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The Underrated Saviour

The Underrated Saviour

I was seconds away from hearing the sentence that gives every driver the same sensation as a dentist’s drill: you know it won’t be pleasant, but you have absolutely no idea how expensive it is going to be. And this was on the motorway, too. I hadn’t heard it in a long time, but you never forget things like that. My brain immediately lit up every warning light and began frantically searching its memory: first-aid kit? Valid driving licence? Roadworthiness certificate? Are the lights working? Damn. I hadn’t checked any of it.

Window down. Three, two, one…

“Good afternoon, sir. Please step out of the vehicle and show me your documents.”

Right. Straight to “please step out”. A wonderfully warm opening to what was supposed to be a pleasant drive in a Boxster — Porsche’s somewhat underrated little sports car. The goal was simple: take fresh photographs for the sales listing. Nothing, in theory, requiring the presence of the state, an on-the-spot fine and the early stages of a heart attack.

The verdict? Guilty!

The roadworthiness inspection had expired nearly two years ago, there was a CZK 1,500 fine to pay on the spot, and the owner — yes, the owner, not me — was invited to administrative proceedings. Apparently, that could mean a fine of up to CZK 50,000.

I wasn’t particularly worried about myself. I just really didn’t want to create trouble for the owner, especially as I vaguely remembered us discussing the inspection when he entrusted the car to us for sale. Oh well. This sort of thing happens to us once every ten years at most. Hopefully.

The Czech Simir Gerchán and his sidekick were, thankfully, surprisingly helpful. After the reprimand and a very clear instruction that the car was no longer allowed on the road, they let me limp to the nearest inspection station.

On a Friday.

At 2:30 p.m.

The perfect moment for some pain in the arse to arrive in an old Porsche just before closing time.

And yet the woman who had been attacking the dusty floor of the reception area with a mop gave me a warm smile. “What can I do for you?” she asked. I sensed the faintest glimmer of hope. My speech automatically switched into the mode of a polite yet deeply distressed man. It worked.

They’re Still Just Blokes

The woman literally whistled for the guys in the workshop to squeeze me in, and they did not need asking twice. Despite their initial irritation, it turned out they were simply blokes. And this was a Porsche. It might be a baby Porsche, but it was still a Porsche. They couldn’t resist.

I tried to make conversation. Alongside the standard questions about power and acceleration, one question drifted over in a half-whisper from the other side of the room.

“Hang on, has someone really owned this car for eighteen years?”

An older chap in the corner was studying the registration document. The original one.

Yes. Our client had been taming this little thing for a full eighteen years. That is why it looks the way it does. One owner, regular care, garage storage and a clear history. It is not a complicated recipe — which also makes the 89,725 km mileage rather believable.

The Boxster passed its inspection without a single blemish.

I got back behind the wheel and set off for the rest of the journey, to the cheerful waves of everyone at the station. Fine, I imagined the cheerful waving. More accurately, the lads hurriedly shut the doors behind me and rushed home for Friday beers. But that would have been less poetic.

The rest of the photoshoot unfolded in a far more relaxed mood. I wandered through beautiful twisting roads, with the roof naturally folded away behind my head. My only concern was that I had forgotten sunscreen. Which is exactly the sort of problem you want when you are sitting in a roofless Porsche.

I stopped at several of my usual photo spots and did not hurry at all. For the first time in a while, I felt a genuine connection between car and driver. I know, I know. It’s a Boxster. Every motoring journalist has said it, starting with Clarkson. But why not say it again? When you drive dozens of modern, powerful cars, it is a balm for the soul to find something different. Truly different.

And now for specifics.

The Boxster Has Two Driving Modes

You can genuinely use it as a summer daily. Properly use it, too: for work, trips away, visits to your mistress, or the opera. It offends no one and entertains everyone.

Or you can start giving it a proper workout.

And it must be said that this is nowhere near as easy as it sounds. Yes, the engine sits in the middle and the balance is exemplary. The gearshift is precise, the pedals are laid out as if drawn by a textbook. Through the steering wheel, you can feel every flattened frog, and the apexes fall into place beautifully.

But it lacks power.

Or at least, you think it does.

Perhaps we have forgotten what it is like when you have to work a little for the joy of driving. So, here we go: a sharp hairpin, brake into it properly, slot in second and let it spin to around 6,800 rpm. It would go further, but I do not want to hurt it.

The car eases into a gentle powerslide right on the limit of grip, but it remains safe because you know exactly where that limit is. I add more throttle on the exit, select third and wait to see what happens.

Well, third could have come later still.

The engine coped nicely, but you can feel the slight drop in performance. It keeps pulling and pulling, then another hairpin arrives, hard on the brakes and back to second. The exit is much better. I am learning.

Yes. This is starting to become fun.

Is It Fast? Maybe. Is It Fun? Absolutely.

I instinctively glance at the speedometer. A hundred, 110, 120 km/h. Nothing remotely ballistic. But with the roof down and the knowledge that I am the one achieving that speed — rather than some electronically managed beast that could eat lunch, make calls and drive itself for you — it is priceless.

And there we are again. I am not going to claim that all modern cars are boring. They are not. But they simply cannot do this. And they never will.

Try savouring a drive in one of those analogue machines that were designed above all to entertain their driver, not merely transport them quickly from point A to point B. You will become addicted.

And this particular Boxster, for just under half a million Czech crowns? In my view, it is an excellent candidate for putting away, with clear potential to deliver a daily driver’s orgasm.

Don’t Condemn It. Be Grateful.

Some people like the Boxster; others do not. Some are genuinely offended that Porsche ever built it. But if you have even a passing affection for Porsche, you should know that without the Boxster we would probably be reading about the company only in encyclopaedias. It is a quiet little saviour.

At the start of the 1990s, Porsche was not making only the 911; it also built the 944, the 928 and the expensive 968 — cars that were technically interesting, but costly to develop and manufacture. Sales were falling, the dollar was unhelpful, and Porsche lost 240 million Deutschmarks in 1992. The costly Porsche 968 was not the cause of the disaster, but it was a very handsome, four-cylinder symptom of it.

In 1995, it disappeared from the scene along with the 928, and Zuffenhausen placed its bet on a simpler, smarter plan: the 911 and the new Boxster, which shared many parts. The Boxster began the entire company’s return to life in 1996.

The final saviour, though, was the Cayenne in 2002 — an SUV that had purists fainting into the lapels of their Porsche-club jackets, but one that opened customers’ wallets so effectively that Porsche can still make cars like this: small, low and bloody good fun.

So, if you ever buy a Porsche Cayenne, Macan or indeed a Boxster, do not feel guilty. You may be helping fund the development and sale of the Pors

Sep 22, 2026