THE BATTLE OF THE mx'S

MX-5 vs. MX-5

Nick W posted in Broke Swag
4y ago
4.4K

Owning these two Miatas has been like having two amazing girlfriends. I'd drive one for a while and decide it was the best, then I'd drive the other, and find myself back at square one, all confused again. The reality is, like having two girlfriends, I could no longer care for both of these lovely machines. As such, I've spent the last few months driving, tinkering, and staring intently at them, knowing that, sooner than later, I'd have to let one go.

The og

This was technically my second roadster, but it was the first one that captured my heart. I bought it from a friend several years ago already modified, I just put the icing on the cake. I thought Miata life couldn't get any better until I met her younger sister.

The younger sister

I'll admit it--I bought this car impulsively. I saw it on Craigslist, and I had to have it. It was a throwback to my NB in a more modern package. Much like the NB, it had already been setup for track duty, and I'm always keen on taking advantage of other people's hard work. It didn't help that it drove like a much younger MX.

You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here

Day one with the two seemingly identical cars was interesting. I walked outside to go to work and just stood there for a minute looking at the red beauts. I took the NC. Then I spent the next few days doing little else besides driving.

Having just taken the NB across seven states, the first thing that struck me about the young gun was its speed. Straight-line speed, cornering speed, convertible top speed; it was just flat out faster. At first, the major differences seemed to end there. I wondered if I had made a mistake buying a whole new car instead of just beefing up the NB in the power department.

After a few weeks, I began to take the thing for granted. I wondered if I should just sell it, especially considering my emotional attachment to the other car. Then two things happened. First, my temporary tags expired making the car little more than a shiny, red paper weight. Then I found out why it was so cheap.

I bought the car knowing it had some faded paint on the roof, trunk, and hood. I'd just accepted that this is what happens to old, red paint after years in the sun. That was until I remembered that this car wasn't that old, and it'd spent the last several years in the perpetually-overcast Pacific Northwest. I decided to pull up the car's history.

I was relieved to find no accident damage or any other tomfoolery, that is until I read between the lines. For the first 30,000 miles, the car's color was reported as black. I was understandably confused, because it was clearly red. At first I assumed it was just a mistake. It did spend its early years in Miami, and we all know that, between getting cancer on the beach and the bottomless Rum Runners, mistakes happen. I assumed this was the case and tried to let it go.

But my curiosity just couldn't let it go. The next day, I went out to the car to poke around. Popping the hood, I was unshakably confident that the evidence would be in my favor. I stood there frozen. I'd owned this car for more than a month and somehow failed to notice the BLACK bay which cradled my precious 2-liter.

No! no! no! I frantically looked for engine shots on Google. Of course with these new Mazdas the engine bays are black primery stuff...ya know, like the BMWs? For reference, they aren't. I went nuts. I started pulling back trim, carpets, molding, and sat there staring into a sea of black. Me, the 30+ car veteran, had been swindled.

I then moved on to the more hardcore stuff, looking intently for signs of major wreckage. I was equally confused when nothing out of the ordinary was found. Why the fuck would someone respray a perfectly black car? I was more pissed about the previous owner's vein stupidity than the money I'd just seemingly lost.

I didn't know this bottle was lined with silver

I was flat out down. With its unknown history, and shoddy paint work, I thought my new car was a piece of shit. Then I pulled my head out of my ass. I've been a cheap ass for so long, that I originally thought I'd paid merely a fair price for the NC. When I gathered the courage to look at comps, however, I realized that I actually got a smoking deal on it. The previous owner was a competitive autocrosser, and not only had he meticulously maintained the car, he'd also spent more on modifications than I'd spent on the whole car. Most importantly, the thing drove like a dream. The Miami incident would be our little secret.

I longed to drive the paper weight once again, but the Michigan SOS marches to the beat of its own drum. In the meantime, I'd have to get reacquainted with the classic.

Never again, baby

It took me less than five seconds to promise myself, once again, that I would keep this car forever. The snappy shifts, peppy motor, and thick roll bar that sat behind my head instantly brought me back to a better time. The good old days were calling, and they wanted me back. They wanted us back.

We were in agreement. I longed for the cathartic Michigan summers that my roadster and I used to share. It was a time when the Miata might've well been a McLaren P1. I pined for the the long track sessions where together we'd become a potent weapon. I yearned for the late-night cruises with my friends.

But I had to come back to earth eventually, so I consulted my most-trusted consigliere. His advice was as simple as it was wise: "It's time to make new memories."

I almost stole that thing...seriously.

I almost stole that thing...seriously.

Denmark’s a prison

I'd grown to hate owning both of these Miatas. With summer right around the corner, I wanted to put my head down and focus on one thing. Unfortunately, every time I'd post the NB for sale online, I'd change my mind and take it down a short time later. But even I, in my schizophrenic state, could only take so much of my own inaction. Eventually I just said fuck it and left the ad up.

My initial attempts at self sabotage took the form of poorly written Craigslist ads with few pictures and an astronomically-high price. As I became more frustrated with my situation, I slowly lowered the price while adding in important details. Then one day I hit the magic price-to-curb-appeal ratio. The texts and calls started rolling in. In fact, I received so many that I just started ignoring them. Reality was too overwhelming.

However, in the end, logic, and the prospect of money, won. I screened the calls, looking for the most responsible-sounding one of the bunch. It took me a week to pick him out, and I made the right call. He had cash in hand and wanted to meet ASAP.

Superheros wear ferragamos

Of the hundreds of cars that I've sold, this transaction was by far the smoothest. We met at an Audi dealership, after hours, where his friend would perform a pre-purchase inspection. I drove the car in, the tech looked at it for 10 minutes, then the guy walked over to me and said, "it looks great. Clean bill of health." He handed me a stack of cash, I handed him keys and a title, and that was it. She was no longer mine, and I barely had time to say goodbye.

The only comfort to be found was in the man's smile. It is the same smile that I had when I took ownership of that awesome machine. Behind it is the same feeling that made me say yes to the NC when I promised myself I'd say no. It's that feeling that keeps bringing me back to these little roofless wonders. It's hard, no, it's futile to ignore something when it's had such a positive impact on your life.

In the end, I'd find out what the consigliere already knew: I wasn't just selling a car, I was selling new memories, and that's something I can never regret.

Join In

Comments (0)

    0