It does not drive like a modern car, and that is the entire point.
Getting in
The first thing that surprises a new driver is the pedals. In a classic 911 the pedals are floor-hinged and offset toward the center of the car, pushed inward by the front wheel arch. Your feet do not land where muscle memory from a modern car expects them. The pedals also hinge from the floor rather than the top, so the action feels different under your foot. It takes a few minutes to recalibrate, and then it feels natural, but the first impression is of a car that was laid out by people who did not care what you were used to.
The driving position sits you more upright than a modern sports car, with thin pillars and a low cowl and glass all around. Visibility is extraordinary by current standards. You sit in the car rather than down inside it, and you can see the corners of it, which is part of why these cars are so confidence-inspiring once you trust them.
The cold start
An air-cooled engine has a starting ritual, and on the carbureted and early injected cars it is a real one. Cold, the engine needs a moment, some throttle, a particular touch that every owner learns for their specific car. The flat-six fires with a hard, mechanical, slightly agricultural sound, much louder and busier than a modern engine, especially when cold. The clatter softens as the oil warms and the engine comes up to temperature. Learning your car's cold-start character is one of the small intimacies of air-cooled ownership.
You do not just turn the key and go. You wake the engine, let it gather itself, and wait for it to be ready. It is a relationship, not a transaction, and owners come to love the ritual rather than resent it.
The way it moves
Once moving, the steering is the revelation. Unassisted on the earlier cars, it is heavy at parking speeds and then comes alive the moment you are rolling, feeding back the texture of the road through the wheel in a way no modern electrically-assisted system can replicate. You feel the front tires loading and unloading. You feel the camber of the road. The car talks to you constantly, and learning to listen is the whole skill.
The gearbox is mechanical and deliberate, with a longer throw than a modern car and a particular notchy precision once it warms up. You shift with intention. The engine, behind you, makes its presence felt as a sound and a weight you can sense moving when you change direction.
The tail
And then there is the famous part, the weight behind the rear axle. In normal driving it is nothing to fear. The car is stable, planted, and friendly. But the physics are always there, the engine hanging behind the rear wheels, and as you drive faster the car asks for respect. Lift off the throttle abruptly in a fast corner and the rear can step out as the weight transfers forward. Drivers raised on front-engined or mid-engined cars have to learn the air-cooled 911's particular language, the way it wants smooth inputs and rewards commitment and punishes panic.
This is not a flaw. It is the character. The air-cooled 911 demands that you learn it, and once you have, it gives back a connection and an involvement that almost nothing built today can match. The first drive is a little awkward, a little intimidating, and completely unforgettable. You spend the first ten minutes recalibrating and the rest of your life chasing the feeling.