Automotive journalists will hate the Boxster Spyder's top. Here's why: I jumped into the Spyder for a trip to Comerica Park in downtown Detroit. It was sunny and hot, so I looked around for the electric switch that would open the roof. Nope. Then I saw the central locking device, reached up and unlatched it, and pulled back on the carbon fiber header. The top collapsed on my head. I crawled out from under the canvas and carbon fiber pile, and realized that this top came in pieces that needed to be managed separately.
I got out the owner's manual and began the tedious process of actually following the directions, page by endless page. The first four instructions, each illustrated and taking up two pages said, in so many words, 1. Open the rear hatch. 2. Locate the prop bar. 3. Locate the hole that the prop bar goes into. 4. Put the prop bar in that hole.
I was definitely going to miss the Tigers' opening pitch.
The upshot is, it took thirty minutes to complete the entire operation by the book. My synopsis of that procedure is, there are three parts to the top: the upper canvas roof, the aluminum stretcher bar, and the snap-in back window panel called the Weatherguard. Three pieces that hook, latch, and snap together to form an amazingly taut, beautifully engineered, and great-looking upper structure.
You can leave off the weatherguard and air flows through while the top acts as a sun umbrella. If the weather goes to hell, it only takes a minute the secure the five back-window snaps into place and you're snug as a bug.
So never mind the whining journos. Any owner will be grateful for the overachiever German directions, the Teutonic overengineering, and the absolutely HOT look of the Spyder, with or without the top in place.
Jean Jennings, President and Editor-In-Chief