Three Days Driving Around Lake Tahoe

With the crisp weather of early fall upon us, we rented a car and set out on a road trip around Lake Tahoe.

And speaking of the car we rented, we really do need to talk about the car we rented. It was a Porsche 718, and there was quite a story behind it. A few months earlier, a new mobile game called Neverness to Everness had launched with a Porsche collaboration, adding the 918 Spyder, one of Porsche’s flagship limited-production sports cars, to the game. That gave me the idea of trying one. The 918 itself was obviously a little too expensive: at around a million dollars, I could neither buy one nor find one to rent.

So I started looking into what else Porsche made and discovered that its entry-level sports cars were surprisingly affordable. I began entertaining the idea of getting one, only to find that they seemed remarkably difficult to buy. It was not like ordering another model. If you want a Cayenne, for example, you can configure everything you want online and have the factory build it. Orders for Porsche sports cars, however, reportedly depend heavily on dealer allocations. A dealer can order only as many cars as it has allocations; configuring one on the website does not mean the factory will necessarily build it for you. On top of that, production of this generation of gasoline-powered 718s had already ended in 2025, with the next generation originally planned as an electric model.

That meant anyone who wanted one had to choose from the cars already in circulation and take whatever configurations were available. I searched Porsche’s website and found only a little over twenty certified cars for sale across the entire United States. There were, of course, plenty of uncertified used cars, but then assessing their condition and figuring out what had been done to them would be up to the buyer.

The 718 was not particularly expensive, either—only a little more than the price of two ordinary cars. The base 718 was one of the least expensive models in Porsche’s lineup, below even the Panamera and Cayenne. That was very different from the Lamborghinis and Ferraris I had imagined, cars that might cost ten or even dozens of times as much as something ordinary. The 718 had filled a sizable gap in my automotive knowledge.

Then I researched how to test-drive one, and the internet’s answer was essentially: you cannot. At a Porsche dealer, either there is one or there isn’t. If there is, you can drive it. But with so few available nationwide, the nearest dealer with one was more than a hundred kilometers away. Making a special trip that far for a ten-minute drive seemed rather pointless. The internet also said that a different dealer could have a car transported to your local dealership for a test drive, but only if you told them you were seriously interested in buying that specific car. Moving it would cost at least a thousand dollars, so the odds of a dealer doing that for someone who might not buy it were extremely low. Perhaps a dealer in a generous mood might decide you were a promising customer, but I would not count on it.

The best test drive, then, was to rent one. So we did. And since there was no point in renting it just to sit around, we built an entire road trip around it. All I wanted was to try the car, and somehow that became a vacation.

To be fair, we had originally hoped to drive around Iceland that summer but could not go for various reasons, so this trip also made up for some of what we had missed.

Here was the Porsche 718 we rented.

At first glance, it looked extremely cool. After looking at it for a while, it still looked extremely cool.

First, the driving experience. Judged purely as a driving experience, it was excellent. Many of the things the internet said might take some getting used to were actually fine.

The car sits extremely low, so driving it feels as if you are sitting on the ground. Honestly, that sensation was not particularly pronounced. I could certainly tell that I was close to the pavement, but I did not notice it affecting the driving itself. The length of the nose was a more serious issue. The nose is already long, and sitting so low makes it easy to misjudge the distance between the front of the car and the vehicle ahead. That took some adjustment.

Then there was visibility to either side. California driving rules require you not only to check the mirrors before changing lanes, but also to look over your shoulder for cars in the blind spot. Looking back in this car was not very useful, because the bodywork blocked most of the view behind. From the driver’s seat, the view to either side extended only about as far back as my own body; beyond that, it became difficult to see anything. In practice, besides turning to check, I relied more on the blind-spot monitor and the positions of cars in the mirrors when changing lanes. Anyone accustomed to looking over their shoulder before every lane change would need some time to adapt.

Then there was the engine placement. I drove the car for more than ten hours and never felt that the mid-engine, rear-wheel-drive layout made any difference to me. Perhaps it would become apparent on wet or snowy roads, or while drifting. People online also said that the engine sound came from behind rather than ahead, but I did not find that particularly noticeable either. In normal driving, the engine noise in this car and any other car seemed like surround sound: it came from inside the vehicle, with no clear front or rear. As for volume, it was perhaps a little louder than other cars under ordinary conditions, but not dramatically so. Then again, my own car is already quite noisy, which may be why this one did not seem especially different.

If I had to name one obvious difference, it appeared when I stepped hard on the accelerator. In an ordinary gasoline car, the engine goes from a quiet hum to a loud hum—the low mechanical hum of an internal-combustion engine, not the whine of an EV. The 718 did much more than hum. The engine gave off a deep roar, punctuated now and then by sharp pops from the exhaust, and the sound unmistakably came from behind. I found it exciting, though merely exciting. A serious motorsports enthusiast would probably feel an immediate surge of adrenaline. Starting the car was similar: ignition produced a very loud growl, perfectly confirming what people said online—the entire parking lot knew you had arrived.

The steering was heavy and extremely responsive. Presumably this was what people meant by “driving feel.” Because it responded so readily, I gripped the wheel hard for much of the trip, which became tiring. In fact, the car was very stable in a straight line. If I relaxed my grip a little, it continued directly ahead without wandering. That, too, probably took some getting used to; otherwise, holding the wheel so tightly all the time was exhausting.

In short, the throttle was fierce, the acceleration quick, the steering responsive, the chassis low, and the car planted. If I were judging only its “driving feel,” I would say it delivered everything promised. It was genuinely thrilling, rather like threading through traffic in Need for Speed.

Now for the parts of the experience that do not show up online—the things you discover only after spending real time with the car.

First was the position of the doors. Online descriptions said that because the seats sit so deep, getting in is like lowering yourself into a hole. It requires some bodily maneuvering, unlike stepping into an SUV or a large sedan and simply dropping into the seat. I understood that the first time I got in. But I understood it much more deeply in a cramped parking lot. On our final day, we stopped for a meal at a place with tiny, crowded spaces. Once parked, the door could open only about thirty degrees. Getting out was awkward, but I still had not grasped the full seriousness of the problem. Then it was time to get back in.

Opening the door exposes almost the entire cockpit. The rear edge of the door sits behind the seat, alongside the bodywork behind the driver’s seat, generally about ten centimeters farther back. In a normal car, the rear edge of the front door lines up roughly with the middle of the front seatback. Here it was nearly twenty centimeters farther behind. When the door opens only a little and you have to squeeze in sideways from the rear, that difference becomes a problem. I put one leg inside, only to discover that my foot was still nowhere near the floor and almost landed on the seat. I had to stretch much farther forward. In the end, I wriggled into the car in something close to a split.

The conclusion was simple: if the door cannot open fully, getting into the car is difficult. I recommend learning the splits first. Depending on how far the door opens, a front split will usually suffice. In extreme cases, however, a side split may also be required. Alternatively, simply avoid places where the door cannot open.

Next came the rear trunk. Because the engine sits behind the seats and immediately next to the trunk, the cargo area becomes noticeably warm after the car has been running for a while. Anything that needs to stay frozen clearly does not belong there. Buy ice cream at the grocery store, put it in the trunk, and drive home, and it will probably be thoroughly melted in no time.

Then there were the front and rear trunk lids. Both require a firm downward press to close. The problem was precisely that firm downward press. Modern vehicles—especially SUVs—usually have powered tailgates that require no effort at all. Even without one, you can generally grab an interior handle, pull down hard, and let momentum close the trunk without touching the exterior bodywork.

Not in this car. Closing either trunk requires touching the exterior and pressing down firmly. Under ordinary circumstances that may be no great issue, but it becomes one in two situations. The first is a long road trip like ours. The body was not exactly filthy, but it was covered in dust, and we really did not want to put our hands on either lid. There was no choice, so every closing left a large fingerprint. The second is extreme heat, as in Phoenix. On a 45°C day there, the surface of a car can exceed 50 or even 60°C—hot enough to fry an egg, as countless online videos demonstrate. Now imagine pressing down hard on that surface with your bare hand to close the trunk. Are you trying to sear your own palm, slow-roast it, or simply recreate a medieval torture device?

From the standpoint of daily practicality, then, the car certainly had its share of problems.

Which brought me to the final verdict after the full experience: should I get one? My answer was no. I had rented it as an extended test drive before buying, only to finish the test drive and decide not to buy. At least the test drive had done its job.

The most important reason was this: the biggest problem with driving this car was that I had to drive it.

That was it. The reason really was that simple. The longer you spend behind the wheel, the more you appreciate the value of automated driving. However good the 718’s “driving feel” might be, I fundamentally did not want to drive.

It reminded me of a video I had seen on TikTok. A man who had bought a McLaren said he deeply regretted it and that the car was worse than a Tesla costing one tenth as much. Buy the Tesla, he said; if you want to drive a supercar, rent one for a few days. It would not cost that much. At the time, I did not entirely understand and assumed he was engaging in a rather elaborate humblebrag. Now I understood completely. If someone asked for my recommendation today, I too would unhesitatingly suggest buying an EV. If you want to drive a supercar, rent one for a few days.

All right. After all that, a perfectly good road trip had somehow become an automotive lecture. Back to the trip. Our original purpose was simply to drive, so we deliberately designed long, indirect routes in both directions, with one full loop around Lake Tahoe in the middle. That was essentially the entire plan. Then we searched online and discovered that the lake was apparently a proper, extensively developed vacation destination, with all sorts of activities rather than merely a natural body of water. We booked two: a dinner cruise at sunset on the first evening and transparent kayaking on the lake the next morning.

While we were still driving on the first day, however, we received notice that the kayak outing had been canceled because of strong winds forecast over the lake the following day. It was a shame that we would not get to paddle out onto the water. Those transparent kayaks were quite the social-media attraction, too.

On the first day, we followed CA-88 toward Lake Tahoe. As for the scenery along the way, there really was not much of it. Based on what we actually saw, nothing was especially striking. The roadside generally looked like this. Calling it beautiful scenery would be a challenge.

That evening, we boarded a lake cruise and ate dinner while supposedly watching the sunset. I say “watching the sunset,” but you could barely see it. There was no ocean horizon here; mountains surrounded the lake, and the sun simply dropped behind them. By the time it disappeared completely, the sky was still bright. Some sunset. We treated it as a lake-view cruise instead.

On the second day, the early-morning kayak outing had been canceled, so our only remaining plan was to drive all the way around the lake ourselves. We were immediately stunned by the traffic at Sand Harbor. This was where the kayaking should have taken place; now we could only enter the park on our own.

We were circling the lake counterclockwise. Perhaps most people went clockwise because that put the lake on the passenger side and made it easier to pull into viewpoints. Whatever the reason, there seemed to be very little counterclockwise traffic. When we reached Sand Harbor, cars on our side were moving normally and could turn left straight into the park. Traffic in the opposite direction, however, was doomed. There was only one lane in that direction, and vehicles entering the park moved exceptionally slowly, largely because cars inside had to inch along while searching for parking. The entrance admitted perhaps one car every fifteen seconds. Since the highway had only that one lane in each direction, anyone approaching from that side was trapped in the line whether or not they wanted to enter the park.

Judging by the situation, parking inside must have been extremely tight. If nobody was leaving, going in would accomplish nothing for us. We thought it over and decided to leave. We could return for kayaking some other time; there was no need to join the mess today.

As we continued around the lake, the line in the opposite direction stretched on for several kilometers. Heaven knew how long it would take to clear. At that pace, the cars at the back would wait at least several hours. It was hard to imagine what anyone was getting out of this journey.

In short, consider this a grave warning: never drive clockwise past Sand Harbor in the morning. Whether you intend to enter the park or not, you are finished.

Continuing around the lake, we passed Kings Beach, Sugar Pine Point State Park, D. L. Bliss State Park, Emerald Bay, and several random viewpoints along the road.

If you were not pursuing specific attractions, the scenery along the road was quite good. If you were pursuing a particular attraction, however, you might be disappointed.

If you zoom infinitely far into the panorama above, you can see an older gentleman paddling naked.

Why was he allowed to go kayaking? There really was wind that day. The commercial kayak operator may have decided the risk was too high and canceled, but private paddlers were evidently still going out as usual.

At Sugar Pine Point State Park, we found these rails extending into the water. And there was absolutely nobody there. If this were in China, a photogenic spot like this would have a line stretching to the ends of the earth. Here, nobody cared. People seemed to prefer entirely natural scenery such as beaches and lakeshores.

At Emerald Bay, we looked from shore at Lake Tahoe’s only island. We had only just circled it by boat the night before.

And the houses along the shore.

And with that, the day’s drive was over.

Many stretches of the road around Lake Tahoe have only one lane in each direction. Whenever traffic backs up at a park entrance as it had that morning, the entire road effectively implodes. Fortunately, going counterclockwise meant that we never encountered another jam like it that day.

As for the scenery at Lake Tahoe—how should I put this? It would certainly be wrong to call it bad. But saying it was truly extraordinary would also be an exaggeration. Having seen my share of dramatic landscapes, I viewed it as a pleasant destination within driving distance of home. Its level was, more or less, what that description suggests.

For lake and water scenery of this kind, Jiuzhaigou remains my first recommendation. Of all the places I have visited so far, Jiuzhaigou Valley stands in a class of its own even on a global scale. I did not find waterscapes to match it even in New Zealand, the Lord of the Rings filming location celebrated for its picture-perfect pastoral landscapes.

On the third day, we began the long trip home. We made a substantial detour south, driving first through Monitor Pass and then Sonora Pass before heading home.

Neither place was a particular attraction; each was simply a stretch of road. In principle, the two passes were the same kind of thing as Tioga Pass, Yosemite’s best-known mountain pass. Based on the Google Maps ratings and number of reviews I saw at the time, Monitor ranked worst, Sonora came next, and Tioga was way out in front.

There was no way we could detour as far as Tioga on this trip, or we would never make it home that day. In my experience, Monitor was indeed the weakest, while Sonora was much better.

This was Monitor Pass.

May it live forever in glory!

The roadside scenery looked roughly like this: true middle-of-nowhere country. To be fair, it looked remarkably similar to the photos on Google Maps. Many of these pictures were taken from inside the car and may contain all manner of peculiar reflections. Please ignore the details.

At Sonora Pass, we entered a national forest, and the scenery on both sides improved considerably. It also looked like a clearly defined stretch of road, with metal gates at both entrances. The gates were open now, of course. In winter, once snow arrived, the road would close. Signs at either end clearly warned that it was not routinely plowed to remain passable during the seasonal closure.

We continued wandering through the national forest, with trees on both sides and exactly the same view repeating for dozens of kilometers.

Then we emerged from the forest, joined the highway, and headed home. The trip was officially over.