My car buddy Sage is a serial car purchaser; he’s always got one vehicle on the market while searching for his next automotive fling. Thus, when I learned that he just added a 2000 Porsche Boxster to his stable, I knew I needed to drive his first-generation 1991 Mazda Miata (NA) before it was sold and gone. So I called him up and made my request…
Sage arrives at my house one hour before sunset and double parks in my street. His British racing green Miata is a lightly modified example that is not hiding its age or 280,000 miles all that well; dings and paint touch-up abounds. At least the modifications have taken the hairdresser out of this Miata. It’s hunkered down on coilovers and its aggressively-offset wheels fill the aftermarket fender flares, which are riveted to the body. It looks good, mean even!
I slip into the driver seat and find myself sitting low, way low. If I were to open the door, I could touch the pavement with my hand. My butt must be at most five inches above the ground. The seating position is comfortable, the shifter falls right into my hand, and the aftermarket steering wheel is the right distance from my body. My only complaint is that the wheel is a little too low, and it blocks the upper ranges on the speedometer. No problem, considering the Miata’s power, I probably won’t be doing more than 50 mph anyway!
I drive through my neighborhood, negotiating a string of four-way stops. I am clearly not used to driving convertibles; even though the top is down and I have unrestricted vision in most directions, I find myself exclusively hunching over to peer at traffic through the small front windscreen. I need to think outside the box! The top edge of the windscreen is high enough that it does not block my forward vision, but it does force my eyes slightly downwards. The rear-view mirror is directly in my line of sight, but the mirror is small enough to not be a nuisance.
The controls of this aged Miata feel alive, if a bit stiff and unassisted. The steering wheel is a little heavy to turn—is it power-assisted at all?—and I wonder if the racing-inspired small diameter wheel has increased the effort. Nevertheless, the car responds accurately, even quickly, to my inputs. The shifter throws are very short, notchy and tight, though the synchros feel rather tired, and the transmission resists my gear changes a bit. Fifth gear is the hardest to engage. Still, the short throws are sweet, and I am enjoying the fact that I can feel the engine and transmission vibrating through the shifter. The clutch pedal has a short travel but is very intuitive to use. Sage points out that the Miata can get away with such short travel because the low power engine has no need for a heavy clutch.
We leave the city streets of Santa Monica and merge onto the Pacific Coast Highway, which is currently clogged with evening commute traffic. The bumper of a Lincoln Navigator SUV stares me straight in the face when I head-check left to see if I can change lanes. While these first-generation Miatas feel so right-sized when driving in isolation, they feel downright squishable compared to the traffic with which they share the road!
After a quick stop to put six gallons of fuel in the tank (bringing the needle from the 1/4 mark to 3/4), we head into Malibu. The horizon over the ocean is surprisingly sharp today; all too often, Los Angeles’s smog or marine layer hides that feature from view. I note that the sun is clearly on its way to setting.
As I turn up Las Flores Canyon Rd. Sage reminds me that the brakes on the Miata are not as strong as those in my 2011 BMW M3. I test them on a short straightaway and come to a moderately quick stop. They take a fair amount of muscle to engage; considering how much effort I put into the pedal, I would have expected more bite. At least the pedal is reassuringly firm. Sage recently put on new pads and rotors and flushed the brake fluid.
I look for comparisons when I drive a new car. This Miata’s heavy yet tactile steering, its blunt if capable brakes and its patience-rewarding shifter leave me struggling to find likeness in the modern cars I’ve driven. The closest match is my father’s 1963 Porsche 356, another small convertible with heavy—and heavily aged—controls. The 356 and the Miata are both cars that keenly communicate their mechanical nature to the driver. The modern benchmarks for how cars should drive and perform have left the NA Miata and 356 in the dust, but there may be more joy in piloting these old vehicles.
Las Flores Canyon steepens, and its twists tighten. The Miata’s steering is a willing partner in the climb; its tight ratio rack makes the car very reactive to my inputs. Sage thinks that the Miata may have as quick of a rack as my old Evo IX, but I disagree. To me, the Evo was much quicker at turn-in, and it jumped into corners with the smallest amount of lock. The Evo also had very highly-assisted power steering, so the effort to turn the wheel was low. Sage’s Miata, on the other hand, has low assistance, heavy steering that is nevertheless matched to a commendably quick turn-in. Quick, tight, heavy and precise, it’s a rewarding steer, but the experience very different than the Evo.
While the steering may be an eager partner in the climb, the engine is not. The small four-cylinder coarsely labors to redline, revving as slowly as I’ve ever experienced. There is a bit more oomph in the delivery as it approaches 5k rpm, but the extra energy does not carry to the redline. I take little joy from running the engine up through the revs; finding the redline was a slow process on the flat PCH, and it is ever so much slower on steep Las Flores Canyon. At least the car responds well to the throttle input, snapping forward immediately when I add throttle. No turbo lag here…obviously, as there is no turbo!
Exiting a corner, we hit some nasty bumps, and the Miata launches me off my seat cushion and into the safety belt. This aftermarket suspension does not have much travel, and Sage has set the front shocks to full-stiff in an attempt to keep the upsized tires from tearing into the fender liner. At the country road speeds we are going, the ride is still fine, but I don’t personally require much luxury in my cars. I’m even amused at how the Miata’s short wheelbase results in a choppy ride over road heaves.
I navigate towards more tight twisties so that I can continue enjoying turning the wheel. Even the tightest roads are generously sized for the Miata. The Miata is narrow enough that I can play with entry points, apexes and exit points, all while staying between the double yellow and white shoulder lines.
I reach the mountain’s summit, and the scent of the sagebrush fills the car, sweet and summery. Here is the beauty of a convertible: sunset lit clouds above, scents of trees, ocean and toasted brakes swirling around, the rush of the wind tugging your hat off your head.
Sage takes a turn behind the wheel, driving us slowly down Stunt Rd (those brakes!), pulling a U-turn and then hustling us back up to the top. The Miata’s brakes and cornering feel so much faster from the passenger seat. Sage is driving hard enough to rub the left front tire against the fender liner anyway. Oh well! Yet, for all of his hustle, Sage hardly hits 60 mph on Stunt Rd’s final straightaway. Good luck getting yourself thrown in jail in this car!
The sun has finally dipped below the horizon. We take in the sunset colors and then head down the mountain towards the hippy enclave that is Topanga. The road’s many sharp turns are too tight to really enjoy in my M3, but in this car, the turns are a chance to savor the Miata’s quick turn-in, flat cornering, and short mechanical shifts. I can see the allure of this convertible; it feels alive and mechanical, and its small size and open-top become assets on a mountain road. Can I see myself buying one? Maybe not. I want a freer revving engine, better functioning synchros and sharper brakes for my money, plus the lack of track day safety is a hard sell. Still, for a coastal mountain road on a calm fall evening, I get it.
Mike's Steering Column 