Jack Baruth, in Road and Track, describes the mixed joys and sorrows of owning a dramatically appreciating, while simultaneously aging and decaying, Porsche.
Thanks to the lovable bigotry of the PCA crowd and the lamentable cupidity of Porsche itself, my raggedy used Porsche is no longer quite so pathetic. It’s now worth maybe twice what I paid for it. Might be worth more than the original sticker. I should have bought a Turbo instead of a Carrera. I coulda had one for fifty grand in 2002. It would fetch three times that much now. I should have bought a second 993 instead of a 2004 Boxster S. Would have cost me half as much and it would be worth four times as much now.
Like Townes said, it don’t pay to think too much on things you leave behind. But the skyrocketing value of my 993 has changed the way I treat the car. My old plan was to drive it into the ground and buy another one. Now my plan is to preserve the vehicle for my son. He can sell it in eleven years and go to Yale, or go BASE-jumping in Bali. Maybe both. …
I could sell it now. Put the money into some sort of index fund for my kid. Buy him fifty Krugerrands in a sealed tube, a talisman against the famine times. Surely it will never be worth more than it is now. Yet I don’t think I could sell it at any price. I feel like Ahab, striking my chest and claiming that my old Porsche will fetch a great premium here! And my ribcage rings most vast, but hollow. It’s just a car. Just a thing.
Hat tip to Glenn Reynolds.