2007 Porsche 911 Targa 4S

Kathy Renwald

SPECIAL TO THE STAR

At a lakeside park in Port Credit, I have just finished a supervised visit with a Porsche 911 Targa 4S. The car is being kept on a short leash by the guardian of the Porsche press fleet for Ontario and Quebec.

I have already spent my week with the Targa for the purposes of this review. Now I guess I am on mandatory supervision because the suspicion is I have fallen truly, madly, deeply in love with the car.

I need to take just a few more photos to capture that voluptuous rear view of the Targa.

So an extracurricular rendezvous has been planned. The Porsche man brings the car into the park, the sun glinting off the Carmona Red paint, highlighting the crimson brake calipers. It is put into position for a few cheesecake shots.

I've only been reviewing cars for a year and a bit, have yet to drive a Ferrari, a Maserati, an Aston Martin, and maybe never will. So there may be no sweeter experience than my first drive in the iconic 911 Porsche.

It starts and maybe ends with the sound. Press the throttle and the sound is absorbed by every orifice of your body.

My neighbour George worked his whole life at Stelco in Hamilton, where molar-rattling noise is a fact of life, but the sound of the 911 Targa starting up and taking off caught his attention deep inside his double-brick house.

"That's a noisy car, but I like it," George offered one morning as I headed off on another escapade. Like a complete hayseed, I would drive with the windows cranked open just to hear it.

As I listened, I thought of the richness of Porsche language, the two-stage resonance induction system, the vane-cell pump, integrated dry sump lubrication, Motronic mapping. By golly, it's the stuff of epic poetry.

Every once in a while the owner's manual lapses into common talk. I learn "There's no need for a traditional dipstick!"

My $156,225 tester had the Tiptronic S automatic transmission (a $4,780 option). So it was also possible to lose the "look at me" attitude, since in the fully automatic groove the Targa can be driven in a quiet and self-effacing manner. Take it to Staples, the lawn bowling club, to Tai Chi in the park and be just another face in the crowd.

Or slip over to the manual mode, dial in S for sport, grab the steering-wheel-mounted rocker switches and start controlling the thrills for yourself, opting for performance over comfort.

Greenhorns such as myself are advised to drive it rough. Keep the revs up and the tachometer needle climbs like your bathroom scales with a sumo wrestler sitting on it.

It is a life-affirming experience; problem is, you rapidly run out of real estate. With 355 horses and 295 lb.-ft. of torque, the Targa is quickly nuzzling the logos of other cars foolish enough to be in the way.

It is a grand surprise then to realize that this car is also fun at 45 or 80 km/h. There is always a sensation of speed, a karmic connection between your hands, arms, the steering wheel and how the Targa responds to driver input.

Initially, I was intimidated by the Porsche, the legend, the price, the power. First, you are seduced by its exquisite handling on dry roads.

Then a spring snowstorm, and darned if the 911 Targa, with its all-wheel drive, wide track and stability management, didn't handle with a surefootedness that shamed some other AWD icons.

The tight ground clearance, of course, is sobering, and you don't want to press that beautiful snout into a snowbank. I felt sheepish driving it in the snow, but it's perfectly capable.

The manual cautions that the brakes should be thoroughly washed every two weeks when driving on heavily salted roads.

I liked the idea of getting to know the awesome brakes better. The front and rear discs on the 4S are an immense 13 inches – as big as a perennial hibiscus. The stopping power is in nosebleed territory.

Halfway through my weeklong test drive, I paused to take stock.

The car is a physical beauty; it's fun to drive at any speed; it stops like a jet fighter on an aircraft carrier; its sounds are music; the interior fits like a glove. And we haven't even gotten to the massive glass roof and the views it allows.

I started to believe that the car was a bargain at $156,225.

Back to the Targa glass roof. It runs the full width and length of the passenger compartment. It lets in enough light to start a grow op and it's so smartly engineered that when it's open, barely a wisp of air reaches the cranial area.

A polished aluminum strip traces the curve of the roofline. It's a Targa trademark, reminiscent of that graceful steel arch in St. Louis, Mo., that symbolizes the gateway to the American West.

Are there things to pick on? Well I'd still like to drive a six-speed manual. But that's not the car's fault. Some prefer the Tiptronic, because it can muddle along in traffic or turn to superpower at will.

It's cramped for cargo space, but it wasn't designed for trips to Costco.

It does unlock some unattractive emotions – lust and envy, for starters. But maybe if I owned it, some of the stardust would begin to fall off.

For now, suffering as I am from separation anxiety, I seek refuge in books.

The Roman philosopher Seneca, for instance, offers meditations on tranquillity of the mind and the shortness of life. He cautions against heedless luxury, but then he never drove a 911 Targa 4S.

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