From the moment I took delivery of my Porsche Cayman GT4 in 2016, it’s been mercilessly exposed to the elements. I drove it out of the factory in Stuttgart and directly into a torrential downpour. The GT4 had barely landed in the States before it was loaded up on a trailer and pressed into track duty. It spent the rest of that year happily subsisting on a steady diet of premium fuel and track marbles.
I’ve taken it camping several times, navigating backwoods trails to find the perfect setting. Last year, I hauled it up to Oregon for a 10-day rally (with a track day at Sonoma en route)—a 1,300-mile parade of Porsches charging fearlessly over every road and non-road. Roostertails of sand. Showers of gravel. Belly pans and windshields sacrificed in the name of ridiculous fun.
Photo by: Derek Powell | Motor1
A decade of adventure. 23,000 miles on the clock. Low miles. Hard miles. Good miles. It’s not distance traveled, but rather a record of experience, of accrued character. The odometer is a historian, notching memories in numerical form. For me, the small imperfections in the paint were a source of pride, a sense of accomplishment.
When you hold onto a car for this long, it’s easy to lose track of how it ages over those years. The little blemishes and marks which accumulate over time, surreptitiously, imperceptibly. It’s impossible to pinpoint where the shift truly happens, where the newness yields to the relentless passage of time, where the once-perfect paint now features scars in the ongoing battle against elemental cruelty. How can this vibrant puppy suddenly have a graying snout and cloudy eyes?
If I were to keep driving the GT4 as I had without some form of protection, what would it look like in another 20,000 miles? In five more years? Was I so in love with the notion of tangible character that I was willing to ignore the harsh elements of reality?
After my rowdy sand-strewn adventure in Oregon, I knew it was time to abandon this romantic notion. Close inspection of the paint revealed sizeable chips exposing bare metal. A constellation of silver sparkles twinkling along the leading edge of the roof, dusted atop the rear quarter flanks. Furious road rash behind the doors, beneath the air scoops. Character is one thing. But irreversible damage—which, at the rate I was going, was inevitable—is another.
It was time to turn my car into Bodie.
I’ll be the first one to admit that comparing a car to a ghost town sounds weird. The state of California is home to thousands of them, scattered across the vast landscape like industrial-grade dandelion seeds. By this point, most have succumbed to nature, with only abstract remnants a witness to what once thrived here.
But not Bodie. Nestled high in the Sierra foothills east of Yosemite, Bodie is a ghost town that is remarkably intact. Founded in 1876 during the gold rush, Bodie grew rapidly, fueled by the promise of prosperity. Only four years later, its population peaked at 10,000 residents—and then declined nearly as rapidly, ultimately cratering into the single digits by the middle of the 20th century.
Finally, government forces intervened. It was far too expensive to maintain essential services for the handful of residents who refused to leave. A deal of sorts was reached: the last family agreed to relocate, and in 1961, Bodie became a national historic landmark.
Character is one thing. But irreversible damage—which, at the rate I was going, was inevitable—is another.
What makes Bodie special is that it looks exactly the same today as it did in 1961. Instead of yielding even further to the elements, the town is frozen in a state of arrested decay. Dinner plates patiently waiting in a stack on a kitchen table in a home; sundries on display in the general store. A hundred years of history captured in a living, immersive snapshot, the past preserved for future generations to explore. Interactive character on full display, protected in perpetuity.
To create my own rolling Bodie, wrapping the GT4 in paint protective film (PPF) seemed like the obvious choice. A vinyl force field that could serve as an extreme counterpoint to my ongoing adventures. The key feature I needed was hardcore protection. I wanted film that was practically bulletproof. As it turns out, I was spoiled for choice.
PPF has come a long way in a relatively short time. In the past decade, this once-niche corner of automotive accessories has exploded into a multibillion-dollar industry. The most prominent players—3M, STEK, SunTek, and XPEL—collectively offer hundreds of choices in a dizzying array of sizes, shapes, tints, and colors. It’s somehow easier to both apply and remove, yet also significantly more durable than the finicky, brittle plastic which preceded it.
Given the history of my past exploits, I ultimately chose the Ultimate Plus 10 from XPEL. It seemed to be the most bulletproof offering this side of Kevlar. It’s XPEL’s thickest film, measuring a meaty 10 mil, or thousandth of an inch. The film’s self-healing properties mean that any minor scuffs or swirls on the surface will disappear as the material expands in the warmth of sunlight. It’s a nifty bit of elastomeric science that’s found across all premium brands.
What really sold me on the Ultimate Plus 10 came down to a single stat in the product sheet. Stone chip resistance was tested by blasting the film with three pints of gravel at 70 psi. Three pints. From an air cannon. Minor swirls? Ha, that’s cute. How about limestone projections? Yes. This is the kind of protection I’m looking for.
XPEL recommended Protective Film Solutions in Anaheim, CA, for a wrinkle-free installation. PFS did a thorough inspection of the exterior before diving in, and diligently marked each blemish with a dab of blue painter’s tape. When I saw the inspection photos, the GT4 looked like a blue-finned porcupine. It wouldn’t surprise me if an entire roll had been used.
Given the history of my past exploits, I ultimately chose the Ultimate Plus 10 from XPEL. It seemed to be the most bulletproof offering this side of Kevlar.
But that roll was nothing compared to the massively wide spools of Ultimate Plus 10 lined up in the shop. XPEL offers four widths of the film, ranging from two to six feet. Just as PPF technology has massively improved, so has the installation process. A wicked-looking cutting machine carves the sheets into custom-cut pieces. It’s connected to a database that contains detailed dimensions and templates for thousands of models. XPEL estimates that the database currently features over 80,000 bespoke templates to account for all the various trim levels, factory body kits, and the like.
First up: paint correction with a full arsenal of detailing equipment—extracting grime out of every crevice, buffing out extensive swirl marks, coaxing the gleam from the battered clearcoat. Since the paint was about to be covered forever, it needed to look its best.
Then it was time to apply the film. And when PFS said full coverage, they meant it. If a body part presented an obstacle, it was removed. Out came the headlights and taillights. Aero bits loosened. Side mirrors liberated from their perches on the doors.
Photo by: Performance Film Solutions
Even the windshield received a layer of PPF. (Which was probably a smart choice to make, considering I’m on my third windshield.) Of all the forward-facing body parts, only the headlights escaped such loving coverage. The oversight is intentional: the UV coating on the surface of the headlight clusters doesn’t play well with the adhesive used on protective films. But at least a headlight can be easily replaced.
Once the glue had set and the film was stable, PFS treated the GT4 to a second layer of protection with XPEL’s Fusion Plus ceramic coating. Since even the best PPF is susceptible to collecting impurities, an uncoated film would still require regular washing and waxing to keep it fresh.
The ceramic coating creates a nonporous barrier on the film’s surface, nearly eliminating routine bathtime. Ceramic coating was also applied to the wheels and calipers. XPEL says the coating can handle temps up to 1,400 degrees Fahrenheit, so I’ll be curious to see how it holds up on those bits under the intense heat of track days.
Photo by: Performance Film Solutions
A week later, the GT4 was ready. It doesn’t look new. It looks better. Brewster Green paint vibrant in the afternoon sun, eternal marks of adventure proudly on display, both now immortalized underneath a protective layer of film.
Now that I have my own Bodie, the exterior is no longer a visual journal. No more tree rings. No more notches on a doorframe to chronicle ridiculously fun exploits. But that’s okay, because it’s got more than enough physical evidence to last a lifetime.
From here on out, any permanent impressions I make with the GT4 will be preserved not on its surface, but solely within my memory.
