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I remember the morning. At the time, my family lived in Southern California and had two cars, an early 356 and a Bali Blue 911. My father had announced over breakfast that I was going to learn to drive that day. He said, "I think we will take the 911, since it has more power and you won't stall it so much." I was 15. I learned to drive in chassis number 35, built in September of 1964—a 901.

My dad had a certain amount of pride in the car. He seemed to always have my mom driving it somewhere, and this was a time when they weren't that expensive—he bought it second-hand. We all revere the 901 now, but then it was like, how quickly can you make the trim black or get mag wheels for it? How quickly can you make it not look like the old one? It was just a used car.

We were middle-class and lived in a condominium complex. I just remember how incredibly special it was to drive a car that meant something to the family. You look at the 911 now and it's way out there, really expensive. But it was kind of a choice at the time, between a sports car and a regular car. You put up with the inconvenience of a sports car because you were passionate about it. It wasn't a huge financial decision.

The largest parking lot near our house was at the Los Alamitos horse track. It was early in the morning on a Sunday, and there was no one around. On the way there, I remember studying my dad's driving, watching his feet, which you can see in a 911 because there isn't a big center console.

I remember the door shutting—Porsche doors shut with this sort of sharp ping. And I remember turning the key in the ignition and hearing the little pumps come alive. That silent moment of my dad settling in, my hand reaching out to that skinny, little wooden steering wheel, trying to see if I could get my right foot to match my left and not stall it. And I think from that point, adrenaline took over. It became the red mist or something.

My dad's still around. He actually went with the service crew on the Panama–Alaska race—10,000 miles and 25 days in a Porsche. He's 84 but still doing pretty well. I remember being nervous in that parking lot because it was my first time, but not because of him—he's very reassuring, and there was no pressure to do well in front of him. It was more your own personal pressure. You wanted to do it right.

It was such an unusual shape. I remember shifting into second gear and letting the clutch out, and it felt like we were on a racecourse—the legs were just getting longer and pulling us faster. There was this feeling I was doing something so special, and there couldn't have been a more special car to do it in.

I don't know what happened to that car. There are all sorts of registries and different websites and things for early 911s, but I don't know where it ended up. My father sold it in 1973 or 1974, and I heard soon after that it was stolen. In those days, when cars were stolen, they were basically cut up for parts. Number 35 hasn't appeared on any of the registries, so I have to assume that's what happened to it.

There's a circle around the 911 that is really special for me, and I think I take it for granted sometimes. In a lot of ways, no matter who you are, the car is a bridge. It just feels like home. It gives back to me more than I give it.

Jeff Zwart has shot the majority of Porsche's television commercials since 1989. He's competed in the Pikes Peak International Hill Climb in nine different Porsches and has won seven class championships on the hill. As a freelance photographer, he has shot more than 40 Road & Track covers.

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