The back half is the best driving I’ve found in East Texas

The first hour out of Princeton was straight, and I won’t pretend otherwise. US-380 east through Farmersville to Greenville, then US-69 southeast through Lone Oak, Emory and Alba. Flat farm country, long two-lane, the sun coming up in front of us. By the GPX it averaged roughly 10 to 30 degrees of turning per mile.

Past Alba the route turned south off 69, and the number jumped to 50 to 100 per mile past Lindale and around the north side of Tyler. After Tyler it got better. The twistiest stretch by the GPX ran north from Big Sandy around 10 o’clock, then again from Gilmer east past Ore City, and again near Jefferson and Karnack. Hills, curves, tall pines on both sides, and speed limits that fit the road instead of fighting it.

East Texas never got higher than about 700 feet all day, but it never stopped changing. The GPX logged about 4,700 feet of climbing on the way out, in a part of the state people assume is flat. And the traffic was almost nonexistent, which matters more to us than anything else on that list. A Sunday morning in the Piney Woods belongs to whoever gets up early.

The proof is what we did after lunch. We left at 1:00 and reran the back half: past Jefferson, Ore City and Gilmer, through the curves north of Big Sandy, and only then west on US-80 to Mineola and the straight roads home. Yes, we took the long way there and most of the long way home too. Out was 208 miles in 4 hours 18 minutes, including a stop. Back was 189 miles in 3 hours 31.

22 cars and nobody complained about the cold

It was 55 degrees at 6:30 in the Walmart parking lot next to Dutch Bros Coffee in Princeton, and everyone with a cabriolet drove with the top down. I wore shorts and a polo, which was a choice. Luckily I’d left my fleece vest in the Skipper. Vest on, heat blasting, seat heaters and steering wheel heater on full, and I was fine. My ears were another story. I’d have paid real money for a wool hat.

Eleven friends from our local Porsche club showed up, a great turnout for an hour when sensible people are still asleep. Everyone walked over to Matt’s car first. He’d just taken delivery of a new 911 Carrera T in Oak Green Metallic with fewer than 300 miles on it, and until the break-in miles are done he’s supposed to keep it under 4,000 rpm. A 400-mile day is a good way to chip away at that. We rolled out at 7:00. The GPX says 7:01, which I’ll allow.

At Casey’s Travel Center, 16242 US-271 in Tyler, we met up with an East Texas Porsche club. Mostly Porsches, but in the mix were two BMWs, including an M2, I spent a good part of the stop drooling over, an Audi SUV, a Subaru WRX in a yellow nearly as loud as the Skipper, and a Ferrari. Red, of course. From there on, we had 22 cars driving together. We topped off our fuel tanks, emptied our personal tanks, and headed out with Reese leading in the Ferrari.

Twenty-two cars means somebody gets caught at a light, and several did. Their ROADS app then decided the best way to rejoin the group was to send them back to the start in Princeton, about 115 miles behind us. The fix, for future reference: when you start a route in ROADS mid-drive, choose the closest starting point, or it wants you to start from the very beginning. Rather than explain that on the shoulder of a highway, I told them I’d wait and lead them the rest of the way. Racing Yellow with Martini livery earns its keep here. You can spot the Skipper from a long way back, which is the entire job description of a sweep car.

Lunch was better than the photos I didn’t take

We rolled into Big Pines Lodge at 11:19. I’d have guessed 11:30, but the GPX doesn’t guess. We lined the cars up and took photos, because that’s what we do: a Ferrari, a pair of BMWs and a row of Porsches in front of a weathered wood lodge, with bald cypress and Spanish moss along the water behind them and somebody’s canoes on a trailer in the corner of the lot.

Catfish is their specialty, so catfish it was. I went with the blackened catfish and a crawfish étouffée. On the wall hung a framed copy of the Cajun 10 Commandments. Number nine reads “Don’t go wantin’ nobody’s stuff.” I read it twice and thought about that M2.

I wish I’d taken photos of our lunch setting along the river. It was beautiful, and I didn’t take a single one, because I was too busy talking with Joann, Chantel, Matt, Patrick and Paul. I’ll take that trade.

We’re definitely coming back. Next time I’m bringing the wool hat.

The post The Road to Uncertain Was Worth Driving Twice appeared first on Alex Cena.

Porsche Parade 2027 wraps up on Saturday, July 17. Rather than pointing the 2020 Porsche 911 Carrera 4S southeast and taking the quickest route back to Dallas, Texas, I’m planning to spend six days exploring some of the best driving roads in the Rocky Mountains.

The direct route is roughly 1,500 miles. My proposed route will be closer to 2,200 miles.

Those extra 700 miles are entirely intentional.

The current plan includes Independence Pass, Cottonwood Pass, the Unaweep–Tabeguache Scenic Byway through Gateway, and the Million Dollar Highway between Ouray and Durango. Along the way, we’ll cross several passes above 10,000 feet, descend through spectacular canyon country, and hopefully find some stretches of pavement where traffic is the exception rather than the rule.

I’m still working out the details, and that’s where I could use some help from fellow Porsche enthusiasts who’ve driven these roads.

Sunday, July 18: Boise to Green River, Utah

Approximately 520 miles | 8–9 hours driving

The first day is about covering ground.

We’ll leave Boise early, follow I-84 through southern Idaho, then I-15 toward Salt Lake City before picking up US-6 through Price and continuing to Green River.

Nothing particularly exotic here, although the drive through Soldier Summit should provide a preview of the mountain roads ahead.

The objective is to position ourselves for Independence Pass the following morning without having to start from Salt Lake City.

Overnight: River Terrace Inn, Green River, Utah.

It’s a longer first day than I’d ordinarily plan for a casual road trip, but I’d rather cover those miles on Sunday than sacrifice time in Colorado.

Monday, July 19: Independence Pas

Green River → Glenwood Springs → Aspen → Independence Pass → Buena Vista

Approximately 290 miles | 6–7 hours driving

This is where things get interesting.

We’ll follow I-70 east through Glenwood Canyon, turn south on CO-82 toward Aspen, and then climb Independence Pass.

At 12,095 feet, Independence Pass crosses the Continental Divide on a road that’s narrow, technical, and reportedly spectacular.

Jeff Zwart, Porsche racer and Pikes Peak veteran, has described Independence Pass as one of his favorite driving roads. That’s a pretty compelling endorsement.

My interest isn’t in driving quickly. It’s in finding that combination of pavement, corners, elevation changes, and scenery that makes driving a Porsche so enjoyable in the first place.

We’ll cross from west to east, descend toward Twin Lakes, and continue to Buena Vista.

Overnight: Surf Hotel, Buena Vista, Colorado.

The Surf Hotel sits beside the Arkansas River and looks like exactly the sort of place worth spending an evening after a day in the mountains.

My biggest question about Independence Pass is traffic. We’ll be crossing on a Monday in July, ideally before the afternoon sightseeing crowd gets too thick.

For those familiar with the road, is west-to-east the better direction? And how early do we really need to get there?

Tuesday, July 20: Cottonwood Pass and Gatewa

Buena Vista → Cottonwood Pass → Gunnison → Montrose → Unaweep Canyon → Gateway

Approximately 300 miles | 6–8 hours driving

This may be the most ambitious scenic day of the trip.

We’ll start by heading west out of Buena Vista on County Road 306, climbing Cottonwood Pass to 12,126 feet.

Unlike some of Colorado’s other high mountain routes, Cottonwood Pass is paved on both sides. The western descent toward Taylor Park Reservoir and the continuation through Taylor Canyon should make for an entertaining morning.

From Gunnison, we’ll continue west on US-50 toward Montrose, then head north toward Whitewater to pick up CO-141.

And that’s where the scenery changes completely.

CO-141 is one of the roads I’m most excited about.

The Unaweep–Tabeguache Scenic Byway runs through canyon country that looks more like Utah than the alpine Colorado we’ll have experienced that morning.

Red sandstone cliffs, sweeping curves, and long stretches between towns. This is exactly the sort of road I’d rather drive than another hundred miles of interstate.

We’ll follow CO-141 south through Unaweep Canyon to Gateway.

Overnight: Gateway Canyons Resort & Spa, Gateway, Colorado.

Gateway is a non-negotiable stop. The resort looks extraordinary, and I want time to enjoy the setting rather than simply check in, sleep, and leave.

My concern is that combining Cottonwood Pass and the northern section of CO-141 might be trying to do too much in one day.

Anyone who’s driven both, I’d appreciate your thoughts.

Wednesday, July 21: Gateway to Ouray

Gateway → Naturita → Norwood → Placerville → Ridgway → Ouray

Approximately 130 miles | 3–4 hours driving

After three fairly substantial driving days, Wednesday is intentionally short.

We’ll continue south on CO-141 through the Dolores River canyon country before connecting with CO-145 and CO-62 toward Ridgway.

This is the kind of day I enjoy the most. No need to cover hundreds of miles. Just a good road, a leisurely lunch, some photography, and an afternoon enjoying wherever we end up.

And Ouray looks like a terrific place to end up.

Often called the Switzerland of America, Ouray sits in a dramatic mountain setting surrounded by the San Juan Mountains.

We’ll have the afternoon to explore town, visit Box Cañon Falls, and enjoy the hot springs.

Overnight: Box Canyon Lodge & Hot Springs, Ouray, Colorado.

I’d much rather spend a night here than push on to another chain hotel simply to get closer to Texas.

For those who’ve driven CO-141 south of Gateway, how does it compare with the northern section through Unaweep Canyon?

Which section offers the better driving?

Thursday, July 22: The Million Dollar Highway

Ouray → Red Mountain Pass → Silverton → Durango → Albuquerque → Tucumcari

Approximately 460 miles | 8–9 hours driving

Thursday begins with what might be the most dramatic road of the entire trip.

US-550 south from Ouray to Silverton is the famous Million Dollar Highway.

Steep grades, narrow sections, dramatic drop-offs, and mountain scenery that apparently makes the absence of guardrails rather noticeable.

We’ll cross Red Mountain Pass at 11,018 feet before continuing through Silverton, Molas Pass, and Coal Bank Pass toward Durango.

I’ve seen enough photographs and videos of this road to know I want to experience it myself.

Preferably with dry pavement, clear skies, and no RV doing 15 mph in front of us.

We’ll leave Ouray early enough to drive the mountain section in daylight and before afternoon thunderstorms become a concern.

After Durango, it’s time to point the cars toward Texas. We’ll continue south through New Mexico, join I-40 near Albuquerque, and spend the night in Tucumcari.

Overnight: Fairfield Inn & Suites Tucumcari.

It’s a long day, but the first few hours should more than compensate for the miles that follow.

Friday, July 23: The Long Way Finally Ends

Tucumcari → Amarillo → Wichita Falls → Dallas

Approximately 470 miles | 8 hours driving

After five days of mountain passes, canyons, and spectacular scenery, Friday is simply about getting home.

I-40 east to Amarillo, US-287 south through Wichita Falls, then US-380 toward the Northern suburbs of DFW.

No elaborate sightseeing agenda. Just a couple of coffee stops, lunch, and the satisfaction of having driven the long way home.

Assuming everything goes according to plan, we’ll be home Friday evening.

What Didn’t Make the Cut

The original wish list was considerably longer.

Grand Teton National Park, Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier, Pikes Peak, and even Utah’s Moki Dugway were all considered.

Grand Teton was the hardest to eliminate. The scenery is extraordinary, but its famous scenic loop strikes me as more of a sightseeing and photography destination than a driver’s road.

Independence Pass won that argument.

Glacier would require several additional days, while Pikes Peak introduced too much backtracking to fit comfortably into the schedule.

Moki Dugway was easier to eliminate. Its unpaved switchbacks don’t sound particularly appealing in a low-clearance Porsche, especially one I’m planning to drive another thousand miles home.

I’ll save those destinations for another trip.

A Few Things I’m Still Working Through

This is not a race. The objective is to enjoy the roads, the scenery, and the company without spending every day watching the clock.

My preference is to leave around 7–8 a.m., drive, stop for coffee a couple of times, and have an actual lunch somewhere along the way.

I’m also trying to balance driving time against the opportunities to stop and enjoy these places.

A day with six hours of driving can easily become nine hours once you add lunch, fuel, photography, and the inevitable conversations at every scenic overlook.

And there are practical considerations. Summer thunderstorms at 12,000 feet aren’t something I intend to ignore. Neither are road closures, construction, or the availability of Top Tier premium fuel in some of Colorado’s more remote areas.

The hotel selections are deliberate, too. For the destination stops, I’d rather stay somewhere distinctive, such as Gateway Canyons or Box Canyon Lodge. For the ordinary transit nights, Marriott Bonvoy properties generally get the nod.

Nothing is booked yet, so there’s still room to make changes.

Here’s Where I Could Use Your Help

I’ve done quite a bit of research, but Google Maps and YouTube can only tell you so much about a driving road.

I’m particularly interested in hearing from people who’ve actually driven these routes, preferably in a Porsche or something similarly entertaining.

A few questions:

1. Independence Pass versus Cottonwood Pass: Which offers the better driving experience? Is either one worth driving in both directions?
2. CO-141 through Gateway: Is the northern section through Unaweep Canyon or the southern stretch toward Naturita the better drive? Any stops we absolutely shouldn’t miss?
3. Million Dollar Highway: Is southbound from Ouray to Durango the way to go?
4. Traffic: We’re traveling Monday through Thursday in Colorado in late July. Are there particular roads or times of day when we’re more likely to avoid crowds?
5. The itinerary: Is Tuesday’s combination of Cottonwood Pass and CO-141 too ambitious? Anything you’d rearrange?
6. Food and lodging: Any memorable restaurants, coffee shops, or accommodations along the route that deserve consideration?

And perhaps the most important question: Am I overlooking an exceptional paved driving road that’s reasonably close to our route?

I’m willing to add some miles for the right stretch of pavement. That’s rather the point of the trip.

Six days. Roughly 2,200 miles. Multiple mountain passes, canyon roads, and a few nights in places I’ve wanted to visit for years.

I spend plenty of time at Eagles Canyon Raceway trying to shave tenths off a lap. This trip is about something entirely different.

No lap timer. No apex cones. No personal best to chase.

Just a Porsche, some good company, and a long way home.

If you’ve driven any of these roads, I’d love to hear what you think before I finalize the route.

The post The Pass Is the Point: Six Days, Five Mountain Passes, and the Long Way Home appeared first on Alex Cena.

Fog gave way to sun and then to peak color, and we had the road almost entirely to ourselves. I drove all of it like I had a wedding cake in the passenger seat, and it was still a blast.

The wedding cake was Liz. She’d spent several days at a wonderful Airbnb in Afton with her high school girlfriends, the two Debbies, Michelle and Kathy, and I was her ride. We left a little before 9 in the Lizard, our 2020 911 Carrera 4S, a 992.1 in Lizard Green on Michelin PS4S, which are my favorite street tires. The day ended in Pittsburgh after 305 miles, 17,133 feet of climbing and about 17,780 feet of descent.

The Lizard ate up miles like a wild boar through a truffle field, and it never once got to run.

The mountains packed 8,500 feet of climbing into 110 miles

Between Staunton and Elkins we climbed about 8,500 feet and descended about 8,100 in 2 hours and 44 minutes, including a stop in Monterey. The Twisted Sisters are fun, and so are the roads around Eureka Springs. Neither one gives you that much vertical in that little distance.

The first real climb is Shenandoah Mountain, where the GPX topped out at 2,907 feet. From there, the road gives back more than 1,600 feet dropping to the Bullpasture River at McDowell, then climbs again into Monterey at 2,881.

The 45 miles from Monterey to Huttonsville are the stretch I’ll come back for. In that stretch alone we climbed about 4,000 feet and descended about 4,800, over four mountain crossings above 3,600 feet. The road climbs Monterey Mountain to 3,783 and drops to Hightown at about 3,100. It climbs Lantz Mountain to 3,645, then Allegheny Mountain to 4,311 feet, the high point of the day, at 10:33. That ridge is the Virginia–West Virginia line and the Eastern Continental Divide, and by then we’d climbed about 9,000 feet for the day. Off the top, the road falls about 1,500 feet to Bartow. It climbs roughly 1,000 back up Cheat Mountain to about 3,770, then drops 1,700 feet in 9 miles to Huttonsville, the biggest single descent of the day.

On my topo map, the red marks the steepest pitches. They line up exactly with where the Lizard wanted to go play: the climb over Allegheny Mountain and the run over Cheat Mountain. Every one of those climbs came with blind crests and decreasing-radius corners.

After Elkins it was US-33 and I-79 to Pittsburgh. Even that boring half added about 6,700 feet of climbing, which tells you everything about West Virginia.

The weather went from fog to peak color as we headed west

At 9 a.m. the pavement was still wet, and fog filled the valleys. In a few stretches we could see a few car lengths ahead. Wet pavement, blind fog and 443 hp don’t belong in the same experiment, and I didn’t run one.

By Monterey at 10:14 the fog had burned off. It stayed mostly sunny the rest of the way, except where the trees closed over the road.

The color followed the same curve. On the Virginia side it was about a week shy of peak, with plenty of green still on the lower slopes. By the time we came down the Tygart Valley into Elkins at 11:50, the timing was nearly perfect, and the hillsides were spectacular.

Every crest on this road has a story, and we had them to ourselves

West of Staunton, US-250 follows the old Staunton and Parkersburg Turnpike. Claudius Crozet laid out that toll road over these mountains beginning in the late 1830s. His 1838 specs capped the grade at four degrees, so the road loops around ridges it can’t climb straight.

The Shenandoah Mountain crest is the Confederate Breastworks pull-off in the George Washington National Forest, which is also a trailhead into the Ramseys Draft Wilderness. Down at McDowell, Stonewall Jackson won the first battle of his 1862 Valley Campaign.

Monterey is the seat of Highland County, which counted 2,232 people in the 2020 census, the fewest of any county in Virginia. The county’s nickname is Virginia’s Little Switzerland, a nod to its steep mountains and tight valleys. It has the second-highest average elevation in the state, behind only Grayson. Driving out of town with ridges folding away in every direction, the nickname made sense.

At Hightown, the headwaters of the James and the Potomac rise within a few miles of each other. Local legend says a barn roof there once split the two watersheds. On top of Allegheny Mountain, Confederates held Camp Allegheny at roughly 4,400 feet, the highest fortification in the eastern theater, and threw back a Union attack on December 13, 1861.

The descent drops into the Monongahela National Forest at Bartow. The first Travellers Repose inn there reportedly took 26 cannonballs in the Battle of Greenbrier River, and the house standing there now dates to 1866. Durbin, at 10:48, sits inside the National Radio Quiet Zone, about 8 miles north of the Green Bank telescope. On a Friday morning it felt every bit that quiet.

Cheat Mountain carries the road over Shavers Fork at Cheat Bridge and past the site of Cheat Summit Fort, a Union post at about 4,000 feet. The map shows the Little River, Cheat and Huttonsville State Farm wildlife management areas flanking the road. From the driver’s seat it was one unbroken wall of trees. Then US-219/250 runs down the Tygart Valley through Huttonsville, Mill Creek and Beverly, the Randolph County seat since 1790.

We saw almost nobody the whole way. Our first real traffic was in Elkins.

Smooth and slow was the right call, and next year is the payoff

Liz wasn’t feeling great, so I kept every corner smooth and every climb gentle. A C4S loves Crozet’s loops. A passenger who isn’t feeling 100 percent loves them less. The Lizard ate up miles like a wild boar through a truffle field, and it never once got to run.

Next year we drive from Porsche Parade in Boise back to Dallas, through Gateway, Colorado, and down the Million Dollar Highway south of Ouray. Western Virginia was the warm-up. Next year the Lizard might get to run.

P.S. A little help from Scenic Navigation.

I used the Scenic Navigation app to plan, create and record our drive. It captured the route, elevation changes, and other useful driving data, which came in particularly handy when I sat down to write this post. Being able to go back and examine the route, especially those crazy switchbacks between Monterey and Elkins, helped me appreciate just how entertaining those 64 miles really were. Nice to have the data to back up what my backside was telling me.

The post Peak Color, Light Throttle: 64 Miles of Mountain Madness on US 250 appeared first on Alex Cena.

Just look at it!

That Lagoon Blue wrap had me hooked before I even turned the key. Throw in the white wheels, black soft top, and that purposeful stance, and I was already imagining it parked next to the Skipper.

But the color was just the appetizer.

Silvio has put an extraordinary amount of thought, time, and effort into this 987.2. Originally built for competitive SCCA autocross, it’s got JRZ RS Pro coilovers, an OS Giken limited-slip differential, adjustable sway bars, Recaro seats, and a long list of carefully selected upgrades. This little Boxster even has a national championship to its credit.

More importantly, much of the work I’d want for HPDE was already done.

I wasn’t looking for a garage ornament. I wanted a dedicated track car I could drive to Eagles Canyon Raceway, enjoy all day, and drive home. Preferably without spending the next six months modifying it.

I went to see Silvio at S Collective, drove the car, and came away even more impressed. He knows this Boxster inside and out. He even offered to help tailor it to my needs, including adjusting the seats, setting up auto-blip, and fine-tuning things after a few track days with him riding shotgun.

That’s the sort of seller you hope to find.

I liked it enough to ask Silvio to take the car to RAC Performance for a pre-purchase inspection.

And wouldn’t you know it? The PPI came back pretty darn good.

There were a handful of things that needed attention, but they were relatively minor. The big concerns, particularly the engine hours and DME over-rev report, checked out with flying colors.

For a 2009 Porsche that’s spent considerable time competing, that was reassuring.

So, naturally, I decided not to buy it.

Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?

Here’s my problem. It’s not that I’ve only got a few Porsche adventures left in me. It’s that I figure I can probably ask Liz for permission to buy another Porsche only once or twice more before she puts a pillow over my head while I’m sleeping.

So if I’m going to use up one of those precious opportunities, I’d better make it count.

And therein lies my problem. My wandering eye keeps coming back to a few other possibilities…

• 991.1 Carrera GTS: A naturally aspirated 911 with plenty of character.
• 718 Cayman GT4: A proper track weapon that could still be driven on the street.
• 718 Spyder: Because apparently I can’t get enough of open-top Porsches.
• 991.2 GT3: That 9,000-rpm flat-six is awfully difficult to ignore.
• A brand-new Carrera T: If I can find an allocation, there’s something appealing about ordering a manual 911 exactly the way I want it.

Five completely different directions. And that’s before I start thinking about colors.

No wonder I’m so indecisive.

I feel a little bad about putting Silvio through the trouble of taking the car to RAC, only to pass on it. Throughout the process, he was patient, generous with his knowledge, and genuinely enthusiastic about helping me get the most out of the car.

I have nothing but good things to say about him and the Boxster.

Someone is going to get a wonderful, thoughtfully prepared Porsche that has already proven what it can do in competition. I hope the next owner drives the wheels off it and enjoys every minute.

As for me, I’m back to agonizing over which Porsche to buy next.

Apparently, my biggest problem isn’t finding a Porsche I want.

It’s finding one I don’t.

The post The One That Passed (And the Buyer Who Didn’t) appeared first on Alex Cena.

Liz took one look at that and said no thanks. Smartest decision anyone in our house made all weekend.

So it was me and the Lizard, my 2020 911 Carrera 4S, with the wipers running from start to finish.

And yes, the plate on the Lizard says DA SKIPR. The cars get names, the plates go nautical. We spend a good part of every year on a sailboat. Try to keep up.

The destination was Urban Deck north of Blue Ridge. From the RaceTrac on Stacy Road in Fairview, it’s 23 miles away as the crow flies.

Maverick PCA took 54.

The crow can keep its shortcut.

Our Fall Tour wound through Fairview, Lucas, Lowry Crossing, New Hope, Verona and Blue Ridge on the sort of North Texas back roads most people drive past without giving them a second thought. Their loss.

Wayne and Laura Hutton ran lead and set the pace. I ran sweep, which turned out to be convenient because the Porsche ROADS app took several miles to wake up. Apparently 7 a.m. was early for it too.

Until then, I had an arrow, a distance and a whole club’s worth of taillights disappearing through the spray.

The rain never really let up. Neither did the route.

There’s something particularly good about these roads in lousy weather. Speeds come down, concentration goes up, and suddenly roads you’ve driven before feel completely different. Rainy back roads are also a pretty convincing argument for the “4” in C4S.

Then we reached Climax.

Literally.

Climax is a tiny unincorporated community around FM 1377 and FM 2756. According to my GPX track, we were 38.84 miles into the drive when we passed through it.

Which meant we still had about 15½ miles to go.

We kept right on driving.

From there the route carried us north through Verona, onto FM 545, through Blue Ridge and eventually toward SH 78 and Desert. The rain finally gave up just before we arrived, which was considerate of it after spending the previous 50-something miles trying to wash the Lizard.

Urban Deck has a Blue Ridge mailing address, but the checkered flag on our route sat in Desert near the SH 78/SH 121 intersection. It’s a new venue with plenty of room for a parking lot full of wet Porsches, and breakfast tasted considerably better after taking the long way there.

More important, the tour and breakfast proceeds went to Wipe Out Kids’ Cancer. That’s a pretty good reason to set an alarm before dawn and spend a rainy Sunday morning chasing Porsche taillights across Collin County.

Special thanks to Randy Luckenbill and Jeff Wheeler for putting the Fall Tour together, Wayne and Laura for leading us through the rain, and everyone who handled check-in, radios, groups and the other little jobs required to get a bunch of Porsches from Fairview to breakfast in one piece.

Same time next fall.

Liz will probably still say no.

The post Climax Before Breakfast appeared first on Alex Cena.

Porsche’s Certified Pre-Owned program vouches for something its own dealers evidently can’t inspect. I learned that with my own car. In March, Porsche AG placed a warranty block on my 2020 911 Carrera 4S over a DME modification made on July 20, 2021, at 9,096 miles. That was four years and two CPO sales before I bought it. Two certification inspections missed it. A weeklong diagnostic ordered by the arbitrator found nothing the modification had caused. The block remains anyway.

The block doesn’t void my coverage, which runs through July 11, 2028. Every claim now has to be reviewed by Porsche AG, the same body that has already said it can’t rule out damage it can’t find. The buyer, that’s me, who had no way to know about the modification and no way to disprove its effects, now carries the burden of proof.

The facts are not in dispute. I bought the car from Porsche South Austin on July 11, 2025, at 17,300 miles, with CPO coverage plus an extra year. On July 21, two days before I took delivery, the selling dealer logged and repaired “multiple data bus faults.” In September 2025 I took the car to my first Maverick PCA HPDE at Eagles Canyon Raceway. Porsche McKinney performed the required tech inspection and passed it. Near the end of the day, on the hard left at Turn 15, the car went into limp mode. A restart cleared it. Two laps later, on another hard left near the crossover, it happened again. I parked it. Porsche McKinney kept the car from September 24 to 30. Their repair order shows an undocumented DME fault, no aftermarket parts and no repair.

One disclosure, because Porsche will raise it if I don’t. On February 18, 2026, I had an independent Porsche specialist activate the matrix headlights, a factory option already listed on the car’s window sticker. That was five months after the first limp mode episode.

In March 2026 I went back to Eagles Canyon with the Lizard. On the first warm-up lap, exiting a hard left under throttle, the car went into limp mode again. I sent my scan data to Porsche McKinney on March 21 and delivered the car on March 23. In his request to PCNA for help, their technician wrote that “the vehicle appears to be completely stock.” On April 6, PCNA told the dealer that software manipulation had been detected and that a warranty block had been set. I disclosed the headlight coding the next day and had it reverted at my own expense on April 8. On April 23, Porsche AG confirmed that factory DME software was installed. The car had been out of service 38 days. On May 21, PAG refused to lift the block because “it is unclear whether the modifications made over the past few years have caused any pre-existing damage to the drivetrain.”

Over the past few years?  I had owned the car for ten months. I didn’t learn what that phrase meant until the arbitration hearing on July 28, when PCNA’s witness read the 2021 date into the record.

I didn’t go to arbitration to get Porsche to buy the car back, and I didn’t ask for money. I love this car. Outside of Turn 15 at ECR, it’s perfect. I asked for three things: lift the block, handle future claims through the normal process, and diagnose the limp mode under the conditions that produce it, with a technician riding along and PIWIS connected to the OBD port.

PCNA argued that a modified DME breaks the chain of custody. It also cited an August 2025 visit to an independent shop on the Carfax as a possible cause. That visit was a fire extinguisher under the front passenger seat installed by Blair Automotive. The arbitrator ordered a full diagnostic at PCNA’s expense. I delivered the car on August 24. Technicians from Porsche McKinney, PCNA’s Field Technical Manager and Porsche AG spent a week, giving it what I euphemistically called a colonoscopy. On September 4, PCNA conceded in writing that its inspection “did not identify evidence directly linking the reported fault codes to software modifications.” The findings pointed to suggested maintenance: spark plugs and carbon buildup. I paid for the plugs and an oil change myself. Nobody has reimbursed me. PCNA covered the engine’s carbon cleaning.

At 10:33 a.m. on September 8, PCNA recommended replacing the DME to eliminate what it called “potential diagnostic uncertainty.” Its counsel also conceded that a new DME wouldn’t allow PCNA to rule out later modifications. At 12:12 p.m., PCNA said it would not pay for one. So the manufacturer recommended a remedy that doesn’t answer its own concern, then declined to provide it.

On September 22 the arbitrator closed the case without further action. The car is not currently in limp mode, so there was nothing left to order. The decision did record two points worth repeating. The warranty says parts that fail during driving events “may” not be covered, which the arbitrator read as discretion, so an HPDE does not void coverage on its face. And if PCNA can tell whether a fault comes from a modification, it can tell whether modifications existed before my first complaint. I rejected the decision on September 28. Accepting it would have bound Porsche to do nothing. Rejecting it preserves my remaining remedies. Litigation is unlikely, because its cost would probably exceed anything it could recover.

The standard Porsche applies here can’t be met, in my opinion. PCNA’s position is that it can’t rule out modifications that its own diagnostic software can’t detect. I believe no inspection, by anyone, can satisfy a test defined by what inspection can’t see. A warranty administered under that standard depends on someone’s discretion, and the owner has no way to win it is my read.

The dealers aren’t the villains. Porsche McKinney argued hard for removing the block, and the internal tickets I obtained during arbitration show it. PCNA argued for it in part. PAG would not move, because it doesn’t know what it doesn’t know, and only PAG can lift a block. When I asked Porsche South Austin to recertify the car, it too was a dead end. The general manager told me he had never seen anything like this in more than 20 years at Porsche dealerships. The service manager, with more than 24 years at Porsche, said the same. The car passed two certifications and years of dealer maintenance before the factory found what the dealers couldn’t. I had always heard that Porsche stands behind its dealers. That isn’t what I observed.

Porsche can fix this without a courtroom. It should run the same DME integrity check that flagged my car before any car is certified, not years afterward. When a block rests entirely on modifications made before a Porsche-certified sale, Porsche should honor the certification it sold. And it should tell owners what evidence would actually lift a block, because a standard nobody can meet isn’t a standard at all in my opinion.

Until Porsche does those things, my rule for buying CPO is simple. I will not buy another CPO car or pay a premium associated with a CPO car without written confirmation from the general manager and the service advisor that they asked PCNA and Porsche AG to verify the DME shows no tampering or modification. I don’t know whether that would hold up if a car were later blocked for something that happened before the sale. But, it’s more protection than the certificate gave me.

If you’re a consumer advocate and have seen this before, I’d like to hear from you about what I could’ve done differently or should do in the future.

The post My Warranty Is in Limp Mode appeared first on Alex Cena.

Here’s the part I’ll admit up front: I’d been driving the first sector well and the second half like a man waiting for something to happen. The data says so, and now there’s video of it.

The numbers

Seven sessions, forty-nine timed laps. Best lap per session, in order:

• Saturday 08:22 — 2:18.33 (with Christoph)
• Saturday 10:31 — 2:19.85 (with Christoph)
• Saturday 13:40 — 2:19.89
• Saturday 15:45 — 2:17.77
• Sunday 09:29 (solo) — 2:16.55
• Sunday 11:42 (with Christoph) — 2:18.18
• Sunday 14:00 (checkout with Mark) — 2:17.42

Median lap went from 2:21.91 Saturday morning to 2:18.77 Sunday morning. Theoretical best from the weekend’s quickest segments is 2:13.72, so there’s 2.8 seconds sitting there in pieces I’ve already driven.

The three corners I came to fix

I’m in Blue Solo, but I asked for an instructor anyway, because T1–T2, the 3-4-5 complex and T14 had been costing me all season and I was tired of guessing. I got Christoph, who is excellent.

The 3-4-5 complex was the clean win. I’d been coasting through it, which I knew, and Christoph got me to stop treating it as three corners and start treating it as one long climb with a throttle application in the middle. Minimum speed at the T3 apex barely changed, 43.5 to 43.6 mph. What changed was coasting in that zone: 3.7 seconds a lap Saturday morning, 1.7 seconds by Sunday afternoon. The two quickest runs through the complex all weekend both came after his ride.

T14 he let me experiment with, and it looked like a disaster for one session. My apex speeds scattered from 38.0 to 47.6 mph and I threw away most of the session. Then in the checkout I posted the best T14 of the weekend: trail-braking at 1.3 g with 0.19 seconds between brake release and apex, against 0.97 seconds on Saturday morning. That’s the whole HPDE bargain. You spend a session being slower on purpose and collect later.

What the video showed that the data couldn’t

I had the GoPro synced to RaceChrono for the fast lap, and I’ve put it on YouTube.

Watch the delta box. At the T1 apex I’m 0.20 up on my reference lap. By the crest at 56 seconds I’m 1.28 up. I finish 0.74 up. I built the entire lap in the first 56 seconds and gave back more than half a second in the remaining eighty.

Two things the camera caught that the telemetry never would have:

I’m not using the apex curbs. At T1, 54 mph and 1.1 g, there is a car’s width of unused track between my right front and the red-and-white. Same at the fast right at 85 mph. That’s why I’d been holding the brake release so long into T1. I wasn’t being timid on the pedal, I was apexing early and then rescuing the exit. The release was the symptom.

The PDK can’t make up its mind. At the crest I’m at 46 mph and 3,671 rpm, in third. At T14, also 46 mph, I’m at 5,059 in second. Across all 56 laps, four corners come up in a different gear depending on the day: the crest, the corner at the 1,000-metre mark, and two others. Same corner, same speed, different gear.

I checked whether it costs time. It doesn’t, or not measurably. Exit segment times split 8.58 versus 8.62 seconds one way and 9.16 versus 9.04 the other, both inside the noise. So I’m not going to tell you second gear is worth a tenth. I am going to say that a car arriving at the same corner in a different gear on consecutive laps gives you a different throttle response each time, and that’s one variable too many when the traffic gets faster.

Traffic, or why “I was never passed” isn’t a compliment

I passed a lot of cars and was only passed a handful of times all weekend. It sounds better than it was. Twenty of forty-nine timed laps were compromised by traffic, and Saturday’s 10:31 session lost five of seven. On one lap my back-straight peak fell to 105.7 mph against 123.2 on a clear lap.

The tell isn’t pace, it’s exit speed. My front-straight peak only went from 107.8 to 110.6 mph across the weekend while the back straight sat at 120 to 123. Arrive at the main passing zone three miles an hour short and you spend an extra lap behind every car you catch.

The checkout

Mark rode for three laps: 2:21.46 and 2:23.80 with him aboard. I dropped him at grid and ran 2:17.42 alone a few laps later.

What he signed off on wasn’t pace. With a passenger I braked 20 metres earlier at the end of the back straight and carried an extra second of coast to the apex, and still hit the same minimum speeds. That’s margin, and margin is the Yellow criterion. Going quickly with nobody watching is the part I already had.

The tires deserve a mention too. 29 cold, 34 hot on the A052s held 1.00 to 1.10 g of lateral load from lap 2 to lap 9 in every session, including Sunday afternoon with coolant peaking at 112 °C. No fall-off, no greasy final third. I’ll test a pound less at the rear next time with a pyrometer to back it up, but I’m not going to pretend the setup was the problem.

Homework

Three things before the next event, in order of what they’re worth:

1. Use the apex curbs at T1 and the fast right. Get the right front to the paint and the long brake release fixes itself.
2. Stop coasting on the climb. Eight to ten seconds a lap on neither pedal between the fast right and the crest, every single session, with and without an instructor. My best time through that section is still the one I set on Saturday morning, cold, on my second run group of the weekend.
3. Take the PDK off auto at the four corners where it’s guessing. Pick the gear, take it on the paddle, remove the variable.

Then we drove it home. That’s still the best part of owning a GTS 4.0 instead of something with a trailer hitch attached to it: 394 naturally aspirated horsepower and a set of A052s with a weekend on them.

The post Racing Yellow, Now Literally appeared first on Alex Cena.

My brake point at Turn 1 moved forty-two meters lap to lap. At the last corner before the front straight it moved forty-eight. That’s the biggest thing I can actually fix, and it isn’t the thing I thought I’d find.

Forty-two meters at 100 mph is nine-tenths of a second. Not lost in the corner. Lost before I ever turned in.

Fastest lap was 2:20.28. Theoretical best, meaning my best version of each small chunk of the lap stitched into one perfect lap I never actually drove, was 2:15.75. Four and a half seconds sitting on the table across sixteen timed laps.

I was late to the first session. Left the condo with 28 psi, arrived at 30, then sat in the paddock watching cars go by while I got my stuff sorted. Out lap, one clean lap, in lap. Two twenty-five point five, and that was the session.

The paddock was nearly empty. I WANT TO GO FAST appears across the top of a shop door out there, which is the entire sport in five words. Ran into a couple of friends, which is most of the reason I show up early anyway.

Some genuinely quick people were out. David has been a member at ECR since 2008 and club races. I hit my one-year HPDE anniversary in a couple of weeks. When he came past me in the third session my lap went from a 2:20 to a 2:34, which I count as a good decision rather than a bad lap. Grant was out in a friend’s Spec Cayman. Base car, and he still spent most of the session reeling me in. He got by eventually, on the cool-down lap, where I gave him the point.

Where the guessing shows up

RaceChrono gave me the distance from initial brake application to each apex, then the variation lap to lap:

• Turn 1: 42 meters
• Last corner before the front straight: 48 meters
• Turn 2: 28 meters

Two other corners out there, I’m within 2 and 5 meters. Same driver, same morning, same tires, same everything. So it isn’t a capability problem. It’s that at those two corners I don’t have a reference I trust, and at the other two I do.

Where I got it wrong

My hardest braking all day was 1.28g. My hardest cornering was 1.30g, and my first read was that I hadn’t been braking hard enough. A car should stop harder than it turns, because under braking the nose loads up and all four tires pull the same direction. Mine came out to a dead heat, so I wrote down that I was leaving grip on the table.

Then I remembered that the pedal was on the floor in every braking zone, and ABS was cycling every time.

That changes the answer entirely. All sixteen laps landed between 1.21 and 1.31g of peak braking. That tight a spread isn’t a driver being careful. It’s a ceiling, and ABS engaging says the tire found it. These AD09s are in the yellow and giving up around 1.3g in any direction, which is roughly what you’d expect from a worn 200-treadwear tire. Nothing to fix there except the tires.

So the forty-two meters and the braking force are two different problems, not one. I can hit the limit in every zone and still start from a different place each lap, and I did.

Which leaves the time somewhere else. If I’m already at the ceiling when I get there, the seconds aren’t in a harder peak. They’re in how much of the lap I spend near that ceiling, and in how fast I get back to the throttle on the way out.

Where the rest of it went

Six chunks of the lap ate most of the 4.53 seconds. Four of them are exits, not entries. Leaving Turn 1, leaving the corner at the 2,060-meter mark, the corner at 3,262, and the run out of the last corner onto the straight. Four tenths apiece.

On my fastest lap the throttle was past 80 percent for 4.3 percent of the lap. I’m not certain how the DME scales that reading through OBD so don’t hold me to the exact figure, but the shape of it is right. I feather out of corners. I’ve watched myself do it and I still do it.

The pattern I can’t argue with: my quick laps were the ones where I spent the most time above 1.0g of cornering load. The 2:20.28 spent 9.8 percent of the lap there. The traffic lap spent 2.3 percent. Fourteen seconds of spread from one variable.

Tires

Finished all three sessions at 35 psi hot. At least it’s consistent.

It’s also low for AD09s on a road course, and these are into the yellow on the depth gauge now. Low pressure on a worn tire overheats the shoulder and rolls the tread over, so I’m going to stop tuning something I’m about to throw away.

Next set is Advan A052. Faster, worse in the rain, shorter life, and that last part matters because I drive Skipper to the track instead of trailering it. First session on them will be a pressure-finding exercise rather than a lap-time session, since nothing I learned at 35 psi on AD09s carries over.

The A052s should raise the ceiling I hit all day, and they’ll raise it more in braking than in cornering, because braking has more grip available to convert. Which means my two numbers should stop matching. If they separate the way they’re supposed to, that confirms the tire was the limit and not me. If they stay level, I’ve got a different conversation to have with myself.

Next event

Two corners. Turn 1 and the last one before the straight. A physical marker at each, a board or a crack in the pavement or a light pole, used every lap for a full session. Lap times ignored entirely.

When forty-two drops under ten, I’ll get to the brakes at the same place every lap instead of arriving early and coasting or arriving late and bailing. The pressure’s already there. The consistency isn’t.

Coolant peaked at 94°C, then 107, then 110 across the three sessions. Without an ambient reading to hang it on that’s directional at best, but a 16-degree climb across a morning is ordinary heat soak and not something I’m going to lose sleep over.

One year in, four and a half seconds off my own theoretical, on a track where my perfect lap is a 2:15. Normal place to be standing. David’s had eighteen years and a race license to get where he is, and the useful part isn’t the comparison. It’s watching what full commitment looks like from the outside, then going home and finding out you’ve been guessing by forty-two meters.

The post Forty-Two Meters of Guessing Every Single Lap appeared first on Alex Cena.

Just never all at once.

Across 31 laps in three sessions on the 1.7-mile CCW course, RaceChrono found all the pieces of a lap 3.33 seconds quicker than the one I actually managed to put together.

Naturally, I went looking for something else to blame.

Traffic? Four laps got screwed up, but nope.

Tires? Nope.

The Skipper? Definitely nope.

That leaves the loose nut behind the wheel.

A Track Day Without Run Groups

This was my first event with Motorsports Wishes⁠, and I really liked the format.

It’s nothing like a normal PCA HPDE. No run groups. No waiting around for your color to be called. The track is basically open all day except for lunch, with a maximum of six cars out at once. When somebody comes in, the next car in line goes out. 

They suggest running 20 to 30 minutes and then coming in. You can technically get right back in line, although most people return to the paddock and let the car cool down.

The beauty of this system is seat time. Want more? Go get more.

It works brilliantly when the cars on track are running roughly the same pace. It gets more interesting when they aren’t.

That happened to me once. Three of us wound up stacked behind a first-timer in a Corvette, waiting for a point-by that finally came on the front straight.

Nothing builds friendships quite like three drivers simultaneously yelling, “COME ON!” inside three different helmets.

Coaching is equally relaxed. Plenty of coaches were available, but nobody was forcing one into the passenger seat. Irene rode with me for the first session, helped me get reacquainted with the track, and then I went solo.

Which meant any subsequent stupidity was entirely mine.

Session 2: Apparently I Had Somewhere to Be

My quickest lap in Session 1 was 1:34.04.

Session 2: 1:31.87.

Session 3: 1:32.22.

Session 1 was basically me waking up. I started at 1:44.44 and eventually found a 1:34.04 on the final flying lap.

Then something clicked.

Session 2 gave me the four quickest laps of the day, including the 1:31.87. Laps 7 through 10 got tangled in traffic, but when I had clear track, the Skipper and I were moving.

Session 3 was actually prettier driving. I worked from 1:36.32 down to 1:32.22 without losing a single lap to traffic. My corner speeds also became much more consistent.

There was just one problem.

Consistently pretty isn’t necessarily consistently fast.

I had stopped making some of the bigger mistakes. I’d also stopped doing some of the faster stuff.

My Braking Problem Is Mostly That I Keep Using Them

Then RaceChrono found the part I really didn’t want to see.

On Session 3, lap 8, I came into the first complex at 114.3 mph, waited until 148 meters, hit the brakes and covered the next 138 meters in 4.30 seconds.

Fastest I did it all day.

And it wasn’t even one of my fast laps.

On the laps when I actually had something good going, I kept braking earlier. My six quickest laps gave away roughly four- to seven-tenths of a second right there.

Apparently when there’s nothing at stake, I’m Mario Andretti.

Give me a good lap and suddenly I’m driving Liz to brunch.

My braking point into that corner wandered around by 71 meters during the day. That isn’t a braking point. That’s a braking neighborhood.

The funny part is that by Session 3 I was braking harder and much more consistently. So this isn’t about whether the Skipper can stop.

It’s about whether I can convince my right foot to wait another half-second before my brain starts screaming, “BRAKES!”

One Corner Owes Me Almost a Second

The really painful discovery was the slow left complex late in the lap.

My 1:31.87 gives away 0.92 second there.

Almost a full second. One section.

That’s less a cornering problem and more a hostage situation.

Two other spots are taking another chunk. The first braking zone costs about half a second, and another section early in the lap costs roughly four-tenths when I choose the wrong line.

Put those three places together and roughly 1.6 seconds of my missing time isn’t hiding particularly well.

I don’t need more horsepower.

I need fewer opinions about where the brake pedal should be and some commitment once I turn in.

Texas Eventually Turned Up the Oven

By the third session, the track and the Skipper were getting hot.

Coolant peaked at 109°C in both Sessions 2 and 3, but Session 3 got there in roughly half as many laps. Nothing suggested a problem with the car. The afternoon was simply hotter, and the tires weren’t getting any happier about it.

That gives me a pretty simple plan for the next event.

Session 1: wake up.

Session 2: go hunting.

Session 3: work on the slow left complex and figure out why I occasionally drive it like I’m looking for a parking space.

And that 148-meter braking point from 114.3 mph?

We’ve already gone there together once.

Next time I’d like to finish what we started.

P.S. I saw this beauty and was for a minute, tempted but luckily I was able to walk away.

The post Brake Late, Turn In, Try Not to Screw It Up appeared first on Alex Cena.

We chose more driving.

We met up at 6:00 a.m. in Eureka Springs. John had already left us for a better offer — his wife — so it was down to Shane and me. Neither of us were particularly interested in jumping on the highway and watching the miles click by.

Instead, we set a course south for Mena, Arkansas, with the idea of picking up the Talimena Scenic Byway and following it across the Ouachita Mountains into Oklahoma before finally turning toward Texas.

That little detour turned the trip home into a 424-mile drive with nearly 11,000 feet of climbing.

Out of Eureka Springs Before Breakfast

We left Eureka Springs just after sunrise and started working our way south through northwest Arkansas.

This is the stuff we’d come to Arkansas to drive: wooded hills, little towns, farms tucked into valleys and two-lane roads that seem almost offended by the idea of going straight.

The elevation data from the drive tells the story. We spent the morning rolling up and down through the Ozarks, eventually dropping into the lower country around Fort Smith before turning south toward Mena.

And then the terrain started getting serious again.

As we approached Mena, the road began climbing into the Ouachita Mountains. That’s where the elevation trace suddenly looks like somebody turned the gain knob all the way up.

Mena to Talihina

Once we reached Mena and picked up the Talimena Scenic Byway, the character of the drive changed completely.

Instead of winding between hills and valleys, we were climbing onto the ridges themselves.

The Talimena runs through the Ouachita National Forest between Mena, Arkansas, and Talihina, Oklahoma. From up there, the forest seems to go on forever. Ridge after ridge fades from green into blue and eventually disappears into the haze.

Was the Talimena Scenic Byway worth adding a big detour to a 424-mile trip home?

Then we came across one of the overlooks.

There was absolutely no chance we were driving past it.

We pulled in and parked the Porsches with the valley spread out behind them. My Lizard Green 911 looked almost radioactive against the muted greens and blues of the mountains, while Shane’s white Boxster sitting behind it made the whole scene look suspiciously staged.

The pavement at the overlook was covered with years of names, messages and graffiti left by people who had apparently felt the same urge to stop there.

We contributed photographs rather than graffiti.

And, yes, a selfie.

Proof that the nut behind the wheel survived the weekend.

Great Mountains. Questionable Pavement.

Here’s where Talimena and the roads around Eureka Springs separate themselves.

The Talimena Scenic Byway is unquestionably beautiful. It’s also plenty twisty and hilly.

You climb through the trees, run along a ridge, dive downhill and then start climbing again. There are long sweepers, tighter corners disappearing around the mountainside and stretches where the valley suddenly opens beside you.

The problem?

The scenery was better than the pavement.

We encountered plenty of bumps, patches, potholes and rough sections. Some of it has clearly seen a lot of traffic and weather.

That changes how you drive it.

You can’t simply settle into a rhythm and attack corner after corner. You have to read the pavement, choose your line and leave yourself some room in case the road serves up something nasty halfway through a bend.

In a stiffly sprung 911, your backside becomes a remarkably accurate pavement-condition sensor.

Mine collected quite a bit of data.

Eureka Springs Wins the Driving Contest

After several days of driving around Eureka Springs and then crossing Talimena, the distinction became pretty clear.

For pure driving, give me Eureka Springs.

The roads we’d been running around Eureka Springs were smoother and much better maintained while still giving us exactly what we wanted: elevation changes, tight corners, sweepers, blind crests and mile after mile of two-lane pavement that refuses to sit still.

They’re roads where you can get into a rhythm with the car.

Brake. Turn. Feed in the throttle. Climb. Crest. Set up for the next corner.

Repeat until hungry.

And when that happens, there’s usually another little Arkansas town somewhere ahead with coffee, breakfast, barbecue or, apparently, a soft-serve ice cream cone large enough to require structural engineering.

Talimena couldn’t quite match that driving experience.

But the views?

That’s another story.

Standing at that overlook with two Porsches behind us and the Ouachitas stretching all the way to the horizon, the extra miles suddenly seemed like a pretty good idea.

So my verdict after the weekend is simple:

For the driving, give me Eureka Springs.

For the view, give me Talimena.

Absolutely. We could have taken the direct route back to Dallas.

But sometimes the best road home is the one that makes absolutely no sense on a map.

The post The Long Way Home: Eureka Springs to Talimena appeared first on Alex Cena.