The Porsche Panamera Turbo S: The Ultimate Dadmobile?
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The Porsche Panamera Turbo S: The Ultimate Dadmobile?
Nice video to go with this...
"You wanna know the really cool thing about this car?" The delivery truck driver who'd brought it down from L.A.'s enthusiasm didn't help to calm my nerves. I was about to take possession of a 2012 Porsche Panamera Turbo S, a car valued at $185,000—a car that can reach a top speed of 190 MPH—and drive it down a busy Orange County freeway. The ****pit looked like the driver's side of Speed Racer's fabled Mach 5. The interior was white—and I was going to haul around two kids in the thing for a week.
When the Porsche PR rep had agreed to lend me the Panamera after I'd pitched her the idea of reviewing it from a dad's perspective, I was giddy. Now I was feeling queasy, plagued by visions of me calling her from a Tustin body shop, telling her that the crumpled bumper didn't look that bad, I'm sure it can be replaced.
I snapped out of it. I grinned at the truck driver and responded to his question: "There's a really cool thing about it?"
Let's be clear on two things. Most of us will never be able to afford a Porsche Panamera Turbo S. And, really, the car's sort of review-proof. This is, after all, a full-blown high-performance sports machine. It's Porsche-ness is unmistakable; it's got the front and rear-end of a Carrera, those signature headlamps and the elegantly sloping nose and tail. It's powerful—550 horses—and refined (I was told that the Burmester stereo alone was valued at $5,000).
And it's got something extra: two additional doors, and two bona fide backseats. Real backseats, not the kind that are only good for holding your golf clubs or polo equipment or a briefcase stuffed with $100 bills or whatever it is that people who drive $185,000 cars haul around with them. The Panamera is half LeMans racer, half family sedan. It's the griffin of the Porsche lineup.
I was lucky; it was mid-day, and the 405 freeway was relatively empty. I extended the retractable spoiler, flicked the automatic transmission over to manual (Porsche's name for this is PDK, or Porsche Doppelkupplungsgetriebe, which in German means "twice the badassery", I think), and shot down the on-ramp like a bullet. Double-digit speeds in a matter of seconds. And the coffee cup in the cupholder didn't spill a drop. I wove around slower cars, looking for worthy opponents: a guy in a Mustang GT slid up next to me, eyeballing my ride. A slight push on the accelerator, and he faded from sight. (I believe I actually yelled "MEEP MEEP!!", in my best impression of a certain cartoon road runner.)
So yes, the Panamera is fast. But would it work as a family car? To see how it would do carrying our kids and the usual gear, I had two trips in mind.
NEXT: First trip—Disneyland
First, Disneyland. I was happy with the legroom and space in the backseat area: my son is in a booster seat; my daughter is in a LATCH carseat. Both were easily installed, with plenty of leg and headroom to spare. Still, I was paranoid about those white seats. The kids would have to take off their shoes, because I didn't want them kicking and scuffing the seatbacks. Because we'd be walking around the park all day and well into the night, I brought our double stroller (knowing my kids as I do, they'd be dead on their feet by 10:00 PM) and a backpack stuffed with snacks and sweatshirts. All of it fit into the trunk; there wasn't room for much else, though, which might be problematic for families looking to take longer trips.
Of course, we got there in a hurry. An added bonus to the car's remarkably quiet ride is that my wife couldn't tell how fast we were going. The Panamera's Lane Change Assist system—radar sensors that signal when another car on your left, right, or in your blind spots is getting too close for comfort—was a boon on the busy freeway ride to Anaheim. Good visibility over the hood, and the backup camera was very helpful when maneuvering the car into one of the park's tight parking spaces.
Later that week, we took the Panamera up into the mountains of eastern San Diego County. The town of Julian was having its annual Apple Festival, and this was a perfect excuse to see how the Panamera's all-wheel-drive system fared on a twisty backcountry road. Not surprisingly, it rode like it was on rails. From the backseat, Lucas kept hollering, "Go faster, Dad!" while from the front, Beth kept saying, "No, this is fast enough, thank you."
We pulled into the parking lot of one of the local apple orchards. The town had drawn a fair number of coastal folk, and the lot was pretty full. Luckily, there was a guy directing people into available spaces. A Panamera is still a rare sight, and the attendant's jaw dropped when he saw it. He directed us into an empty space right at the orchard's entrance.
"Sweet ride!", he exclaimed. "I rebuild old cars. Wouldn't want anything to happen to yours. Normally we keep this spot open for emergency vehicles. I'll be right here keeping an eye on it for ya." I almost felt guilty, but then out of the corner of my eye I saw a young kid pick up a fallen apple and chuck it at his family's minivan.
"I appreciate that," I replied.
So for a few blissful days, I lived the live of a Porsche driver: nodding at the approving glances, correcting those Philistines who mispronounced the company name. ("It's Por-SHAH. German, you know.") I played with all of the car's bells and whistles: the switch that lets you make the car's exhaust pipes louder, the Sport Plus setting that increases the boost pressure and torque, the stereo system that can be cranked to teeth-rattling but crystal-clear volume. I looked for excuses to take the car out: "I need to go to the grocery store because we're out of...ah, parsnips. What do I need parsnips for? I don't know, but, you know, better safe than sorry." It was a perfectly suitable second car, a fine substitute for our four-door sedan.
And that "really cool thing" that the truck driver spoke of? It's a feature called Launch Control: it allows you to do a racing start, holding the car in place until the engine's revved up, and literally launching you out of a dead stop. It serves no useful purpose...but it's a hell of a lot of fun. Excess On Wheels—that's the Panamera Turbo S in a nutshell. Will I ever be able to afford one? Probably not. Would I buy one if I could? Quicker than you can say "Doppelkupplungsgetriebe."
http://manofthehouse.com/home/garage...mate-dadmobile
"You wanna know the really cool thing about this car?" The delivery truck driver who'd brought it down from L.A.'s enthusiasm didn't help to calm my nerves. I was about to take possession of a 2012 Porsche Panamera Turbo S, a car valued at $185,000—a car that can reach a top speed of 190 MPH—and drive it down a busy Orange County freeway. The ****pit looked like the driver's side of Speed Racer's fabled Mach 5. The interior was white—and I was going to haul around two kids in the thing for a week.
When the Porsche PR rep had agreed to lend me the Panamera after I'd pitched her the idea of reviewing it from a dad's perspective, I was giddy. Now I was feeling queasy, plagued by visions of me calling her from a Tustin body shop, telling her that the crumpled bumper didn't look that bad, I'm sure it can be replaced.
I snapped out of it. I grinned at the truck driver and responded to his question: "There's a really cool thing about it?"
Let's be clear on two things. Most of us will never be able to afford a Porsche Panamera Turbo S. And, really, the car's sort of review-proof. This is, after all, a full-blown high-performance sports machine. It's Porsche-ness is unmistakable; it's got the front and rear-end of a Carrera, those signature headlamps and the elegantly sloping nose and tail. It's powerful—550 horses—and refined (I was told that the Burmester stereo alone was valued at $5,000).
And it's got something extra: two additional doors, and two bona fide backseats. Real backseats, not the kind that are only good for holding your golf clubs or polo equipment or a briefcase stuffed with $100 bills or whatever it is that people who drive $185,000 cars haul around with them. The Panamera is half LeMans racer, half family sedan. It's the griffin of the Porsche lineup.
I was lucky; it was mid-day, and the 405 freeway was relatively empty. I extended the retractable spoiler, flicked the automatic transmission over to manual (Porsche's name for this is PDK, or Porsche Doppelkupplungsgetriebe, which in German means "twice the badassery", I think), and shot down the on-ramp like a bullet. Double-digit speeds in a matter of seconds. And the coffee cup in the cupholder didn't spill a drop. I wove around slower cars, looking for worthy opponents: a guy in a Mustang GT slid up next to me, eyeballing my ride. A slight push on the accelerator, and he faded from sight. (I believe I actually yelled "MEEP MEEP!!", in my best impression of a certain cartoon road runner.)
So yes, the Panamera is fast. But would it work as a family car? To see how it would do carrying our kids and the usual gear, I had two trips in mind.
NEXT: First trip—Disneyland
First, Disneyland. I was happy with the legroom and space in the backseat area: my son is in a booster seat; my daughter is in a LATCH carseat. Both were easily installed, with plenty of leg and headroom to spare. Still, I was paranoid about those white seats. The kids would have to take off their shoes, because I didn't want them kicking and scuffing the seatbacks. Because we'd be walking around the park all day and well into the night, I brought our double stroller (knowing my kids as I do, they'd be dead on their feet by 10:00 PM) and a backpack stuffed with snacks and sweatshirts. All of it fit into the trunk; there wasn't room for much else, though, which might be problematic for families looking to take longer trips.
Of course, we got there in a hurry. An added bonus to the car's remarkably quiet ride is that my wife couldn't tell how fast we were going. The Panamera's Lane Change Assist system—radar sensors that signal when another car on your left, right, or in your blind spots is getting too close for comfort—was a boon on the busy freeway ride to Anaheim. Good visibility over the hood, and the backup camera was very helpful when maneuvering the car into one of the park's tight parking spaces.
Later that week, we took the Panamera up into the mountains of eastern San Diego County. The town of Julian was having its annual Apple Festival, and this was a perfect excuse to see how the Panamera's all-wheel-drive system fared on a twisty backcountry road. Not surprisingly, it rode like it was on rails. From the backseat, Lucas kept hollering, "Go faster, Dad!" while from the front, Beth kept saying, "No, this is fast enough, thank you."
We pulled into the parking lot of one of the local apple orchards. The town had drawn a fair number of coastal folk, and the lot was pretty full. Luckily, there was a guy directing people into available spaces. A Panamera is still a rare sight, and the attendant's jaw dropped when he saw it. He directed us into an empty space right at the orchard's entrance.
"Sweet ride!", he exclaimed. "I rebuild old cars. Wouldn't want anything to happen to yours. Normally we keep this spot open for emergency vehicles. I'll be right here keeping an eye on it for ya." I almost felt guilty, but then out of the corner of my eye I saw a young kid pick up a fallen apple and chuck it at his family's minivan.
"I appreciate that," I replied.
So for a few blissful days, I lived the live of a Porsche driver: nodding at the approving glances, correcting those Philistines who mispronounced the company name. ("It's Por-SHAH. German, you know.") I played with all of the car's bells and whistles: the switch that lets you make the car's exhaust pipes louder, the Sport Plus setting that increases the boost pressure and torque, the stereo system that can be cranked to teeth-rattling but crystal-clear volume. I looked for excuses to take the car out: "I need to go to the grocery store because we're out of...ah, parsnips. What do I need parsnips for? I don't know, but, you know, better safe than sorry." It was a perfectly suitable second car, a fine substitute for our four-door sedan.
And that "really cool thing" that the truck driver spoke of? It's a feature called Launch Control: it allows you to do a racing start, holding the car in place until the engine's revved up, and literally launching you out of a dead stop. It serves no useful purpose...but it's a hell of a lot of fun. Excess On Wheels—that's the Panamera Turbo S in a nutshell. Will I ever be able to afford one? Probably not. Would I buy one if I could? Quicker than you can say "Doppelkupplungsgetriebe."
http://manofthehouse.com/home/garage...mate-dadmobile
Last edited by kip; Dec 9, 2011 at 12:38 PM.
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