And so it is with the Miata. I fell for this marvel of a car years ago, and have never been able to get it out of my system. Not that I ever really tried. It’s stylish and nimble, in a league of its own. A classic roadster, with all the power and speed anyone really needs.
I didn’t think it was possible, but the 2013 Miata was sexier than ever. My satiny silver tester had fierce 17-inch gunmetal gray wheels, and a black hardtop convertible roof. Opening the door, I sank into its embrace, as welcoming as a lover’s caress. One look told me everything I had to know – there were no fancy lights, monitors, or mysterious gauges. No, this car was meant to be driven, plain and simple.
It leapt forward at my slightest whisper, and eagerly devoured the road. Blissfully, we drove along, rejoicing in the warm scent of newly mown grass and sun-soaked asphalt. The gears seemed to ripple under my nudging fingertips, floating from one to the next. Accompanied by the honeyed snarl of the exhaust, we flew along the highway, wrapped in ecstasy.
And as we passed other cars, drivers pretended not to notice how much fun we were having. There they were, enclosed in their steel and glass cocoons, drudging along the road, while we giggled and went a little faster than we should. Feeling light headed and light hearted, the Miata seduced me over and over again. This is a car that knows how to please a driver. This is a car that has all the right moves, and responds to every touch.
Because with the Miata, it’s a consummately pure driving experience. Your every contour is snugly and firmly cradled so that you can focus on the road ahead. It doesn’t just hug the curves, it teases, and then envelopes them. Every trip, no matter where, no matter how long or short, feels like an indulgence because it is. This is what driving is meant to be. There are no sensors or systems to distract you because, let’s face it, if you need a backup camera to park a Miata, you don’t deserve to be in there. This isn’t a nanny state you’re driving around!
Finally, we came home and pulled into our tiny parking spot, fit for a Miata. The convertible top quietly rose and hugged the windshield.
And I went upstairs. And had a cigarette.