Little Red Coquette - Mazda MX-5 Miata






Is it just me, or do the years on the north side of 50 seem to sweep upward faster than a Ferrari’s tach needle? Please excuse me as I choke on this bitter little chunk of reality, but it was nearly a quarter-century ago—way back in 1989, that Jurassic era when a cell phone costing $3000 boasted the communication capabilities of a Whoopee Cushion—that I wrote the first comprehensive road test of the most playful new automobile to appear in years, the then-brand-new Mazda MX-5 Miataroadster. “If the Miata were any more talented and tempting,” I wrote in that first review, “driving it would be illegal.”



Wheeling that very first bright red, achingly adorable Miata test car around town in late 1989 sparked the sort of public frenzy you’d expect if you’d showed up at a crowded college bar with Milli under one arm, Vanilli under the other, and a couple of the Fine Young Cannibals gnawing on your ankles. From day one, people went berserk for the thing. Friend and industry colleague Bob Hall, a onetime Motor Trend scribe who’d joined Mazda’s product planning team, was one of the driving forces behind the Miata project, and Bob and the team simply nailed it. The Miata was perfectly shaped, a gas to drive, easy on the wallet (just $13,800 at introduction), and, best of all, used oil to lubricate its moving parts—instead of transforming your garage floor into a Jackson Pollock. In an age where the heavyweight lightweights had all but disappeared—think Triumph TR-7, Fiat 124 Spider, MGB—the Miata pulled a vehicular Vince Lombardi, stepping into the void and, through sheer force of excellence, creating glory. It’s since become the world’s best-selling sports car.



That distant, intoxicating intro-duction to the reincarnation of the roadster came flooding back to me recently when, during an unexpected winter trip to snowy Michigan, I found myself behind the wheel of a 2013 Miata Club. (If you’re thinking, “Snow and ice, and you’re driving a freakin’ Miata?” you’re overlooking the endless, tail-out shenanigans to be enjoyed in a lightweight rear-driver on low-friction surfaces. Besides, this car was wearing Blizzaks—a perfect chance to sample Bridgestone’s excellent winter tires.) Within minutes, I was back in 1989 again, gunning the little four-banger to the redline, slotting the stubby shifter up and down, savoring the telepathy of a steering wheel hard-wired to the passing road. If anything, the Blizzaks were too good. After switching off the traction control, it was easy to kick out the back end with throttle—sending up lurid plumes of snow—but in truth it was all very disappointingly smooth and controlled. The Miata never came close to spinning. Indeed, this car/tire combo would make a damn decent winter ride except for one thing: The Miata has the ground clearance of a shoe. Even small ice balls whanged on the underbelly. I hate to say it, but the Miata is a lousy SUV.



Only in its third generation, albeit freshened for 2013, the Miata of today is of course different from the original. It’s bigger and more luxurious; the engine has grown; horsepower has climbed from 116 hp to 167; the manual transmission has gained a cog, and the automatic is up two—there’s even an optional power-folding hardtop, unthinkable in the purist original, yet, somehow, it hasn’t wrecked the latest one. That’s what really amazes me. For all the changes, the Miata hasn’t lost that essential simplicity of mission that made the first model so endearing. The Miata remains a joyous little driving nymph with barely enough room for a modest suitcase, but capable of transporting you as few other cars can.

Over a span of almost 25 years, I’ve watched Mazda’s masterpiece become a classic right before my eyes. Never did I imagine, way back in 1989, that one day I’d be writing about the Miata in a magazine devoted to classic cars. But upward the tach needle sweeps. And quickly.



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