The roadster bug bit me a long time ago when a high school friend started driving his mom's crappy Mercury Capri. For two teenage guys, it was a pretty horrible ride to be seen in cruising around Scottsdale, Arizona. But hey, we were young and white and carefree. Despite all that, I loved the feel of the nimble handling and the open-air freedom that little heap dished out.
Fast forward a decade and some change, not much is different. I'm still white, relatively young (compared to a Galapagos tortoise) and I'm still carefree. When I told my friends that I was going to buy a Miata, I got a lot of strange looks and questions about my sexual orientation. My ladies (my wife and mother-in-law) thought it was "too small" to be driving in a sea of Los Angeles SUVs. Being too stupid to listen to what anyone else thinks, I decided it was time to make my roadster move.
I spied a squeaky clean 97 NA body Miata down San Diego way. By squeaky clean I mean it was relatively clean and the hood squeaked the whole drive back to LA. With a gooey handful of lube, I said goodbye to the squeaks and checked out the situation under the hood.
The stock 1.8 liter, 16-valve engine was happy to rev but sounded a little too much like a wet-dry vac. I popped on a Goodwin Racing Monsterflow intake with a freakishly big foam filter, and the little engine that could found its growl. Rawr! While I was poking around the engine bay, I threw on a fat strut tower brace to chill out the shimmy-and-shake those nasty potholes and rough roads can unleash.
The car's natural good looks and sexy lines were coated in dark blue paint and a tan leather interior. The gold pinstripes down both sides of the body were nappy, so I covered them with a mellow silver tribal graphic stick-on that was just like a Detroit crack whore, cheap and easy. Then it was time to put a fierce face on my little ride so I ordered up a set of Great White grille teeth, my favorite accessory eva! Kapow! The Miata had a grille that would represent my bad intentions in your rearview mirror. Git outta my way!
To get the most out of the corners, some new shoes were in order. The helpful homeys at Miata.net (a bunch of middle-aged guys who bought Miatas during their mid-life crisis, but whatever) helped me pick out some Toyo Proxes T1Rs whose low weight keeps the unsprung mass to a minimum. Miatas really hate to go running with heavy boots.
Sadly, my money and time were dwindling faster than the Earth's natural resources. I was left to enjoy the Blue Max in its mostly stock conditions. But when Mazda made the Miata, they got it all right from the genesis to the revelations. Their "jinba ittai" philosophy of horse and rider as one paid off in spades. I don't know nuthin' about relations with a horse, but this rider sure was happy.
I've fallen head over heels in love with this car. The way the two of us dance together up and down Angeles Crest was a thing of beauty. Get out the Barry White and put on the slow jams and even LA traffic couldn't break our rhythm. You don't need a big overpowered, kidney-punching, blow-off chirping show car to FEEL like you own the scene. If you're Zen about it, a Miata has everything you need. You can drive it all day at nine-tenths and it won't beat you up, break down, get you arrested or put you to sleep.
What the car lacks in flash, it makes up for in passion and driving pleasure. It's got all the speed and spirit you need to make that douche bag on Mulholland Drive in his M5 look like a granny pushing a shopping cart. Wind it up into a long sweeping turn and you can set the rear end swingin' out solid and bring it back without spilling your gingerbread latte. It's got so much balance and poise that it makes Michelle Kwan look like that two-legged dog on YouTube (I know you saw it and LYFAO).
I don't know what I'm gonna do when I have to get rid of my Miata and get something a little more family-friendly. I guess it will be just like that first girl you crushed out on. No matter whatever or whoever you end up with later, you still get to keep that picture of her in your heart. God, you were adorable, Mericia. Call Me.
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