Rain all night and this morning, but when it clears I take the ‘Rascal for a little solo exercise through local agricultural country. Some in-motion documentation — not a Best Practice. Don’t encourage your kids to do such things.
Tuesday this machine zipped by as I was walking to my workspace. Followed the turn I could see the car took a couple of blocks away, and … voila (albeit without a sign of its driver). Unwashed, but with the honorable evidence of having been driven. Would like to reshoot the car under less horrible blazing sun, but, anyway … By the way, today I learn that this 1972 911T is named Barney and its owner describes it as an autocross warrior. We will be following developments.
Today, while clearing out the detritus that is most of my photographic history, I stumbled upon this heart-stopping moment in 1969, when I came upon my parked cover-bedecked 911 and saw a … Point of Contact. LA streets. Included a rear view as a consolation.
The chain of events was set off by a recent visit to the local library. That’s where I discovered, on the For Sale surplus books shelf, a pristine hardbound copy of John le Carré’s A Legacy of Spies. Rather astonished at its $1 price tag, especially given its recent 2017 publication, I scooped it up immediately. Reading that has rekindled my interest in le Carre’s work, which I hadn’t read or seen for decades. Last night I continued my exploration (including having completed A Legacy of Spies and now reading The Little Drummer Girl (1983), plus re-watching the BBC TV circa 1979 classic, “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy”) by streaming the follow-on BBC 1982 series, “Smiley’s People”. And here are a few screen grabs (lo-res 4:3) from the latter, featuring the legendary actor Alec Guinness.
So whereupon I learn that pasha was apparently a European offering for not just the 928, as is infrequently seen here stateside. Turns out the Guinness’ George Smiley character disliked sports cars, chafed at having to ride in the “child” seats of the 924 driven by the Peter Guillam character, apparently unmoved by the exotic fabric on which he sat. (In later scenes, Peter relents and switches to a VW microbus for the final lap of their getaway.)
This weekend, after a Saturday morning work session I was walking back home, late for lunch, and spotted an ancient 912 across the street. Three-fourths in deep shadow, one-fourth in blistering noonday sun, I quickly attempted to document the thing before its owner appeared and it disappeared — or the owner appeared, lest we get lost in conversation that might keep me from my own appointment. Brought back memories of my six-cylinder 911 variant. Note the 912 Registry indication, the racing-style headlight stone guards, the sensible-shoes Pirelli P4 Four Season tires, the red interior, the lemon yellow exterior (bleached in the sunlight, shifting green in dark shadow), and other detail. And did I mention the Vasek Polak — the place to buy a Porsche in my L.A. time — license frame?