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My story's a bit different.
I was working as a wrench at the local Porsche dealership, so we were all aware of the "capabilities" of the 930's. One came in with a popped engine and the owner was tired of the whole affair and sold it to me cheap. Really cheap. Over the course about a year I fixed the engine and a bunch of other things wrong with it. I was keeping my gym buddy informed of my progress as he always had a love for all things Porsche.
I finally finished it up and one day drove it to the gym. After the ohh's and ahh's, I offered to take him for a spin. So after meandering through town, we hit the freeway. I get going on a pretty good roll in the fast lane, and hit the right side of the tach in 4th, WELL into triple digit speeds. Just then I noticed a highway patrol in the next lane over. We both gasped as we passed him going at least 70 mph faster than his speed. At this point I figured I'm screwed, I'm going to the pokey, might as well keep it floored now. Then I had a flashback from what one of my superbike riding coworkers told me, "If you're ever running from the cops, get off the freeway as soon as you can, then head back the other way." As I spotted the next cloverleaf, I got on the brakes hard and downshifted, crossed over all the lanes, and dirt tracked that puppy up the cloverleaf. As we crested the top of the cloverleaf I spotted the cop, lights and sirens on, still going straight on the freeway, chasing a ghost.
As we got back to the gym and drove in the parking lot, my gym buddy, with a huge grin on his face, said, "I'd kill myself if I had one of these things."
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