By Stephen Turcotte, republished with permission from the April 2015 issue of Fourteener Motoring Magazine.

I’m not sure when it began, but the more I mature as a driver, the more frustrated I get with perceived injustices on the road. I pride myself on being a good driver and cognizant of other cars. I try (struggle) to be courteous, or at least mindful of not making things worse. Left lane drivers going 50 mph, I’m looking at you.

My work commute is not excessively long, nor does it include expressway driving. But, I have been waylaid by accidents, overturned tractor-trailers, fires, broken water mains, and of course, rush hour trains. Nothing, however, exemplifies my personal angst like the roundabout I must traverse on my daily commute. Designed to eliminate a four way stop, in theory, it reduces backups while smoothing traffic through a busy intersection. It has, however, become my personal hell, watching fellow commuters try to negotiate what should be a simple concept.

Now I’m not here to convince you that the commuting world is out to get me (It is!). I can recount a time when, against all odds and personal experience, the seas parted and a miraculous series of events occurred. One spring day, I decided to take the 914 to work. It was a Friday and the weather was perfect. So, why not, right? I always suspected that I had more luck (or was more forgiving of the injustices) when I drove the Porsche. The uneventful commute was, dare I say, enjoyable. As my day progressed, I was able to sneak out of the office a little early to get a head start on the weekend. As I left the office, I hopped in the 914, with no indication of the events that lay ahead.

Proceeding home, I slowly left the congested city center, working my way to the outer suburbs. I always knew when I reached the dreaded roundabout that I had one more stoplight to negotiate before arriving home. The sun was out, the roof was off, and the windows were down. Things were looking good.

About a half mile before the roundabout, as I shifted into fourth gear, I felt the snap, and the clutch pedal hit the floor! I could not yet see the roundabout ahead. But, I was pretty certain I was going to have a problem. Cresting the hill, I caught my first sight of the roundabout. That was when miracle #1 happened. It was empty! As I wrestled the shifter into third, I thought, “I may just get through this cleanly.”

I rode the brakes down the slight hill toward the roundabout, and hoped no one was coming from the left, requiring me to stop. It’s been my experience that when you need something like that to happen, it doesn’t. But, as I approached, I was astonished at miracle #2. There was no traffic. Unheard of in my commute, I stumbled through the roundabout alone and spit out the other side with no problems.

At this point, I had a slight bend to negotiate before I could see the lone stoplight between me and home. Coming out of the bend, my heart sank. The light was red, and several cars were stopped. But I knew that if it was red then, it might turn green before I got there. Taking my time, I stayed in third gear. My commuting experience had me looking ahead for an escape route. And I spotted an area to get off the road, just in case my usual bad luck intervened. I continued toward the stoplight, expecting to have to pull off. But, the light turned green. Now to most people, a green light means “go.” But, if I am the last person in line, usually the person in front needs that penny under the passenger seat right about NOW! Miracle #3. Everyone just started moving. My car was lugging pretty well in third gear, and I was not tempted to wrestle it into second. Once through the light, I kept a safe distance, in case one of the cars ahead decided to stop for no apparent reason, ruining my unusual run of luck.

Virtually home free, I only had to take the second right into my neighborhood, run one stop sign, and I would be in my garage. There was, however, one more possible hazard. The two subdivisions on the left. With no way to bail out, someone making a left turn could ruin my day. It was at this point that miracle #4 happened. Each of the three cars ahead motored on, ignoring the subdivisions on the left and mine on the right.

I lugged the car into the right hand turn, down the hill, and through the stop sign. I frantically pushed the garage door opener while I coasted, now in neutral, into the garage for a perfect landing. Never in the history of commuting has my arrival home felt so satisfying. Such a sense of relief. As I sat in the car thinking how improbable it was that all of the cards would fall my way, it truly felt like a miraculous event.

A flatbed is a somewhat familiar experience for a 914 owner. But not this day, my friends! This day the 914 Karma got me all the way home, thru the most unlikely series of events in my commuting experience, and the feeling was amazing. Now it’s onto the “World” to figure out how to replace that clutch cable.