Desert Curves and Redlines: Track Days at Chuckwalla in My Porsche 944 Armadillo
I can’t wait to do it again!
There’s something magical about waking up early, loading the car, and heading east from San Diego toward the desert. The destination? Chuckwalla Valley Raceway — a technical ribbon of asphalt laid down in the middle of nowhere, framed by solitude, sand, and the sound of high-revving engines.
My car for the trip was my vintage red Porsche 944 turbo affectionately nicknamed Armadillo. It’s not a powerhouse by today’s standards, but it’s balanced, analog, and built to reward precision over brute force. Perfect for a day like this.
The drive out is part of the experience. From San Diego, you wind through the San Jacinto Mountains — peaks that rise over 10,000 feet — offering a canyon-carving warm-up full of elevation changes and curve after curve. Then the road spills down into the open desert, tracing the southern edge of Joshua Tree National Park, where rock formations and desert sprawl replace pine trees and fog. It’s the kind of road trip that clears your head before the adrenaline takes over.
Chuckwalla isn’t a race — at least, not in the traditional sense. This was a Time Trial event organized by the San Diego PCA (Porsche Club of America), where you’re grouped with similar cars based on make, model, and performance class. You’re not racing others wheel-to-wheel; instead, you’re chasing your own best lap time. It’s competition in its purest form: against yourself, your car, and the clock.
Track days out here are special. Late winter in the desert means cold mornings — you can see your breath during the driver’s meeting — but the sun works fast, and by midday, it’s comfortably in the 70s. You run in timed groups throughout the day, which means you’re not on track constantly. There’s plenty of downtime to tinker with your setup, talk cars with other drivers, and enjoy the rare silence between run groups, broken only by the occasional roar of someone flying down the front straight.
Chuckwalla is no easy course. It’s a technical challenge with elevation changes baked into nearly every turn. It forces you to adapt, lap after lap, pushing your limits while staying within what your car can handle. The combination of physical demand and mental intensity is electric. You’re consumed by the moment — no phones, no distractions — just you, the track, and the car underneath you. It’s one of the few places in life where you’re fully present.
I’ve done a fair bit of driving on track, but I’m not a great driver — just a committed enthusiast who loves the challenge. Chuckwalla rewards that kind of mindset. It pushes you hard and teaches you fast. And just when you think you’ve got it figured out, the next lap humbles you with a late apex or off-camber drop you didn’t quite get right.
It’s exhausting. It’s exhilarating. And you can’t wait to do it again.
Honestly, it’s probably for the best there isn’t a track near me. If there were, I’d be out there every weekend, burning gas and chewing through tires, chasing the next tenth of a second, turn by turn.
But when I do make it out to Chuckwalla with the Armadillo, it reminds me why I fell in love with driving in the first place.
