Someone once described the climate here in Michigan as nine months of winter and three months of bad sledding. But for the most part, summertime here is beautiful and it’s a great time to drive a convertible.
This was one of those perfect summer days. Pure blue skies and a warm breeze beckoned all ragtop owners to come out and play. I pulled into his driveway about 11:00 on Saturday morning to see him standing there waiting. I came to a stop and got out. “Hey John”, he said, “it’s really sounding good. Did you do something to it?” “Yeah, I put a Racing Beat exhaust system on the other day. I was expecting it to sound like an old MG or something. It didn’t give me quite the low grunt I was hoping for, but it’s not bad. I guess I’ll just settle for a more mellow sound,” I replied.
To protect his pristine reputation, I’ll just refer to him by his initials (J.T.) in this story. For several months I had been promising J.T. we’d spend some quality road time in my Miata when our schedules and the weather permitted. My “baby” was a 1995 Mazda MX-5 M-Edition in Merlot Mica, which is sort of a dark wine color with a high gloss finish. I kept it immaculately clean and covered at all times. It never saw snow, slush, ice, road-salt, or a gravel road. In fact, I would get a weather report before even taking it out of the garage.
“O.K., J.T., where would you like to go today,” I said as we sped off. “Well, I’d like to go to a nursery up in Clarkston. I’m thinking about putting a small pond in my backyard and I wanted to find out what kind of supplies they had for that,” he said.
He didn’t seem to mind the wind that was lashing us at 80 miles an hour as we headed north on I-75 with the top down. He told me of his love affair with an MG he had back in the late 60’s before going off to Vietnam. He loved driving it so much that if it started raining, and the top was down, he would just speed up to let the water blow over him. We stopped for lunch along the way and took some two-lane roads on the return trip.
We were having so much fun that neither of us was ready to call it a day. “Hey J.T., would you like to drive it,” I offered. “Yes, I’d like that, John,” he said “But I’m pretty rusty. We’d better find a safe place to do it.” We decided on the large parking lot behind the church where we both attended. We arrived to find only a few cars parked up close to the building. That left us acres and acres of blacktop to play on. I brought the Miata to a stop and we switched seats.
He fastened his seatbelt, pushed in the clutch, turned the key, and the little engine rumbled to life. Immediately, this huge grin came across his face. He put his right hand on the big chrome gearshift knob and began to expertly feel out the gear positions. He sat there for several moments just revving the engine. I watched in shock as he slumped forward, his face falling against the steering wheel. He did not move. He must have gotten so excited he had a heart attack and died right here in my car. Jeez, I killed him!
This was one of those perfect summer days. Pure blue skies and a warm breeze beckoned all ragtop owners to come out and play. I pulled into his driveway about 11:00 on Saturday morning to see him standing there waiting. I came to a stop and got out. “Hey John”, he said, “it’s really sounding good. Did you do something to it?” “Yeah, I put a Racing Beat exhaust system on the other day. I was expecting it to sound like an old MG or something. It didn’t give me quite the low grunt I was hoping for, but it’s not bad. I guess I’ll just settle for a more mellow sound,” I replied.
To protect his pristine reputation, I’ll just refer to him by his initials (J.T.) in this story. For several months I had been promising J.T. we’d spend some quality road time in my Miata when our schedules and the weather permitted. My “baby” was a 1995 Mazda MX-5 M-Edition in Merlot Mica, which is sort of a dark wine color with a high gloss finish. I kept it immaculately clean and covered at all times. It never saw snow, slush, ice, road-salt, or a gravel road. In fact, I would get a weather report before even taking it out of the garage.
“O.K., J.T., where would you like to go today,” I said as we sped off. “Well, I’d like to go to a nursery up in Clarkston. I’m thinking about putting a small pond in my backyard and I wanted to find out what kind of supplies they had for that,” he said.
He didn’t seem to mind the wind that was lashing us at 80 miles an hour as we headed north on I-75 with the top down. He told me of his love affair with an MG he had back in the late 60’s before going off to Vietnam. He loved driving it so much that if it started raining, and the top was down, he would just speed up to let the water blow over him. We stopped for lunch along the way and took some two-lane roads on the return trip.
We were having so much fun that neither of us was ready to call it a day. “Hey J.T., would you like to drive it,” I offered. “Yes, I’d like that, John,” he said “But I’m pretty rusty. We’d better find a safe place to do it.” We decided on the large parking lot behind the church where we both attended. We arrived to find only a few cars parked up close to the building. That left us acres and acres of blacktop to play on. I brought the Miata to a stop and we switched seats.
He fastened his seatbelt, pushed in the clutch, turned the key, and the little engine rumbled to life. Immediately, this huge grin came across his face. He put his right hand on the big chrome gearshift knob and began to expertly feel out the gear positions. He sat there for several moments just revving the engine. I watched in shock as he slumped forward, his face falling against the steering wheel. He did not move. He must have gotten so excited he had a heart attack and died right here in my car. Jeez, I killed him!
To be continued.
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