Picture this. It's dusk in Blue Ridge Mountains. You're winding along a road that, until just this moment, you'd only experienced in your dreams. From time to time, the canopy of trees that cloaks the snaking asphalt parts to let a sliver of moonlight pass.

All you hear is a rising and falling of the engine's revs. All you see is a wickedly winding white line that separates you from the darkness. All you feel is a crisp evening breeze rushing through your hair.

It's been five minutes since you reached the mountain pass and started down the northern side; it seems like only a few precious seconds. Suddenly, you burst from the protective grasp of the maples into the expanse of valley that spans toward Northern Georgia. The ribbon of road straightens, and you feel your right foot push reflexively to the floor. The engine's song climbs sweetly, and the stiffening wind chills the back of your neck.

In your headlights, wisps of steam curl upward, the road wet from a recent shower. But now the clouds have parted. In front of you, the brilliant moon illuminates Boxsters as far as your eyes can see. Behind you, it's the same.

Can you picture it? You should experience it. Blue Ridge Boxster Summit...