I was once the kid on the railings: two Septembers with speedsector in Rhodes

2006, a clip and a ringtone

I remember as a kid, somewhere around 2005-2006, when driving a car was still something distant for me, the rally craze booming over in America: Goldrush, Gumball 3000 and the rest. They were really organised road trips, where convoys of supercars flooded cities while their blue-blooded owners partied wildly 24/7. There was one particular clip online back then that, as a kid, I wore out on views. I'd even downloaded the soundtrack to my phone so I could listen to it non-stop. From then on I kept saying it: my dream is to do a trip like that. I pictured myself inside a supercar, eating up the miles.

Three 987s and a love that won't fade

The years passed and, one way or another, a few Porsches ended up in my hands. The 987 platform: a Boxster with the 2.7 and a tiptronic, and later a manual Cayman S 3.4. Each has its own story worth telling - but that's for another time. So I don't leave you hanging: the 987 is, for me, one of the best value-for-money cars for the price. Mid-engined, rear-wheel drive, with incredible build quality, timeless design and - especially the 2.7 - an incredibly reliable engine. After a break from Porsches, thankfully a short one, a car I'd been eyeing for ages came into my hands: a Cayman 987.2 PDK. Beyond how much better a car it was than the 987.1 generation - over there in Zuffenhausen, whatever little issues the 987.1 had, small and large, they sorted them out effectively in the 987.2.

Mr Giorgos and the twins

Around that time I happened to meet, at the shop of some good friends who do car wrapping, two twin brothers. Young in age, but serious petrolheads with opinions and experience - because Mr Giorgos, their dad, was one of those guys you definitely want to meet in your life. Beyond the fact that the word HUMAN sits right next to his name, in him there was also the phrase full-blown petrolhead. This family, then, had spent years doing exactly what I dreamed of as a kid: all sorts of organised trips with supercars and sportscars, both in Greece and abroad.

"In a few months there's Rhodes"

Somewhere along the way, they tell me there's a trip to Rhodes in a few months. At first I heard it and my jaw dropped. I couldn't even picture myself among speedsector. Me, with a plain, humble 987.2, a 28-year-old guy - how could I step so easily into my childhood dream? After a while, the idea settled in. Especially once I talked with Giorgos, mr speedsector, who made me understand that his idea of speedsector had nothing to do with the flashy, look-at-me substance of the Americans, but with something intangible: a shared love of motorsport.

Loaded under an F430

A few weeks later, I watched my car being loaded onto a truck - beneath Mr Giorgos's F430. And me, eager, boarding the plane to Rhodes to meet the cars that would be waiting for us at the port. Like a first date.

Festival of Speed: the cars are just the excuse

The Festival of Speed Rhodes, as speedsector calls it, is mostly about the people. It's a three-day thing every year, around September, where people from Greece and abroad, sharing a love of cars, drive together along the island's mountain roads, enjoy the old town, the food, the sea. The climax is Sunday, when part of the old town is closed off for the participants and, with the help of the local authorities, it turns into something like a race - or, better, a display of skill.

First year: the kid on the railings

I took part in Rhodes twice. The first with the 987.2 - the other I'll keep as a surprise for a little longer. So I remember, on Sunday we all left the hotel together, over 40 cars - Lamborghini, Porsche, Ferrari, BMW M and more - to head to the start point. I was driving and reliving the childhood dream of the video I'd worn to pieces on views.

But that wasn't the highlight. The highlight was that, the moment we reached the spot, I saw the crowd that had come to watch. So many families, so many kids - literally hanging off the railings to see the cars, to smell rubber and petrol, to hear the choir of V10s and V8s. Okay, my car went almost unnoticed next to a Huracan, a GT3, a GT4 RS and a Ferrari. But it's not about showing off. It's about the fact that, in the faces of those kids, I could see little Aggelos. And that is worth all the money in the world: to be an inspiration for a child who grew up on wheels - jamming bottles against his bike's back wheel just for the noise - to work for his dreams.

I came back from that trip fuller than ever. Because speedsector and its people had taught me one thing: we don't buy cars - expensive or cheap - for other people, but for the kid hiding inside us, the one who once dreamed of them.

Second year: Dimitris's 911

The next year - and after I'd been on a few more of the group's trips - I started to realise Rhodes is something magical. So, over a meal somewhere, my friend Dimitris, owner of a 992.1 4 GTS, says to me: "You've talked me into it, I'm coming too." And so this time we found ourselves loading Dimitris's 911 onto the truck. Throughout the trip, from a simple coffee run to the mountain climb, the car was staggering across its entire range. The 911, and the 992 especially, is a magical piece of engineering - something that, unless you drive it, words can't describe. It's as good to drive as it is beautiful from every angle. A work of art with no spot you can look at without muttering "what have these people done, man".

A flat tyre in the middle of nowhere

Beyond race day - where, once again, I watched the kids and every petrolhead family enjoy the motoring right alongside us - the highlight of the trip was somewhere else entirely. Driving back on Saturday from a special mountain route that mr speedsector had secured for us with a closed road, the 992 hit a rock and we got a flat. In the middle of nowhere, up on the mountain. We pulled over together, 3-4 cars, and waited for the recovery truck for two or three hours, with no signal.

There, a group of people with different experiences, different backgrounds, tastes and cars, became one. Us and our cars. Because we had our shared love, and that was enough. There was nothing else but us, the talk, our engines and the coffee, as we sat down on the asphalt. There, once again, the speedsector people showed us what it means to share the same passion and the same love for something inanimate, like a car - which, in our eyes, has a soul, every single day.

Epilogue

Twenty years ago, a kid jammed bottles against his bike wheel to make noise, and wore out on views a clip of supercars eating up miles on another continent. He didn't know it then, but he wasn't envious of the cars. He was envious of the feeling. It took reaching a closed-off alley in Rhodes, with a humble Cayman between a Ferrari and a GT3, to understand that the clip was never about the horsepower. It was about the kids on the railings. And that day, the kids on the railings were looking at me too - the way I once looked at the screen. And maybe the most honest part of the whole story wasn't even the drives or the engines, but a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere. Four or five cars stopped, no signal at all, coffee on the asphalt, and a group of people who a few days earlier didn't even know each other. That's where it hit me: the car is just the excuse. Whatever it builds around itself - that's what has the soul. That's why we buy them in the end. Not for other people, nor for a finishing position. For the kid who once dreamed of them - and who, if you're lucky, you find again sitting on a mountain road's asphalt, a coffee in hand and a smile too big to fit anywhere.