The Mazda EZ-6, priced from 19,100 USD, sports an illuminated grille, split headlights, and coupe-style silhouette, powered by Changan's hybrid platform for a tech-rich interior.
The single most wonderful perk of this job is the cars. Some are exciting; others are more mundane. Sometimes, a loaner car may sit for five of the seven days I have it in my driveway, a casualty of a busy life and a vocation that has me on the road nearly as often as not. But whenever I have the opportunity to drive a Miata — like the 2024 Club model pictured above — I make time.
Some cars are the main event; others are simply accessories. A third category entirely comprises just those rare machines that will eagerly retreat into the margins in the quest to provide a better driving experience. That’s the Miata: always ready, ceaselessly deferential. And for most normal people, utterly useless.
There was a time when I had no interest in owning one — zero, zip. not even an iota. In fact, when I first decided to dabble in amateur motorsports, I went out of my way to look at just about anything else to campaign. I wasn’t even so much opposed to the Miata itself as I was to its general popularity. Call it the rebelliousness of youth; I was dead set against it. And then, as tends to happen, one practically fell into my lap.
I bought my NA in 2008, just as the final wave of the $1,500 Miata phenomenon was receding (I paid $1,350). I’ve never owned another car as long as I’ve owned that Miata, nor do I expect I ever will. I certainly have no desire to sell it. It costs me nothing to own, and despite not having to rely on it (I have two other cars plus whatever Autoblog decides to send my way), it fires right up on command, asking only the attention of a modestly priced battery maintainer.
The shifter, sway bar and suspension bushings were all hanging on by desiccated threads. The shocks were original. The odometer read 210,000 miles. Not a single body panel was untouched by time, careless parkers or both. The “tombstone” piece of trim covering the center stack was missing entirely. There was a curious whine at steady speeds. A dying rear end? A failing wheel bearing? Crappy, unevenly worn tires?
I didn’t care. I knew the instant I turned the key that I was going to buy it.
An inspection revealed myriad small issues but no large ones. A suspension refresh and new tires cured the biggest ailments; the cosmetic bits were relegated to a short list that has only grown since — much like the then-nascent rust perforations in the Miata’s rocker panels.
I have that little Miata to thank for saving me a bundle of money. If it weren’t for my 200,000-mile clunker, I’d have certainly spent far more on a newer version of it by now. It’s like a vaccine for my finances; a few hundred spent maintaining that ratty little rust bucket inoculates me against spending thousands (or tens of thousands) on a newer, shinier example.
Because while they may indeed be shinier, new Miatas don’t really do much more than older Miatas — a fact of which I’m reminded every time one shows up in my driveway. Driving the latest doesn’t make me want to run out and buy a new one; it makes me want to invest more into making my now-34-year-old example roadworthy again. Mazda’s engineers have remained steadfastly dedicated to the roadster’s formula for the entirety of those three-plus decades. People often like to debate the merits of each generation, but at the end of the day it’s quite simple: The best Miata is the one you already own.
Despite its widespread adoration, there’s plenty the Miata is objectively bad at, and pretty much all of it stems from its size. It’s hard to describe to the uninitiated just how small a Miata is. Its cabin is cramped and utterly devoid of anything but the most fundamental of creature comforts. Back when Mazda’s little roadster was new, you could buy economy cars specced this way. Today, even the cheapest micro-CUVs feel palatially appointed compared to the ND roadster. And there’s no room to make your own space, either. In fact, if you plan to bring along both a beverage and a passenger, one of them is going to have a bad time.
This dearth of functionality is unheard of even in most of today’s sporty cars. The Toyota GR86 and Subaru BRZ may compete with the Miata in spirit, but they’re full-blown family haulers by comparison. Permanent cup holders? Functional storage cubbies? Back seats? Roofs? Might as well be minivans. Even the Corvette’s cabin feels indulgent after a stint in the Miata — and believe me, I’ve done my share.
Why was I so resistant for so long? Simple: I was a child of the magazine era, and the things that make the Miata great don’t translate all that well to print. The performance figures certainly aren’t staggering, and while the little roadster has always been able to count its looks among its positive attributes, it certainly doesn’t sell itself on sex appeal. The first-gen Miata didn’t look any more beastly next to a C4 Corvette or 964 than the current car does next to a C8 or 992.
But every time I fire up a Miata, new or old, I feel that same jolt. That same sense that this machine was built just for people like me. I love my CT4 Blackwing because it can do everything; I love my Miata because it can’t.
HESSEL, Mich. — For the past decade, my family has kicked off summer with an extended camping weekend in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, a largely raw and uncut part of the lower 48 states surrounded by the Great Lakes, Canada and Wisconsin. It’s four to five hours on Interstate 75 from Metro Detroit, and once there, it’s best to have most of the things you need, though there are a reasonable amount of grocery stories, bars and ice cream stands. This camping trip has served as a litmus test of sorts for most of the recent Autoblog long-termers, especially the larger ones. While I’ve had issues with our 2024 Mazda CX-90’s plug-in hybrid powertrain, the SUV came through with flying colors fulfilling its core mission as a versatile family hauler.
The trip begins with packing, and the CX-90 easily swallowed a cooler, sleeping bags, fishing poles, a large tent, boxes of food, two suitcases, a duffle bag and all sorts of other supplies. I could still see out the back window, which isn’t always the case on these adventures. Had I taken my golf clubs and an inflatable kayak, it might have been less comfortable. Still, the manifest was robust, and the Mazda was up for it.
Early the following day we set off, two adults, one child and a large golden retriever. The drive Up North, as we Michiganders say, was uneventful. The CX-90 is a solid expressway cruiser, generally quiet and comfortable. The steering is weightier and more precise than comparable SUVs. By now I’m used to, and mostly enjoy, the engagement during the long drive. The adaptive cruise control, lane-keeping assist and blind-spot monitoring were helpful aids and I’ve come to expect the help for long road trips in vehicles at this price point.
Good luck finding an EV charger in the part of the U.P. where we camped, but running just on premium fuel, we averaged 24.5 mpg, including one 341-mile stint where we logged 26.7 mpg, the second-best figure in the CX-90’s four-month Autoblog career. I still prefer Mazda’s turbo straight six-cylinder engine to this unit, the company’s first plug-in hybrid powertrain. The hybrid’s acceleration is hampered by an uneven partnership with the eight-speed automatic transmission. Despite the 323 horses and 369 lb-ft, the system doesn’t reach the full potential these figures imply.
Once there, we slept on the ground for three cool, wet nights and enjoyed four sunny hot days filled with swimming, fishing and other outdoor activities. By the end of it, the Mazda was covered in dirt and sand inside and out. This trip is always hard on the test cars, and this is about as grimy as we've gotten one. I spent a good chunk of the following Monday morning vacuuming sand and dog fur (see the pictures and you can imagine just how much dog fur was in the car) from every orifice. I even felt the need to bust out some Meguiar’s to put a shine on the dashboard and leather seats.
So, where does the CX-90 rank among my U.P. people haulers? It’s up against legendary long-termers like the 2014 VW Golf GTI, 2018 Chrysler Pacifica hybrid, 2019 Subaru Forester, 2021 Hyundai Palisade and 2023 Toyota Sienna. I also took a blacked-out 2017 Chevy Tahoe up there, slept in it for two nights and got a speeding ticket. Good times.
I’m putting the Mazda behind the Chrysler and Toyota minivans, which is a bit unfair, given the supreme functionality most minivans offer due to their layout. I also preferred the overall vibe of the Palisade and its light, airy interior, though the Mazda has been considerably more fuel efficient, leaving them in a dead heat in my book. The Forester was great, but it was only charged with a shorter hunting trip, and its main accomplishment was plowing through snow (not insignificant) and serving as a comfortable ride home after a chilly weekend in the woods. The Golf GTI was a clown car, filled to the brim with three adults and so much stuff the doors could barely close.
Tied for third in this least-scientific automotive comparison test? Not bad for the Mazda CX-90. It was a good trip, and the SUV lived up to its billing as a sporty three-row crossover with style and function. No new flaws emerged, and despite its uneven driving character I generally enjoyed my trip behind the wheel. It passed the U.P. Family Camping Test in all the ways that count. Hopefully the sand will come out by the end of summer.