Luft Tokyo, and The Rally to Magarigawa with Type 7 and RoundCat Racing

Words and photos by: Lane Skelton

Back in January, I recieved a text from my good friend Clark Sopper.

“Come to Luft Tokyo, and Kaz and I are doing a drive to Magarigawa the next day with Type 7.”

I hadn’t planned on going. I’d just been to Japan five months prior. But some trips aren’t planned…they’re triggered. This was one of those.

Flight booked immediately.

I flew out alone. Landed in Tokyo, checked into a small hotel in Shibuya, dropped my bags, and went straight to a Type 7 dinner at a tucked-away izakaya. Tight space, loud conversation, cold drinks—the kind of place where the trip really begins before you even realize it.

The following day was the Luftgekuhlt load-in. Not the show, not yet, but a preview of what was to come. Cars trickling in on giant transporters with gullwing doors. The quiet before the storm.

Later that day, Ali and Simon arrived. We made our way to Ebisu, an area I hadn’t stayed in before. It’s the kind of neighborhood that reveals itself slowly. Good food everywhere, side streets worth wandering, just enough chaos to keep things interesting, and a stones throw from a 7-11 and a Family Mart. It was the perfect home base.

We had a loose plan: eat well, dig through watch shops, tool stores, camera spots. On previous trips, I’d always held back, rarely bought anything, but always regretted it. This time was different. This time, I was taking something home.

Saturday started early. Japan doesn’t do mornings the way you’d hope, but somehow we found a Verve Coffee open at 7am. Santa Cruz, in Tokyo. It made sense in a strange way.

Then, Luft.

Set above Ginza on a decommissioned stretch of expressway, the location felt improbable. From the street, there was nothing—no indication of what was happening above. But once you made your way up, it opened completely.

Hundreds of air-cooled Porsches. Thousands of people.

The spectrum was the point. 962s sitting not far from a red 959. RWB builds alongside Gunther Werks cars. 356s, 914s, Speedsters, rows of 911s. A silver 904 in particular that stoppeid me longer than expected. It wasn’t about any single car. It was about all of them, together, in that place.

We got in early. Quiet moments before the gates opened. Enough time to move slowly, to take it in. I picked up one of the 50 Leen Customs badges made for the event—first purchase of the trip.

After a few laps and a handful of unexpected reunions, we left.

RUF had a small presence nearby. Then Nakano Broadway—dense, chaotic, full of temptation. Within minutes, John bought a Michael Schumacher Omega Speedmaster. Ali found something he’d been chasing. I nearly bought a Grand Seiko, but didn’t. That decision stayed with me for a while.

A small shop selling nothing but old car and motorcycle brochures felt like a time capsule. We all left with something.

Dinner that night revolved around beef. It pushed boundaries slightly—just enough to make it memorable.

The next morning we met at Clark’s house, then set off. Four of us in his tuned Honda N1, heading toward the Porsche Experience Center Tokyo for a Cars & Coffee meet-up—the staging point before the rally.

The group gathered there. Waivers signed. Routes handed out. Engines warmed.

Among the mix: Dino Dalle Carbonare in his RWB 964, Jeff Zwart in a tan 912, Larry Chen in a 997 RWB, Pat Long in a Macan, Jay Ward from Pixar. It was a cross-section of people who’ve shaped this culture in different ways, all converging for the same drive.

Because I was with the organizers, we went ahead to the destination, but we had to make a stop at 7-11 on the way there. A Corndog. Strawberry and whipped cream sandwich. Smoothie. A few other things that didn’t make sense but didn’t need to. It was a mandatory stop.

The Magarigawa Club doesn’t reveal itself immediately. You approach it, and then suddenly you’re inside it.

It feels like Jurassic Park.

Fences, scale, the way it’s been cut into the mountain—it doesn’t feel natural, and that’s exactly the point. This isn’t a track laid onto land. It’s land that’s been reshaped into a track.

It’s narrow. Uncomfortably narrow at first glance—easily half the width of a typical circuit. Runoff is minimal. Consequence feels close.

And then the paddock.

It’s quiet. Refined. More spa than racetrack. The contrast is disorienting.

Cars began to arrive. Then they kept arriving.

Once assembled, the group moved out onto the circuit for parade laps, followed by sessions broken down by pace and experience. The rhythm of the day settled in—drive, come in, talk, repeat.

At one point, 962s appeared. One of them driven by Pat Long.

There are moments in a day like that where you step back slightly and realize how unlikely it all is. This was one of them.

Dinner that evening was at the circuit, and it was excellent.

Clark and Kaz had built something that felt considered. Not overdone, not forced. Just right.

The following day was open.

We moved through the city without much structure—tool shops, markets, small purchases that started to add up. A carbon fiber ruler. Shirts from Autobacs. Coffee stops in between.

Simon and Ali went deep on tools. Then unexpectedly deep into table tennis—custom paddles and all.

I found a Japan-exclusive Seiko tied to the Shinkansen. That felt right.

Camera shops came next. Simon picked up a Minolta. I bought a Canon AE-1 and a roll of black and white film, which I shot that same night.

At some point, Simon bought a Hello Kitty Honda motorcycle.

Dinner with Clark, Jen, and their son Max grounded everything again. A delicious Italian spot near their place(Japan knows how to do Italian food!). Pizza, drinks, fun conversation.

The last day stretched out unexpectedly. Flight delays bought us time.

More wandering. More shops. A tiny watch store barely the size of a garage, packed beyond reason. Ali found Seiko rally clocks. We drifted through camera stores again. I accidentally bought the wrong film—medium format instead of 35mm.

It didn’t matter.

Eventually, the trip ended the way they always do, with high fives and goodbyes. I left from Narita. They flew out of Haneda.

My fourth trip to Japan in under two years.

Each time feels different. Not because the place changes, but because your way of moving through it does. New neighborhoods, new routines, new details that didn’t exist the last time.

Ebisu still feels unfinished to me. Like there’s more there.

Luft Tokyo was a reason to go. But it wasn’t the only reason to be there.

Sometimes you don’t need one.

Sometimes you just go, and I can’t wait to go back.

Clark, when’s the next RoundCat Rally?