PERFECT FIT
HONDA SUITS AUTO WRITER JUST RIGHT
In this industry, one of the great ironies is that after a week spent evaluating some of the finest vehicles on the planet, your average auto writer then clambers into a scabrous, twenty-something pile, and then prays to the automotive gods that it actually starts.
These cars are referred to as “leave-behinds” since they spend most of their lives rusting in the lots of various manufacturers’ head offices while we’re evaluating their latest vehicles.
For some of us, there’s reverse cachet in owning a car that’s at least a quarter-century old, provided it’s relatively obscure or at least has some sort of noteworthy provenance. We proudly boast of their rudimentary qualities the way a new luxury sedan owner lists its tech features.
My leave-behind was a red 1992 Mazda 323 hatchback, a model so stripped down that it came with roll-your-own windows and no passenger-side mirror. Inside was a low-rent mash-up of industrial grey vinyl and hard plastics, but its versatility, frugal fuel consumption and cargo capacity made it easy to live with. Most of all, I loved the communicative hydraulic steering, nimble handling and pared-down simplicity that’s only possible with a complete absence of electronics and heavy safeguarding.
But after nearly 20 years of self-preservation-style driving, pucker-inducing close calls, and age-related repair frequency, it was time to make the leap to something a little safer and more practical. Instead of poring over the classified ads for another vintage JDM hatch or classic, I decided to put my money where my mouth is and actually buy the car I’ve recommended most: the Honda Fit.
It’s easy to stand behind the Fit as a top pick in the compact segment. Reliability is excellent, fuel consumption is miserly, and it’s the undisputed Tardis-like champion of cargo capacity. But most importantly, it’s fun to drive. While I’d finally admitted to the need for something in which I’d at least have a fighting chance of surviving a collision, I’m just not ready for the automotive equivalent of sensible shoes.
And so it was that I ended up with the keys to a 2008 Honda Fit Sport. While the newer Fit is more powerful, roomier, and has a wealth of technology and creature comforts; the first generation car was a heck of a lot sportier.
Resale value on these cars is good. A first generation base DX originally sold for $14,980 in 2007 and will still run you about $3,000 to $7,000, depending on the mileage. But the Sport model I wanted proved harder to find and most had far too many kilometres. Originally priced at $19,580, a firstgen Fit Sport still commands about $5,000 to $8,000. That there are so many available with over 300,000 kilometres is reassuring, but my cut-off point was around 100,000 kilometres and it had to have a manual transmission. A little bit of patience and a whole lot of Kijiji eventually came up with a 2008 Sport that ticked all the right boxes for $7,000.
The Sport model’s aggressive front fascia, side skirts, and jaunty rear spoiler lend sauciness to the Fit’s jelly-bean shape; it’s a Pokemon with attitude. The cabin is attractive, with icy blue gauges; they were a vast improvement over the primitive green digital display I’d been squinting at for so long. Keyless entry, power doors, locks and mirrors, air conditioning that actually worked, cruise control and six airbags. This was the height of luxury in a leave-behind. The abundance of budget materials doesn’t bother me at all; my routine includes regular visits to the stables and plastics are not only durable, they’re easy to wipe clean. The custom-fit Weathertech mats are a great catch-all for pony poop and winter sludge. My only beef is with the “mouse fur” velour upholstery, which attracts pet hair like filings to a magnet.
Drop the rear seats, and this little car is as voluminous as a small minivan. I can actually lie down. Heck, I could probably live in it if things go sideways with the real estate market. There are 1,186 litres worth of space with perfectly flat load floor, which can accommodate everything from building materials to camping gear. Pop up the rear seat bottoms and there’s 50 inches between floor and headliner; that’s room to stand a bicycle behind the front seats. The passenger seat folds flat enough to accommodate long objects, or an impromptu siesta.
With only 109 horsepower and 105 poundfeet of torque, the Fit’s not exactly fast. But it feels quick. Turn-in is sharp and the handling’s crisp. While it doesn’t deliver Mazda MX-5 Miata levels of delight, the five-speed manual gearbox is quite engaging, which is a good thing because a car this underpowered requires a lot of shift and clutch work when driven briskly.
Most reviewers complain about the Fit’s noisy 1.5-L four-cylinder engine; obviously they’ve never driven any early four-cylinders. Sure, it’s buzzy when pushed, but it’s virtually bulletproof and delivers a 7.1 L/100-kilometre city and a 5.7 highway fuel rating, when paired to the five-speed transmission.
The suspension may be too firmly sprung for some, but it means you can drive the Fit hard into a corner without any resulting pitch or body roll. The adage, “it’s more fun to drive a slow car fast than a fast car slow,” has never held truer than when describing the Honda Fit. This little thing is an absolute blast to fling about a winding road — without breaking the speed limit.
While I’ll always have a soft spot for my dearly departed 323, there’s peace of mind in having a safe, reliable car. I guess you could say it’s the right Fit.