The Targa’s time has come

It was a moment when all the stars aligned: right road, right weather, right car. Alone in a Porsche 911 in the Welsh mountains, early enough to have the Beacons to myself. You know what happens next: turn on the race face, fingers expertly drop a couple of gears, the flat-six answers your call with its inimitable battle cry and you’re off, howling, shrieking and slithering your way to automotive nirvana and beyond. Except that’s not what happened. At all.