Miata went from roadster to sports car success
Nothing says open-top motoring like February in Chicago: the bracing, oxygen-charged air sweeping in off Lake Michigan, the blowing snow, the crisp, satisfying tinkle as an ear freezes off and shatters on the pavement.
It was 25 years ago this month that the public was re-introduced to the idea of the lightweight, convertible sports car. A quarter-century later, this little Mazda is the bestselling roadster ever built, a racetrack champion, an affordable and accessible toy, and possibly the purest expression of driving pleasure ever mass-produced. And it was very nearly a front-wheel-drive car.
By the early 1980s, the small, open-topped sports car had pretty much disappeared off the market. The once-popular British marques had essentially evaporated, their market share dwindling into a small, conical pile of rust.
There were two major problems. First, safety requirements had added weight and unsightly exterior bumper modifications to these formerly-svelte sports cars, dulling the handling and spoiling the looks.
Second, most of these machines were flat-out terrible in terms of reliability, requiring their owners to have expert mechanical know-how and a near-superhuman ability to withstand physical discomfort; you had to be a sort of cross between MacGyver and Sir Edmund Hilary.
This dearth of fun-todrive affordability was remarked upon by an automotive journalist named Bob Hall during an interview with Mazda’s chief engineer Kenichi Yamamoto in 1979. When asked what type of car the quickly-growing Japanese company should build next, Hall reminisced fondly about the old “bugs-in-your-teeth” British roadsters of the past, and suggested that Mazda should build a lightweight car that was priced below the RX-7.
Yamamoto would become Mazda’s president in 1984; along with being a dedicated and skilled engineer, he was also a sports car enthusiast. On advice from his colleagues, he took a Triumph Spitfire via the long route through the mountain passes on a business-trip to Tokyo and there, one supposes, in the switchbacks and cambered sweepers, he understood what Bob Hall had been talking about.
The success of the RX-7 paved the way for the acceptance of the idea of a lightweight sports car among Mazda’s executives, and a contest was set to determine which path it would take. The Tokyo-based design studios were to come up with a front-wheel-drive version as well as a mid-engined concept, and the California studio lobbied successfully to take on the front-engine, rear-wheel-drive layout.
The front- wheel- drive coupe concept was laid out to use the same architecture as the upcoming 323 compact, making it a budget-friendly proposition. The handsome mid-engined car looked almost identical to the Toyota MR2, but was already on the chopping block because of engine packaging concerns.
Prototyping of the concept was handled by International Automotive Design, fittingly located in Worthington in the South of England. The team there gathered together a host of British sportsters from the Triumph TR-6 to the MGB, and set about creating a fibreglass-based runner.
The result was then shipped to California for further testing, where it was spotted zipping around Santa Barbara by several journalists. Somehow, Bob Hall was able to use his former influence to keep the car a secret.
The prototype Miata, known only as chassis V705, simply shone on California’s twisty back roads. Mazda’s engineers would eventually develop their idea of Jinba Ittai during the fine-tuning of the suspension and chassis, a phrase meaning horse-and-rider-as-one.
But the true meaning of the word is most properly used to describe a Japanese cavalry archer steering his mount by the lightest pressure of the knees, while he uses both hands to carefully aim his bow. Professional driver, closed course, etc. — don’t drive your Miata hands-free, of course.
Almost no other car is this well balanced — the name itself, Miata, is an old High German word meaning reward. On a sunny day, on a curvy road, this little car could not be more aptly named. Mazda might call it the MX-5 these days, in an effort to butch things up a little, but the essence is the same. It’ll always be the Miata.
The first-generation car debuted in chilly Chicago on February 10th of 1989, and the crowd essentially went nuts. North American sales started in May of that year, and while initial projections were for something like 30,000 cars worldwide, by 1990 Mazda was selling twice as many as they expected.
This first Miata is commonly referred to as the NA, and it is both the cheapest, and probably the most fun. Power, to use the term loosely, comes from a willing 1.6-litre four-cylinder engine that produces 116 horsepower, enough to propel this little car’s scant 950-kilograms to 100 km/h in just over eight seconds. The standard transmission is a five-speed manual, with an optional four-speed automatic.
Suspension is a simple affair, double-wishbones at all four corners and antiroll bars, and the brakes are only as big as they need to be. The steering is just about perfect, and on early cars, almost everything is an optional extra.
The cutesy look of the unadorned Miata would give it a somewhat-undeserved reputation as a girly car. The performance you could squeeze out of it would make it a racer’s delight.
Mazda itself would make a turbocharged version readily available with the second-generation car, the Mazdaspeed MX-5. Lightly boosted, these fairly rare cars have the same balanced recipe as the original, just more so.
As far as the aftermarket is concerned, the sky is the limit. Because so many Miatas have been sold, they’re an inexpensive place to start for a project car.
For pure racing though, the Miata has always done well in a very basic form, providing an easy-to-learn base for a driving student.
Since 2006, the SCCA-spec Miata racing series is a lowbudget option where driver skill counts just as much as it does in Formula One — it’s just a little less costly when you rub the wall.
And, at 25 years old, this is perhaps the Miata’s only Achilles heel: it’s not really a collectible.
It’s not a car for a museum or a garage, not a car to be held in trust for future generations, not a car to be coddled as an investment. For anyone who can fit into its smallish cabin, it’s the answer to the question, should I go for a drive, right now?
Of course you should.