One night after dinner my friend and I decided to race home to the condo where we
both lived. She drove an BMW 2002, clearly no match for my 77’ Targa,
especially around corners. But like all tail happy 911s, the back end got away from
me and my rear wheel hit a curb. Not sure what hurt worse, hearing that crunch, or
losing the race. While tailing a Porsche mechanic around his body shop the next
day, I watched him remove the injured wheel, exposing the brake rotor.
Coincidentally, he revealed that this specific rotor was actually called a
Zimmermann (my last name). After never having paid much attention to this
particular car part, to this day I’m still drawn to brake rotors, and always prefer the
purely drilled variety.
- Signed & Numbered