It was somewhere east of Roswell, New Mexico, I think. We were at a gas station, doing the usual gas station stuff. I was pumping. Scott Jacobs was draining.
"That [pause for dramatic event] is a beautiful car."
The compliment came from a woman filling the pickup truck at the next pump.
"Thanks," I said.
"Love the color. My daddy had one that color back in the '70s," she says, now walking over to our chocolate brown 2010 Porsche 911 Turbo, which stands out in this part of the country like a flying saucer from another world. Which it is. She spots our license plate. "California? Where are you guys going?'
"Texas," I say matter-of-factly, as if Texas is just around the corner from California.
"Wow, long drive. What's in Texas?"
"We were in the mood for some barbecue."
"Really?" she says in disbelief, circling the Porsche's bulging flanks. It's so obvious she wants to touch the car, but is too polite to ask. "Really?" she says again. "You're driving from California to Texas just for some barbecue?"
She looks up from the car for the first time. "For real?" she asks, looking me straight in the eye.
"For real," I say, opening the door of the Porsche. "There's this place called Snow's BBQ in Lexington, Texas, that we've always wanted to try. It's supposed to be the best in all of Texas. But it's only open on Saturday mornings."
From the look on her it's obvious she thinks we're crazy. I don't let it bother me.
"It's so good," I continue. "We hear they're only open until the meat runs out, which is well before noon. So we left Los Angeles on Wednesday afternoon and hope to be at Snow's at 9 a.m. Saturday."
"Then what?" she says.
"Then we drive home," says Jacobs, emerging from the gas station shop with 12 inches of Slim Jim clenched in his right fist. "Would you like to sit in the car?"
"Sure. But I've been in the barn all day," she says smacking some of the looser dirt from her blue jeans. "I better not. I'd hate to get it all dirty."
Martha's reaction to our 3,000-mile road trip was not uncommon. We had the same conversation with other folks in Arizona, New Mexico and Texas. Both coming and going.
But it was true. We really were driving this new Porsche to Texas for some barbecue. Hey, what can we say? Our craving for brisket was only matched by our keen sense of adventure. We also had a brand-new Porsche 911 Turbo, which we nicknamed the Brisket Express, and the company gas card.
So how did it go? Check out the photos and read through the captions for the full report on our ultimate red meat road trip.
The manufacturer provided Edmunds this vehicle for the purposes of evaluation.