't believe it's true!" (but it is) 914 story. I was traveling out of Modesto on the the main drag, McHenry Boulevard, at about 11 pm on a Saturday night. My 16 year old son was also driving next to my yellow 914 in his new little black Toyota pickup. He was in the curbside lane, and I was in my topless teener in the center lane. As there was no other traffic, we were going side by side at about 60 mph, when a Modesto Police cruiser pulls up to McHenry from a side street on the right, about 200 feet ahead of us. My son braked fast enough to make the right turn next the the officer's cruiser and head away down the side street. Of course I sailed by right in front of the cop in the center lane, unable to do anything. I could see the officer's rooftop lights come on like a Christmas tree in my mirror. I could also see my son traveling away toward home on the side street, waving at me with a satisfied smile on his face. I pulled over under the illumination of the car dealerships on upper McHenry Boulevard. Then I shut off the 2 liter engine of my '76 teener, put my hands on the top the the yellow Momo steering wheel and waited patiently for my inevitable speeding ticket. The officer pulled up behind me, flashing lights ablaze, got out of his car, and slowly walked up beside my knee high 914. I waited for a moment to make eye contact with him, but I could tell out of the corner of my eye that he was eyeballing my street legal go cart with a grin. When we finally actually looked at each other, I'll never forget his EXACT and ONLY nine words: "Just looking for kids Sir, have a nice evening." THAT'S IT! He turned and walked slowly away as I tried to mumble "Thank you officer". He did not ask me for my license, papers, or any questions at all, just that nine word sentence, and then he was gone! When I got home and told my son what had happened, he was pissed, saying the cops would have given HIM a ticket. I said darn straight they would have. A few gray hairs and a cute car can go a long way to ease the path of life!

The Modesto Bee newspaper used to run a weekly half page article about local custom cars. Modesto is the town that was the basis for the movie "American Graffiti", so custom cars are a big thing here. In March of 2006, a Bee reporter did one of the weekly stories about my '76 914. The story related how long ago, when I was in high school, one of my neighbors that owned a then new silver 914 would lend it to me to drive whenever I was going to take my girlfriend, and now wife, out on a big date. Once each year, the Bee would post a single page of small pictures showing all fifty cars featured from that year. Readers were then invited to vote online as many times as they wanted to for their choice for the "Car of the Year" award. Somehow my teener won the contest easily, but I didn't really know why until years later. I was looking at old forum posts on this site and discovered that my fellow 914 owners here were instrumental in the victory! Here's a link to the old forum page where members are talking about voting as many as 22 times for my car! (Thanks grasshopper!).

http://www.914world.com/bbs2/index.php?showtopic=50967

When the Bee called and told me that my 914 had won, they instructed me to show up on the next Saturday to be featured at the annual Modesto Jr. College Car Show. I had never participated in a car show before. My teener is a nice clean driver, but at that time I had never considered it a "show car". When I arrived at the MJC early that next Saturday, the car show operators guided me into the "front and center" space designated for the "Car of the Year" winner. Parked on one side of my 914 was the second place car, a mint trailer queen '71 Mustang Mach 1. Parked on the other side of my 914 was the third place car, a show prepped Austin FX that was so clean that you could have dined off of the engine. I still remember, like it was yesterday, the attitude of the two owners of those second and third place cars as they paced around my first place "street legal go cart". They both had their noses out of joint as they peered down at my knee high 914, and I could hear them mumbling something to the effect of "how the heck did THAT car beat our beautiful show cars?". It wasn't hard to discern the obvious disdain in their voices, but I just told them that "the people have made their choice, too bad!" Thank you to any of my fellow members here that voted for my 914 for the Car of the Year award and for giving me an unforgettable day at that car show! Teeners Rule!

I've owned my '76 teener for about twenty years. I recently installed a BlazeCut fire suppression system in the engine compartment to hopefully stop any potential engine fire.

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I took the car out for a short test ride soon after completing the BlazeCut install. As I was headed back toward home, suddenly thick black smoke started pouring out from under the dash in front of my left leg! I quickly pulled over and shut the car down before a fire started. After the smoke stopped and my heart slowed down, I lowered the relay panel and here's what I found! After forty years, one of the of the relay bases somehow short circuited internally and melted the surrounding rubber.

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I finally got the car home and repaired the melted relay base and all is good now. But I remember what I was thinking when I first saw all that black smoke coming from under the dash. "Great, I have a fire suppression system mounted right behind my back, and the car is going to burn up in front of me in the passenger compartment and there's nothing I can do about it!". I now carry a small fire extinguisher in my center console box, just in case!

This has all the markings of an epic thread…

I just got my 74 914 2.0L fired up and road worth enough to drive it on nice days. First day I drove it into work, and had a service call north about 20 miles. Jumped in the car, showed 1/2 tank of gas, went up the highway, and got about the mid way point, and cough sputter, sputter, dead. Clutch in, coast for another mile or so, and finally came to a stop.

Get out of my car to watch one of drivers go right past me. Starting to think about what I wanted to do, start walking or hope someone would stop a 928 pulls up behind my 914, says hope in he will give me a ride, and we go up the the gas station where I get a small can, pay like $20 bucks for a gallon can, and then pay like a buck for the gas.

Hope back in the 928, and he takes me back. I say thanks offer him some cash, and say he its nice that you stopped for a fellow Porsche enthusiast. Crickets, and that's a Porsche?

I fill it up, 914 fires up, and I drive all the way up to the same gas station, pull in, and hit the transition and the hood pops open. come to a stop, and the people behind the counter are laughing.

Found 2 things to repair that day. Fuel level float, and the hood catch. Drove on down to my service call, and going up the last hill to the facility, and all the sudden no forward momentum. Lost 4 CV joint bolts. I found 2 of them. Put them back on, drove up to the clients, and had to wash my hands in their really nice house. So embarrassed about that. Drove it home and repaired the trifecta of repairs for the car.

My second 914 was a '73 2.0 with Mahles. Headed home one day, I slowed a bit to take the exit ramp and BAM! rear driver side bumps and drops as I see my tire go rolling by
Unfortunately, the side of the road was covered in kudzu
After some searching, I found the tire, remounted it and headed home.
Still don't know what caused the lug bolts to work loose although there were some jealous types who worked nearby

My story (bad) with my first orange 1973 2.0 in the year 1983 or 84, was in great shape. Was taking my GF home at late afternoon and was on a ramp going only about a normal speed or slightly faster for that ramp, I was very tired, did not notice loose gravel on the ramp. Hit that and my car was spinning in circles one way and then back the other OVER the center lane twice, ended up in a ditch. LUCKY did not flip, had the car towed back then only cost about $1300 to fix with some used parts, must have had liability only.

Hello, talked to you before, I am from Ripon but now AZ. I remember McHenry blvd, interesting storys.

Junior year of college, 1999, commuted from Newport Beach to Cal Poly Pomona in my 75 914. I schedule my first hpde with the car, a day before I blew out one of the j exhaust pipes. In the epic all night repair With my roommate, we stripped out a spark plug, found and replaced broken rings, changed out clutch, put it all back together only to find the j pipe had different flange alignments from year to year... I had the wrong one. At 4am we called it quits - I guess the car didn’t want to go. Car ran like crap after all that work, decided to pull engine for rebuild shortly afterwards.

I borrowed a car from my roommates mom, this was the go to car for all our friends with car trouble, 85 Buick Electra estate wagon - pristine, but with miles. Took me close to a year to rebuild the motor with school and no money, finished it up the night before my last final exam (come to think if it, I can’t remember why I was working on my car vs studying for my exam). Decided I was too tired and wanted to rest for my exam before the official 1st fire - I actually didn’t want the bad news of it not firing before I took my exam.

Next day aced my exam, all done and feeling great! On my way home the loaner car overheated and cracked the block, I limped it home, filling with water every 10 min or so, it completely died about 20 feet from my garage. After calling a wrecking yard and watching the wagon get towed away, I walked over to the 914 turned the key and it fired right up! Tuned it up, drove it to my graduation ceremony the following week!

Around same time in college, I was going on 3 days straight of no sleep working on a project, knew if I went to sleep I wouldn’t wake up.

Decided to clear my head by going for a drive down PCH at 3am. Somewhere near Dana Point I see the flashing lights in the mirror. I wasn’t speeding, and I wasn’t asleep so in my hazy state I assumed I was on fire.

I abruptly pulled over and quickly jumped out of the car. 2 officers with guns drawn (thankfully they weren’t pointed at me yet), yelled at me to freeze, they realized quickly that I wasn’t trying to run. I explained what had gone through my head, and my lack of sleep, they were cool, told me the only reason they pulled me over was because I had forgotten to put the new reg tags on my plates (they were attached to my reg in the glove box).

We all laughed it off, they wished me good luck in school and let me go with no ticket.

Was driving through farm country on a sunny day, top off, with a half tank of gas. Just like above, power cuts out and sputter, sputter and it quit. Closest farm about 1/2 mile and next to no traffic on this back road. Just about to pull out my phone and call my wife about 5 miles away to bring me a gallon of gas when an old beat up farm truck pulls up behind me. I explain to an older gentleman that my fuel gauge lied. He told me to hold on for 5 mins as he drove to his farm down the road to get me a gallon of gas.

When he returned and put in the gallon, it fired right up and thanked him. He then insisted on following me to a gas station about 3 miles away and would not take no. He followed me to the station where I offered him $4 for his gas, and he flatly refused. No way would he take any money. Told me to stop by and say hi next time I was out and drove off. Freakin nice guy.

I wasn't in a 914, but my '69 Healey, and on an onramp, same scenario but my lug bolt actually sheered, and the wheel stayed in the wheel well but the spacers went rolling down the road lol!@ never did find all of them. BTW I hadnot had the car fro 6 months, bought from my sister's boy friend .

LOVE these stories. Here's mine: In 1980 or so, driving at night along NJ 280 or Pulaski Skyway just above the State Prison with two girls, one sitting on the center console. The car sputters and dies, but I recognized the sound. Got the spare oil cap O-ring out of the glove compartment and replaced the old one. Started right up. The girls were both impressed and looked wide-eyed, asking how I knew that. Slyly and gentlemanly said, "Oh, I know things...". Eventually married one of them....

2011 I think, had a 1975 2.0 with FI. Did something to it (tune up) so my kid and I took it for a drive. Sun was out, top was off, nice day.

Couple miles from home the throttle cable broke.

Opened the engine lid, leaned over the back and operated the throttle while my kid drove us home.

I would yell "shift!" and close the throttle, then open it again while he changed gears. We didn't kill the 914 once and were amazingly smooth. His only complaint was "Dad, slow down a bit!"

Jeez - what could go wrong!

Years ago, my six conversion was just a /4 with fuchs, a 2.0 and Dellorttos. I was driving back home from Waco and the throttle cable broke. I didn't have a spare. So I took the speaker wires off the speakers, and cobbled together a "throttle cable". I took the top off, and stowed it, then I tied the wire to the crossbar linkage, ran it up through the engine grill, across the targa bar, and down to my right foot, where I tied it to the front lace on my shoe. I was able to put my foot down where the accellerator was laying on the floor and the engine would rev. I could use the brake and clutch, and the wire didn't interfere with shifting. So I jumped on the highway and headed home.

About 15 minutes into the 2 hour drive home, it starts to rain. Hard. Complete with lightning and thunder. By maintaining my speed around 70, I was not getting wet, only a little damp. A Texas Ranger pulls up next to me, and she sees me driving with the top off in the pouring rain. She shows down and pulls in behind me and hits the lights. I slow down and stop under the next bridge.

As she is walking up next to the car, I realize that I can't get out of the car because the wire is tied to my shoe. She walks up and asks for my license and insurance. I give her them, and she asks me to get out of the car.

I open the door and turn sideways. She watches as I untie the wire from my shoe. She asks why I am tied to the car. I explain the whole broken throttle cable thing, and she laughs and tells me that is ingenious. Then she says that I already had enough of a bad day and lets me go.

I got wetter getting back up to speed than I did the rest of the drive home. Took me weeks to get the water out of the car.

Glad I'm not the only one. Years ago, when I had my 1981 924, my throttle cable broke. I was 20 miles from home. I took off my shoe laces, tied them together and then to the throttle linkage. Ran the shoelaces from the hood and out to my wide window. Drove home with a hand throttle. Had to replaces the laces since I stretched them out pretty good on the ride home.

Those Feat'll Steer Ya Wrong Sometimes

Haaa mine was something similar...throttle cable broke on a bridge except the girlfriend at the time didn't know how to drive standard. She was the one to lean over the rear in a short dress no less. Man did I get the waves and honks. Got us off of the bridge, she was less than impressed but a good sport. Cost me a nice dinner but she was keen to learn standard after that.

Winter of '83 I travelled back home to Illinois to visit my parents. A cold snap hit with below freezing temps for over a week. Finally, the sun came out and it was a balmy 30-ish degrees. My sister and I were going somewhere when I suggested we take the roof off since it felt so warm out. She looked at me like I was crazy.

As workers were leaving from the Caterpillar plant in East Peoria, we were stopped at a red light. A block down I spotted a 914 going through the intersection. As it passed, the driver waved with outstretched arm... straight up. He had his roof off

I was working on a customers car, he found a 76 that he liked the look of it with GT flares, and rubber bumpers. I got all the body work done, and take him to my paint supplier for the base and clear. He flips through the paint book at Porsche colors and finds a black he likes with gold metallic. But okay, tell the guy I need a gallon to shoot the car, and matching clear. He looks at us and says, that gallon costs over $1000. To which I say, what does it have real gold in it. And he looks at me and says yes, matter of fact it does. 24K gold flakes. The customer does not bat an eye and says okay.

I get it out and spray a test blank, and he comes over and looks at it. Says he does not like it, and wants it painted in black with silver metallic. So I had a gallon of paint worth $1K sitting on the shelf. After about a year, I finally had a trailer I needed to paint, and I thought hey I have a nice gallon of paint. And painted that livestock trailer with gold flake. Once fancy looking blinged out livestock trailer. You would have thought the cows would have noticed.

Cruising Balboa with my buddy in the late 70s. Picked up two girls that liked my car, one cute, one ugly. Took them back to my place, woke up with the cute one and my buddy never tried with the ugly one. We still laugh about that, wasn’t the first time a 914 got me laid......

My second story: New from VA to NJ in 1974 and driving on snow. Going downhill and lost traction. With the car's great middle Center of Momentum, spun slowly about 359 degrees; didn't even veer out of my lane. Took the next double jughandle U-turn, headed home and got a ride with my neighbor. A surreal "and what's happening to me?" for 10-15 seconds!

Oh my! So many stories, which one to tell? I'll go with this one. My first 914 was a real beater 70 bought when I was 19 that I had already wrecked once and had cobbled back together by a body shop. The following winter I was searching in vain for some HEET to pour in the tank so the damn car would start in the sub zero weather when I hit a patch of black ice on illegal bald tires and slid right into a fire hydrant. I had no money to pay a shop for another repair so picked up a front clip at the salvage yard and decided I would weld it in myself. Mind you, I had no welding experience but had my brother's ox-acetytene torch and a can-do attitude. I spent several weekends with the car occupying my parent's garage while my girlfriend, and now wife of 35 years shuttled me back and forth from college in her old Honda Civic.

Finally, I had the front end stitched back together and the somewhat wrinkled hood back on. I don't remember how the welds looked but they had to be horrendous. Anyway, late on a Sunday I hop in the car with my girlfriend following for the 60 mile trip back to college. About 3/4 of a mile after entering the Interstate, the front left corner dropped to the pavement with a shower of sparks rooster tailing behind. I immediately though my expert welding job had failed and the car had broken in half until I saw an EMPI mag go careening down the highway in front of me. Yep, in my excitement of finishing the project, I neglected to tighten the lug bolts. I managed to steer the car to the shoulder on the ball joint nut and Elizabeth pulled over behind. Surprisingly, a stranger in a van also pulled over. I assumed my wheel had hit the van. Then I learned he had run into Elizabeth's car and my next assumption was that he hit her trying to avoid my wheel or the spark fountain of my car. Nope, turns out it was total coincidence. He hadn't even noticed the fireworks in front of him and had simply changed lanes without looking at the exact moment Elizabeth thought she was witnessing the fiery death of her fiancee. The poor Trooper who worked the claim kept scratching his head and commenting that the forms weren't designed for such a scenario.

As for the car, I retrieved the wheel, bolted it back on with some spare lug bolts and we were on our way. Lesson learned. Tighten those bolts!

I traded in my 74 VW Beetle when I was in high school for my 914. It had a "turbo tail" on it, like this example:



Whale tails were all the rage back then. Anyway, there were some really trashy neighbors living in the rent house next door to us. They used to drink all hours of the night. The neighbor's 15 year old son was sort of friendly with me when I owned the VW, but got jealous of me having a Porsche. Our relationship also soured because it got back to him that I said something not too flattering about their family. Anyway, one night, I awoke in the middle of the night to a fire engine putting out flames on my 914. The kid (at least I suspect it was him) doused my 914's turbo tail with gasoline and set it on fire. What the? Yeah, just the tail was set ablaze. I went outside in my underwear, and soon learned there were women firefighters.... yeah, it's not bad enough that your car gets set on fire, but you have to be embarrassed in front of women in your fruit of the loom underwear.

Was it a jealous neightbor, or did Wotan strike my car ablaze on account of bad taste? Either way, I tried running a duck tail, then a turbo tail again, but realized, they just don't look good with spoilers on their butts. So I learned a hard lesson that night. 1) Don't piss off your neighbors, and 2) Don't run ugly spoilers on your 914.

...always a good story on tap when wearing this Tee to a 914 get together
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It was a dark and stormy night and some friends and I were going home from a party. I was alone in my car. They were speeding of course and so was I. The had left a few minutes before I did and I was quickly catching up.

We used to use a logging road that went across town with a bridge. We used to drive this as you could easily drive around the gate and it was in good condition.

It was railing and I was going a little fast. As I was catching up to my friends at a high rate of speed, I say the tail lights tun to the right. I quickly realized that I was further down the road than I realized. I tried to slow and make the turn but rain had created some puddles and I lost traction and went into a spin. I spun at least 6 times, but I was no longer in control.

I wound up in a ditch tat about a 45 degree angle with the nose pointed up. The motor has stopped. I know I had just wrecked my pristine black 73 2.0l. I was sick to my stomach. My friends came running back to the car as they had seen the "headlights, tail lights, headlights, tail lights action and was sure something bad had happened.

They took me home.

The next day we all went back to check out the scene of the accident. For some reason my car was on the inside of the corner not the outside as you would thing inertia would have taken it. It was then that we realized there was a big oak tree just past the apex of the corner. I Call it divine intervention but I was somehow spared from my own stupidity.

The icing on the cake- the 5 of us lifted the car out of the ditch and I only had a ding on the right rear quarter panel that a local body shop was able to able to pop out for $50.

Quick one off the top of my head..
I worked in Boston in the 1970’s and
got to invited to a girls apartment after work.
It was a less than stellar neighborhood,
but I figured nobody would know what my car was
around there. I parked on the street in front of an
Apartment building and felt OK about it until I noticed
3 guys sitting on the front steps looking at my car.
But it wasn’t till one of them said.....”Nice 6” that I got
VERY concerned.. I cut my visit short and the car was
still there when I got back...
That ended my ( nobody will know what it is) innocence..

Ok, I'll play. I was driving my 73 1.7 to my engineering internship early one morning before sunrise. I had just entered a construction area on the freeway where the barriers narrowed and there were no shoulders or pull out opportunities. At exactly this moment and without any warning, my engine sputtered and died. I coasted to a stop hoping there would be an emergency pullout or something but had no luck. I was stopped in my lane on the freeway with nowhere to go and rush hour was just starting to pick up. I tried turning on my hazards but realized that I hadn't gotten them working yet (bad time to figure that out). I watched in my rear view mirror as several cars swerved around my now dead and dark 914. I waited for a break in traffic and hopped out of my car to see if I could figure out what had happened. I popped the engine lid and ran to the side with the battery. In the darkness I fumbled around with the battery cables until I found an ignition wire that had somehow broken off the main battery terminal. I remember having to use my teeth to bite the old connector off the wire and then quickly reattach it to the main cable. Meanwhile more and more cars are flying by and swerving around me... Anyway, I was able to get back in the car and she fired up and got me the rest of the way to work. That was certainly a memorable morning.

In less enlightened times, Spring of 1972, walked up to the registration table at the old Phoenix International Raceway for our first PCA DE event. Told the folks behind the table I wanted to register both of us in the 914-6 we'd bought brand new on 9/14/71.
"Your going to let your wife drive your car?" an alarmed male registrar asked.
"Hard to keep her out of it, " I replied. "She's making half the payment and drives it to work everyday."
A few years later she became the first female instructor for Rocky Mountain PCA. A few years after that, everyone in the pits at Woody Creek was cheering as she pulled in after finally beating my time.
The three of us are growing old together. The -6 may be in the best shape of the group.

BUMP maybe we'll get some more...

Bump

Whoever is reading this, we would love to hear your porsche stories!

The most recent one happened in October. I had to drive my car out to my friends shop to fit GT flares, but I'd already sold my 16x7 fuchs to buy wider wheels and they wouldn't fit under the narrow fenders.

So I figure, screw it, I'll chop the arches, fit the wider wheels, drive out really early, and cross my fingers I don't cross paths with a stickler cop.

As I get on the 60 heading out of LA this kid in a slammed Infiniti G35 comes racing up behind me and, well, yeah, I may have been forced to floor it and leave him in my dust, which for some odd reason he sees as a challenge and floors it after me...

My exhaust is pretty loud, and he had a fart can, so it's like a really angry wasp screaming after a throaty chainsaw, at which point we pass a cop who'd pulled someone over. Only I guess he'd just finished, because about 2 mins later I see him appear in my rearview.

I must have seen him before the G35 because I let off first, the cop pulls alongside me and stares at my Mad Max style 914, and then promptly pulls over the kid in the slammed G35.

Awesome story, thanks for sharing!!

First of all, the throttle cable stories are hilarious, I thought I was the only one.

1986, my 2.0 liter with dual carbs. Throttle cable broke while I was 30 miles from home. Like Clay and others, I found a way to cobble up a hand throttle by tying a string to the linkage. I put the top in the trunk and hand throttled it home. Hardest part was steering, throttling and shifting with 2 hands. I think I found a sweet spot on the road I was on a tried to keep it in third gear for most of the trip. I remember my had being raw from the string, because I had real strong throttle springs on the carbs.

Story two, same car. Worked on it more than I drove it. I broke a CV joint, and being a 16 year old, you get distracted easily. So I changed out the CV but forgot to tighten all the lug nuts on the Riverias with a "I'll get to that". After my mom called me inside, I went for a test drive... I made it down a really big hill and then heard a "thump." The car bucked and then I saw the Riveria pass me on the road and hit the curb flying 10 feet into the air before it landed in some soft bushes. It could have really hurt someone or broken something expensive, I was lucky. I digress....The car then realized it was off balance and the disc hit the ground before I sharply turned the wheel to the left making a hard turn whereby I was back up on 3 wheels till I stopped and it gently perched itself back onto the left rear disc. I walked up the road, found 4 lug nuts, didnt have a lug wrench but managed to put the wheel on "hand tight" and at 2 mph limped back home and parked it for the rest of the day. I only suffered a small fender crease, a slightly ground rotor and a blow to my mechanical ego.

Oh I can go on...

I am going to add a story of bad judgement, alcohol, and black rattle can paint.

The statue of limitations has expired, so I feel safe to tell this one.


When Betty and I were dating, my best friend had a 68 Camaro. But he decided he liked Betty's 914, so he started looking for one. He found a 73 2.0L in a field near what was then Carswell Air Force Base in Fort Worth. It was being robbed of parts for the 71 1.7 that was running. He bought it cheap, and brought it back to his house. The Delphi Green metallic paint had suffered from the Texas sun, so it looked OD Green with mange.

I helped him get the 2.0L engine running, and we went everywhere in it One night we were out drinking in far north Dallas. When the bars finally closed, we jumped in the 914 and headed home. We were both too drunk to be driving, but we were also young and stupid.

We were running about 70 mph on Interstate 635 in North Dallas headed home. I was in the passenger seat, watching the front edge of the paint on the front trunk ripple in the wind.

Suddenly, the air got under the paint, and peeled it back in one big sheet. It stayed attached at the rear edge, covering the windshield. Picture two drunks doing 70 mph, screaming about not being able to see.

The rear edge of the paint finally let go, and the sheet of paint flew through the air, impacting the grill of a Kenworth that was following us, exploding on impact. Being drunk, that was the funniest thing we ever saw. So we both started to laugh hysterically. My friend had to pull over because he was laughing too hard to drive.

We finally got going again,and if you know the DFW airport area, Hwy 635 turns south and comes in the north end of DFW airport. We had to pass through there on the way home. We get north of the airport, and that same Kenworth is sitting on the side of the road with steam pouring out of the radiator. That brought on another fit of laughing from both of us.

We finally get back to his house. He lived in the converted garage at his parent's house, and you went up over a hump at the end of the driveway, then down to where the garage doors used to be. There was a brick post between the old door openings. He drove down the driveway and ran directly into the post between the doors.

We both fall out of the car, and he looks at it and says, in a very loud voice for 3AM, "THIS CAR LOOKS LIKE SHIT!". So he goes inside, and comes out with a box of rattle can paint cans. It was a mixed box of various shades of black. Some flat, some semi-gloss, and some gloss. He starts painting the car in the dark. And I start helping. We painted everything, mirrors, glass, lights, windows.... everything except the wheels. We left empty spray paint cans all over the driveway and lawn.

The next afternoon, we got out with razor blade scrapers and paint thinner, and cleaned off the glass, and lights. He continued to drive that car until it dropped a valve seat. That was beyond his ability to fix. So he sold me the car.

This is how it looked:

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If you noticed in the video I made, this is the before picture of my car. So that is the pre-history of the 4.0L monster motor car.


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OK, I'll jump in. Part1.
First several cars were all VW's so I learned about air-cooled engines early on. Always wanted a Porsche, particularly a 911. After college, got a good job in Chicago suburbs and was single, so had some spending money. This was late 70's, went looking for for one around 1970 model (I had spending money, but not enough to buy something newer..). Test drove a few, then saw an ad for something called a 914 from a private seller. It was a -6 model. Went to see it, yea OK, and went back to looking at 911's. Stopped at a Porsche dealer out by the airport to look at a '69 911T. Chatting with the used car salesman, told him I had looked at a 914-6 that was about the same price. He flat out told me to go with the 914, it would hold it's value longer. So I went back and bought it. Probably the most honest salesman I ever came across.

I "tripped over" a 1970 914 last summer on FB. The ad was in the wrong section of marketplace but I recognized the dash in a photo. A friend and I went to see it thinking it was probably going to be a rusty POS. It wasn't. I'm no expert but I've been around 914's for a bit and have two others. A very original 1972 1.7 with 80k original miles but needing a bit of "light" rust repair and paint and then refresh the mechanicals. It's been stored in my shop for a few years. I also have a vintage race GT Tribute I'm getting ready for this season. I didn't need another car but couldn't pass this one up. It was so dry. About 125k original miles. All original books/records. The type of original owner that took notes of each service and dealership visit. It ran but not particularly well, barely stopped and it was impossible to find a gear. Only 3k on a rebuild of the 1.7. FI intact. It had just been sitting forever. I dug into a mechanical sorting with brakes, fuel lines, tank coating, new fuel pump, all new shifter bushings, new tires on some Fuchs I had stored, etc. It now runs well, stops, etc. It's been a fun project. Not sure if I'll keep it long term but it has a certain charm.

I work at a small private school part time. The car was parked in front of the building yesterday. At one point I saw a group looking at it and taking pics. Later that afternoon I get the following email. This from the original owners step daughter. Coincidentally I had written him and we have talked about getting together post covid. He sold the car to the gentleman I bought it from about 10 years ago.

Hello Jerry,

This is Jane Doe, Cataldo parent of Suzy and former student Johnny.

I was the crazy person taking pictures of your car after school today!

I was so surprised to see a 914,
and thought it might be my family’s old car!
Turns out, it is my stepdad’s old car, his name is John Doe.

What a small world, I was so excited to see the car and had no idea who it belonged to! Super cool!
I love that you’re driving it and hope you’ve been enjoying it!

Jane Doe

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Love the stories! Let's get some more!

Who's car is faster?

1974 2.0 with dual webers or the 1972 Triumph GT 6 rust bucket that I sold my friend since he didnt have a car.

Porsche: That ugly Monza quad tip exhaust, dual weber 40's and overinflated tires. Targa top left off to save weight, but sadly at 16, I didn't factor the extra drag. An angry Armenian at the wheel.

Triumph: Dual Strombergs; enough rust to lighten it by 40 pounds, overinflated 13 inch tires; a proud German pilot.

The Track: a somewhat measured 1/4 mile drag strip in a somewhat residential area of the San Fernando Valley, LA, CA.

The Stakes: A double whopper, fries and vanilla shake.

My cheating advantage: I knew the Triumph well. It was a dog off the line, the 2.0 liter in it needed to get way up in the RPM range. The 914 was torquey and the webers were actually tuned. If I got the jump, I could hold him off.

The Race: As predicted, he blew the start and I had a good car lead on him. I held it through the quarter mile (ish) and as we passed the trap, he was just passing me. I beatt him by a bumper. That crappy little triumph had some longer high gears and if we tried to go to 100 he would have beat me.

The gloating never ended as I refused his attempts to do a re-match...Oh to be 16 again...

My Dad lived in Ridgecrest, CA and I would go up to visit him from Long Beach. Going up hwy 395 there is a deep valley between Johannesburg and Ridgecrest. Down one side and up the other. In those days, it was just 2 lanes.
Going home after the weekend, I reached the bottom of the valley, to find a motorhome with 4 guys on Harleys. behind the motorhome, starting up the other side. When we got to the broken double line for passing, the Harleys pulled out to pass and I followed them.
They are going about 1mph more than the motorhome. I figured they were messing with me. They were separate, with 2 on the left side of the lane and 2 on the right. After about an 1/8 of a mile, they had not even gotten up to along side the motorhome.
I took a look at how far they were spread apart, and said I can make that. I dropped a gear and passed them up by going between them.
These were not the Harleys of today. The bikes were more like the ones in Easy Rider. They came after me, but they had to back off, after we hit 90. They had what we used to call Harley high speed wobble. Never saw those guys again.

Part 2.
The first few years I owned mine, I used it as my daily driver and also for any long trips. Out to visit family in Eastern NY (16 hrs) and work related training in Dallas (16hrs) and later, Atlanta (13hrs). I would leave late afternoon, drive all night, and arrive the next morning. Sometime during the night, I would just pull into a rest area and catch a couple hour cat-nap sitting in the driver seat. My record was 8hrs straight, non-stop.

Love it

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.