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Opinion: I don’t really like car shows... unless there's a RUF CTR at the end of it

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Opinion: I don’t really like car shows... unless there's a RUF CTR at the end of it | Top Gear

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Flat Six Fest in Miami has Jethro reevaluating car shows

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Opinion: I don’t really like car shows... unless there's a RUF CTR at the end of it

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Flat Six Fest in Miami has Jethro reevaluating car shows

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Opinion: I don’t really like car shows... unless there's a RUF CTR at the end of it

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
Flat Six Fest in Miami has Jethro reevaluating car shows

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Opinion: I don’t really like car shows... unless there's a RUF CTR at the end of it

# data.attributes.metatag[].attributes.content
Opinion: I don’t really like car shows... unless there's a RUF CTR at the end of it

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Flat Six Fest in Miami has Jethro reevaluating car shows

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I don’t really like car shows. Don’t worry, this isn’t about to turn into another rant about cars parked on golf courses for us all to revere and worship. I just want to put it out there before I admit that I recently crossed the Atlantic Ocean to go to a car show.

A small (but brilliantly organised) car show you’re very unlikely to know about now or, perhaps, even in the future. And then I got flu. Proper flu. The sort that makes you feel like death is surely just around the corner and will be a welcome mercy. I even got some of those orange pill bottles you see in US films and TV series after a trip to ‘Emergency Care’.

By any estimation this was shaping up to be a very bad day and my decision to jump on that plane seemed inexplicable. Even to me. Yet, I drag myself out of a bed, hold myself up against the walls in the shower and neck many, many coffees (plus ALL the drugs available to me). I’m ready. Ish. By the way, this is an outdoor event and I have a face mask for any moments I might be near to other humans. I’m not a monster.

Thirty minutes later, I’m slowly trudging into the The Concours Club in Miami. It’s one of those high-end private tracks with incredible facilities, beautiful staff and annoyingly successful clientele. Aside from being sick as a dog, I feel inadequate, too. The event, called ‘Flat Six Fest’, is centred around Porsches – is there any other kind? – and particularly focused on Outlaws. Think restomods from Singer and Guntherwerks, gorgeous 356s tweaked and upgraded by Emory, and some true horror shows by Gemballa from the 1980s, too. This is Miami, after all. Even in my fatigued, vaguely delirious state, it’s actually really good fun.

Then everyone leaves. And in the pitlane, waiting, is a RUF CTR built in 1989. I can’t call it a Yellowbird because it’s based on a wide body ‘M491’ or ‘Turbo look’ shell. However, it’s got the same engine, the same ’box, the same setup, it’s yellow and it’s a RUF CTR. So, well, it’s a Yellowbird. A 10-hour flight and flu suddenly seem so insignificant. Nothing should separate a person from experiencing the mighty Yellowbird should the opportunity arise.

So, I drive. For a couple of laps in deference to its absurd value – it’s for sale at nearby CURATED, guys with astounding taste and amazing stock, for well north of $2 million – and then with a determination to enjoy what could be the last time I ever drive this unbelievable car. Not quite abandon. Let’s say, ‘enthusiasm’.

Tiny, light, shockingly fast but, more than anything, so utterly complete and cohesive, the RUF CTR somehow distils everything that’s great about the 911 and dials it up to eleventy-stupid. To feel it slip sideways on the way into a corner, then pick up the throttle and realise you have enough power to light up the tyres, well, indefinitely, is about as magic as magic moments get. Approaching its 40th birthday and despite a glut of new and brilliant challengers, it remains the undisputed king of modified Porsches. Turns out car shows can be alright, after all.

# data.attributes.body.processed
I don’t really like car shows. Don’t worry, this isn’t about to turn into another rant about cars parked on golf courses for us all to revere and worship. I just want to put it out there before I admit that I recently crossed the Atlantic Ocean to go to a car show.

A small (but brilliantly organised) car show you’re very unlikely to know about now or, perhaps, even in the future. And then I got flu. Proper flu. The sort that makes you feel like death is surely just around the corner and will be a welcome mercy. I even got some of those orange pill bottles you see in US films and TV series after a trip to ‘Emergency Care’.

By any estimation this was shaping up to be a very bad day and my decision to jump on that plane seemed inexplicable. Even to me. Yet, I drag myself out of a bed, hold myself up against the walls in the shower and neck many, many coffees (plus ALL the drugs available to me). I’m ready. Ish. By the way, this is an outdoor event and I have a face mask for any moments I might be near to other humans. I’m not a monster.

Thirty minutes later, I’m slowly trudging into the The Concours Club in Miami. It’s one of those high-end private tracks with incredible facilities, beautiful staff and annoyingly successful clientele. Aside from being sick as a dog, I feel inadequate, too. The event, called ‘Flat Six Fest’, is centred around Porsches – is there any other kind? – and particularly focused on Outlaws. Think restomods from Singer and Guntherwerks, gorgeous 356s tweaked and upgraded by Emory, and some true horror shows by Gemballa from the 1980s, too. This is Miami, after all. Even in my fatigued, vaguely delirious state, it’s actually really good fun.

Then everyone leaves. And in the pitlane, waiting, is a RUF CTR built in 1989. I can’t call it a Yellowbird because it’s based on a wide body ‘M491’ or ‘Turbo look’ shell. However, it’s got the same engine, the same ’box, the same setup, it’s yellow and it’s a RUF CTR. So, well, it’s a Yellowbird. A 10-hour flight and flu suddenly seem so insignificant. Nothing should separate a person from experiencing the mighty Yellowbird should the opportunity arise.

So, I drive. For a couple of laps in deference to its absurd value – it’s for sale at nearby CURATED, guys with astounding taste and amazing stock, for well north of $2 million – and then with a determination to enjoy what could be the last time I ever drive this unbelievable car. Not quite abandon. Let’s say, ‘enthusiasm’.

Tiny, light, shockingly fast but, more than anything, so utterly complete and cohesive, the RUF CTR somehow distils everything that’s great about the 911 and dials it up to eleventy-stupid. To feel it slip sideways on the way into a corner, then pick up the throttle and realise you have enough power to light up the tyres, well, indefinitely, is about as magic as magic moments get. Approaching its 40th birthday and despite a glut of new and brilliant challengers, it remains the undisputed king of modified Porsches. Turns out car shows can be alright, after all.

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Flat Six Fest in Miami has Jethro reevaluating car shows