In my last story, I reported on my forlorn attempt to buy a track car, only to come back home empty trailered. I then proceeded to lay out carefully my rationale for needing yet another addition to the stable, and how this had to be a Mazda MX-5. No question about it.
And by now, in what you might see as something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, I had already set my eyes on another, a beautiful third-generation (NC) car which was not only in extremely good condition but owned by a friend. Everything was teed up nicely, so my plan was to use this column to tell you all about the early days of MX-5 ownership. Except there’s been a bit of a plot twist. I didn’t see it coming and it really wasn’t my fault, but that of a fellow Ti contributor…
I’ll explain: as you will know by now, I didn’t buy my friend’s MX-5. But this time it wasn’t because the car turned out to be other than advertised. In fact it was near perfect. I could not have asked for a better experience from my first time at the wheel of an MX-5. The car drove flawlessly, there were zero squeaks and rattles, the engine sang its way through the rev range and it was in just as beautiful condition as described. It felt in every way, as I expected, the perfect missing Russian doll between my Suzuki Cappuccino and my Mazda RX-7.
