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One Year with My 912: Expectation vs. Reality
When I bought my 1967 Porsche 912 and began the journey to restore it, I didn’t know exactly what to expect. I knew I was a Car Guy—would I suddenly become a Porsche Guy? After 365 days, my thoughts are more concrete.
While I had tinkered on other cars, I knew as much about working on vintage Porsches as I did about working on first-generation Mustangs—nothing. The 912 was the first major restoration project I had undertaken. I learned quickly, from forums or books, at cars and coffees, and on YouTube. (Bless these, each and every one.) If you’re just now joining me on this project, check out the stories that I wrote documenting my first days with the car I now call Wolfie, thanks to her ZWOLFEE vanity plate. (Zwölf means 12 in German.)
I fell in love with the Porsche marque as a wee girl. My father owned two 356 Speedsters and those charming, upside-down bathtubs inspired my lifelong love of cars. Since the 356 market occupies a space well beyond my pay grade, I looked for a 912, the more affordable, four-cylinder alternative to the 911. By a miracle, I found a work-in-progress car on Craigslist. It was halfbaked both literally (from the sun) and figuratively (from a very partial restoration) and in November of 2023 I pulled it out of a dirt lot behind someone’s house in the suburbs of Southern California.
Work began immediately to simply get the engine running. Once that happened, the car still wasn’t drivable. This was only the beginning of the adventure. Every weekend for months, Aaron Robinson (Hagerty editor-at-large) and I worked for hours on projects as they popped up. Welding needed to be done on the rusted front suspension pan, which had been welded over another rusted front suspension pan. A friend, who had skills I did not possess, replaced both. The pedal assembly was redone correctly, the crotchety Solex carbs were replaced by Webers, brakes, and shocks were swapped out for new components. We swapped out the 14-inch Fuchs—we never could figure out if they were authentic—for stock steelies and a set of Vredestein Sprint Classic tires.
I pulled out the seats and most of the original sound-deadening material, which now looked more like matted rat hair, to make way for something more modern. I traced tin foil patterns for the SuperLite Dynamat that would line the floor of the cabin and the scant second row. I wanted to strike a balance between keeping weight down and being able to hear a conversation at speed.
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I watched “How to do a 901 Interior” YouTube videos on repeat. If they had been on VHS, the sections of tape showing how to form the front pockets or how to pad the bump between the rear seats just right would have worn out. Does anyone else find it strange that when it comes to the toughest parts of any job, the ones where you’re desperate for details, the video host either ramps up the time-lapse or just cuts past those parts? “Okay, now that hard stuff is done, you can put it all back in,” they all seem to say. Just me? Maybe the YouTubers struggled with it, too.
Redoing the interior was more enjoyable than I thought it would be. Once the carpet was in, the remaining spiders that had once called the 912 home realized they were not part of the renovation and disappeared. (That, or the toxic glue that may or may not have been legal to use in California snuffed them out for good.) I’m a self-taught wannabe decorator at heart and, unlike the mechanical work, this was progress I could see daily, and it motivated me. When we put down the tools at night, the rear seat humps would have transformed into smooth curves, or the carpet on the transmission linkage cover would finally poof just right. It was satisfying.
Not that the interior work was stress-free, of course. Once the seats came back from the upholsterer, I had to add the door panels and parcel shelf. If “measure twice, cut once” is the standard for good upholstery, caution ensured I was way above average—I measured again, and again, and again. The interior kit from Sierra Madre had been on a massive Black Friday sale when I bought it, but each piece still cost hundreds of dollars. Each slice of the razor blade into the material became a cardiac moment.
Knuckles were scraped, progress got thwarted by other, more urgent projects, tempers flared between Robinson and me, and colorful language definitely got thrown about, but as the weeks turned into months, the car looked better and better. I happily sweltered in my Carhartt coveralls during June and July, because we were now on deadline. The goal was to drive the 912 from Los Angeles to Pebble Beach—a trip of about 300 miles—for Monterey Car Week, the annual extravaganza of all things automobile, with a calendar of events that attracts the best cars in the world. Talk about lofty expectations.
Less than a week out from Car Week, I remember driving the car home for the first time from Robinson’s garage. We’d done small test drives around his place to shake down any hidden issues and the 912 seemed fine. But as I gathered speed onto the 405 North heading from his South Bay home to mine—just over the Santa Monica Mountains from Hollywood, in the San Fernando Valley—I’d never been more afraid of driving a car. Even with its imperfect paint, I’d never owned a car worth more than this one. I’d never driven it more than a couple of miles, and Robinson had always been with me in case we needed to troubleshoot an unexpected issue.
The Porsche’s 90 horsepower didn’t exactly hustle me up the Sepulveda Pass, but by the time I had the Getty Museum in my tiny rearview mirror, I felt my shoulders crawl down from around my ears. My doubt in my ability to successfully work on cars was clearly alive and well, but we had done good work. I pulled into my garage, got out, and looked at the car, now in its forever home. I had to take it all in for a minute: Yes, this was my car, and yes, it did belong here. I decided that, like the presence of a newly adopted shelter dog, it might take time for reality to sink in.
Robinson and I vowed to start early for Monterey Bay. The 912 has no air conditioning, no radiator, and I didn’t feel like tempting fate amid the August heat in Southern California. With the sun not even up yet, I headed out. Robinson would start an hour and a half later, but since he was driving a 1970 Lamborghini Espada, a grand tourer with eight additional cylinders, I knew he would easily catch up.
With every mile I got braver, pushing the throttle further and watching the revs rise to a comfortable 3800 on the tach. When I say comfortable, I mean for the car, not for the driver. In spite of the Dynamat, holy smokes—it was loud. The fourth and final gear in a 912 is not super tall, and some compromised window seals on my car were whistling at tea-kettle pitch. I popped in my headphones and listened to a book. The car, however, was very much at its ease. At 70 miles per hour, the engine felt energetic but also relaxed. It conveyed its contentment with the staccato thwapping that I remembered so vividly from riding in the back of my mother’s 1970s VW Bugs.
Wolfie’s reception in Monterey astounded me. Everyone fawned over the interior and loved the exterior patina just as it was. We were issued directives not to paint it. (Funny how people with pristine cars always tell you to keep yours rough.) Heads turned for my car in the same way mine had the first time I attended Car Week and spotted Aston Martins parked in the garage of a Motel Six.
“It’s just a 912,” I heard myself saying when someone gushed over my car. Is that a woman thing? Trying to diminish every accomplishment or accommodate other people by appearing more relatable? My response both shocked and saddened me. But it also made me realize that this car hadn’t changed me, as I had first wondered. I wasn’t suddenly Kelly McGillis in Top Gun chasing after Tom Cruise in her Speedster. Nor had I joined the ranks of social media Porsche girls with accounts solely focused on their cars. Neither the fictional nor the online characters were me. I hadn’t become a Porsche Guy—I was still a Car Guy.
My 912 continues to feel more and more like a reflection of me. It’s true, with solid bones, classically simple with no frills, pleasing to the eye but still rough around the edges. I remain cautious about some of the creaks and coughs we both make and, as it turns out, neither of us enjoys being super cold. Wolfie remains a work in progress, but just as she hasn’t changed me, I don’t intend to change her all that much, either. I just want to keep her running. Those seem like expectations I can manage.
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When my father quickly needed a new car, after quitting his job and turning in his company car, there were several he looked at. They were, as I was there in 1968, the Volvo 1800s, Mercedes 220, Mustang GT-CS, Porsche 912, and Mercury Cougar. Quite the mix. He ended up buying the Cougar which I bought off him 18 months later and still have today. He eventually got his Porsche, a 1973 911 E Targa for two years before going to a Mercedes 450SL. I guess enough of the stick shift for him.
Lets talk about paint. We bought our 1963 356B Cabriolet in 1967. I love shiny paint and I wasn’t satisfied with what we bought. Found out later that the rear had been repainted. Dealer had to repair a 2-3 cm dent above the right tail light from shipping. Did it on the cheap. Didn’t quit match. Had the whole car resprayed original color, metallic silver around 1968. Still wasn’t happy with it. Had it done on the cheap. Mid 1980s decided to have the car painted black. I was happy with that until the originality bug got in my head in 2007. This time it was done the right way, down to bare metal and hours of attention to make it smooth. I was thrilled with the result. The owner of the shop called me and said they were going to repaint it. He wasn’t satisfied with some of the work. I got the car back in 2008. It’s won a lot of awards. Lesson learned. Don’t paint a car on the cheap. Don’t change colors on a whim, however, it is your car and you have the right to put any color on it that you want. You can’t go wrong with the original factory color. The benefits of a two stage, base then clear coat out weigh old low tech single stage. That may be subjective. It is not time and labor intensive to maintain a blemish free smooth shiny service. I clean, claybar and wax 2-3 times a year Springtime out of storage, mid summer and fall before storage. Use a quality wax. (Zymol) The paint is now 17 years old and still shines like a jewel. Have the paint done by someone who appreciates your car and has a high skill level with experience. It is an endeavor in teamwork: their skill level and your monies. Quality costs and you can’t fake it.
Thanks for the story, Lyn — great work on your ride! You comment about putting headphones in on your big drive after all the work you put in on the car. I have been working on an 85 Mustang GT (pretty rough – lots of miles on this car) and took in on a 2500 mile trip to visit car museums. On one of the legs of the trip I drove most of the day, listening to podcasts and music with earbuds, and ended up at my hotel hearing a wail from the engine bay. The alternator bearing was mostly gone but I didn’t know it until I arrived at the destination. So, moral of the story, sometimes what we don’t know (hear) won’t hurt us :-))
Also — the patina thing. My Mustang is pretty rough but am holding off painting it because it sure is nice to be able to park anywhere I want and not worry about getting parking lot dings. Lot to be said about patina!
Looking forward to hearing more!
steve
I’ve really enjoyed all three of Ms Woodward’s stories about her 912. It would be great if she could continue the series.
Thank you for making me understand my love of C1 corvettes, bairly not a Valient Barracudas, 89 to 93 Miatas, James Dean Speedsters, and all the other Spots Cars that eventually became amazing cars but required actual skills to drive, opps I forgot the original T bird. There is nothing wrong with these cars and they have a huge amount of fun in them, never mind that a a family car of today could easily outperform them, there is still a lot of fun in these cars and people need to remember that mm
Very well written and most enjoyable story of your project. It reminded me of many of my own experiences. I couldn’t figure out if you are going to get it painted or leave it as is. Good luck
It’s a strange thing, gaining confidence in something you’ve touched so many parts of. I think we may all have a bit of imposter syndrome about our skills.
Performing a 1200km road trip last summer was nerve wracking, as I’d never taken my car more than 100km from home base.
It wasn’t until I pulled in my driveway with nothing broken (other than losing a rear window slide on the way home) that I finally let out a sigh of relief that my fixes were actually fixes and not sabotaging the car.
Lyn, congrats on your dream adventure! Who cares what anyone else says about your car, you get to enjoy your time doing what makes you happy. I have a barn full of projects that are waiting for time and energy to get going, you have found yours. I make a list of “grievances” (concerning the car) and label them in order of annoyance and take on the most annoying one this month and maybe in 3 months take on the next. But continue to enjoy a running, driving friend while you can.
Haha!! I get what you mean about YouTube videos skipping the “hard parts.” I’ve been looking for a good video for changing the starter on a Fiat 124 Spider since I first owned it. The best one I’ve found is at Superman super-speed and is nearly useless. Show us the hard parts!!! 😄
Yes, like others, this brings back many memories. In my case the memories go back to my days in Panama while serving in the Army. I was there two years and was a flute and piccolo player in the Canal Zone Band. While there I bought a 1960 Super 90. Had no idea what a prize I had. When it needed work I took it to the base auto shop and when to work. Once it had the oil cooler leaking. I ordered a part from Florida since there were no dealers in Panama only to get a part that was not for my car. Ended up buying a cooler for a VW Bug and I was back on the road. When I was discharged it came to the states with me and my wife. The car went back with her on a ship and I met up with them both in New Orleans. We got most of the way back to her home in Mesa AZ when something broke in the transmission so her father came and got us and towed the car to Mesa. The dealer there said to go to the VW dealer and buy the part which I did and got the Super 90 back on the road. While living in Santa Cruz California the car started having clutch slippage and not having a place to work on it I sold it for $1950.00. It makes me cry now knowing what they are worth but more just missing the fun it was to drive and it’s simplicity. Now that car is way out of my reach. Have fun with yours and whatever you do don’t sell it or you will be like me missing your car every time you see one like it. Several Corvettes did not still the missing.
Speaking of your being “desperate for details,” Wolfie was “pulled out of a dirt lot,” yet you share scant clues of you got her running. Did we miss something?
Congrats on your 912 adventure and accomplishments Lyn! Well done! It’s true! People with pristine cars insist you should keep the patina and wear of yours. I have a 1966 Mustang GT fastback that I turned into a Shelby GT350 clone back in 1981 (it was my first car and I could have bought a real Shelby for what I spent buying this car and turning it into a clone, but I was too anxious to buy my first car to wait the extra month or two to save the difference!). A few years back as I was restoring the car and preparing for paint there were countless people telling me “leave it alone,” “keep the patina,” or “it’s only original once!” If my car were an actual GT350, I might have considered maintaining the patina, but frankly the car looked tired and worn out for at least 20 years, and I was tired of the car looking so sad, so I painted it and haven’t regretted it for a single minute!
And, it’s picked up it’s share of stone chips in the past few years, but that just comes with driving them! If I have to, I’ll paint it again someday.
Continue to drive the wheels off your 912 and enjoy it to the fullest!
Great adventure and writing. I too have a ’69 912 that was originally Burgundy Red. When I bought it out of a field in Maguireville, AZ it had none of the original color anywhere on the car. It came from Lafayette, CA. So I transformed it into an Ossi Blue 912, a color well known on these cars. Since I discovered that it has a replacement engine from 1966 I sure it has stories to tell me that I haven’t heard yet.
Awesome story and job. As the proud owner of a 1976 914, one that I did just about l everything you did to restore it. With your statement about the connection with the car that exists because you know it, you have fixed it, you have seen its inner workings and made some sense of them. It is the joy or owning one of these cars. They will break and you will fix them. That’s the deal. Enjoy the hell out of it. Soon the only ones left will be collectors and stupid expensive. You have a gem!