ONE, TWO, four, twenty, one hundred. It was a vast mob of ’roos, emerging in waves from the spinifex. Startled by the searchlight blue of the LED headlights, they scrambled over one another to reach safety. Some were knotty, muscled adults, timing their leap across the boundary fence in advance like a chess player, effortlessly skimming as if working ground-effect. Others were scrappy little tackers, jinking furiously, looking for a breach in the wire. One lost grip, lowsiding on the sand like an inept motorcyclist, limbs flailing desperately, eyes wide, spittle flecking from its soft mouth. Pre-dawn out of Dunkeld in a Porsche 911 GT3 rewards a certain circumspection, but delayed gratification only makes what’s to come that bit more piquant.
Choosing where to take Porsche’s latest 991.2 version of…