One of the sporadic features the Miata Club of America Magazine was a Chapter Corner which highlighted one of the chapter/clubs from around the country. My old club was too small to make the magazine or perhaps all we had to do was to submit one, but never did. This one is about the club that is located around Cleveland, Ohio. They are still active with both a Facebook group and a standalone website.

Chapter Corner

Northcoast Miata Club

Back in June of 1990, about 30 enthusiastic Miata owners gathered in Kathy Lyle’s garage for the first meeting of the Northcoast Miata Club, so named because of our location. The chapter encompasses the northeast corner of Ohio, on the south shore of the Great Lakes in a region fondly known as the “North Coast.” Our logo shows the shoreline of Lake Erie with a Miata driving down a winding road bordered by a checkered racing flag. A static cling of the Northcoast logo is given to each of our club members to display on their car window. We currently have about 150 Miatas sporting the cling and our monthly meetings are now held at our sponsor dealership, The Cascade Auto Group in Cuyahoga Falls.

Almost right from the beginning we’ve struggled with this dilemma: Is the club too social or is the club too technical? Do we spend too much time planning picnics and outings, or is too much emphasis placed on racing and performance? We try to stay balanced.

The social activities are varied and extensive. Our premier event, which has been held annually since 1991, is the Roadkill Rally. This is an all-day activity that teams Miata members to compete for prizes by completing a predetermined list of events captured on film by members of the team within the allotted time and to the specifications of each photo opportunity. In other words, it’s just a crazy good time. We have had as many as 40 Miatas participate in this popular event each year.
Our club boasts 10 members who compete in SCCA racing, including two National Champions. We have several Northcoast members who have taken their Miatas to drivers’ schools at different tracks, including Mid-Ohio and Summit Point. We recently hosted a restricted practice
weekend at nearby Nelson Ledges Road Course, where our experienced SCCA drivers assisted novice drivers on the ins and outs of the track. After that weekend, one club member wrote, “IT WAS THE BEST DAY OF MY ENTIRE LIFE” Not to say that I lead a mundane life, I have my share of excitement just like the next gal….but this was not excitement….THIS WAS ADRENALINE!!!!!*

We have several weekend trips each year, including some repeat events. Northcoast Miatas have become a regular sight at Lake Chautauqua in western New York where we enjoy the Chautauqua Institute and fine dining at a favorite B&B, the William Seward Inn. We have also become regulars at the Shaw Festival in Niagara-on-the¬Lake, Ontario. In addition to the theater, we have discovered some excellent wineries in the region. Many bottles of Pillitteri wine have been toted across the border. We consume this fine Canadian wine on “newsletter night,” an evening when several members gather together around editor Beth Kramer’s PC and provide assistance in producing articles for “The Exhaust Notes.”

Our club is steeped in culture. We have attended several theater outings, including interactive theater and a Murder Mystery Weekend. We’ve attended concerts at Blossom Music Center and an opera dinner at a local Italian restaurant. It was there that we discovered the real meaning of the word “Miata.” As quoted by member Jim Simmelink in an article in our newsletter, “The historical truth is that ‘Miata’ is an Italian word that does not translate well into English, but I’ll try. The first part is short for Mama mia! and is always followed by an explanation mark(!). The -ata part is a sigh of mixed emotions of pleasure and anger. All of this explains why the lead singer of a little-known Italian opera shouts out ‘Miata’ during the final scene as his new little roadster drives off center stage and over, a cliff with his mother-in-law still clinging to the wheel.” Our club is an eclectic collection of interesting characters!

The “Northcoast Competition Team” was formed in 1996 by a group of characters who regularly participate in autocrosses in the Cleveland/Akron area. Several members participated in the slalom race in Toronto, and we’ve been invited to Columbus for Solo II racing hosted by the Buckeye Miata Club as well. Our club members have formed friendships with several other chapters. We have joined the Trillium Club on their annual Victoria Day trip to Vermont, and have shared events with the West Penn chapter and the Buckeye Chapter. Several NMC members are active on the Internet and keep us informed about what the Miata network is up to.

Members from our chapter have attended each national event since the first one hosted by the Indy in ’92. In 1995, we hosted a national event —the Rock-n-Roll Rally. We spent nearly two years planning the event, originally scheduled to occur roughly 3 months after the opening of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. However, construction delays postponed the grand opening until Labor Day Weekend, one week after our national Miata Event!! Panic ensued, but through the persistence of the club’s president (at the time Tom Stan, we were able to get a preview tour of the Hall
of Fame. In fact, the Rock Hall staff used our group to pilot traffic flow for the opening weekend crowds. In addition to that, our venue included hot laps at Nelson Ledges, tours of Amish country, a dinner at the historic Crawford Auto Museum and a scenic boat ride on the Cuyahoga River. Oh, yeah, also a very long food line at a drive-in movie!

We’ve held a number of tech sessions covering everything from oil changes to brakes and timing belts. They always attract many members. We met at a Goodyear dealer in Akron where the we were able to watch as one of our members had a computerized four-wheel alignment. We also had a meeting at the Dent Wizard, where one lucky winner had a small dent removed from her silver beauty. Club members have held oil change parties, speaker installation parties; we even had one member who had a party to install his super charger! We’ll use any excuse to party.

And we use any excuse to drive our Miatas. After reading another chapter’s newsletter last year, we decided to try an evening ‘Bug Splat Rally.” First, we taped paper targets to the front of each car (placement determined by the driver), enjoyed a leisurely dinner while waiting for dusk, and then drove through the buggy dark along some of our favorite country roads. After a pleasant drive, we stopped at an ice cream stand to compare targets and see who had the best splat—we had some very interesting bugs!

We frequently engage in mystery tours. These are gatherings where the host designates a meeting place, then picks some curvy, hilly roads for a caravan of Miatas to drive on. Generally, at the end of the line is a favorite restaurant. As time goes by, we have discovered that an ice cream stop is also an important part of each mystery tour. We firmly support that Miata motto (perhaps by the Trillium Chapter?) “We drive to eat, and eat to drive!”

Towards the end of the Ohio convertible season, which always comes too soon, we find a good location for our annual Fall Foliage Tour. We have both one-day and weekend drives, winding through the countryside of Ohio and Pennsylvania appreciating Mother Nature’s color schemes. The finale of each year is a holiday celebration with a Miata gift exchange and officer elections for the following year. Our club is ever-changing, but always ready for a good time. We look forward to many more Miata events, including the Miata Cruise and the 1998 Miata Mountain Madness in the Poconos. Keep an eye out at future events for the fun-loving “Northcoasters”; we’re the “shy” ones.

 

I restarted this 25 Years Ago of the Miata Magazine on the blog when we moved to Oregon, but I have copies of what I did for the Masters Miata Club’s website, there are a dozen or so of them, that ran from December 2015 to September 2019. Maybe when I’m bored I’ll add them on the blog here. They’ll be backdated to when I first published them, so you’ll have to hunt for them.

Good Bones

By Norman Garrett III
Founder Miata Club of America
Concept Engineer Miata Project

I’ve seen and driven a lot of modified Miatas over the past eight years. Just about everything you can do to one of these cars has come under my purview. That’s why I was so surprised last week when I fell in love with the type of Miata I hadn’t spent time with since ’89: a bone stock Miata.

Vince had left his ’90 B package over at my garage for two weeks last month and I took advantage of having an extra car around. Vince is one of those owners (like many of you) who keep his cars immaculate. Back when we were college room-mates, Vince’s side of the room was identifiable as the one with the pencils in their pocket protectors, papers neatly stacked, calculator charged and in its case. I was known as the idea guy, which meant if you needed last week’s homework I would have no idea where it was. If Vince ran a tight ship, I was the one continually building new boats.

We bought our Miatas together back in September of ’89. My blue base model and his red B left Hiroshima the same day, crossed over on the same boat, rode on the same truck, and were sitting at the same dealership in Atlanta waiting for us to bring two checks over. Mazda had let us order two cars and “given” them to us at list price – a great deal during a time when dealers were “adjusting” prices somewhat. Vince and I picked up the cars and drove over to our favorite restaurant, parked them squarely in front and asked for a window booth. Little was digested as we stared out at these two special cars for an entire evening.

It wasn’t long before my tinkering began. It started with the shift knob. Then the steering wheel. The habit spread to the wheels. Then on to the suspension. And over to the audio. Leather seat covers came aboard. The engine room did not escape—I tried everything I could find on that innocent little 1.6, even to go so far as putting a pair of MGB carburetors on the poor thing (it loved them). My little friend never complained. I never missed an oil change or other vital maintenance procedure, but most of my under-hood time was spent changing whatever I could find, mostly for the sake of change.

Like some car with multiple personalities, each week brought a new transformation as we tried out the latest product on my little blue car. Some accessories got to stay on; most were taken off a week later, not being in the essence of my “true sports car” paradigm. Each time the UPS truck would arrive, my car would cringe, knowing that some new part had arrived to be tried out that day.

Vince’s car, in the meantime, was enjoying a quiet existence in a heated, well lit garage, being washed and vacuumed weekly, waxed quarterly. Vince never revved his engine until warm, always kept the hard top on during inclement weather, and rotated his tires regularly. Vince had gone through the normal repair items in 59,000 miles: timing belt, brake pads twice, clutch, ac compressor, shocks and kept his car tight as a drum.

My car has never worn out a set of tires, shocks, or brake pads – these items were changed at whim long before their useful life was reached. After seven years of tuning, I’ve just about gotten my car right where I like it. It is fast as a scalded cat, corners like a race car, looks like a million dollars, and fits me like a glove.

This is why I found Vince’s car so surprising. It was a dream of its own to drive. With new shocks and tires and a fresh wax job, his car drives like the day it was new. And I had forgotten how pleasant and exciting a stock Miata can be. The ride is smooth and quiet. The engine pulls strongly to redline. Throwing the car into a corner rewards you with tremendous grip and gleeful G forces. And you don’t have to exceed the speed limit to enjoy the edges of the performance envelope. Very entertaining.

I had borrowed a friend’s BMW Z3 for a road trip recently and was impressed with how good it was on the highway—its civility uncovered just how far I had taken my personal Miata toward the edge of the comfort zone. Where my car feels too much like a race car for some people, the BMW felt too much like a sedan. Vince’s car landed right in the middle and proved to be the best compromise: tight enough to be rewarding in the twisties, soft enough not to rattle your kidneys on the highway.

I guess Mazda hit it right on the head back in ’89. A sports car that doesn’t require excuses, a competent handler that can still take a long drive to nowhere. A car that can show its face at an autocross or an interstate with the same aplomb. And for us tinkerers in the crowd, a great starting point to make our own dream car a reality. Even if we don’t always improve what Mazda gave us in the first place.

 

This is the year that the magazine was transitioning from a quarterly to a bi-monthly publishing schedule, 1997 had five issues. This is number two because they counted the mid-winter tech issue as volume one. So for volume numbers two through four of this year I’ll stick to the spring, summer, fall and winter dates and next year I’ll do it this every other month, probably mid-January, mid-March, etc.

Back To Today

– by Vince Tidwell
   President
   Miata Club of America

I remember well the two weeks every summer I spent with my still very close friend Jimmy Wilson. We were young — blissfully young — and his parents had a cottage on the lake where they would take us for 14 days of cookouts and swimming off the dock. When a boat passed by we would ride the waves of its wake as they rushed to the shore. The dock would rise and fall and the water lap the bank’s Georgia red clay. It was always with great anticipation we’d spy a cabin cruiser or house boat. Big waves. No homework, no girl problems (yet) except his younger sister, and no financial concerns. Nope, just a few rules that were decisively and lovingly enforced if we decided to explore the limits of behavior as pre-adolescent boys are wont to do. The smiles never stopped. Oh, stepping on a pinecone barefoot didn’t bring much pleasure but it was amazing how even if the boat ran out of gas or if you bruised yourself silly it didn’t matter but for a few moments. Our life’s paradigm, indeed our whole attitude, was “maxed” out. In short, it didn’t get any better than that. I realize now I have Jimmy’s parents to thank. It was their effort and, mostly, their attitude that provided the environment for both of us to grow.

What does this have to do with Miatas? Thanks for your patience; just ruminate whilst I illuminate. I liken the Miata to Jimmy’s parents; particularly his father, Dewey, who seemed to always have a smile on his face and a proactive philosophy. The Miata can, time after time, if but a few short moments, make lemonade out of lemons. The top down, the lifting of the clutch as the engine growls and propels a foam-filled seat into the small of your back. The wind rustling through your hair as the steering wheel has just the correct resistance in your hand to navigate the curve. The reassuring click/click of the shifter as you ask for more thrust. A touch of a but-ton and your soul can soar to the music of your choice.

Did you ever notice that as you squint from the sun’s glare you bring a smile to your face? Incredibly, there are people who are totally numb to the aforementioned. They have someplace to go. Tomorrow, perhaps. The Miata is a time machine for me, if not many of you. It destroys a lot of the past that is best forgotten and annihilates the concerns/fears of the future. It can bring you BACK to today, this very moment. How many times have so many of us escaped from whatever may plague us only to realize that it can’t bother us if we don’t let it? How many times have I come to that realization behind the wheel of my Miata and not my family sedan? How can a product planner possibly design this utility into a marketable good?

When I drive out to the roads that Robert Frost prefers, I open up every sense of my body and seize the day. Easy to do, but what about traffic, you ask? That’s when I think of that cabin cruiser boat. Huh? Traffic? I must be joking! Every fiber in my body dislikes stopping on an interstate (no stop signs; how’s that possible?) or waiting in line on a side road. I know that everyone else around me has an agenda and sitting in traffic is NEVER on anyone’s agenda. But here’s my chance to shine. If someone lets me into a coveted slot, I wave thank you. If I need into a slot I smile into another person’s eyes, point and ask politely if I may merge. Works every time. If someone needs to merge in front of me — sure. If the Z3 wants to challenge me for the first hundred yards off a red light, well, there’s that kid inside again. I smile, wave and point down the road. If weather permits, the top comes down and I make gracious eye contact as much as possible.

Convertibles are wonderful for that and the Miata even more so due to people’s familiarity of it. I’m riding down my road of life, each milestone but a moment in time and each to be anticipated, remembered fondly and then replaced. Maybe I can leave a big wake for each of those people I meet. If they smile as much as Jimmy and I did, then my Miata is indeed a time machine.

Copyright 1997, Miata Magazine. Reprinted without permission.
 

This is a slightly shorter article from the Miata Magazine than usual, but it spoke to me because it reminded me of a member of my former Miata Club. Substitute Edgefield, South Carolina for San Antonio, Texas and Masters Miata for Bluebonnet and this could be Stacey. My own personal Miata is in its own modified “Winter Mode” here in Oregon. The summer tires have been replaced by the all-season tires off the Mini and the battery tender is hooked up to the car. I will try and take it for a short drive at least once a week, but I don’t have a hardtop so any drive will be with the top in the up and locked position.

Winter Mode

– by Art Nisenfeild – Bluebonnet Chapter

Every year about this time. (November) I put my hardtop on and am constantly fielding questions about what purpose it serves. Well, maybe this will help everyone out there to understand the rest of us.

This weekend, my oldest son assisted me in mounting my hardtop on my “baby,” a white 1991 which I have owned since it was new. Each year about this time I have performed this ritual, even though in our southern climate of San Antonio, Texas, the soft top offers more than enough protection during the “winter.” (“Winter” here ends about the first week in February and the top will come back off and resume perching over the Miata in its factory sling.)

He asked me nonchalantly why I insisted on putting the hardtop on, especially since the “winter” had not yet arrived. He had no idea that he had hit a hot button, and I had no real answer for him at the time. So, the question stayed with me the rest of the night. After much contemplation, I have this to offer to my son and those of you who might also wonder.

For one thing. I love the way the car looks with the hardtop. The obvious change from a top down roadster to a sleek GT coup in less than an instant is a premium rarely found on any car, especially one which is driven for pure pleasure.

The feel of the car changes with the hardtop, and the differences between the two modes add to the overall pleasure and appreciation of each. The change back, when the hardtop comes off, magnifies the pleasure one gets when that first springtime drive hits the senses. It all adds to the appreciation of what a wonderful car Mazda created.

In San Antonio, I do pass up several days of top down weather during winter. I could pop the hardtop off to take advantage, but I prefer not to do this. I occasionally get some heat from my fellow Bluebonnet Chapter members when they see me in the hardtop version. Most of these people track their personal best cold weather drives with the top down. One has a 24 degree F. record he likes to brag about. It doesn’t do him any good to try and convince me to leave the top off, because I know the feeling of driving a “different” car in the colder months, and he can only imagine the pleasure.

So, my Miata is in winter mode for now. The next 2-1/2 months will be spent waiting in great anticipation, for the time when the top comes off, and that first top down drive is underway. Taking the top off, only serves to increase the pleasure of an already great car.

Copyright 1996, Miata Magazine. Reprinted without permission.
 

Oh Baby Say Miatago

– by Barbara Beach, Miata Club of America Promotions

Some may think the classic tune “Louie Louie” sang by the Kingsmen says “We Gotta Go”, but die hard enthusiasts believe differently. There’s just something about owning a Miata that makes us personalize almost everything. Some of us start small with just one Miata and a few accessories, while others become real collectors like a member who sports a stable of 28 Miatas. (Yes, they are real ones not models.) It used to be that Palomino horses with silver manes and tails would lead parades, but not any more. Today Miatas are called upon to lead the band. My how times have changed!

As the leaves of autumn turn colors, all the colors of the Miata turn up in football stadiums across the country, most with lovely homecoming kings and queens draped across their boots. When our local high school called and asked the club to provide the parade cars for the fifth consecutive year, I asked them why they hadn’t picked the new BMW Z-3 or one of the other new faces on the road. Their response was unexpected. They said “the Z-3 was just a fad, and the Miata was forever”.

This same spirit was experienced at the 96′ Classic Car Races in Monterey this year. While our person count exceeded last year’s event in total attendance, our car count was down. This mystery was baffling and would require some additional investigation. I first reasoned that unless a lot of people added a 2+2 or a rumble seat to their Miata, something was off. The problem was resolved when one of the enthusiasts explained that 1996 was the year of the BMW, and this year’s marque. This meant that any one that owned a “Beemer” would be lucky enough to take touring laps around the track. Any sports car enthusiast knows the excitement of driving Laguna Seca. For many Miata enthusiasts that also owned “the other car”, it meant some pretty exciting laps. However, the excitement ended there, expect them for lunch in the Miata tent — where the real fun was. Although they could have dined with their “other car club”, they much preferred to hang out with the fun people.

This family spirit replays itself over and over as Miata owners gather for National conventions. More like a reunion than a rally, people compare there latest accessories in the same manner that new parents show off their baby pictures. In fact, the Miata has become the baby for many owners. Many of us joyfully claim to be spending their children’s inheritance in the form of top down driving fun. Travel down any winding sports car road and catch a glimpse of the back of a Miata, (very few have license plates on the front) and you’ll see plates conveying such familiar messages as “No Kids”, “Kid Free”, “Fun 4 2”, “Fun Toy”. Other messages such as “MGB Not”, “Hada MGB”, “Jag Lite” proclaim their loyalty. Other plates such as “WTE Bird”, “Am I Blu”, and “Cra Z Red” fly the Miata Colors. We even know of one Miata owned by an aftermarket company known as “Lab Rat”. A recent M edition owner proclaimed pride in his car with a plate reading “Empower”.

Miata fans have a few of their favorite touring tunes, also. Favorite rally songs include, “She Drives Me Crazy, “A Long and Winding Road”, “Six Days On The Road”. As a group and indi­vidually we seem to create wonderful themes for our car’s. The truly amazing thing about our babies are that each is like a blank canvas, each is like a new child. It’s up to each of us to determine how that baby will grow and what it will look like. Some may grow-up to be muscle cars such as Rocky’s Mega-Monster, while others will develop into petite and feminine flowers, such as Bonnie’s Trixie. While each car appears to look the same to the untrained non-owner, those that have one, know our cars are as different as each of us. And as we love our children, we love our cars. Until next time, this is Miata Barb saying so long Miatago.

 

The Perfect Man-ual

– by Barbara Beach

I used to say that I would never date a guy who drove an automatic. Ha. Like I could be so choosy. What I really meant was that if I could date the perfect guy, among more important qualities like com-passion, honesty and a sense of humor, he would drive a stick.

Okay, maybe those other things aren’t more important; I just didn’t want to admit how shallow I am.

Recently, I read a story in the Washington Post with the headline, “As Drivers Age, An Automatic Shift.” The article, citing Ward’s Automotive Yearbook, reported that manual transmission sales have shrunk from 28.6 percent in 1960 (the year I was born), to 11.8 in 1995.¹ In this article a 31-year-old woman is quoted as saying she wouldn’t date a man who drives an automatic, that these men tend to be boring. Ah, let’s hear it for sisterhood. A fellow traveler. Or at least a fellow passenger.

This statistic of shrinking manual transmission drivers depressed me on many levels. Not least among them was the fact that the demographic pool from which my dream man might spring was drying up at an alarming rate. It also reminded me of another statistic, one universally detested by single women. If you’re a woman, you know the one: it was reported in one of the news magazines a few years ago that a woman’s chances at age forty of getting married were about the same as her chances of get-ting killed by a terrorist. At the time, I, in my usual self- referential way, came up with my own statistic tailored to my own life—my chances at forty of marrying a man who currently was driving a manual transmission were about as great as being killed by a terrorist who drove a manual transmission.

Forgive my digression. The point of this column is to wonder aloud where all the purists have gone. Anyone who has ever driven a stick knows the pure joy, the oneness a driver feels with her engine. Perhaps it is just ignorance, perhaps many of the 88.2 percent who reportedly nowadays drive automatics don’t know what they’re missing. Is that possible? Are people learning to drive without even being exposed to the choice? How tragic.

I have my brother David to thank for being given that choice when I was still young and my mind was still malleable. Although at the time, I didn’t thank him. I learned to drive a manual exactly half my lifetime ago, when I was a freshman in college. My big brother, car nut and law student, was also living in California, and volunteered to teach me how to drive the used Toyota Celica I had just purchased. He generously gave up an afternoon at the library, perhaps not anticipating what a huge sacrifice he was making at the time. If he weren’t my brother surely he would have sued me for the case of whiplash he could have convincingly claimed after an hour of being violently jerked about while I tried to get the hang of depressing the clutch and shifting the lever simultaneously. I shouldn’t have been surprised by my lack of coordination; I had never been one of the lucky ones in the schoolyard able to pat my stomach and rub my head. Nearing the end of his patience, David took me to the steepest hill he could find, stopped midway, turned off the engine and ordered me into the driver’s seat. Terror washed over me as inch by inch we slipped toward the bottom, my own private version of Space Mountain in reverse. Then, in what was to be the only time in our siblinghood that I can recall, my brother socked me in the arm. I burst into tears as I watched him descend the hill on foot, and I swear I could see steam streaming out of his ears like one of those Saturday morning cartoon characters. I couldn’t believe that he had actually left me stranded there, leaning against the bumper, crying like the useless girl I had proven myself to be. But when ten, then twenty minutes passed by and he failed to return, I admitted he wasn’t coming back. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t stay there indefinitely, but I couldn’t face the driver’s seat alone. I would like to tell you that I dried my eyes, mustered up my courage, got back in the car and conquered the hill. Not even close.

Maybe if I were Sandra Bullock, or Jessica Lange, or even Meg Ryan, and this were a silly romantic comedy, that’s how this scene would have played out. But I’m not like any of those fabulous, feisty dames and my life is no romantic comedy. The part of this story that is like a romantic comedy, is what happened next. A really cute guy, a senior no less, came along and bailed me out, driving me back to my dorm and then offering to pick up where my brother had left off, helping me master the subtleties of operating a manual transmission. And he showed me how you could use the emergency brake as a sort of net, until you got your confidence up. But because my life is not like the aforementioned romantic comedy, the really cute guy fell in love with my really cute roommate.

As they say, reality bites.

My brother and I, however, made up, and still maintain a close relationship (meaning he even lets me drive his Porsche once in awhile). And I can start a manual transmission on any hill, and don’t even need to employ the emergency brake trick.

The Washington Post article cites “changing demographics— fewer carefree youth and more responsibility-laden adults…” Oh please, I’m hardly carefree and I have my share of responsibilities. I can understand that people with kids need a bigger car, and most big cars and vans have automatic transmissions. But certainly there are more than 11.8 percent of the population whose lifestyles could include a manual transmission. We need a new survey for these guys.

Copyright 1996, Miata Magazine. Reprinted without permission.