I hung out with a famous Porsche collector a while back. His name is irrelevant; all that matters is that he's owned a lot of high-performance cars. I had a 2015 Miata test car for the day. I loved it, but the collector didn't really get it. The car seemed a little childish, he said. Goofy. Not as honed as a 911. (It should be better, I said. A new 911 Carrera cost as much as three Miatas. Dude was unmoved.)

I was reminded of that conversation two months ago, when I drove 19 modified Mazda Miatas, in a day and a half, at Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca. At least three laps each, to try and learn something. It was a dumb, ambitious plan, and on the surface, it also seemed childish and goofy.

Not to put too fine a point on things, but that's part of why it was great. Miatas foster goofy; they take the air out of serious moments. Everyone needs that. What better way to celebrate the thing than chasing that feeling on purpose?

Saroyan Humphrey

Mazda's seminal sports car has been in production since 1989. Every Miata since has orbited the same theme: low maintenance and buy-in, big fun, seemingly endless reliability. And like the Model T or a 1955 Chevrolet, the car has some ineffable quality that makes it ripe for screwing with. People turbocharge Miatas, motor-swap them, transplant their bits into kit cars. Every new version of the model brings more devotees, more aftermarket bolt-ons. Few cars live such bright lives, post-factory.

Over 27 years, Mazda has built four generations of Miata—NA, NB, NC, and ND. As a kind of tribute, last October, we decided to survey the field. I trekked to an event called Miatas at Mazda Raceway, an annual track day-slash-party at Laguna Seca that draws hundreds of cars and even more people. With the help of a few friends and Colorado's Flyin' Miata, an event sponsor, we assembled 17 privately owned cars, from V-8 swaps to bone-stockers. We borrowed two special cars from Flyin' Miata itself. And I spent two days on the ground—driving constantly, photographing cars in a makeshift garage studio, and conducting a short interview with each owner.

Saroyan Humphrey

This isn't a clinical test; it was drinking from the fire hose. By the end of the weekend, I was so tired I could barely remember my own name. The cars are listed below, in order, along with what they were like. I did a warm-up lap in each, then a risk-free lap at about eight tenths, then a cool-down. To keep things moving, we left out the gnarly mechanical details of each build. (If you want specifics on any one car, email me at samsmith@hearst.com.) Most cars had upgraded brake fluid and pads and cockpit safety gear, so those items aren't mentioned unless the owner's choices were out of the ordinary. And my drive notes are written in present tense, because that's how my head works.

Finally, this test involves nineteen cars. Even at paragraph or two per car, it was never going to be a short story. If you don't like Miatas, this may seem like a lot to swallow. Maybe you think they're gay, or for hairdressers, or some other lame stereotype. All the more reason you should scroll down and read a bit.

Saroyan Humphrey

This story is an attempt to parse why people like the cars, but also a parallel for Miata ownership itself: Screw the stereotype. You own the thing, you can't stop driving.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Two and a half liters.

Why'd you try it?

The engine is a 2.5-liter Mazda MZR four, replacing the factory 2.0-liter MZR. This is a common NC swap; the 2.5 makes similar horsepower but almost 20 more lb-ft at lower rpm. These engines were shipped in—among other things—the Ford Escape and Mazda 6, so they're easy to find, and the swap is cheap. It also addresses a common Miata complaint: You have to rev the crap out of the car to get anywhere. Suspension and muffler are Flyin' Miata.

2006 MX-5 (NC) — Mild Suspension Upgrades, 2.5-liter Swap Saroyan Humphrey

What did it feel like?

I drive this one first, early in the morning, fresh as a daisy. Cold track, under that crackly Monterey morning sun. The car is sweetness and light—simple, gobs of grip, forgiving and predictable. The front tires slide first, a dust of understeer. The car isn't slow, but it's not fast, either. The suspension helps; the last stock NC I drove didn't feel this chipper or small.

I've driven too many big cars lately. Modern cars are fat and too distant. I miss steering feel. I miss tiny cars that turn like thought.

The owner says:

This is my first Miata. I wanted one for a while, and finally got permission from my wife. I used to have a 2.0-liter with a supercharger. Even if you're not going fast, you feel connected to the car. You turn the steering wheel, you get feedback.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Claimed 175 hp at the rear wheels.

Why'd you try it?

The traditional, naturally-aspirated, high-rpm track build—rare in Miata circles, as turbocharging is usually cheaper. Latouf's car had a stripped interior, AST suspension, a roll bar tied into the front floor. The engine was over-bored (1.9-liter) and focused on high rpm, with hotter cams, port work, and individual throttle bodies.

What did it feel like?

That engine! There's so much to be said for the old-school way of making speed: It sounds killer, for one. Snarly and clean. It's also cammy and weird; you have to rev the thing, like a stock Miata, but power delivery is gloriously light-switch. It's still a momentum car—still more grip than motor—and if you stay off the curbs, the front tires slide before the rears. Just gobs of throttle and short gearing.

I steal an extra lap in Tarek's Miata because it's just a sweetheart.

Hell of a device. What you'd build if you decided to get into Miatas and wanted the best noise possible. I steal an extra lap in Tarek's Miata because it's just a sweetheart. It reminds me of the SCCA cars I grew up with, just a bright, chewy piece of candy.

The owner says:

This was my first car, in high school. Nothing too crazy except for the aero, I guess; I went with the wing because I got a good deal on it. Not many people do naturally aspirated—it's expensive but seems reliable. I've seen a lot of reliability issues with forced induction. It's a lot of fun seeing the other guys with big power—their faces when you pass them.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

The best four-cylinder street Miata I've ever met.

Why'd you try it?

The ND is one of the most involving new cars on the market. A lot of that is down to the factory suspension calibration. This was the first modified ND I'd ever driven, and I wondered: When you screw with the car, do you lose the magic, or just amp it up? Dekker's car had a stock drivetrain but dual-purpose Flyin' Miata suspension. Plus an FM big brake kit and muffler. Save the aftermarket wheels, the whole thing looked showroom.

2016 MX-5 (ND) — The New One Saroyan Humphrey

What did it feel like?

Slidey, neutral, sublime. You take the car by the scruff of its neck and just chuck it toward the horizon. It makes a stock car look lethargic, roll-heavy, almost stupid. And at no time does it even hint at biting you. Woof. So good.

At one point, I get into traffic with a couple of Spec Miatas—purpose-built race cars with more grip than Dekker's car but less power. The spec cars are on race tires and Dekker's car wears street rubber, but our pace is similar. It takes every ounce of restraint I have to not pull into the pits, unbolt the passenger seat, and just spend the afternoon bump-drafting. The stock car's magic didn't go away. The magic is your new best friend. The magic is being beer-bonged into your brain stem.

Dollar for dollar, if there's a more entertaining new car on the market, I'll eat my shoes.

The owner says:

Oddly enough, it's a life. A community. I founded the Wild Rose Miata Club in Edmonton—I've been involved with that for 22 years. I mean, this car, it's silly, because you can have so much fun and not worry about getting pulled over by the cops. Or if you do, it's okay. I have friends across the whole world now as a result of this stupid little car.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Tailpipe flames under braking.

Why'd you try it?

Daly-Jensen, who is 23, built his own ECU and turbo manifold. He wasn't sure on horsepower, because the car has never seen a dyno. One of the engine heat shields was made from an old license plate. The car sported a six-speed gearbox in place of the stock five-speed and track-focused suspension; Daly-Jensen added ABS. (Anti-lock brakes were a factory option on early Miatas, but this car didn't come with it originally.) He and his fianceé, Hailey, use the car for road trips and camping, often towing a trailer full of gear.

What did it feel like?

LAUGHS. LAUGH AND LAUGH AND SO MUCH SILLY LAUGH. Boost. Boost and delayed-reaction slides at the end of each corner. Words that come to mind: Homebuilt atomic rat turbo manual-steering nutbag. The clutch is a tight, short-travel comp unit—quick take-up, just immediately spitting torque back to the rear wheels. You wrestle-bend the car into a corner, then wait on the gentle wallop of torque. Something tells me it becomes a big hairy weirdo when you ask for everything it's got. Still a Miata, still goofy and small. But Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf.

A few hours later, I catch up with Aidan and his girlfriend, Hailey. They're grinning.

"The car spit flames!" she says. Under braking, coming onto the main straight.

When your homebuilt cruise-missile Miata hot rod craps fire, you are almost certainly doing something right.

The owner says:

I actually bought it as a gas-friendly commuter. I had a friend at the time who was like, 'You bought a Miata? I did a track day in a Miata years ago.' And then he bought one. And suddenly we're doing track days. I've got over 20 on it. It's my first real project car; it's been turboed since about six months after I bought it.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Claimed 340 hp at the rear wheels.

Why'd you try it?

That power in a dual-purpose street car. Flyin' Miata FM2R turbocharger conversion, Ground Control coil-over suspension with revalved Bilsteins and Eibach springs. Like a lot of people, Ian turbocharged his car partly because of track days: He was tired of being held up by more powerful cars.

What did it feel like?

You'd think a turbo Miata is a turbo Miata. But Ian's car feels nothing like Daly-Jensen's car. It's got power steering, for one—you bounce toward an apex on a fingertip. It's also an NB with a full interior, rounded and cushy plastic, an update from the NA's simple, flat panels. Ian's turbo is laggier and sleepier than Daly-Jensen's. The boost-control panel on the dash has three settings: X, Moar, and ALLofit.

This is old-school turbo stuff, like a Porsche 930.

This is old-school turbo stuff, like a Porsche 930: brake, mat the throttle, turn, nothing, then ruuuuuuuuubberband power. Daly-Jensen's car was brainless, but this takes a careful foot and thought. Turbo cars used to feel turbocharged, like this—back when turbos were special, not just a piece of hardware that some factory engineer hung on a Fiat to keep it from getting run over in traffic.

Some of these cars are serious speed science, and some are simply wicked little snot rockets. I can't decide which approach suits the platform better. But five cars in, it's pretty clear that the wicked part is important.

The owner says:

I bought the car brand new. Took it to the first track day in '99, been doing it ever since. It's been getting progressively less stock as the years go on. This is the third iteration of the turbo system—it started at about 200 hp. I like little sports cars. You know, dynamic, elemental, responsive, all those adjectives.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Originally built by Flyin' Miata engineer Ken Hill in the late Nineties, and basically unchanged since. A snapshot of how people modified the NA when it was new.

Why'd you try it?

The first-generation Flyin' Miata turbo kit and suspension. Estimated 220 hp at the crank.

1990 Miata (NA) — Old-School 1990s Street Turbo Conversion Saroyan Humphrey

What did it feel like?

A silly little wonderbox. Gobs of lag, just entire months spent waiting for power. Soft throttle, too—the car needs huge blips on downshifts, like you're angry with the pedal. Yantzer's car isn't fast by modern standards, but 15 years ago, it must have felt nuts. Just answering a problem, and then you eat Porsches for lunch.

The car feels stiffer in roll and damper than the other Miatas; you have to be a little more gentle with the tires because of it. It still feels like a Miata—the miles-out warning on a slide, the wear-it-like-a-suit cockpit—but the hardware is sharper than the rubber. Just little fits and dances if your hands get too quick.

One basic car, a zillion different choices in how people change it. I had no idea these things would feel so different from each other.

The owner says:

I was here for the 25th-anniversary event a couple years ago, my first time doing anything like that, and I loved it. I knew the car was capable, but I didn't realize how much more capable—and fun—it was than anything I'd driven. Far more capable than I am.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

A front-running example of the single greatest thing to happen to road racing since the invention of the helmet.

Why'd you try it?

Because the Miata basically saved club racing, made it affordable and attainable again.

Spec Miata began life more than decade ago as a Sports Car Club of America regional racing class. To prioritize driver skill, the class mandates identical aftermarket suspension bits and a near-stock engine. (A good Spec Miata makes a little more than factory power but will out-corner many supercars.) Going solely by field size and longevity, the class is the most popular in road-racing history.

What did it feel like?

"It doesn't make anything below 6800," Auger told me. The shift light triggers just past 7000. The engine, a 1.8, feels like most Spec Miata engines—loud, top-heavy. Two basic pitches of noise—brappy droning off-cam, and brappy droning on-cam. (If you hear the brappy off-cam a lot, you're slow. Brake less.) Like most quick Spec Miatas, the car is set up to rotate, so it moves quickly when you make a mistake. An inch of understeer here, a half-second of rear-tire motion there, and every ounce of a slide is painful. You can almost smell the vanished momentum. Even when you get a corner right, you spend straights counting your toes and cleaning dust off the shift boot.

Never drive a Spec Miata by yourself. The cars really only wake up in packs, bump-drafting at 90 mph. I've run a few Spec Miata races; under a flag, the car just disappears into the balls-out work of a road race. It becomes a kind of crazy herd animal—so talkative and easy, you begin to think that driving a race car is the whole reason for your existence.

In my notes, I write, "riding saddle on a pack hamster."

On my second clean lap, on the back straight, the engine blows up.

On my second clean lap, on the back straight, the engine blows up. A sound like a VW bus trying to climb a steep hill, then a bang, and a connecting rod punches a hole in the engine block. Oil sprays out and ignites on the hot exhaust. I briefly see flames in the mirror, licking over the trunk.

In the paddock, Auger is nonchalant. "Eh," he says, "it's a race car."

R&T bought Auger a new engine, because it was the right thing to do. Commissioning the check reminded me of two of racing's truisms: One, the sport breaks everything; Miatas are some of the most durable race cars anyone has ever seen, but racing can blow up anything. And two, it's impossible to drive a good race car without wanting it.

So now I want a Spec Miata again.

The owner says:

I've been through a couple of 'em. I started racing Spec Miata about seven years ago—you tend to shed a few cars as you go along. The class is still really competitive—the numbers have been steadily climbing.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

100,000 miles, and essentially stock, save wheels and tires.

Why'd you try it?

The NC Miata was developed when Ford owned Mazda; to trim costs, Ford dictated that the car share a platform with Mazda's larger RX-8. The NC was thus noticeably bulkier than any previous Miata, and it's now widely viewed as a departure from form.

What did it feel like?

Alpert warns me about the suspension—healthy, but the shocks are almost spent and original. It means the car grips and points okay but never really settles into a corner. Next to the NC I drove earlier, the softness emphasizes the car's size: If you sit in an early Miata, you sit on one of these. Good car though. And a reminder that nothing operates in a vacuum: When the NC was new, it was the most engaging sports car on the market. It's still impressive, but I can't stop thinking about Dekker's ND—lighter, smaller, stiffer, better.

This is Alpert's first track car. After I drive it, we discuss what the worn shocks have taught him on the track. Slow hands, he says; you have to make buttery steering inputs, to not overwhelm the dampers. It raises an interesting question: If you're learning to drive, do you want a car to expose your bad habits, or hide them? At what point does learning to overcome obstacles get in the way of forward motion? In a Miata, I'm not sure it matters; the car is just always on your side.

The owner says:

I'm from Detroit. I grew up with muscle cars, sleepers. II wanted to learn to drive on the track. Almost every single forum was like, 'Buy a Miata.' I mean . . . the Miata was the car that Corky Romano drove in the movie. Super lame. But it turns out this is sort of the ultimate sleeper, right? The driver is so important.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

98,000 miles and it basically looked new.

Why'd you try it?

Flyin' Miata Stage II suspension on a nearly stock NB. The NB was basically a heavy face-lift of the NA—cosmetic tweaks, plus a little more power and brake.

What did it feel like?

More Flyin' Miata suspension! God, I sound like a shill for them, but their stuff just works. I can't tell you how rare that is with aftermarket parts—too many companies just throw a bunch of spring and damper at a car and call it a day. (Coincidentally, most tuned cars blow goats.) FM's bits give gobs of travel and nice, progressive behavior at the limit.

2001 Miata (NB) — Mild Suspension Upgrades Saroyan Humphrey

The NB feels like an NA. Stand under one on a lift, it's clearly the same car, but the edges have been honed. The extra power and brake don't change it—it's still less than fast, more than slow. You mostly just notice the windshield frame, the door tops, how dense the interior feels next to an NA. How much the whole caboodle wants to be your friend. That short-throw gearbox, maybe the best in history, hasn't changed.

The owner:

The balance, you know? It's cheap. The way I've got it set up, it uses almost no gas, no brake pads. The tires will last for a year and a half of tracking. Everything is super-affordable. I was looking at getting a 911, thinking, 'Would I take it on the track?' I don't know if I would. Might be too nice. And then the prices just went woomph, so I got a Miata. It's been awesome.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

A claimed 215 hp at the wheels from a Honda motor. A cammy, high-rpm four-cylinder, and that awesome yowly S2000 noise. You know the one.

Why'd you try it?

Miata engine swaps are common; there's room under the hood and the car begs for more power. The fenders of an NB are barely taller than a K-Series long block. Are you telling me that doesn't sound great?

What did it feel like?

It ripped. And the noise. Oh lord, the noise.

The shifter is weird and angled, like in a Shelby Cobra. McKelvey had the tach reprinted, presumably because the K24 is a snoozy pet below 6000 rpm. You have to rev the yowling whee out of it, and you try to keep it up high, on cam, where the intake honk goes from bass to treble.

The engine's personality makes you think you're getting more done than you really are.

The engine's personality makes you think you're getting more done than you really are. (Side note: If this isn't a parallel for the Miata as a whole, I don't know what is.) McKelvey used a power-assisted Miata steering rack and then depowered it, no hydraulic boost. The quick, unassisted ratio means you have to muscle the car around, loading the car with your biceps.

But that engine. Skip over an apex with the motor on cam, it's voodoo. It sounds big-league. You feel like some kind of real deal. Hot-rod people will tell you that any good sports car is a small-block V-8 away from being great. I am here to tell you that any good Japanese car is a Honda K-series away from giving you Senna Monaco fever dreams.

The owner says:

I had an S2000 race car before this, actually, for a long time. I couldn't race it as much as I wanted to, so I ended up selling it. I wanted a street car again, but nothing new really appealed to me. The goal was building something streetable . . . enough to keep up with most cars on the road, but reliable. I've been commuting in it for the last three months.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

An interior that appeared to have been assembled by monkeys. Plus race tires.

Why'd you try it?

Like the 24 Hours of Lemons, ChumpCar sanctions endurance races in $500 cars. The rules are thin, and homebuilt solutions are encouraged. Miatas are common, for obvious reasons. Almand's car sported open-source fuel injection (Megasquirt), a 1.8-liter four, an intake made from PVC pipe, used Hoosier R-compound tires, Spec Miata suspension, and dented, multi-hued bodywork. (I referred to it in my notes, admiringly, as the Technicolor F***coat.) It represented the Miata way into budget road racing—dirt-ugly and DGAF. It was also spectacular.

What did it feel like?

This is the journey in a nutshell. Almand learned to race in this car, and that's basically the best thing a Miata does: Open a door (to wrenching, or better driving, whatever) and teach you to walk through it.

1991 Miata (NA) — ChumpCar Race Car Saroyan Humphrey

The car is ferociously hideous but charming anyway, like Auger's Spec Miata but weirder. The whole car seems to be held together with zip ties and a healthy dose of middle finger. The stock shifter still wears the factory knob—plastic, shaped like a kernel of corn, polished from years of use. In traffic, with the obnoxious exhaust note, I find myself just ripping the box from third to fourth gear, over and over, because it's fun.

That's relevant. These cars amp up the details, make them important. Example: That weird thing where you snap a Miata shifter to the next gear at redline. Snap. Snap snap. The lever travels in a little arc beneath your hand, no more pressure to move it than what you use to hold a raw egg in your fingers.

Third to fourth.

Third to fourth.

The owner says:

This started out as a LeMons car back in 2010, I think. A good friend of mine was really deep into Miatas and knew a lot about them. We were incentivized to keep it pretty cheap, because we didn't really know what we were doing. But we started to enjoy racing, we got better as drivers, we made the car better.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Drivetrain swap from a 2004–2005 Mazdaspeed Miata. Factory turbocharger and 178 hp.

Why'd you try it?

The Mazdaspeed bit, and the NA/NB hybrid part. The two cars are so similar, people often backdate NB parts onto an NA. There's a stock Mazdaspeed Miata on this list—number 16, below—but this was different: stripped interior, track-focused aftermarket suspension (949 Xidas shocks, gobs of spring rate, nine-inch-wide wheels), not a street car.

What did it feel like?

Daly-Jensen's car without the aggro. Minus a little bit of power, plus a little more grip. The kind of thing you'd hand to a track novice with a few caveats. The lag isn't so great as to require a huge amount of planning.

But more important: At this point in the test, the NA feels like an old friend. It just takes so well to anything people do to it.

Leaving the hot pits, I was momentarily distracted by the starter and forgot which car I was in. (Twelve cars of the same model, one after the other, will do that.) I brain farted and accidentally gave Kelley's car the same amount of launch throttle I had just used in Almand's no-motor ChumpCar. It may have laid rubber on the track's pit-out road, just whoop!, two elevens.

Mazda Raceway people, if you're listening: Sorry about that. (Not sorry.)

The owner says:

I had a 2005 Mazdaspeed Miata that I was tracking. As I was sliding through the gravel one day, it occurred to me that maybe I should just build one specifically for this stuff. I got this one for $1400 with the hardtop, and bought a wrecked Mazdaspeed for the drivetrain. The cars are cheap, they're light, and they don't break until you do things like this. Also, I can eat $150,000 German and Italian things for lunch.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Claimed 358 hp at the wheels on 20 psi of boost. Mann is 72. He raced Corvettes in the Sixties.

Why'd you try it?

As Mann said, "It's just a stock Miata motor with forged rods and Wiseco pistons, bored a couple of millimeters over. Big-valve head, Precision 5558 turbo. Hydra ECU. At low psi, it's about 327 hp at the wheels." Plus R-compound tires and a pared-down interior.

In other words, the most powerful non-V-8 Miata at the event. Perspective is important.

What did it feel like?

It felt like being careful, then going on a murderous rampage, then being more careful. All packaged in a Miata, a car with a face like a tin of cookies. Odd dichotomy.

There's lag, and then there's Lag. As in pedal down nothing nothing whoa YUP THERE IT IS and you have a moment of personal clenching. Mann's car is the latter plus scaly fender vents and a big splitter. Fast in a straight line, but the rear suspension is—how to put this—maybe not entirely down with the program. Which wouldn't matter if it weren't trying to channel a decent amount of torque. It fights back, leaves corners sideways in snatchy, on-off jerks, so you either tiptoe up to the tires' limits or agree to constantly battle the steering.

Don't get me wrong: I love cars like this.

Don't get me wrong: I love cars like this. But it was exhausting like nothing else here. If Mann's Miata were a dog, it would be a Rottweiler with a collar made of knives. And you would give that dog hamburger by the pound, in nailed-shut wooden crates. He would rip into those crates without encouragement, because he's that kind of dog. You would feed him serious amounts of meat.

Also Corvettes.

The owner says:

I built it. I've been racing since I was 16, and now I'm too damn old, but I like track days. I was going to get another Corvette, and a friend talked me into the Miata—'Hell,' he said, 'for what you spend on one Corvette tire, you can buy a whole Miata.' I actually bought an [NB] and put the Flyin' Miata FM II kit on it, but it wasn't fast enough. I didn't want to cut it up because it was that yellow they only come out with every 10 years. Sold it and bought this.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

A Miata, just lighter, stronger, and faster. Also, it looks like a bad-ass fish.

Why'd you try it?

Every great road car has had an element of Lego about it—people using the parts in kit cars or homebuilts. The Catfish, one of the better Miata kits, pairs a steel space frame with NA or NB mechanicals and suspension. It costs $13,900 plus the donor car, and the finished product weighs around 650 pounds less than an NA or NB. The kit was developed by Bauer Limited Production of San Marcos, California. Brandt's car had street tires, a Japanese-market 1.8-liter, a turbocharger, a Torsen-limited-slip, a six-speed, and Wilwood brakes. It made a claimed 215 hp at the wheels.

Bauer Catfish (NA/NB) — Tube-Frame Kit Car Saroyan Humphrey

What did it feel like?

Weird little thing. Also fantastic.

Really nice bodywork quality. Funny how much it looks like an ND but effectively predates that car. Just lovely lines. Brandt's Catfish is a little too low and stiff for my taste, so it kind of instantly leans on the tire—it can be a handful if you're feeding in power anywhere near full suspension load. The engine is obviously Miata, but the rest of the transplanted bits blend together. The nose knifes into corners, and the whole package is rigid as hell.

More important: You can do this with a Miata! For $14,000! How cool is that?

Bauer Catfish (NA/NB) — Tube-Frame Kit Car Saroyan Humphrey

Julien Brandt, the owner of the Catfish. Saroyan Humphrey

I love the idea of these cars as a parts bin for What the Hell? projects. Like air-cooled Beetles were in the 1960s and 1970s. And I can't help wondering how many cars like this were dreamed up by guys who like to drink. Because the Catfish is a great idea, as it sits, while sober. Four or five beers in, it would be the best damn batshit on earth.

The owner says:

I had a Mercedes C63 that I knew was going to burn through a $1000 set of tires every time I took it to the track, and risk blowing up a $30,000 motor. I wanted a cheap platform to really learn and hammer on. I'd always wanted to build a car—it's a cool way to learn more than just changing brakes and oil.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Milewski's car, built by Flyin' Miata, is believed to be the first street-legal LS3 Miata in California. Also, it has a V-8.

Eight cylinders in a vee. Dee-troit. V-8.

In a Miata.

Did I mention the V-8?

Why'd you try it?

People have been motor-swapping Miatas for years—the same idea built the Shelby Cobra, but also countless hot rods and backyard specials before that. Small car plus big, reliable power equals massive hoot. You can do a Miata V-8 on the cheap, with a junkyard engine and used parts, or you can pay a reputable shop for labor and buy a new crate motor.

Milewski lives in California; the state's notoriously stringent emission laws required that he use specific, government-certified parts in order to register the car for the street. This took time and effort, because some of those parts didn't really fit onto the car to begin with. The building process included seam-welding the body and modifying the rest of the car to handle the torque. (The gearbox is a Tremec, the diff is from a Camaro, etc.) All told, the job booked about 1000 hours of shop labor.

I tried it because sweet fancy Jesus, V-8 Miata.

But that doesn't answer the question. I tried it because sweet fancy Jesus, V-8 Miata.

What did it feel like?

Oh.

This is going to be a problem.

You know that feeling when you're in the middle of some pastime or hobby that you really love, something where your brain just pauses the rest of the world? Living in the moment, relief from everything adult?

It's not that fast. The turbo cars were almost as quick, and I've driven modern cars that are quicker. It's the grin-so-hard-your-teeth-hurt thing, where you feel like you're playing a giant joke on the universe. You get grunt everywhere, always and forever, no lag. In a car the size of a lawn tractor. Plus hooty roller-skate yaw.

Here's how a sorted V-8 Miata works in a corner: Brake deep and hard, then roll off the pedal gently, to keep the nose happy. Roll the car down to the apex in a kind of hurried saunter, then find the throttle and quickly walk it toward the floor. If you do it right, you get a skittery, sinewy little rip toward the edge of the track and a bunch of imploded scenery. If you do it wrong, the car is sloppy, slidey, not fast but also not slow. (That sounds familiar.)

It's a big-boy car. You cannot be timid.

It's a big-boy car. You cannot be timid. You will go fast if you are timid, but you will not see the light.

I drove a Shelby Cobra once—the real thing, built in the 1960s. Despite what everyone says, they're docile cars. They slide like big, compliant go-karts, because Shelby's people took the time to sort them. To make the chassis work, without being bound up and awful.

Flyin' Miata did a nice job here; they resisted the temptation to overspring the car, for one; the street-focused suspension is compliant but still satisfying and capable for track work. Stopping is handled by Wilwood six-pot calipers, front and rear, and the car always has enough brake. The steering is light but full of feedback. The engine wants to spin and makes nutball noise in the process. The gearbox, a Tremec, feels muscle-car durable. It's all just . . . enough.

I talked to Keith Tanner, one of FM's engineers, after I drove the car. "Everyone expects them to be fast," he said. "Nobody expects them to work."

I wrote "Nuclear Christmas" in my notes.

I was supposed to take three laps. Milewski said he didn't care, so I cheated and took four or five. It wasn't enough. I found myself wondering how Carroll Shelby laughed after his guys built the first Cobra. I wrote "Nuclear Christmas" in my notes. And the fallout from that—the cancer you get and can never shake—is walking around all day, jonesing for V-8 Miata for the rest of your life.

I am going to build one of these.

It's going to happen.

My wife is either going to kill me or understand completely.

The owner says:

General Motors, I love them for this, I have no idea why they did it. But they sell kits: There's a smaller motor, the LS3, and the LSA, from the Cadillac CTS-V. You can get them with a California emissions sticker that says you can put it in any car 1995 or earlier. But you've got to use the converters and manifolds that come in the kit, and getting those cats to fit in a Miata is really challenging. The transmission is a [Tremec] T-56 Magnum, almost the same as in a Camaro. The diff is CTS-V. It made 396 at the wheels in 49-state trim, and then we put all of the California stuff on it and took it through the referee.

I get the "why" question a lot. People love the idea, then they go, 'You're crazy. That's Corvette money.'

Corvettes don't make me giggle. I say, 'Just sit in it. Here's the key. Just start it.' And the moment the rumble starts, they start giggling. They're amazing cars, almost telepathic, no bad habits whatsoever.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

178 bone-stock horsepower, sorted by factory engineers. Plus factory-tweaked suspension and brakes.

Why'd you try it?

For a reminder of just how good big-league carmakers are at making fast machines with a warranty. Morris's car had aftermarket wheels and a few minor tweaks for durability, but it was essentially stock.

What did it feel like?

Lovely. After Milewski's V-8, a breath of fresh air. And a shocking reminder of just how good factory development guys can be, when they're given some rope. Minimal lag. Good brake feel. On street rubber, just enough tire that the car slides without much roll. More neutral than the stock NB; you leave faster corners with a few degrees of yaw on the taillights. (Hey tuners: Suspension travel is your friend! Use it.)

Hey tuners: Suspension travel is your friend!

You could live with this. Not a hardcore track car, but a nice compromise, a turnkey package for any purpose. There's probably a lesson here, but I can't see it, because I'm too busy thinking about HOW MUCH MILEWSKI'S CAR WAS F***ING INCREDIBLE.

The owner says:

This is my first track event. I had a WRX before this. I originally lived in Seattle, and when I moved, I thought this was the perfect California car—top down, not too powerful, won't get into too much trouble. But I'm having more fun than I thought I would. You always hear driving a slow car fast is better than driving a fast car slow. It's infinitely more fun than the WRX, with much less power.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Digitally managed turbocharging is now crazy affordable, which is cool. But you know what that technology has basically made extinct? Supercharging.

You know what's cool as hell? Supercharging.

Why'd you try it?

A stock 1.6-liter, 178,000 miles, and a Moss M45 blower paired with Megasquirt. Plus a roll bar. The stock exhaust had been fitted with an electronic dump valve activated by the switch for the pop-up headlights: Quiet when you want it, noise when you don't.

What did it feel like?

Linear. Like a Spec Miata with more special. A reminder that turbocharging robs any engine of linear power, and linear power is good. Satisfying, because it's innately predictable. I don't get much of a run in this one, just a few laps in heavy traffic. But it's enough. In the 1990s, this kind of power must have been giant-killing. Now it's the same pace as a used VW GTI. But a GTI isn't on your side this much, at the limit.

Funny, too, how NA Miatas don't feel old.

Funny, too, how NA Miatas don't feel old. Not new, but not aging, either. Just a timeless thing, sitting outside the normal spectrum of used cars, their own little world.

The owner says:

This is my second Miata. It's never going away. I sold the first one six months after I bought it and regretted it. I wanted more horsepower—I went to a 400-hp SRT-4, a 500-hp supercharged Mustang. But I came back, because nothing beats a lightweight car. There's huge aftermarket support, plenty of parts, always people doing different things. I don't know what it is about them, but there's a reason they built a million of them.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Basically a cheaper Ariel Atom made from Miata parts. If that doesn't mean anything to you, just picture an engine bolted to two stepladders and a seat.

Why'd you try it?

I've always wanted to die smiling. The Exocet is a kit, like the Catfish—a steel-tube frame carrying Miata suspension and driveline bits. Unlike the Catfish, there is no bodywork. Bugs go up your pants. Weight varies with configuration, our test car was 1550 pounds wet. Two hundred and fifty turbocharged horsepower at the crankshaft.

Exocet—Turbocharged, Open-Wheel Heart Attack Saroyan Humphrey

What did it feel like?

Like every other car on track was a ponderous turd. You leave every corner sideways. You hummingbird your way through a lap. You could rob banks with this, because no one would ever believe the witnesses describing your escape. ("Just some kinda space car, I dunno. It was weird. Alien bug.")

Ridiculous, screamy acceleration. The car is light enough to make a standard Miata seem dipped in marshmallow. The tires yell at you through the wheel or the seat whenever the car is sliding, the steering getting light or your spine talking to the rear sidewalls. When the car goes sideways—usually under power, but not always—you just ride it out, more throttle, these caffeinated, snatchy little yips across the track. It is concentrated essence of Miata, and if that essence could be distilled into a powder, the car would be badgering you to snort the stuff, like a drug.

Laguna's Turn 12 is a slow, second-gear left-hander that leads onto Laguna's front straight. I keep exiting it sideways, one-handed, on the throttle in second gear. Because it's fun. I could do it all day. Get an Exocet with sticky tires, head to track days and make Porsche guys feel butt-hurt. Then go home and pick the bugs from your nipples.

Saroyan Humphrey

The coolest part:

Brand-new Miata, 525 hp, Chevrolet.

FMs Keith Tanner changing tires on the V-8 ND Saroyan Humphrey

What did it feel like?

It was so much its own thing, we covered it in a separate story. Go read that and come back.

Saroyan Humphrey

And then the day was over. Correction: The two days were over. It took me a full day and a half to interview every owner, to help position and photograph 19 cars in our makeshift studio, and to drive each car on track. It was wonderfully exhausting. At the end, I fell into a chair in Laguna's garages and stared at a wall for ten minutes.

This whole experiment was amazing, really. For one thing, it reminded me that cars are only as interesting as they people they attract. I met and talked with dozens of Miata people at Laguna, and each was friendly, encouraging, awesome. Just open and welcoming, willing to share their cars. You like what I like? Awesome! You must not be a crappy human. Have a beer.

Tom Matano, the father of the Miata, rides shotgun with the author in the 1,000,000th Miata. Saroyan Humphrey

Saroyan Humphrey

In ten years of doing this job, I've hung out with a lot of car clubs, and I've met thousands of track-day guys. Miata people are something different. When we planned this test, I assumed the people had something to do with the machine itself. After the test, it occurred to me that the machine was merely a means to an end. If a Porsche or a Ferrari exists on many levels—sculpture, engineering one-percenter, transportation device—a Miata is simply meant to make you drive, no footnotes. In stock form, at least, you aren't supposed to fix it much, or think about where you park it, or obsess over anything save a road map. If some cars are art that can live in museums, this . . . isn't.

Or maybe it's just that the art is different—a performance, not a physical object. The art is how the car deemphasizes everything but miles. And the Miata's glory is in how the car steps out of the way. How much of an attainable, gateway-drug lens it becomes for what each of us want. Which is probably why so many people can't leave the cars stock.

Saroyan Humphrey

At the end of the day, the clouds rolled in and the shadows got long. The air did that Monterey evening trick, where the light gets all contrasty and sharp. Humidity poured in from the coast.

Other reminders from the weekend: Good suspension is better and more usable than a good engine. Great suspension is way better than a great engine. There are apparently a billion ways to make a turbocharger work on one model of car, and each will give you a different result. Drivability is critical on anything. Making your rear suspension work is just as important. A bad Miata is still better than most cars on their best day.

The most "Miata" car that I drove was Richard Dekker's lightly modified ND. The most entertaining one was Zandr Milewski's V-8 NA. The fastest weaponized giggle was Flyin' Miata's V-8 ND. The Exocet was the sharpest track tool.

And the best car for an experiment like this was . . . all of them.

Saroyan Humphrey

Special thanks to Flyin' Miata, our featured owners, and Miatas at Mazda Raceway for their help. This story obviously couldn't have happened without you, but more important, you were all entirely too nice.