This is the cheapest Porsche 911 GT3 on Autotrader. Its $73k asking price is commensurate to its 85k miles clocked. The price also reflects an off-road excursion that managed to damage three sides of the car in one incident! What did the previous owner do? Spin the car into a tire barrier?
With curiosity—and suspicion—I circle the 2007 GT3. It’s been parked in a spot of honor, the corner of the lot, where it can be seen from two streets. Looking down its narrow nose and along its voluptuous hips, I can’t see any evidence of the cosmetic—or structural!—surgery that was performed on this GT3. Eventually, I find some overspray on the weather-stripping for the passenger door; this is the only tell that the car was under-the-knife is some on the passenger door.
Repairs aside, there are hints that this GT3 lived a hard-knock life. A red metal tow hook protrudes from a slit in the bumper. Big yellow calipers peek out from behind the 10-spoke wheels. Yellow is a hint that these calipers once clamped onto carbon-ceramic rotors, but instead, rust-encrusted iron rotors stare back at me through the spokes. This GT3 has been to the track. Haven’t they all? It is a sin to deny a GT3 track time…
I examine the rotors more closely. While tarnished with surface rust, they are actually new and free of wear. The dealer confirms that the spent carbon ceramics were replaced with GiroDisc irons.
Inside, the evidence of 13 years of use continues. The synthetic-suede on the steering wheel and shifter is worn into twisted tufts. The painted plastic for the driver’s window switches is scrapped and peeling. But the OEM seats are surprisingly fresh. I’d bet they spent many years in someone’s basement while racing buckets filled their place.
Yes, this is a GT3 that has lived a full life of spirited driving and track days. Does it wear its scars proudly? A test drive will tell.
I turn the key, the engine fires immediately. I press the clutch and engage reverse gear. Whoa! Is this transmission from the Sword in the Stone? It feels like only King Arthur could shift this 6-speed. At each gate, the shifter catches and resists entry. My arm strains, forcing it from reverse to first. (Amazingly, there’s no grinding from the synchros.)
The clutch pedal is equally heavy and recalcitrant. I’m a tall, gangly guy with scrawny giraffe legs. I nearly break a sweat trying to balance the titanically stiff clutch at its slipping point. Give me a year with this GT3, and the lower-body workouts will soon have me looking like a peg-leg pirate. My departure from the dealership is jerky, but I stutter onto the street and set off for the highway.
Once I am rolling, my complaints about the GT3 melt away. As I go from coarse surface streets to the smooth highway, the textures transmitted to my fingers change, and the heavily weighted steering twitters with feedback from the tires. Finally, after sampling three generations of 911s and two generations of Caymans, I’ve found Porsche’s perfect steering in the 997 GT3. I should have known to look here all along!
I try a few bursts of acceleration on the highway. From middling revs, 3k to 6k rpm, the flat-six engine responds promptly and pulls well, but without the wallop of torque that characterizes today’s turbocharged mills. The GT3 delivers a steady pull and one that grows stronger as the engine sings louder. 415 hp and 299 lb-ft may have been blistering in 2007, but horsepower wars have moved the game well beyond in 2020.
At the Hwy 68 exit, I tuck the GT3 into the nicely banked, looping off-ramp. The GT3’s sharp front axle follows my steering input without hesitation. We dive down into the corner, trace the inside lane line, and then slingshot onto Hwy 68. The Porsche-spec Michelin PS2’s deliver excellent grip up front (without any of the push that plagued the 997.2 C2S), and the matching rear-rubber cements the GT3’s tail to the ground. A sensation of an ass-heavy chassis—with oodles of rear grip—permeates the GT3, but there’s no hallmark 911 recalcitrance from the front. Well, at least not at the modest clip I’m traveling.
This morning I reconnoitered a nice little loop along the base of Jack’s Peak. Olmsted Road links to Monholland, then finally to Aguajito, which dumps me out on Hwy 1. The roads sweep and duck through rolling pine forests. They’re mostly quiet, away from the commerce and bustle of Monterey, but are shared with errant walkers and bicyclists.
As I turn the GT3 onto Olmsted Road, I’m presented with a temptation that I must resist: A beautiful quarter-mile straightaway leads into a school zone. Responsibly traveling at 35 mph, I continue to appreciate the surface information that permeates the GT3’s steering and chassis. Road feedback fills this car, and there’s no (comfort) penalty for savoring it. I do love cars that feel special even when driven slowly!
Past the school zone, I pick up the pace, running a respectful Sunday canyon flow. It’s supremely enjoyable to sweep up the hills and dive down the gullies. All of the 2000s classic sportscar cues are here. Heavy, tremoring steering. A vocal, rev-happy NA engine. Stout iron brakes. A communicative, well-sorted suspension that’s both composed and compliant. I cut my sportscar teeth in the 2000s; it’s my golden era.
The heat and revs have loosened the balky shifter…a bit. There’s no grinding, but the warmed shifter is still reluctant to slot into gear and hitches at each gate’s mouth. I do find it curious that the shifts get smoother with higher revs. Is the GT3 punishing my slow driving?
I’m quite impressed at the suspension’s comfort-vs.-handling balance. In the soft suspension mode, the road’s occasional lumps and bumps never disturb the cornering poise. (A deeper dip does chuff the car’s chin across the pavement.) Patched potholes don’t punch me in the kidneys, and there’s never more than a modicum of float. Yes, even on rough backroads, the GT3 pleases.
As my twisty squiggle draws to an end, houses start bunching up along the side of the road. I’ve been enjoying the Mezger engine’s meaty howl, but I feel timid about using high-revs now that the engine’s shout can be heard by the neighbors. It doesn’t feel polite to rev-out the GT3 for an unintentional audience!
Aguacito dumps me back onto Hwy 1. Away from the neighborhood and insulated by sound walls, my conscience is clear, and I stretch the engine to its limits. As I finally crest 6k rpm, the tachometer needle bolts for the 8400 rpm redline. The GT3 feels like it’s fueled by lightning. The engine tingles as if electrified, and any twitch of my driving foot provokes a whip-crack response from the drivetrain. The GT3’s high-rpm thrust is the heart and soul of Porsche motorsport!
I upshift-and-chill, and the GT3 calms too. The engine stops shouting, the soft suspension serves up reasonable ride comfort, and the sports seats have plenty of padding to hold me right. Were it not for the Sword in the Stone gearbox, I’d be happy to use this GT3 every day.
On reflection, that’s quite a statement. I’d written GT3’s off for street driving after the 991.1 GT3 was frustratingly bored with my Sunday-canyon pace. But the 997.1 GT3 is comfy and communicative; it’s happy to carry on a bright conversation with me while I’m tootling along. Here in the cheapest, most used GT3 on the market, I’m sublimely engaged in the art of driving. My GT3 lust has been reignited.
Mike's Steering Column 