As summer begins to heat up, I'm reminded about how much I love autumn. So many journeys in my life seemed to have started in the beauty and magic of a clear autumn day.

I'm not quite certain why I was driving down that portion of Sterns Road that day, but then again I drove there frequently for any number of reasons. It was one of the main roads through town.

It was October, the weather was crisp, and I had just returned home from a six-month assignment in Afghanistan. I wasn't looking for a new project, but perhaps it was looking for me — an orange Porsche 914 at the end of a driveway with a for-sale sign and a phone number.

I contacted the owner, and we struck a deal. The car, complete with all of its loose parts and disassembled engine, was mine. My oldest son came with me to load it onto the rented trailer for the 7-mile journey back to my garage. Once there, it took up residence with my 1983 944 and 1965 Oldsmobile.

The car was complete but shabby. It had several nice features, including console gauges, a 1.8-liter engine and painted bumpers with fog lights. The engine had already been partially disassembled, but that didn't bother me. I had built the engines for my road race cars, so this was just another opportunity to learn something new.

The car was disassembled, and the parts stored until eventually the tub was laid bare revealing its steel-plate floor-pan repairs and pervasive structural rust hidden under multiple paint jobs. No wonder the car had been so difficult to get onto the trailer, burdened by a substantial amount of hastily added steel reinforcements.

Having replaced the floorpans and rockers in my 1970 Spitfire, I already knew restoration of a rotting body structure was not in the plan or the budget, so the tub was sent away. The stash of parts — including engine and transmission — more than justified the purchase price, so I began the search for a good rolling rust-free tub to assemble them into, all the while ignoring that life was getting progressively busier.

Another truck-and-trailer trip out to the west side of the state, and a clean rust-free 1976 roller from Oklahoma began its patient wait in the garage where its predecessor had been. The seller had intended on building the car back into a driver, but life got busy and time was short, so the plan had to change. Was I listening?

This second tub was eventually stripped of its few remaining exterior and interior bits, as well as sound deadening, revealing a rust-free structure with only some minor damage due to an aborted attempt to install an A/C system. The steel rockers were carefully set aside and logged in as a lucky score, replacing the shoddy fiberglass ones from the original car.

The pedal cluster was rebuilt and new cables procured, the shifter rebuilt and the steering column installed ... but the car remained a roller.

I had a family, a job, and three other mistresses in the garage. Life was busy, I was learning.

Not long after, my son and I were Up North as we say here in Michigan — our annual trip away to relax and ski just at the cusp of winter's departure and spring's arrival. A random internet search before breakfast revealed an original stock 1973 914 for sale not far from my office. The price was fair, and the seller motivated.

The car was unmodified other than the wheels and a radio with some minor mechanical issues well within my skill set. The car had been repainted silver over its original color of orange, but the black interior was original, complete and in excellent nick.

I went for the first "meeting" and sat in the car in the seller's garage as the engine idled and smoked raucously behind my back. Blipping the throttle and testing the manual steering, I was unexpectedly transported back to my days driving Formula Fords.

Everything clicked, the deal was struck. I was to be this car's new custodian.

A review of the silver 914's owner's manual, sales invoice and service records indicated it had lived much of its life not far from my house, having been purchased new from a Porsche dealer in Toledo. Upon its arrival home, my daily driver was demoted to the driveway (again) as the new mistress took its place in the garage, parked next to the roller.

I knew I would never make the roller 914 whole again, so a new custodian was found and the roller permitted to continue on with its own journey. I had learned about my own limitations, and finished the journey I had started on some three years prior.