The Car

Well, it happened. I got a new car. It's been over 10 years since I bought a car, so quit looking at me like that. It's not like I'm one of those lease it and leave it hipsters that swaps out his Hummer after it gets hit with a single sparrow turd while running over baby fur seals on his drive home from a game of super-tanker bumper tag in the ocean sanctuary where Jacques Cousteau had his ashes scattered.

I was driving a perfectly good but aging '97 Maxima that I had purchased new, but it just didn't have that "I'm so ready for my mid-life crisis now" appeal. In a nod to practicality, I tried to put myself in a nice little Jetta or possibly a used Civic. It just wasn't going to happen. Long story short, I ended up buying a Mazadaspeed 6 after having it recommended to me by my good friend Tom.

Now, most people have no idea what this is. Everybody knows how to react when they find out your car is a BMW 335xi or an Audi S4 as if it should be assumed that your daily commute consists of a ride into orbit. Telling these same people that you drive a Mazda, let alone a Mazdaspeed 6 gets you one of those, "That's nice. Now take off the silly hat and go eat the paste" patronizing smiles.

At one point I came pretty close to pulling the trigger on an Infiniti G35x. Great car, except that you can't get the AWD version with a stick and that the dealer I was working with felt that there was either some kind of quality lacking in my portfolio or that my dress casual clothing wasn't of sufficient grade to warrant the major investment involved in calling me back with model information following a test drive. Plus, the car looks like a shoe. However, I had a hard time getting myself to believe that Mazda had anything in a sedan that could be considered a standout alongside of a Beemer and its ilk.

As if.

The Mazdaspeed 6 is a freaking monster. It was built at the same factory that spawned Christine, except that all the nice assembly demons were on strike that day. They installed an intercooled, turbocharged motor putting out the kind of horsepower that you'd normally only find in a Vin Diesel movie. 0-60 times are in the Oh My God's. They added extra steel to the body to increase rigidity enabling lane changes that happen telepathically. It also has an all wheel drive system that moves the power around to all four wheels allowing the 6 to hold on in the corners so well that it gives you the high G-force giggles for the rest of the day. The more gas you give it in a corner, the more you want to turn into the corner until you run out of "right" (or "left" if you live in the UK). Also, it's as smooth at 140 as it is at 60. You can't tell the difference unless you look at the speedo or measure the frequency at which the telephone poles are going by.

And, it only comes with a stick.

That particular feature pretty much sold the car to me on its own; no triptronics or slush-boxes here. I know I'm a bit of a throwback, but I'm into that. There are just not that many people out there that will voluntarily drive a stick anymore. However, all of the guys I know give me that conspiratorial raised eyebrow expression and nod knowingly when I point out the stick-only feature to them, as if they've spent years on the circuit with Michael Schumacher. What is it about the male of the species that requires us to assume that driving a manual transmission is an innate skill on par with grilling meat? Take notice, Medium Rare is RED in the middle, not pink, and I'm going to need a down payment for synchro repair before you get to drive.

One of the best parts is that you have no idea what it's all about by looking at it. It is a good looking car. With German body design and great paint options, it looks like a small, sporty sedan set up for comfortable commuting. By avoiding the silly hood scoops, spoiler wings and bolted on plastic "ground effects" that are standard in comparable Japanese sedans such as the WRX, Mazda created a total sleeper that surprises would-be highway assassins with gobs of instant on acceleration. Gas mileage suffers as your right foot gets heavier. In a giving gesture to my inner Civic driver, I promise myself every morning in the bathroom mirror that I will stay off the turbo.

Yeah, right. My thinning hair, enlarging waistline and increasing dissatisfaction with my direction in life will see YOU on the highway.