718 Life.

One of the most common comments I hear about my 718 GTS comes from people who are not car enthusiasts. Usually they're sitting in the passenger seat, looking around the cabin and they've asked how much a car like this costs. The comment is almost always some variation of the same question: "I can't believe it doesn't have XYZ. For that kind of money, shouldn't it have more features?" It's a fair question. After all, we've been conditioned to believe that expensive cars should be loaded with equipment. Ventilated seats. Massaging seats. Automated driving systems. Giant touchscreens. Night vision. Soft-close doors. Hologram generators? Force fields? A seemingly endless list of conveniences and technologies. If you're spending a lot of money on a vehicle, surely it should have everything. But I think there's a big misunderstanding there. People assume all expensive cars are trying to accomplish the same thing. They're not. A luxury car and...

There are moments in life when the sensible thing is to wait. Wait for the right time. Wait for more certainty. Wait until the numbers make more sense. And then there are moments when you realize that waiting is its own decision, and perhaps not the right thing to do after all. I'm good at waiting. Very patient. But the journey that led to two 718s and an unforgettable European adventure with a lifelong friend was one of those moments where waiting wasn't the right call. Looking back, it would have been easy to find reasons not to do it. There were practical arguments, financial arguments, and all the usual reasons to leave a dream for 'someday'. Some of those crept into my mind in the early days for sure. But someday is a dangerous place. Too many great experiences end up living there forever. Thanks to my fellow enthusiast, who reminded me all too succinctly that 'life is short', we didn't dwell on the decision too long. We took the leap. We placed the ord...

You’ve probably heard of ‘The Golden Hour’. That window near sunset where the light just works for great photos. It’s softer, warmer, and way more forgiving than the middle of the day. Last weekend I was out for the first drive of the season, and I grabbed my camera and brought it along. And promptly forgot about. Guess I was enjoying being back in the driver’s seat of this marvellous machine once again after a long winter hiatus. Nothing big, or preplanned, just a late afternoon rip out on the only bit of twisty road in the area. Just to get that feeling again. The first drive of the season is usually pretty straightforward. I was just getting back into it, shaking off the rust a bit, seeing how everything felt. The car settled in immediately - it’s me who needed the primer - but it all came back without much effort. As the drive wound down, I suddenly realized I’d been preoccupied with driving, and forgotten all about taking a great photo to commemorate the start of the season. Years...

My GTS wears black exhaust tips. They’re part of that darker, more serious look that Porsche seems to favour in the GTS trims. Purposeful. Understated. A little bit shadowed. But as you know, dear reader, I'm not a fan. I prefer a little 'lightness' in my sports cars. As enthusiasts, we all end up doing it - modifying, or maybe more accurately, personalizing - our cars. The funny part, at least for me, is that a lot of that work was already done on day one. I spent the time when I ordered the car getting it just right. Speccing it in a way that made it mine. But Porsche won't let you de-darkening the GTS. So I have to do it myself. The changes aren’t about reinventing anything. They’re not big-money moves or dramatic shifts. Those are costly and I've already put the money in. If anything, now, they’re smaller. Little nudges that refine rather than redefine. That’s more my pace anyway. Lately, I’ve been feeling the pull to lighten things just a touch. I removed the b...

Spring prep on the Boxster. Inspired by other convertible owners, and horror stories of fried electronics due to backed up and overflowing tubes, I cleared out the Boxster’s roof drains today. Turns out fishing maple ‘helicopter’ seed pods out of tiny holes with improvised tools feels a lot like arthroscopic surgery…just without any schooling and a whole lot of trial and error and swearing. A tiny cable camera and a skinny vacuum hose and I was ready for the patient. Two hours later (!) the tiny bits of detritus were gone and the channels were clean as new. And now I know what those surgeons feel like doing precision work in really tight spaces. Car’s ready, and so is my surgical confidence - as in I am confident that I could not be an arthroscopic surgeon. The patients would all suffer from my attempts. Bring on the sunshine and salt-free roads! ~ Luke

April. I haven’t taken the car out yet, and surprisingly, I’m in no rush. Right now, I like the rain. Not the kind that ruins plans, but the steady, soaking kind that works quietly in the background. The kind that darkens the pavement, pulls the salt out of the cracks, and carries winter away one wash at a time. Every rainfall feels like progress, like the roads are being reset without me having to do anything but wait. It’s a different relationship to driving right now, than what’s coming soon. This isn’t about chasing clear skies or dropping the top at the first hint of warmth. That will come later, when I soak up those long, golden evenings, sun at the low quarter, every excuse to be out and moving. But this part? This is quieter. Anticipatory. Right now, I’m not thinking about driving. I’m thinking about the roads becoming worth driving on again. The first street sweepers are out, doing their faithful duty, and I gratefully watch them work my neighborhood up and down. A few more da...

I remember when my generation of 718 came out.  The YouTubers all went from saying “Boxster GTS” to saying “Boxster GTS four-litre.” To be clear, prior to that they weren’t saying “Boxster GTS two-point-five litre.” But because of Porsche’s (wonderful) decision to bestow the four-litre flat six on the GTS, now they had to differentiate with a long, rather awkward name. Extra awkward when you added in the marque and model in front: “Porsche seven eighteen Boxster GTS four litre.” What a mouthful. Then came the script on the rear of the car. A car detailer’s nemesis. Little nooks and crannies to catch dirt and wax alike. Razor sharp edges of letters to grab your wash mitt and capture threads underneath. Q-tips needed to clean in and around the satin black writing. What a pain. And yes, black lettering is part of the 'GTS-look' I know...not my fave. So, after fussing over the rear of the car this evening, doing more detailing prep for the spring that is finally on the horizon, I g...

The sun is relentless here. Not the kind that peeks through trees on an early morning backroad, but the kind that sits high and heavy all day long, bleaching colour out of everything it touches. It’s beautiful in its own way, endless blue skies, no hint of rain, but it feels static. Like a photograph I’ve been staring at for too long. And it’s not convertible weather. Not at all. There’s no reprieve, no cool pocket of air as I pick up speed, no shifting light through trees. Just exposure. Constant, unfiltered heat pressing down on me, baking the surfaces, the seats, the steering wheel. The kind of sun that makes me reach for shade that isn’t there. Top down wouldn’t be freedom here, it would be punishment. And then there are the roads. If you can call them that. They’re not the flowing, perfect ribbons of asphalt I chase. No rhythm, no cadence. Just patched surfaces, broken edges, dust that never quite settles. The kind of dust that clings to my shoes, to my clothes, to the inside of m...

Winter has a way of quieting things down, but as spring approaches, whispers are heard. My 718 sits tucked up, battery tender connected, cold tires resting on cold concrete. Roads are lined with salt and sand instead of apexes and shadows. The soundtrack for now isn’t a flat-six climbing toward redline, it’s the drip, drip, drip of impending spring as things begin to melt on my driveway. Two months from 'driving-spring'. Close enough to taste it. Far enough that we have to be just a little more patient. And by 'we' I mean my little community. The 'Porsche Pints' crew. It started while @alavigne and I were waiting for Porsche to build our cars. That long, long wait. The online forum ( 718forum.com ) we perused / scoured revealed some fellow 718-types right here in Ottawa, and we managed to organize a few meet ups over a cold one or two. Lots of laughs and commiserations, questions and answers. A great bunch all orbiting the same central star. From there, those ga...

I wasn’t always patient. It took years, countless life experiences, and yes, the ownership of many cars to get here. Friends notice it now. Colleagues comment on it. Strangers sometimes remark on it in passing. I’ve never dismissed it, but I know the patience they see has been cultivated over a lifetime, and driving has been one of my quiet teachers. I started with ordinary cars, more about getting from point A to B than the experience. An old, rusty sedan I relied on just to get to work. Then came a series of small hatches: impulsive purchases fueled by youthful enthusiasm. Each demanded attention: coaxing reluctant engines, waiting for worn clutches, protecting fragile bodywork. Any patience I had then was practical, born of necessity. Frustrating, yes, but rooted in endurance. Over time, it grew deeper. Waiting became preparation; obstacles became lessons. As I matured, so did my taste in cars. I continued chasing a sports car dream, but life forced me to round off the edges of my i...

There are two versions of me every February. There's Responsible Me - the one who thinks about sensible gas mileage, tire wear, and "just going out for a short drive." And then there's Porsche Me. He has Google Maps open in three tabs. He knows where every twisty backroad within 300 km lives. He refers to weather forecasts as "driving opportunities". Somewhere around mid-February, they begin early negotiations. It goes something like this: Phase 1: The Sensible Proposal Responsible Me: "I'll just do a few short drives this year. Keep it simple. Stay local." Porsche Me: "Define local." What follows is a deep dive into satellite view, hunting for roads that squiggle just enough to justify premium fuel prices. Any road that looks suspiciously straight is dismissed immediately. We're not here for geometry lessons. We're here for curves. Summer route planning, in theory, is about variety, scenery, rest stops and lunch. In practice,...

Some news! My folks have joined the scarlet ranks by updating their wheels to a 2026 Subaru Crosstrek in eye-popping 'Pure Red' (as the Subaru website calls it)! Not only have they lined up their colour selection with my 718, but I'd be remiss if I didn't recall the fact that engine-wise, the Subaru has long been a proponent of the 'boxer' engine - in this case in four-cylinder guise. Further kinship! (although to be fair, their previous Subie also had a flat-four). I remember test driving the Boxster back in 2020 - the one with the turbo flat-four - and thinking to myself how similar it sounded to the Subaru motor. Well, apart from at idle that is, where somehow the Porsche was more VW Beetle than it was WRX! The Crosstrek is a great choice for our winters:  aimed at someone who’s had to dig their car out of a snowbank at 6 am while questioning as to why they live in this part of the world! If you spend a third of the year buried in snow - which, if I'm bru...

Wow. 37.1 cm of the fluffy white stuff in just four hours. We hunker down. Roads are impassable, the landscape is a whiteout, and ‘Red’ waits patiently in the garage I’m learning to wait patiently too, as railing against weather like this is truly pointless. The new year almost always starts like this, January sliding into February, the hard part of winter. This is the stretch where the novelty is gone, the roads are filthy, and the 718 stays exactly where it is for very good reasons. You don’t drive it. You don’t start it. You just think about it a little more often than you admit. Formula 1 is the first sign that there’s an end point. The first race is just under two months away, which somehow makes it worse and better at the same time. Close enough to talk about, far enough that it doesn’t help with today’s weather. But knowing the season will start with new cars, new stories, and the familiar rhythm of race weekends puts a marker in the calendar. Soon I shall be gathering with best...

I’ve always believed in winter cars. Ottawa makes that decision for you. The salt, the slush, the frost-heaved roads and the months of grey grime aren’t conditions a proper sports car should ever have to endure. So for as long as I’ve owned summer cars, there has always been something else ready to take over - something practical, resilient, and willing to absorb the worst of it. That part isn’t new. What is new is the quality of that handoff. A new winter car that fulfils its role, not as a substitute for the Porsche, but as a necessity in the freezing months. It won’t try to be special in the same way, and it doesn’t need to. Its job is simpler and more honest: to be a decent replacement for a few difficult months, and to do so without feeling like a punishment. And in that role, I think it will excel. The Porsche still retreats for the season as it always has, stored away not out of sentimentality, but out of respect. It remains what it has always been, a summer car, saved for w...

Winter. For most people, it means mitts, boots, and hibernating indoors until the first crocus pops through the snow. For me? It means wax. And polish. And staring a little too closely at the Carmine Red paint of my Boxster. The roads may be icy, the wind merciless, and the forecast entirely discouraging. Outside, the world is a frozen mess of snowbanks, salt, and the occasional lost hockey puck. But inside the garage, the universe shrinks to a bottle of Sonax, a soft cloth, and a single, gleaming object of obsession. Winter gives me the excuse to slow down, to notice every swirl, every reflection, every tiny imperfection in the hood, the fender, the doors. The Boxster deserves it. I deserve it. The snow? Let it pile up; we’ll wait. There’s a rhythm to it. Clean first. Every panel inspected under the unforgiving glare of overhead lights (or my trusty headlamp). Wheels wiped. Brake calipers scrutinized. Then comes the one-step polish (I use Sonax Perfect Finish), smoothed evenly, buffed...

We wait. There’s a rhythm to being a Canadian who drives a convertible. Summer: top down, sunglasses on, life is good. Winter: top up… in the garage… under a cover… nowhere near salt… life is still good, but in a “deep breath, long exhale, why does the universe do this to me?” sort of way. Every autumn I go through the ritual of “How many more drives can I squeeze in before the snow hits?” This involves monitoring the weather app like it owes me money, and convincing myself that 6°C is “balmy” if the heated seats are on and the toque is snug. I’ll turn a quick errand into a 45-minute scenic detour because, well, why not? The car deserves it. I deserve it. The squirrels judging me along the side of the road? They’ll get over it. Then comes the signal: the first flurry of snow, followed immediately by the city’s very enthusiastic decision to coat every road with enough salt to season a small country. That’s my cue. A quick wash and I roll the car in, plug in the tender, and whisper somet...

Loneliness. It’s one of those things everyone feels at some point, and sometimes it settles in deeper than you expect. It doesn’t announce itself. It just drifts quietly into your life, filling the empty rooms and the unfinished conversations, stretching out in the stillness of a house that occasionally feels just a bit too hollow. You notice it on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, when the fridge hums louder than anything outside, and you catch yourself wondering when the silence became a companion you never asked for. Everyone tries to manage it in their own way. Some drown it out with people, others with playlists or long walks that go nowhere in particular. Me? Sometimes the best antidote is a Boxster! There’s a kind of comfort in summer driving. The moment I slide behind the wheel, fire up the engine, and drop the top, something inside me loosens just a little. The warm air moves through the cabin, sunlight spreads across the dash, and for a brief, fragile stretch of road, the world ...