Thats right.. The OG 914.
When I turned 15, I had accumulated a bunch of money (in 15 yo standards) working in the family's restaurant since I was 12. That's when dad agreed to help me restore a car... my first car...this little red race car.
After much debates over why a California Open Dunebuggy wouldn't be practical in the winters of a quaint Southeastern Massachusetts harbor village, we decided on this 1974 Porsche 914 2.0.
I could tell you stories for days, and so can my buddies in High School, about the fun I had in this car. However, the best ones come from me and dad, he wearing his chef pants and a stained apron, wrenching in the bitter winter cold trying to figure out what those crazy Germans were thinking when they engineered a bracket.
Now, at 37, I find myself still cussing at those Germans while underneath another '74 914 2.0 in my driveway in sunny Venice Beach, CA... I swear I still hear dad telling me not to shake the flashlight while I'm under this car.
I wish he was still here now to see this.
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