930 v 992 Turbo
A road trip like no other: two Turbos descend on England’s deserted capital as the iconic 930 shows the new 992 around the streets it’s long called home
With a lockdown ensuring London’s roads are empty, a 930 shows its younger sibling around the streets it’s long called home
London: the capital of England, and a global powerhouse of culture and commerce. Home to around nine million people, you might be surprised to learn that an array of special sports and supercars are hidden all over the conurbation. Various collections are stored discreetly in and around the Greater London area, and all manner of exotics can be spied crawling the city streets on any given day. It’s been like that for years: these days you just need to stand on the old Brompton Road
(or watch the thousands of videos on Youtube) for five minutes to witness automotive exhibitionism from the Lamborghini-wielding nouveau riche, but a generation or so ago the venue was the financial district, and the car was the Porsche 911 Turbo.
Yes, during the boom of the 1980s, Britain’s capital became the quintessential home of the 930 (in fact, sales performance of Porsche’s flagship super sports car quite often hinged on the size of City bonuses). The car, and a good pinstripe suit, were seen as the ultimate expression of the venerable ‘Yuppie’.
Today though, London is no place for a sports car. Usually crippled by chronic traffic congestion, the average speed in Central London is just 7.6mph on weekdays. Sometimes it really is easier to attempt inner-city journeys on foot or by bicycle.
Except for tonight, that is. My destination
– indeed, playground – is the city of London, but there’ll be no kinetic energy from pushing pedals or pounding pavements. Travel to and around the capital will be powered by a Porsche flat six, my weapon of choice being a C00, German-registered 992 Turbo, on a short-term lease in the UK from Porsche in Stuttgart. It’ll be joined by a 930, the original
Turbo primed to show the new arrival around its old stomping ground. Owned by enthusiast Paul Pressland, the 930 is a Martini special-edition no less, the occasion all the more poetic because it was Pressland’s father who once owned the Martini 930 displayed by Porsche AG at the London Motor Show in 1977.
Our mission is made possible by the fact the roads will largely be clear: Britain is in the midst of a national lockdown and so, with those not able to work staying indoors, it appears we have the keys to the city for one night only. Tanks filled and flat sixes firing, the 930 is ready to lead its younger 992 relative around the capital’s storied streets.
Our journey starts around 100 miles south west of London, on the Dorset coast. It’s already dark when I meet Pressland and his wonderfully special Martini Turbo, and yet those striking blue and red stripes still manage to jump from the 930’s white coachwork to add a flair of colour to an otherwise dull and monotone winter’s evening.
Before long both Turbos are pointed for London, making swift progress on the near-empty motorway. The 992 is gliding harmoniously along the asphalt, usually pounded by articulated lorries and scurrying commuter sedans, my deployment of eighth gear meaning its flat six is humming quietly behind me at less than two thousand revs. I’m just as comfortable, my back and buttocks warmed by the gentle glow of the heated seat, my eyes fixed on the two red dots of the 930’s tail lights around 200 yards up the road. Low and wide, the 930 still delivers an impressive, unmistakeable silhouette despite its 40 years of age. More on that later.
Reaching the outskirts of the capital at Brentford, towering buildings and expansive advertising screens begin an evening-long trend of blocking out the night sky, the piercing brightness of the screen’s LEDS an unwelcome contrast to the soft interior lighting inside the 992 Turbo. Snaking ever further into town, we meet snapper Ali Cusick in Fulham, a largely residential area in London’s opulent west end.
We outline a rough route for our adventure, but such is the scarcity of other road users, there’s little need for such planning. We really do have the keys to the capital for the entire night.
The Royal Albert Hall is our first point of call, London’s home of the arts since the 19th century. Situated just three miles away from our location, in a normal world this could be a journey of up to 35 minutes in rush hour. But this isn’t rush hour and the situation is anything but normal, so we make it in less than half of that, helped by Pressland’s intrinsic knowledge of London’s back streets to cut across South Kensington, ending up kerbside at the Grade I listed building.
Jumping out of the cars while Cusick grabs his first pictures, it proves an entertaining exercise weighing up the proportions of these two Turbos separated by 42 years of Zuffenhausen engineering. The 930 seems so innocent parked next to the bulbous 992, its iconic 16-inch Fuchs humbled by the 21-inch offerings on the rear of the newest car to wear that ‘Turbo’ script. The 992 is longer, wider and taller than its automotive ancestor, not to mention doused in technological trickery, yet there’s clear evidence of genetic legacy in the Turbos’ contours, comprising those raised front fenders and elegant, sloping rooflines.
Snaps done, we elect to get out of the cold and into the 911s. We snake into Central London past
Hyde Park and Ma’am’s residence at Buckingham Palace, eventually finding our way into St. James’ Square. It’s deserted, save for a London cabbie taking a break in his Hackney carriage, his eyes transfixed on the wide, white hips of the Martini Turbo. As we pull over for a couple more static pictures, a young takeaway courier on pushbike stops to take a picture of the 992 before peddling on. Pressland and I laugh at the prospect of each Turbo finding appeal with their respective generations.
The modern Turbo might well be a technological marvel, but the allure of the 930 is hard to ignore.
Our blast up from the coast ignited the initiative, and following it around London has only exacerbated its charm: low and wide with that large tea tray wing protruding ostentatiously from its decklid, the 930 still possesses enviable presence on the road, despite its age and diminutive proportions compared to modern machinery.
Inside, the Martini’s tri-coloured interior is magical, offset beautifully by the Martini-striped black leather steering wheel which Pressland recently acquired. In beautiful condition throughout, this 930 is a real treat for the eyes and a stunning example of the marque.
Pictures taken care of once more, we head out along Pall Mall before taking in the psychedelic sights of Piccadilly Circus with its bright advertising screens wrapping around famous old buildings. Usually bustling with tourists, tonight the square is occupied by only a handful of pedestrians, their eyes drawn to the two Porsches rushing over the crossroads and on into the night.
Air-cooled cars aren’t usually too compatible with traffic, getting very hot under jolted, stop
start progress, but the 930 is getting ample chance to stretch its legs tonight while staying within strict city speed limits. Its four-speed ‘box means Pressland isn’t having to constantly row between gears, first and second being all that’s really needed to dash between the high-rise buildings of central London. We soon reach Westminster, Pressland flooring it out of Parliament Square, the inertia forcing the 930’s front end up, its rear hunkering down under accelerative force. Its exhaust lets out a bassy snarl as revs rise, before a sonorous ‘pop’ of back pressure fills the night as Pressland lets off the gas. And we thought the City was no place for a Turbo!
Surrounded by such extravagance and pomp, the 930 is nevertheless stealing the show, its only issue being those measly halogen headlights which aren’t doing an amazing job of lighting the way. Luckily, the 992’s low beam offers a floodlight by comparison, bleaching the road around and beyond the 930 ahead.
We stay north of the river along Embankment, the two Turbos rolling side by side for its entire stretch. The 992 is happy to cruise at low rpms in Normal mode, automatically changing up through the gears quickly and seamlessly, ensuring a return of around 19mpg after an hour of urban driving. Not bad for a 580hp supercar.
We eventually cross over the Thames via Tower Bridge, its iconic mix of white and blue support beams and suspension rods complementing the Martini 930’s own famous colourway. Our very brief sojourn south of the river is simply to take a view of The Shard. The building, the tallest in western Europe at 1,016 feet and with 11,000 glass panels making up its exterior, is illuminated in blue across its top 20 floors as a visual thanks to the UK’S NHS hospital staff. We pull down a side alley and take a look from afar as the Shard’s bright blue display lights up the night sky. Turning the cars off and hopping out, we stare poignantly at the magnificent structure’s rooftop display, our silence peppered only by the occasional ‘ping’ of the Turbos’ cooling exhausts.
We hear a siren, before seeing an ambulance shoot across our viewpoint, its blinking blue lights matching the glow of the tower top behind. Its wail drags us from our dreamy gaze, plummeting our senses back into reality. We are working, and therefore compliant to government regulations, but we don’t want to take the mickey. It’s therefore time to head home.
I leave Pressland and his stunning 930 in London for the night and input Porsche Centre Reading into the 992’s navigation. It’s just gone midnight and another journo is due in the car first thing tomorrow after a Covid-compliant sanitisation from its handlers. Leaving the dazzling cityscape in my rear view mirrors, I head west along the dark, silent M4 motorway, broken eventually by the din of roadworks, and with it, a diversion. Bugger.
The detour though turns out to be a welcome one: taking me through the countryside in the dead of night, the curvy, cambered roads at last allow me a chance to unleash the new Turbo’s more sporting attributes, and it doesn’t disappoint. Selecting Sport Plus by twisting the Mode wheel (far more satisfying than merely jabbing the touch-screen icon!), I select manual transmission override and push on.
Suddenly this docile tourer comes alive: unfathomably quick, responsive and delightfully engaging, it’s pure Jekyll and Hyde stuff compared to the comfortable, quiet cruiser the Turbo was purporting to be in London. The 992 really does deliver where the 991 Turbos didn’t, and that’s serving a feelsome drive fairly near the limit (because if you’re the limit in these you need to be on a track or in prison) that electrifies the synapses. As with the Turbo S, it’s development of the front axle and the steering in particular which best typifies this, the latter no longer hampered by a numbness to even drastic driver inputs.
Turbo duly returned to the sound of birdsong at Porsche Centre Reading, I climb in my own vehicle and head wearily back to the coast still under the cover of darkness. Despite the ungodly hour, my mind is still fizzing from the evening’s adventure: I realise it’s unlikely I’ll ever again enjoy the freedom of the city of London, savouring its many beautiful landmarks almost exclusively. Even better, it’s all been done from the driver’s seat of a Porsche 911 Turbo – another prominent feature historically intertwined with our fabled metropolis.