Review: 2007 Porsche 911 Turbo

I expected to be wowed by the power, but the steering impressed me the most.

Every so often, in what I presume are moments of boredom, my wife Kay reads my car magazines. From her fleeting explorations of my world, she has learned that the 911 Turbo is the best car in the world, bar none. It was thus important that when I finally got my hands on a 911 Turbo, Kay would be there to experience it too.

Well, today is the day. We are in Mill Valley, at the start of Highway 1, greeting our rental 2007 911 Turbo (997.1 generation). The gray 911 Turbo is mostly stock, though its wheels have been painted black. It has the Sports Chrono package, a 5-speed Tiptronic automatic, standard steel brakes, and a cozy set of seats. (They may be Porsche’s sports seats, but they feel a little less aggressive than the Cayman’s.)

There are a few minor dings and scratches, a slightly weathered clear bra, but otherwise the car is in good condition. It has been over-detailed, though: the cabin smells of cleaner, and the tire shine was applied too thick and has splattered on the side of the car.

We head up Hwy 101, intending to get cheese at my favorite creamery. My first impression of the Turbo is that it is heavy. The sensation of heft largely comes from the resistance of the steering wheel, but the ratio is not particularly quick either. You won’t be using a one-finger to twirl to negotiate the Whole Foods parking lot.

My second impression of the Turbo is that it is wide. It is not the cabin interior that is wide, but rather the car’s haunches. I can see them flaring-out behind the B-pillars in my side-view mirrors, great gaping intakes facing forward to fill the engine with fresh air. The car does not feel too big for highway lanes, but I wonder if I am inadvertently dragging the rear tires over the lane markers from time to time.

Highway traffic is at a crawl—it takes us ten minutes to go four miles—so we make a new plan. We’ll double back and take Hwy 1 to Point Reyes Station to Cowgirl Creamery. If Cowgirl is closed when we arrive, we can buy cheese in the town market. 

Heading up and out of Mill Valley in Muir Beach’s direction, Hwy 1 is tight and twisty, suitable for second gear in the Turbo. Kay feels slightly nauseous (and we have only just started our trip!), so I’m taking it slowly and smoothly. The steering still feels heavy, ponderous, and slightly slow. The throttle response is immediate yet casual. So long as I am smooth with my gas inputs, the car accelerates smoothly but without great urgency. Trundling along at 2k rpm, I don’t hear any turbo noises from the engine. At these speeds (four-tenths pace), I am not stressing the car at all. It takes the corners with a ho-hum la-dee-da attitude, and I am not getting any indication of impending limits to the traction. That said, I am not being goaded into driving it harder either.

We have the adjustable suspension (PASM) in its normal mode, and we are getting plenty of jitters and jolts through the seat cushions. In fact, we are probably getting more road feedback through the seats than we are through the steering. The car is feeling a bit old, as if its 56k miles took a greater toll than expected. There are hints of flex at the car’s individual corners, and the chassis does not seem to be solidly absorbing bumps as a single unit. I tell Kay that it almost feels like there is some cowl shake in the car—an interesting statement to make of a coupe. Additionally, the suspension is clunking over some surfaces. The car is not beating us up, but it is clearly bred from a line of sports cars rather than luxury cars. And, it’s not factory fresh either.

The brakes are feeling a bit aged, too; the rotors looked grooved when we picked up the car. The pedal is soft initially, but the pads eventually bite. I get a chance to really stomp on them as we come around one corner to find an oncoming semi-truck crossing the double yellow to pass a cyclist. I come to a complete halt in the road; we all thankfully emerge unscathed.

At least the seats feel fresh. Porsche makes some really comfortable yet really snug-fitting seats. What keeps other manufacturers from making seats as cozy as these? The Turbo’s seats appear to have the same shape as the sports seats from the 2009 Cayman I reviewed two months ago, but they have less thigh bolstering. Perhaps they are the standard seats rather than the sports models? (A strange aside—I notice that the headrest bulges forward like a pregnant woman’s belly: smooth, taught and firm.)

With Muir Beach behind us, I finally get to a few straights where I can explore the Turbo’s thrust. I warn Kay of my intentions and then roll onto the throttle. The Turbo goes and goes quickly, yet I am surprised by my lack of surprise. The 911 Turbo is supposed to be the second quickest car on the planet after the Bugatti Veyron, but I am already familiar with the pace of this car. My butt dyno says the BMW M4 was equally quick. I admit that my butt dyno is hardly a finely-tuned scientific instrument, so giving the Turbo the benefit of the doubt, maybe the Porsche is so stable under acceleration that it hides its pace? Still, in terms of the most savage acceleration I have experienced, my father in-law’s lightly tuned GT-R holds first place. The M4, actually, might stand second on the podium. Both of those cars are so powerful that traction control kicks in at peak boost to keep the tires from spinning. I have TC on in the 911 Turbo, but I don’t see the dashboard light flickering as I put the pedal to the floor.

The way the Mezger engine climbs through the revs is not particularly furious either. It is a steady climb to the 6.5k redline with plenty of time to watch the needle rise and anticipate your shift. Not that I need to be quick witted with the shift buttons, as the Tiptronic upshifts on its own even in full-manual mode. Power clearly comes from a fast spinning turbo rather than a fast ripping engine. From 4k to 5k rpm, the turbo whistle howls, adding a soprano note on top of the tenor of the flat-6. The engine is always audible—I think it sounds truckish at idle—but never too loud. When revved, it sounds distinctly Porsche. The speedo brags the highest top-speed I have seen—225 mph—and I have likely never been in a car more capable of approaching that speed.

Speaking of the transmission, it is hardly a highlight. It has five gears but really only uses four.  (In automatic mode, it pulls away from a stop in second gear.) The long gears accentuate the slow-revving feel. Manual shifts are done via steering wheel buttons, which feel better suited for adjusting the volume than selecting gears. Real paddles or even a manual gate for the shifter would be an improvement. Upshifts are fine if you anticipate their delay, but downshifts are even slower and include some engine braking too. Is this car even blipping the throttle at all? 

Leaving Stinson Beach, I follow the fast flat corners along the edge of Bolinas Lagoon. Changing the suspension mode into sport mode, I accidentally find a way to increase the steering feel. Just a few days ago, I test drove a 2006 Evo IX MR. The Evo is my benchmark for highly communicative steering, yet I was surprised by the lack of steering feedback in that particular Evo; I blame the owner’s aggressively offset wheels. Whatever it was, the Turbo is doing it better.

I get caught behind some traffic as our journey traverses Point Reyes National Park. I take the time at this relaxed pace to enjoy the view out the window. We pass through ravines full of eucalyptus, then through meadows edged by redwood and fir. There is a fair amount of color on the fringes: golden poppies and magenta pea blossoms line the roadside, poking out from the golden grasses.

There are only two passing zones in the park, and the first one is blocked by oncoming traffic. The second zone is clear: I floor the gas, redline second gear, and then surge through third. We’re nearly going 100 mph, and the two doddling cars are now far behind. I sense that the way the Turbo impresses on the autobahn is by continuing to deliver the same strong pull through each gear; the acceleration in third did not feel much reduced from that in second.

We arrive at Point Reyes Station, and disappointingly Cowgirl Creamery is closed. The town grocery is, thankfully, open and well stocked with local cheeses. We purchase wedges of our favorites to complete our picnic spread. The prices are slightly outrageous, but then we’ve arrived in a Porsche 911 Turbo, so we ought to live up to appearances. 

Kay and I switch seats leaving Point Reyes Station. She adjusts all the mirrors, then pulls out, heading north towards Marshal and the BBQ oyster shacks on Tomales Bay. 

She, too, is struck by how heavy the car feels to drive. The wheel has more resistance than we anticipated, and the whole car feels weighty and massive. Kay likens the Porsche’s earth-bound stance to that of our 2011 M3. For a compact car, we are both surprised by the Turbo’s demeanor. (We’ll later learn that the 997.1 Turbo weighs just less than 3,600 lbs, which is nearly the same weight as that of our E90 M3.)

Kay drives the gorgeous, sweeping, and twisting tarmac along Tomales Bay. A steady wind forms small white-caps on the bay’s surface.  The grasses and trees are blown sideways, bent eastward. This is perhaps the most scenic portion of our route and one that we have explored in many cars, including our own M3 and a borrowed CTS-V wagon.

Kay plays with the 911’s power, progressively dipping deeper into the Turbo’s throttle on successive straights. I expect that I’ll reap the passenger seat’s benefit, and the car will feel 25% faster as a result, but it doesn’t. Perhaps there was more power than Kay was willing to explore?

She is also becoming accustomed to the feeling of the steering. Although it is heavy, it is smooth, flowing and consistent. The car inspires confidence through corners, always feeling planted, never rolling sideways with speed.

“I think I could really get to like this car,” says Kay. The Turbo is a car with such broad abilities that you need time to gradually explore it.  We are warming to this 911.

We stop along Tomales Bay, hide from the steady winds in the lea of a thick eucalyptus tree, and eat our dinner of baguette, gourmet cheeses, and cherries. The smell of the ocean is in the air, and the light is long and oh-so pretty. The company is good too.

I beg leave of Kay for ten minutes so that I can explore the Turbo’s limits without making her carsick. Just to the north, the highway turns inland at Key’s Creek. This segment of Hwy 1 is locally known as The Racetrack because of its smooth paving and fast corners. The traffic ahead of me is clear, and I crank up the pace to finally approach the limits of the 911 Turbo.

What I find is a whole other car. The steering now feels smooth and supple—the 911 grips and grips and grips through the corners. I cannot provoke any understeer from the car, and oversteer is hard to find too. (Actually, it is impossible to find, as the traction control is still on and corrects it early.) The Michelin Pilot Sports (235 N1s in the front, 305 N2s in the rear) silently take the abuse, never giving auditory clues to their limits. The Turbo surges down the straights, building an eye-widening pace as the next corner approaches, then just as rapidly erases that speed with strong brakes.  I ease it into a cornering attitude; it grips and then surges out the far side. Everything is smooth, flowing, and rapid. Sometimes, when the turbos really spool up at the exit of a corner, I can feel the nose of the 911 lighten, and the car wavers from its line. It’s no problem though, adding a bit more steering angle corrects the course. The car’s weight is present, but it is low, central and well-controlled. The wonderful thing is that the heaviness and sloth of the trundling 911 have washed away, and at speed, a lighter, more capable, neigh-unflappable car is now at my command. 

I have heard much praise about 911 brakes, so I do a full ABS stop to see what the clamor is about. The ABS intervention is mild; the car stops so quickly that I can feel the blood rushing to my face. Okay, the brakes work well. My benchmark has not been reset—I have felt braking as strong on the racetrack—but I now respect the Turbo’s powerful retardation.

I pick up Kay, and we begin to retrace our route. I am driving at an increased pace, as I now better understand this car’s capabilities and limits. A bond between me and the machine has formed. At a quick, flowing pace, the information coming through the steering is more nuanced. When the 911 is accelerating (even slightly) and the weight is on the rear haunches, the steering tells me everything that is going on with the front suspension. I can feel the left and right tires individually as they asynchronously hit bumps in the road. The motion of the front shocks is also communicated in the wheel. This is the most communicative steering I have ever used. I have found my favorite element of the 911 Turbo.

We refuel in Point Reyes Station. (We’ll consume about six gallons of premium over the 95 miles of our rental.) I have just a few more fast and flowing sections of Hwy 1 through Point Reyes Park to explore and enjoy the engine’s surge. The tidal waters in Bolinas Lagoon are high as we whirl along its edge. Then, the road tightens considerably as we climb the cliffs of Steep Ravine and Slide Ranch up and over to Muir Beach. For a little while, I try to keep pace with a sports bike, but while the Turbo might be capable, I am not sure that Kay’s stomach is up to the task, so the motorcycle quickly disappears from view. The scenery is so beautiful—waves are crashing hundreds of feet below on the rock bases of towering cliffs. San Francisco is visible across the waters of the Golden Gate, off in the distance. What a place to have once called home!

When we return the 911 Turbo, I have a new understanding and appreciation for the car. Like our M3, the Turbo is a dual-nature car with different personalities for driving softly and driving aggressively. However, these two personalities are closer together in the Turbo than they are in the M3. In all cases, the Turbo is smooth and confident, quietly capable. Its suspension is always stiff but not abusive. The response from the engine, steering, and brakes is always measured and flowing, but never knife’s edged or frantic. There is not as much sharpness and aggression in the Turbo as there is in the cars which have impressed me the most: the GT-R, CTS-V, M4, Evo. The Turbo feels bred for high-speed highways rather than autocrosses; its steering is measured and weighty rather than quick and flighty. It delivers its power deliberately, but not viciously, yet that power does not fade as you climb through the gears. It is supremely capable, yet not showy or shouty. 

After an afternoon with the Turbo, what I want to take home most is its steering feel.  But I’ll look to own that Porsche trademark in one of its lighter brothers (GT3 or Cayman S), which are more sprightly on their toes.