Friday we part ways. I drove the Miata in anger for the first time in months, throttle locked to the floor around each and every bend, rear tires breaking free in an almost telepathically communicated manor.
I know this car. I know it better than anything else I’ve ever driven. I know how to squeeze every last drop from it, I know how to take it to limit—take it *past* the limit—and most importantly, how to safely reign it in.
Braking late enough pre-corner to lock up the winter tires, a healthy dose of gas keeps the slide manageable even through the off-camber turn on potted asphalt. Suspension set for zero body roll, isolating each corner where almost anything else on the road would be diving maniacally at those speeds, those g forces.
And the sound. That glorious sound. You hear about overnighting parts from Japan quite often in these circles... Well. My exhaust? It WAS overnighted from Japan. It is something special, and I wish I had a way to share it in person with all of you. Let’s just say that on the rare occasions someone else drives my car, all the warm feelings bubble up to the top again upon hearing that throaty startup sound, hearing the revs climb, the aural symphony as another person blasts through the gears.
I’m going to miss you, red. I knew from the first test drive—the first 5 seconds of the first test drive—that I needed you. And a month later, on that first adventure on what has know become known as Drift Mountain? I realized how much impact a car can make. We’ve been through a lot together.
Whoever is cutting onions.. Knock it off!