Errand Into Occasion

The road from home to HEB is paved with pitted country roads, fast sweepers, and a few tight turns. It is when I plan it right.

And why wouldn't I? Last Christmas, I bought myself a 2024 Mazda Miata Club, the ND3 model. She's painted in the gorgeous soul red crystal metallic, has a 6-speed manual, an easy to use soft-top, and is as stock as can be. I wouldn't have it any other way.

The path first takes me to a shittily paved road with a generous 60 mph limit. Then comes a right turn down a road snaking between farm fields and tree groves that glow in the setting sun. The top is completely down, Outrun The World is blasting, and my hair is tossed by the wind as my soul ebbs and flows with the pace of the engine. My worries melt into the pavement like black asphalt into potholes until the next rainfall reminds me they are there.

 

For now, all that matters is me, the car, and the road.

 

 

 

I rocket to the speed limit somewhere in the realm of 6 seconds, plenty fast in a car so small that Corvettes look like frigates from the driver's seat. I get to my turn, downshift clumsily into 2nd gear, and slingshot through the farm lands. I settle into a rhythm.

Paradoxically, the same soft suspension that enables cat-like reflexes and joy, carries me along the road gently. It's as if my coccyx were cradled like a meticulously packed Japanese fruit, luxurious and well-considered. A car this tiny and this fun shouldn't be this comfortable.

Eventually, the path through cow fields and cow pies gives way to traffic lights and super-highways. The orange sky dims into indigo as the last bit of sun squeezes its way through the horizon. Heading north on the highway, I keep the top down but roll up the windows, cresting 70 mph through a sweeper. The noise is definitely there, but mostly it's other motorists disturbing the peace. The Miata itself is surprisingly quiet. 

Heading around a long bend, I finally see it: the big red glow of the holy site many Texans pilgrim to on a weekly basis: HEB.

 

 

A suffocating plague of brodozers and 3-ton family cars crowd the parking lot. I delicately park the car and loosen my grip on the wheel. 

I take a moment to appreciate the niceness of the interior. There is a premium vibe here that you can feel, and the ND3 goes the extra mile by adding padded cushioning near the transmission tunnel where your knee would rest, and the transmission tunnel-hump is covered in a leather-like material. 

The Recaro seats have that Aeron office chair design for the sake of weight savings, yet they support my fat ass perfectly. There is white stitching and piping on them that adds some classiness, too, that I think surpasses the red stitching and piping from previous years.  

 

  

 

Finally, there are those bold pops of body color paint at the top of the doors that, as the soft top does when it drops, invites in a bit of the outside. All of the elements come together to signal that you're driving a special car. 

 

 

I finish shopping for Texas-shaped chicken nuggets and pralines, return to the car, and do it all over again. Top down, dreamwave blasting, joy in motion. In a world of sunsets, big skies, farmland, crossovers and brodozers, all that matters is me, the car, and the road.