Rasberry red paint costs $2450. Pocketbook Blue costs whatever that costs. We drove this Porsche 911 AmericaRoadster 1600 miles through six states.
Why did it go fast? Probably the tires. Definitely not because Charo decided to perform the hoochie-coochie in the rose-hued interior (though she might have). It’s mostly just a standard Carrera 2 under the skin, wearing a turbo-style body kit and sporting the world’s best soft top.
We stopped in Asheville for spiritual renewal. The city has a Cuban-Jamaican spot serving “jerked” chicken. Thomas Wolfe would hate this. Then we went to Charleston, West Virginia, to eat ribs that looked suspiciously like they came from a spine rather than a pig. Back in Michigan, the car sat cold. We fired it up. It hit 60 mph in 4.9 seconds.
Only a tenth of a second behind the manual Carrera 2. Considering this convertible carries 100 extra pounds of soft top, that is impressive. The quarter-mile? 13.6 seconds flat at 103 mph. The all-wheel-drive Carrera 4 takes 13.9.
So why the price tag? The base model costs $94460. Add the red paint and pink leather? That’s another $7761. Total sticker? Over $100k. This is $26000 more than the hardtop. You are paying for the nostalgia of 1950 America Roadsters. You are paying so Porsche doesn’t have to bother selling 3200 cars when 3000 will do.
The Top That Actually Works
The roof is magic. Push one button. No latches. No contortionism. Just woosh. It’s down. Or up. The zipper for the rear window is industrial grade. It works. Remember the 1982 SC Cabriolet? Where you needed two hands to tug, a third to twist, and fingernails to split? Gone. This is engineering.
Wind noise? It used to be an issue at 80 mph. Not anymore. The cabin is quiet until you hit 157 mph. Then the car feels light. Too light. Frank Markus noted this with pale fingers. At high speeds, pavement irregularities made the chassis jump sideways a full foot.
“Not fun,” Frank said. Understatement of the decade.
Acceleration is brutal. Those massive 255 rear Yokohamas want to pull the chassis apart. Axle hop sets in. You have to baby the clutch. Slide it in slowly. Keep revs high. Drop too fast and the rear tires smoke while the car wrestles itself into submission. It’s not for beginners. It’s for people who need a thrill to feel alive.
On the skidpad? 0.86 g. Better than the Carrera 4. The tires grip until they don’t. Lift off the gas and the tail steps out. Trying to correct it is hard. It wants to keep going.
Pink Inside, Expensive Everywhere Else
The interior is a statement. “Tacky,” said one passenger. “Gauche,” said another. The pink faux-fur on the door panels looks like it was designed by a man who has never been invited to a cocktail party. But the rear window clarity is absurd. We could see license plates five hundred feet back. Rain? Snow? No distortion. Mr. Wizard needs to explain this material.
Luggage space? Non-existent. You can fit what Linda Hunt needs for a weekend. Good luck bringing golf clubs. And the audio? CD player. No tape deck. This ignores the fact that anyone old enough to buy a $100k car has 30 years of tapes. It’s a weird flex.
Safety is decent. Two airbags. The windshield is tall enough to prevent the face-scrubbing wind blast found in lesser convertibles. Brakes? Big ones. Four-piston calipers, drilled rotors, just like the Turbo. It stops when you tell it to.
The America is a Turbo without the turbo, and the sanity check that goes with it.
Counterpoints from the Desk
Csaba Csere says you should sedate your brain’s financial center before looking. It’s exclusive. Like a Karl Lagerfeld dress you never wear. You pay for the weirdness. The speed. The nervous reflexes that terrify sane people.
Frank Markus thinks it belongs on a Beverly Hills driveway next to a Gucci bag. Take a driving course. Command those 247 horsepower with grace. Or fail spectacularly. Looking cool is the only metric that matters here.
André Ldzikowski misses his long-term Carrera 4 immediately. The America Roadster is bumpy. The wide tires turn speed bumps into punches in the face. The comfort of a real Porsche is gone. It’s a Sunday toy. Not a daily driver. If you want to live in reality, buy the hardtop AWD model. This car is for pretending.
The Aftermarket Alternative: Strosek
Bill Phillips retired from the fast-food industry rich. He owns Bentleys. He owns an Austin-Healey. He likes cars. Recently he bought a Strosek-converted Carrera 2 from Fred Opert in New Jersey.
It looks like the America Roadster but better. Strosek machines the body lines tight. No rubber grommets breaking up the panels. The rear arches are perfect arcs. The factory Porsche looks like a stamping error by comparison.
The sound is deeper. A custom exhaust turns the six-cylinder into something resembling a V-8 rumble. The suspension is stiffer but softer in ride quality. Special shocks. Special springs. It costs more—over $100k—but Phillips haggle down the dealer to $91k because he knew the inventory sat there all year.
You won’t find another Strosek. Opert has none left. The factory America is the safer bet. It comes with a warranty. And if the rear window zipper breaks? There’s a number to call. With Strosek? Good luck.
