Crashing My Dream Car: How I Totaled My $200,000 Porsche

It’s just like they say — there’s a moment right before you hit the wall when time seems to slow down. The rear tires let go, and the steering feels light, like you’re floating. Then — bang — the car connects with concrete, hard. You’re still in one piece. But the car? The car is done. That was the moment I realized my $200,000 Porsche 911 GT3 was no longer my dream car. It was a heap of metal smashed against the wall of Circuit of the Americas.

But let me start from the beginning.

The Porsche 911 had been my dream car for as long as I can remember. It was the car I pinned on my wall as a teenager: wide hips, that iconic whale tail. It all began when I was a kid, walking into a Porsche dealership with my dad. I must’ve been in middle school. Back then, Porsche would give out these heavy, glossy brochures, and I took one home for the 993 Turbo. Arena Red. That color, that silhouette stuck with me. It was the car that sparked something in me.

Growing up, my dad was into cars — he’d flip through car magazines, hand-wash his own, and he always drove nice cars, though never a sports car. We weren’t a Porsche family by any means, but that dealership visit left a lasting impression on me.

As I got older, my love for cars only grew. I subscribed to Road & Track, and I still remember the first issue I got: a three-way comparison between the Porsche 993 Cabriolet, the NSX and the Ferrari F355 Spider. I read that magazine cover to cover. The Porsche 911 was timeless. It was on another plane. I was obsessed.

Fast forward a few years, and I’m in my early 20s, tracking cars, working on them with my own hands. I had an Audi TT, then a Miata that I stripped down for the track, and I was running endurance races with friends — 24 Hours of LeMons, ChumpCar — wrenching on whatever we could come up with. We weren’t rich, but we were resourceful. My obsession with track driving deepened with every lap.

By the time the 2009 financial crisis hit, I found myself in a position to finally nab a Porsche. Not the dream car, but a step in that direction. I picked up a 1987 air-cooled 911 in mint condition. After a few years, I added a 997.2 Carrera S. That car was everything I thought it would be — a high-horsepower, rear-engine machine that felt more alive than anything I’d driven. But in the back of my mind, there was always something more: the 911 GT3. The pinnacle. While I loved my Carrera, I knew the GT3 was where the magic really happened — the purist’s 911, with no turbos, no gimmicks. Just raw, naturally-aspirated power and precision. It was the ultimate driver’s car.

As soon as I got in front, the rear end stepped out. The car just…went. No warning. One second I’m in control, the next I’m spinning. I’ve lost control of cars before, but this was different. It was instant.

Years went by. I got busy with work. My Miata, which I drove on the track, sat in the garage for a while, and the track days became fewer and farther between. But as my career progressed, I realized something: I had more money now, even if I had less time. That’s when the idea of the GT3 came back to me. It wasn’t just a dream anymore. I had the means. And when a big deal went through, I thought, “Now or never.” I started seriously looking for a 911 GT3, ready to pull the trigger if I found the right one.

The one I found was perfect: a 2018 Porsche 911 GT3, Carrara White, manual transmission, only 6,000 miles on the odometer. It was sitting at a Ferrari dealership of all places. Someone had traded it in for a Ferrari, and I thought, “If you’re trading a GT3 for a Ferrari, you probably took good care of it.” The car was immaculate. It was $200,000 — the most I’d ever spent on anything. But I didn’t hesitate. This was the car I’d been waiting for my entire life.

Two months later, I signed up for a track day at Circuit of the Americas (COTA). If you’re not familiar with COTA, it’s one of the most challenging tracks in the U.S. and the home of the U.S. Grand Prix. It’s insanely fun. It’s 3.4 miles long, with 20 corners that test both handling and high-speed stability. It’s a track that will punish you if you’re not careful, but that’s the allure. I’d driven there before in other cars, but this would be my first time in the GT3.

The weather that day wasn’t ideal. It had been raining and the track was wet. But I’ve driven in the rain before and I wasn’t too worried. I took it easy during the first session, getting a feel for how the GT3 handled on a slick surface. Everything was fine. The car felt balanced, composed, even in the wet.

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Then came the second session. By this point, the rain had picked up, but I still felt confident. I wasn’t pushing it. I was short-shifting, keeping the revs low, staying cautious. I’d done this plenty of times before.

I was on the back straight, one of the longest stretches of track at COTA. Normally, you’re tempted to really open up the car there, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Another car gave me the signal to pass, so I moved over to overtake. And that’s when it happened.

As soon as I got in front, the rear end stepped out. The car just…went. No warning. One second I’m in control, the next I’m spinning. I’ve lost control of cars before, but this was different. It was instant. I must’ve hit a patch of standing water and hydroplaned, because the car snapped sideways without any time to react.

The first hit was on the right side. Metal meeting concrete with a thud you feel in your bones. The car bounced off and I slid toward the left side of the track. Another hit. This time, the car stopped.

I sat there for a moment, stunned. The engine was still running, but I knew it was over. Both sides of the car were wrecked. I wasn’t hurt, no bruises or cuts, but the car…it was done. Other cars kept passing by, and I knew what they were thinking: “There’s the guy who wrecked his GT3.” I felt like an idiot.

Eventually, the marshals red-flagged the session and came over. I had to climb out through the window because the doors were jammed shut from the impact. The ambulance showed up, but I didn’t need it. Physically, I was fine. But my pride was absolutely shot.

I called my wife. “I crashed the car,” I told her. She asked if I was okay. “Yeah,” I said, “but the car’s not.” She came to pick me up in our minivan. Driving home in a minivan after showing up in a GT3? A humbling experience.

Eventually, I had the car taken to a specialized body shop, where they confirmed what I already feared. The frame was bent. The car was totaled. And because it happened on the track, insurance wasn’t going to cover any of it. The loss was all mine.

There’s a moment after something like this happens when you start questioning everything — was it worth it? All that time, money and effort? Gone in an instant.

But here’s the thing: that moment didn’t last as long as I thought. Sure, I was devastated, but then I started thinking about what went wrong. Was it the rain? Was it me? Could I have avoided it? Once I started parsing through those questions, I realized I was going to come back. Despite the crash and despite the loss, I knew I wasn’t done.

Fast forward to today. Eventually, yeah, I took the plunge and bought another. It wasn’t exactly an easy call. Same model, same year. I know — it sounds insane. But once you’ve driven a GT3, everything else pales.

So here I am. A bit older, maybe a little smarter and definitely more respectful of wet pavement. But I wasn’t about to let that rainy day in December be the last time I took a lap on a track.