Enjoying life and the rare instances when it affords you fun, laughter, and happiness is something that I am also acutely aware of. There is far too much doom and gloom in the world. So if a mate calls me on a Sunday morning and invites me down to the beach to play in the sun and share some beers, there are few things better that I can think of. In recent years I’ve come to realise that I am a product of my environment: the seasons affect me as do my place of residence and, of course, my car.
Recently I made the tough decision to put my daily driver up for sale. Granted, she’s not the most exciting car to drive and by no means has she been the fastest vehicle that I’ve owned. But she has been a wonderful cruiser that eats up long country miles like a vacuum cleaner. There were many reasons that, combined, made her sale the most logical thing to do. It’s a risk versus reward thing. There isn’t much more fun I can get out of this car that I haven’t already experienced. And the only things I can really look forward to are higher kilometres and having to do a head gasket on a BMW V8.
The decision was also motivated by the seasons. Having had both NA and NB MX-5s as company cars in years past, I have very fond memories of spring getaways to the country, summer esplanade cruising, and peeling skin in autumn. But always, those convertibles gave me an enjoyment that few tin-tops have replicated. In the years since the little Mazdas I’ve mainly owned German saloons, which I have loved dearly. Now, though, I find myself winding down all the windows and opening up the sunroof in the vain attempt to replicate the same feeling that a convertible gives me when driving under an open blue sky.
So in my daily visit to eBay and carsales.com.au, I’ve started searching for a little rag-top for myself.
It’s surprising that a 270,000 kilometre 1.6 litre two-seater made by Mazda in 1989 is still asking almost $10k; and equally unsurprising if you’ve ever been inside the skin of that timeless design and taken its sweet chassis to the limit on a coastal road with the top down. It is a brilliantly addictive car. Personally, I prefer the NB – despite the power steering being less responsive, it makes it far easier to scramble the steering wheel to opposite lock when you’re in the mood for some fun. The 1.8 litre engine is also far less harsh, more usable in traffic, and faster. The exterior is still quite fresh, and the interior is a really nice place to be if you’re under six foot. Good examples are barely over $10k which make them a very smart buy.
But they’re impractical. NA and NB MX-5s have almost no storage space. And as someone that often finds himself transporting boxes around, this is no good to me. Most times I could probably get away with using the front seat, but then what happens if I have someone sitting there? What I need is a convertible with a bit of storage space. And seeing as an E46 330CiC is still a touch out of my budget, it’s the Peugeot 306 cabriolet that has caught my attention.
I love French things. They have the most beautiful language, food, accents, wine, towns, style, and women. Their cars, however, have always left me wanting. They are renowned for their sharp chassis yet whacky idiosyncrasies. But I never really imagined myself owning one. The 306 cab makes sense, though. Four seats, most with leather, an electric soft top, and by all accounts it is meant to have quite enjoyable handling. I say ‘by all accounts’ because I have yet to drive one.
It’s a compromise for me. As much as I love the twin-cam Corollas and the Volvo S40 T5 (floating centre console model), the only front wheel drive I’ve ever truly pined over is the R56 Mini Cooper S (with the turbo donk). So the prospect of owning a naturally aspirated four-pot front wheel drive French car wasn’t really something that I had ever considered.
But as I get older, I realise that if I want a car without a roof, I’m going to have to have to compromise. It might be that I get a Jap roadster with no space, or it might be that I buy a French front-drive cabriolet. It’s a risk versus reward thing, you see.
