Crappy storms are ruining everyone’s fun in SoCal, with photoshoots and touge runs in gnarly tuner cars sidelined by a level of rain that was last accompanied by an ark. But there it is, our little 2025 Acura ADX A-Spec loaner, ready to tackle the weekend with confidence and deliver some semblance of peace amidst the chaos in the clouds.

That’s right. We’re actually reviewing a practical consumer product with a PRND shifter that isn’t some niche sports car with an H-pattern. How blasphemous. But even the most dedicated enthusiasts could use a coddling daily, and this Acura ADX just might deliver without sucking the life out of them.

Not a bad goal to strive for. But is it enough in this crowded market, stuffed with participants with similar resumes written in different fonts?

A (Sort-Of) Integra On Stilts

The Acura ADX launched for 2025 as an entry-level crossover, forming a two-pronged spear alongside the Integra on which it’s based to attract a more youthful audience. Like how the Integra is a tidied-up Civic, the ADX is a Honda HR-V fresh out of finishing school, complete with a sharp, slightly fastback roofline, optional all-wheel drive, and a big ol’ mean mug up front.

Specs:

MSRP: $35,000 base, $38,000 A-Spec, $42,000 A-Spec Advance, ($46,890 as-tested)

Powertrain: 1.5L turbocharged inline-four// CVT

Horsepower: 190 horsepower @ 6,000 RPM

Torque: 179 pound-feet @ 1,700 RPM

Seating Capacity: 5

Cargo Volume: 24.4 cubic feet (rear seats up), 55.1 cubic feet (rear seats down)

MPG: 25 city, 30 highway, 27 combined, 27.1 observed

Curb Weight: approx. 3,570 pounds

Base front-drive ADXs ring the bell at $35,000. The $42,000 A-Spec Advance trim adds a killer 15-speaker Bang & Olufsen stereo system, Google integration, leather and suede upholstery, and a heated steering wheel versus the base A-Spec’s $38,000 sticker. A mild ground-effects kit adds a few hundred dollars per piece, while all-wheel drive is a $2,000 option on all trims, bringing our loaded Lunar Gray A-Spec Advance with all-wheel drive to nearly $47,000.

While less than the current national average for new car costs (a hair over $50,000), our as-tested price lines it up dangerously close to larger, more powerful offerings from BMW and Genesis. However, you can easily save thousands by ditching the ground-effects kit and the Advance level, turning the ADX into a relative bargain as far as luxury crossovers go. For reference, a BMW X1 currently starts at $42,800.

Standard A-Spec equipment includes a panoramic glass roof, heated and ventilated seats, and a thin veil of sportiness via black 19-inch wheels wrapped in Continental all-seasons and a sport-tuned Machperson front and multilink rear suspension. Motivation comes from a 190-horsepower version of the 1.5-liter VTEC-equipped turbo-four from its Integra sibling, as well as a myriad of Honda products.

What’s Hot?

• Athletic enough to entertain

• Great ride-handling balance

• Excellent infotainment aided by physical switches

• Refreshingly clear visibility

• Spacious, comfortable seating

• Bargain pricing

Cali Cruisin’ For The Whole Family

Upon departing LAX and heading for the stormy coast, the ADX proved to be a capable yet inoffensive commuter. It may not wear a roundel or three-pointed star, yet it makes the most out of its economy ute underpinnings.

NVH is hushed, and ride quality is controlled despite the A-Spec’s sport-tuned suspension and 19-inch rollers. It’s a tad firm but never really stiff, let alone harsh. Sharp bumps just have a bit of a rounded edge to them, while the dampers smartly absorb LA’s spine-shattering potholes with grace.

The A-Spec’s trade-off is a splash of dynamism. This near-3,600-pound crossover wafts around bends confidently with accurate steering that’s well-weighted in all drive modes. Perhaps that’s to be expected in something with a marginally shorter wheelbase than a BMW X1, Lexus NX, or Audi Q3. There’s plenty of grip for bullying traffic on freeway interchanges, and I found myself diving into intersections with more excitement than I should have and being rewarded with controlled, predictable body motions. The combination of well-suited Continental all-seasons and all-wheel drive meant traction was never an issue amidst this weekend’s downpour, too. I call that capable, while families will call it safe.

I certainly enjoy my time in Sport mode and the ADX’s customizable Individual mode, pretending it wears a Type-S badge instead. It’s no Type-S substitute, but it’s more fun to drive than most buyers ever need it to be. Bless! If only it rocked a variant of Acura’s trick Super Handling All-Wheel Drive, which it doesn’t. Boo.

The heated and cooled front seats are plenty comfortable for anyone who still takes issue with the ride. The panoramic glass roof is incredible for bringing light and airiness into an ergonomic cabin that anyone can settle into in minutes, and the thin A-pillars and expansive glass provide stellar visibility. Rear cargo space is ample enough for a few large duffles or a couple of roller bags, but know that it trails some rivals by just a few cubic feet with the rear seats up or down.

Although the interior layout is nearly the same, the average buyer may be hard-pressed to believe this shares close ties with the Honda Civic and HR-V. Panels are snapped tight, and cheaper materials are at least gussied up to look more presentable and sidelined away from common touch points. Acura ensured you mainly notice the spacious greenhouse and those wonderful seats, upholstered in a creamy Orchid and accented with blue suede.

The interior tech is a breeze, thanks to smartphone-quick touch response, Google Maps integration atop of wireless CarPlay and Android Auto, and physical switchgear for the home screen, audio, and climate controls. Trend-followers will call the latter a “dated” choice, but buttons over haptic touch broaden the ADX’s appeal to more drivers, and they actuate with a satisfyingly firm solidity.

The back-up and surround view cameras are among the clearest I’ve seen, while the ADX’s small-ish footprint and front and rear parking sensors ensure that you have to be legitimately trying to hit something. Lane-keep assist and adaptive cruise manage their inputs smoothly and elegantly, which unfortunately can’t be said about the refinement of the start-stop system.

What’s Not?

• Could be a tad sportier

• Could have a smidge more power

• Could be more efficient

• Interior styling is too similar to its Honda counterpart

• Sluggish stop-start

• Not the most opulent or tech-laden luxury crossover

It’s a bit rough at times and takes a half beat longer to fire up, prompting me to always turn it off and reminding me of the humble origins of what’s under the hood. It’s tuned just smooth enough to fit into the segment, and its comparatively meager output is plenty for zipping through traffic. Just don’t expect to win against BMWs or the Genesis GV70 2.5T. Max torque comes on early at 1,700 rpm, but with only 190 ponies and 179 pound-feet on tap, it’s a far cry from ever making us forget more muscular peers.

At least a well-programmed CVT aids this modest honey of a powertrain. Yes, a CVT. And it’s good. Fight me. It does a remarkable enough impression of a seven-speed auto, both at low speeds and high, and is unexpectedly responsive in Sport when you hop on the metal shift paddles for wannabe NSX action. There’s still the faintest whiff of CVT-ness, which is fine when the trade-off is an average of 27.1 mpg over three days of mixed driving. EPA highway estimates are 30 mpg, but the light-footed can easily manage 35 mpg.

A Better Honda Or A Cut-rate Luxury Crossover

Okay, you could find this level of equipment downmarket in a loaded RAV4. Sure. But you’ll miss out on the superior quality and styling, and its infotainment isn’t as nice. The Germans are far more athletic, but nickel and dime you for every option, from heated seats to driving assists, and those sick of touchscreens, scroll knobs, or their styling may be dissuaded. The ADX welcomes these outliers with open arms.

It’s got all the comfort, tech, and space a 21st-century yuppie or budding family could want for an agreeable price, given what’s in its gift basket, even at lower rungs of its spec sheet ladder. Its Civic underpinnings aren’t much to nitpick, and being blessed with its genes with a dose of Acura’s aura births an entry-level luxury crossover that’s sporty enough to satisfy some enthusiasts in search of a warrantied errand runner. The last say in compact luxury crossovers? Perhaps not. But let’s be glad Acura even has a say in it at all.

Mid-life crisis cars. Boomers and Gen X have Corvettes and the Porsche 911. Millennials have (insert any JDM hero car here) and, uh, also the 911. Meanwhile, many Gen Zers are barely passing the quarter-life marker, let alone their mid-life. But a quarter-life crisis car seems to be what’s trending, and it appears that the 987.1 Porsche Cayman and Cayman S are earning their moment in the spotlight.

Great! A Porsche for the masses made even more accessible by the march of time and more desirable by the perceived sterility of new car tech. Younger enthusiasts can cross-shop between a mildly used Toyota GR86 or something bearing that hallowed German crest, still complete with a naturally-aspirated mill and rear-wheel drive bolted to an honest-to-goodness manual transmission.

But are they diamonds in the rough these days? Nothing a blast into Nevada’s twisties in a friend’s 2007 Cayman S can’t answer.

Remembering The “Poor Man’s Porsche”

The 987-generation Porsche Cayman debuted in 2005 for the 2006 model year as the sportier hardtop companion to the entry-level Boxster. Together, they served as a gateway drug for the Stuttgart marque. Early 987.1 variants, such as the one featured here, owned by longtime friend and former contributor Derek Sanders, ran from 2006 to 2008. From there, it was refreshed with a smidge more power and the then-new PDK dual-clutch as the 987.2 from 2009 to 2012

It, along with its Boxter twin, was equally praised and dismissed as a “Poor Man’s Porsche” for bringing mid-engined dynamics to a sub-supercar price bracket. However, it was often accused of being sandbagged in terms of performance and dynamics by Porsche as an alleged means to protect the 911. So came the infamous “Cayman complex,” as some auto journos referred to.

Specs:

Current Values: $30,000 to $45,000 (based on mileage, spec, and condition)

Powertrain: 3.4L flat-six // 6-speed manual

Horsepower: 295 horsepower @ 6,250 RPM

Torque: 251 pound-feet @ 4,400 RPM

Seating Capacity: 2

Cargo Volume: 14.0 cubic feet

MPG: 20 city, 28 highway, 23 combined

Curb Weight: approx. 3,120 pounds

All 987 Caymans wielded the “M97” flat-six, with Sanders’ 987.1 Cayman S displacing 3.4 liters to produce 295 horsepower at 6,250 rpm and 251 pound-feet at 4,400 rpm through a traditional three-pedal arrangement. It’s a healthy bump from the base 987.1’s 2.7-liter version and its 245 horsepower, still a healthy number for motivating roughly 3,120 pounds.

Later 987.2 variants traded the optional Tiptronic automatic for one of the first iterations of Porsche’s world-class PDK dual-clutch, paving the way for later high-performance automatics. Power also increased to 265 horsepower in base cars, thanks to a larger 2.9-liter engine, and 320 horsepower in the S, which still displaced 3.4 liters.

A Mid-Engined Daily Driver

Like most Porsches of the era, they proved to be generally reliable-ish aside from the usual suspects in Porscheville. The IMS bearing ought to be sorted out sooner rather than later, if the one you’re eyeing hasn’t had it done already. The M97s may also suffer from bore scoring, with S models often suffering more than base cars due to higher stresses, poorer tolerances, and reutilizing the same cooling systems as the 2.7.

“Why, yes, I wanted the engine that bore scores more,” Sanders declared, instilling much confidence before a half-day’s drive far away from any Porsche service center.

Starting with a jaunt through Vegas’ suburban grid highlighted the Cayman’s unexpected knack for mundanity. Plush seats, usable cupholders and storage cubbies, and generous storage from the trunk and frunk can genuinely make this someone’s only car if they hate playing DD for their friends. It enabled Sanders to cover thousands of miles over tens of hours without issue during his grand tour from Boise to Salt Lake City to Las Vegas and back.

Most impressive is how it manages such a composed ride, at least with this car’s refurbished non-PASM suspension, unfazed by tattered asphalt despite the short wheelbase and this example’s larger 996-esque wheels. The ride works in conjunction with commendable sound deadening and a rock-solid interior devoid of creaks after 77,000 miles to deliver a quiet ride for the discerning luxury buyer—or irresponsible 20-something-year-old circa 2025.

Still A Porsche At Its Core Many Years Later

Soon, the lil’ Porsche and I departed the valley and ascended into the lush mountains for some exercise on their asphalt ribbons. I leaned a little more on the throttle pedal, dove into corners with more fervor, and learned that a two-decade-old Porsche can still Porsche, which I frankly should’ve expected. It’s not like journos were singing its praises that hard. Were they?

“Perhaps due to its mid-engine layout and slightly rearward weight distribution, the Cayman S felt more stable and balanced during severe braking,” Car and Driver’s Tony Quiroga stated in a shootout with the BMW Z4 M. “Steering is similarly reassuring, direct, and communicative.”

“In the Cayman S, Porsche has conceived and delivered a superb driving instrument, MotorTrend’s Matt Stone praises in an in-period first drive review. “It combines precision, balance, gusto, style, and what we’re sure will be impressive test-track performance. It’s silly fun to drive; a hot-looking partner you’ll enjoy on your first date and never tire of.”

“It’s a blessedly small two-seater,” freelance writer Peter Nelson remarks in his recent review and Hagerty Car Profile of a stock Cayman S. “The current (not for long) 982-gen 718 Cayman is considered small by modern standards, but the 987 is smaller still, and truly feels like a toy to toss around. Yet it also feels confident enough to carve responsibly through a twisty mountain road, which can’t be said for a lot of modern enthusiast chassis.”

Oh. So they were. And they seem to have been onto something.

The hydraulic steering is plenty sharp but not darty and exhibits appreciable feedback through its appropriately-sized wheel, despite the Michelin Alpin winter rubber. I can only imagine the sensations with proper summer tires. Sanders insists it’s a world of difference, with the steering coming to life further. It also has a decent amount of heft, without feeling needlessly so or artificially weighted.

Brakes, small in appearance, are A1 in performance. Four-piston front calipers provide great bite, a firm pedal, and friendly modulation. “Friendly” also goes for chassis tuning that juggles luxury product and bona fide sports car impeccably, even with this car’s lack of the optional PASM adaptive suspension. What makes for a comfortable ride also lends to excellent body control and a resistance to bad asphalt. It simply shrugs off bumps and holds its line without much fear of jostling or punishment from understeer or oversteer.

Bore scoring, be damned. The M97 powertrain is a sweetheart, as well. The addictively slick manual gearbox, paired with a light clutch and its questionably long pedal travel, routes 295 horsepower from an engine that’s as wonderful as the internet’s many prophecies have foretold regarding Porsche flat-sixes. The potency, reigned in by traction afforded by its wide rear tires and mid-engined layout, enabled the big-wig mags to clock 0-to-60 in 4.8 seconds and quarter-mile times of 13.3 at 107 mph in its day. There’s plenty of midrange torque and a deliciously progressive powerband that never relents as you edge nearer to the 7,000-rpm limit.

In short, Porsche flat-sixes rule.

The Cayman S proved to be a driver’s delight, indeed. However, I’m unconvinced that its efforts are enough to scratch the itch in everyone. It’s very close. But not quite there. I can’t help but think it could’ve been a little lighter. A little faster. A little more reactive to inputs and communicative to the driver. Porsche thought so, too, hence the later R model or later generations’ GTS and GT4. Unfortunately, those occupy higher price brackets on the used market, leaving us with something that arguably compromises just a smidge too much, so it can be a palatable everyday sports car.

Is Being “Still A Porsche” Enough?

For instance, without any factory sports exhaust or aftermarket option, the amazing flat-six is too shy to properly sing its wonderful song. The tone is there, but the volume is way down. An apparent fix is a humorously named “GT4 RS mod,” which is simply removing the insulated engine cover and introducing a whirlwind of flat-six clatter and metallic induction honk, but also more annoyingly agricultural engine and drivetrain noises.

The powertrain also feels neutered by long gearing that leans towards bahnstorming and larger racetracks rather than backroads and more technical circuits. And, while a featherweight today at a tick over 3,120 pounds, it’s not as light as expected for something so small and mechanically simple. It’ll still easily outmaneuver most present-day performance cars, for sure. But today’s Miata and GR86/BRZ twins, close rivals in terms of value and driving ethos, may beg to differ.

To those searching for something with the ability to pull double duty as your canyon carver and 9-to-5 runner, the Cayman hits the nail on the head. Just know its limitations and prepare for modifications should you yearn for much more, of which there’s plenty to choose from. And I mean plenty. Tuners can, fortunately, still have their field day with one of these and build their own home-brewed GT4 fighter, should they please.

A Modern Classic That’s Worth Another Look

The 987.1 Cayman S greatly impresses and leaves me craving something extra at the same time, as though the R, GTS, or GT4 would’ve fully fulfilled a promise I thought had been made. Maybe the love surrounding these as values came down instilled expectations I shouldn’t have placed on a car whose mission statement was never to appeal to the mega-hardcore, such as me. Or maybe the Cayman complex is real, after all.

I’ve learned that these are not perfect one-to-one Lotus alternatives. It will never be your bargain-bin Ferrari F430 or Lamborghini Gallardo. But then, you shouldn’t treat them as such. To its target buyers then and its current buyers now, that’s a-okay.

The combination of everyday refinement and unflappable dynamics blends into a product that appeals to a broad spectrum of drivers. It’s a strong alternative to the Mustangs, C7 Corvettes, and GR86s that older Gen Z and younger Millennials have been snagging, one that’s definitely worth a hard look should a quarter-life crisis beckon for you to reinvigorate your garage with a little more flavor.

“Oh, here’s a word of warning,” co-founder of TVR Garage Andi Hughes prods me as we set off in his 2001 TVR Tuscan Speed Six S demonstrator. “There’s no ABS. No traction control. No stability control. No safety systems to help you out. It’s nearly 400 horsepower pushing 2,400 pounds, and it will bite you if you let it. If ya bend it, ya buy it.”

Gotcha. Very cool. Absolutely no pressure as I pull onto a busy public side street in what is one of six Tuscans in the States at the time of writing, and–

W-Wait a minute. We have what in the States now?

We Have TVRs Now!?

The 25-year import rule, yo! Griffiths, Cerberas, and the first run of Tuscans have been allowed to grace American backroads for some time, and this example is reportedly one of six Tuscans in the United States. This 2001 model came by way of Hughes’ business TVR Garage, co-founded with childhood friend Gavin Bristow. It’s the very car featured in Jay Leno’s Garage, allowed into the country under special exemptions for testing.

A minor history lesson, first.

Trevor Wilkinson founded TVR in 1947, originally as Trevcar Motors, before renaming the company after himself with the three-letter moniker. The company fell into the great care of Martin Lilley in 1965. Its sports cars garnered plenty of affection throughout the next few decades, but nowhere near as much as they did throughout the 90s and 2000s after Peter Wheeler took the helm in 1981. Cars of the Wheeler era, including the Tuscan, were crafted in his image, from driving dynamics and in-house engines to the styling.

Specs:

Current Values: N/A; as-tested valued at $149,000

Powertrain: 4.0L inline-six // 5-speed manual

Horsepower: 390 horsepower @ 7,000 RPM

Torque: 310 pound-feet @ 5,250 RPM

Seating Capacity: 2

Cargo Volume: 9.7 cubic feet

MPG: N/A

Curb Weight: approx. 2,425 pounds

Spiritual successor to the original Tuscan of the late 1960s, the Tuscan Speed Six’s recipe is a fairly simple, front-engined, rear-wheel drive, five-speed manual sports car. The engine is almost entirely behind the front axle, making it front mid-engined and setting the Tuscan up to be a spectacular handler, especially when tipping the scales at a Miata-like 2,425 pounds.

Brakes are by AP Racing. Suspension on this particular example features upgraded Bilstein shocks but is otherwise stock. Tires are Michelin Pilot Sport 4S measuring 235-wide up front and 245-wide out back, mounted over the original 18-inch wheels that complement the swooping body lines oh-so well.

Under Wheeler’s direction, the company gradually shifted from Triumph and Ford engines to Rover V8s and eventually engines of its own design. Tuscans utilize a range of aluminum-block, individual throttle body-equipped, 24-valve inline-sixes from TVR’s “Speed Six” lineup. Living in an age when engines are passed around manufacturers like the village bicycles makes you greatly appreciate niche brands that can craft their own.

In base 3.6-liter form, the Speed Six made 350 horsepower and 290 pound-feet, but S models like Hughe’s were amped up with 4.0-liter mills that produced 390 horsepower at 7,000 rpm and 310 pound-feet at 5,250 rpm. Later iterations made slightly more, with 400 horsepower and 315 pound-feet prior to the “Mark II” facelift’s revisions. Other S model exclusives include subtle badging, a front lip spoiler, and a Gurney flap-like rear spoiler.

The Strangest Grand Tourer

“It can be a kitten when you want, but a lion when you let it be,” Hughes comments, referring to the Tuscan’s lesser-known knack for coddling its drivers rather than killing them when you’re just puttering around.

There’s no bad temperament over bumpy roads, thanks to its fresh Bilsteins. There’s working AC and a single-DIN stereo nestled within the handy dashboard shelf. The trunk is even ample enough to hold the targa roof, and the space behind your head makes an excellent shelf for large backpacks.

It was a treat to discover how lovely a grand tourer it can be when cruising in fifth gear, with plenty of visibility and almost no wind buffeting with the windows down. Prospective buyers just have to live with everything else, which can be… strange.

If you’ve never watched Top Gear, I invite you to figure out the doors. Go ahead. I’ll wait. While you’re at it, know that the window and HVAC controls are on the rounded center console, and the two-piece hood doesn’t fully open without tools. Only the front half is easily accessible and only as a service hatch for fluids. Be mindful that fuel capacity is only 56 liters or roughly 14.8 US gallons. Oh, and the shift linkage is awfully close to where the exhaust is routed. I wondered why the gear lever was warmer than all the other metalwork inside the cabin.

But it is what it is. Quirky comes with the territory, making it easy to forget that TVRs were primarily honed to be fun, fast, and, most importantly, pure driver’s cars.

“A Lion When You Let It Be”

“From the extraordinary styling and steampunk brass instrument binnacle (complete with in-house-made LCD display) to the snorting four-liter Speed Six engine, the Tuscan was a car that seduced and adrenalized you in equal measure,” Evo’s Antony Ingram praised in a 2024 retrospective after sampling a facelifted Tuscan 2.

“This is not a precision tool, though it was and still is successfully campaigned in many an amateur race series,” Richard Hammond remarked in a 2012 test of a modified Tuscan for Top Gear. “It’s about the experience, more than the absolute results. It simply feels great, perched towards the back of a big, British sports car, complete with authentically British straight-six acoustic accompaniment.”

“This car has many strengths—its mind-warping curves redefine the notion of automobile-as-art and the hefty gearbox is an utter joy to use—but it’s the quality of the steering that really defines the driving experience…” Dan Bevis commented on a small blog on ClassicCarsForSale. “These aren’t machines for people who want an easy time; they’re for those who want their effort to be rewarded, who accept that you get out what you put in. You need to be constantly on edge, worrying about the car—that’s part of the allure.”

Color me intrigued.

Drop a gear or two via that satisfyingly precise shifter to keep the Speed Six above 4,000 rpm, and it wakes right the hell up. The upswept tailpipes and individual throttle bodies duet a feral song as you approach the 7,000-rpm crescendo, crackling and popping with an intoxicating overrun as you lift. God save natural aspiration, because the engine’s metallic zing is so unlike anything today this side of a 911 GT3.

The bottom-hinge pedals are spaced smartly enough to still be comfortable, at least with a size 10 shoe, yet remain easy to operate hastily when I get a little restless. However, the bottom-hinge clutch was a bit of a learning curve. Just a bit. The throttle pedal’s throw is abnormally long compared to modern cars, but that equates to controllable power delivery. Important stuff when wielding 390 horsepower without safety assists. Even so, the engine is still reactive enough to make downshift blips a breeze and forward momentum a thrill.

The brake pedal is reassuringly firm, actuating the AP Racing kit with confidence without catapulting you through the windshield. Our dash across the desert was far from the brake’s limits, but I suspect they’re plenty resilient on track or on tighter roads. We hardly stressed the chassis, either, which I knew was yearning to dive bomb hairpins and sail over undulating B-roads with more aggression than I was willing to give it.

I, indeed, could not buy it if I bent it.

Modern summer tires, Bilstein shocks, and a weight figure that embarrasses many present-day sports cars create a machine that pounces into corners without a second thought. Direction changes are like second nature, and the power steering, one of the few assisted controls, is communicative and appropriately light while gradually building heft as you load it up in a way only cars of this era seem to manage.

Is there cannibalism among cats? Because, as it turns out, this lion could slaughter any Jaguar on an asphalt ribbon.

Gone But Far From Forgotten

The TVR Tuscan Speed Six S walks many fine lines. How well you believe it does so depends on your tolerance for weirdness and its unwillingness to babysit the inexperienced. It’s an unexpected road trip hero, with more comfort, space, and visibility than anticipated. Yet, it still achieves its objective of wowing the lead-footed, excitedly tugging at its leash while reminding you through its intoxicating power and feedback that you’d better play along well, or it’ll knock you on your ass.

Pardon the Gen Z degenerate in me, but dare I say it’s truly the automotive equivalent of the drop-dead gorgeous goth mommy that can and will spit in your drink if you aggravate her in the slightest? Sadistic? A little. Honest, at least? Sure. A proper driver’s car? Without a doubt. And I’m desperately in love. While the oddball British marque and its sports cars may be gone, it sure as hell won’t be forgotten.

“Oh, damn, that’s a GT2 RS,” I mutter as my friend and I venture onto Stunt Canyon Road in Malibu en route to a late breakfast. He lightly chuckles.

“You’re going to try to outrun him… Aren’t you?” my passenger slyly asks. With a not-so-humble nod and a drop of the hammer, I chirp second gear and let this 228-horsepower chariot of pure hellfire disappear for all but a minute until the Porsche decided it was having none of that malarky from the likes of me.

As you could guess, I won zero canyon battles that day. But I made it to breakfast after shaving two minutes off Google Maps’ estimate while being reminded that I didn’t need a morbillion-horsepower god killer to feel like a hero. Despite the times, you can still find old-fashioned, analog motoring with a factory warranty, evident in the Subaru BRZ tS that goaded me into spitting in the face of Goliaths ten times its price.

One Of The Toyobaru Twins

It’s a GR86! No, it’s a Subie!

Yes. And also yes. It’s a BRZ. Once again, we greet one half of the same coin, the supposedly more subtle and sedate of the Toyobaru twins, devoid of any boy racer lip spoiler and with a slightly altered rear sway bar setup skewed towards stability.

Specs:

MSRP: $35,345 ($36,597 as-tested; 2024 model), $38,360 (current as of September 2025)

Powertrain: 2.4L flat-four// 6-speed manual

Horsepower: 228 horsepower @ 7,000 RPM

Torque: 184 pound-feet @ 3,700 RPM

Seating Capacity: 4

Cargo Volume: 6.0 cubic feet

MPG: 20 city, 27 highway, 22 combined

Curb Weight: approx. 2,850 pounds

Other than that, the BRZ is the mechanical twin to the Toyota GR86, both rocking Subaru-sourced, 2.4-liter FA24 flat-fours pushing 228 horsepower and 184 pound-feet of torque through either a six-speed auto or six-speed stick. As the sportier trim level, the tS only comes in a stick.

Is Anything Actually New?

The BRZ became slightly less analog with the inclusion of EyeSight aids across the board for 2024, including manual cars, adding goodies like lane departure warning, collision warning, and adaptive cruise. Thankfully, these features only serve to make a BRZ a safer and easier commuter without tarnishing its sports car abilities.

My 2024 tester rang in at just under $37,000 with destination charges. Unfortunately, 2025 cars receive a substantial, likely tariff-driven price increase. Expect a new BRZ tS to cost a bit over $38,000 as of the time of writing.

2024 added the tS or “tuned by STI,” a performance trim that tosses in Hitachi dampers and enlarged Brembo brakes. Out go the red interior accents in favor of Subaru World Rally-esque blue, along with a new STI graphic in the gauge cluster and STI push button starter. A Series.Purple arrived for 2025, adding dark metallic purple paint and white interior accents. An upcoming 2026 Series.Yellow finally mixes the tS’ go-fast hardware with an exclusive paint color.

The Cutest Little Grand Tourer

In case no one told you, a current-gen BRZ is a closeted grand tourer. Poor person’s Porsche Cayman? How about a poor person’s Aston Martin Vantage?

Commute to work. Get the groceries. Fetch the mead. It’s all child’s play. Or you can journey from town to town, mountain pass to mountain pass, and not shatter your spine doing so, as I discovered traversing Southern California for a weekend.

Compliant suspension and supportive seats are to thank. If the tS’ shocks do stifle ride comfort versus a base car, the difference is too negligible without driving them back to back. The rear seats are somewhat usable, if your passengers happen to be barely-above-average-height Filipinos. I’ve used my own BRZ to shuttle three people before. Well, not comfortably, but you can do it. Or you could just use it as a cavernous storage shelf.

The standard infotainment system is simple and intuitive, although you’ll be using Android Auto and CarPlay most of the time anyway, which syncs quickly via a wired connection. If only there were a better cubby for your phone besides the cupholders.

Dailying a BRZ tS as your only car is no problem. It’s just at home meandering around the neighborhoods of Manhattan Beach, then sitting pretty by the water as you sip matcha like a performative tourist, as it is doing sports car things. Like chasing its Toyota-badged spiritual predecessor up a mountain, for instance—a story for another time.

Speaking of sports car things.

The Blue-Collar Porsche

Departing the narrow alleys of SoCal’s beach towns and heading northbound in search of America’s Gunsai let the BRZ’s true colors as a near-perfect budget Porsche shine bright.

Near perfect, I say.

Driving older cars lately, as well as my highly modified specimen, highlighted a disappointing numbness in the stock steering feel. Huck the car into a banked downhill hairpin and load up the outer front tire, and there’s almost nothing. Its efforts to convey traction and road conditions to your palms are muted. There are faint reverberations to be found, but it’s as though you really have to concentrate to detect them. You get a better sensation of front-end grip by listening for tire scrub.

It’s not a deal breaker, and it’s a spectacular rack compared to many new cars, but dare I say the early, pre-facelift BRZs and Scion FR-Ss felt better? You can’t help but want more, just like I do with its spineless exhaust. Where’s your voice? Sing, damn you!

Alas, it's muzzled, likely for international noise regulations that may be far stricter in other countries than ours. And it ultimately must be palatable to everyone, including owners who bought (gasp!) automatic cars for sitting in traffic because they thought the BRZ was “cute.” Sure, I suppose. The resulting sound is more sewing machine than sports car. Easily solved in the aftermarket, if you have the coin.

I sound harsh out of the gate, but I’m merely trying to get my grievances out of the way. You can’t have it all in a do-it-all car at this price point. But, in truth, they’re minor knocks against what’s still an impeccable overall package with many silver linings to appreciate.

For instance, the hush FA24 revs smoothly for a Subaru boxer and mostly did away with its predecessor’s dastardly torque dip. What’s left is imperceptible to all but the most acute drivers. The powerband has shifted significantly downriver, too, making max torque at 3,700 rpm versus the older FA20’s 6,400, giving you a gruntier engine that pulls earlier on and keeps on ripping to its lofty 7,400 rpm redline.

Paired with the short gearing of its delightfully slick six-speed, which slots into gear with a light but assuring thunk, and the diff’s 4.10 final drive, it maximizes its 228 horsepower to make light work of the brief straights between SoCal’s tightest twists. 0-to-60 in 5.4 seconds and the quarter in 13.9 at 104 mph, according to the big-wig magazine instrumented tests, is V6-pony-car quick.

So, to all the dissenters, repeat after me: a new BRZ is fast enough.

The numb steering is precise and appropriately light. Its reflexes amplify the sensation of delicately guiding a featherweight athlete and not manhandling a 2,850-pound hunk of metal. It does build weight slightly as you add load into a corner, and the ratio is quick enough for crossing arms to be a rare occurrence. The wheel itself is also a lovely piece of equipment to grasp. Just the right diameter, with a rim that’s neither too thick nor too thin.

The tS’ suspension provides a civilized ride with plenty of travel and feels like it turns up its composure over base cars by half a click. Whether sailing through the fast sweepers of Angeles Forest and Angeles Crest or ping-ponging down the wannabe rally tarmac stages of Tuna Canyon or Glendora Mountain Road, the tS remains stable and unfazed by midcorner bumps.

Equally remarkable is the grip from the 215-wide Michelin Pilot Sport 4 tires. You’ve got to move at seriously felonious speeds to outdrive a BRZ tS on a two-lane. It’s a reactive chassis that’s famously itching to get sideways at a track yet is unflappable when at canyon pace.

But should it disagree with your driving and revoke traction privileges from the front or ass ends, you can easily atone with gentle nudges of the steering and pedals, allowing you to quickly find a proper rhythm. And this car will let you find that rhythm.

Foot down. Rev! Rev! Rev! Nearly 7,400 rpm as the shift light glows yellow, then flashes red in the gauge cluster. Grab the next gear before the fuel cut strikes and do it all again. You can probably grab fourth for only a second or two on Glendora or the upper half of Azusa Canyon before slamming on those firm, tireless Brembos. Turn in quickly but delicately, and let the car confidently lean in and take a set around the carousel-like bend before the FA24 rockets you towards the next. Rinse and repeat.

We’re Going To Miss You When You’re Gone

As someone who’s driven much faster cars and owns a bastardized, track-focused BRZ, I didn’t think I’d walk away missing a stock one so much. This Subie entrances you with its predictability and unintimidating nature, all without being so clinical that it becomes boring. You find yourself driving at a pace you didn’t know you could, all without fancy drive modes or adaptive this-or-that.

Compromised, sure, but less than you’d think. It’s how it delivers so much of an experience without excess frills while taking so little from you in return that impresses the most. Perhaps that’s the magic of many free-breathing, lightweight, stick shift cars unencumbered by sensory-depriving tech disguised as advancement. The BRZ tS isn’t a new recipe, but it’s a damn good one that we should wring the hell out of for as long as we can.

And so I charge in, winding out third gear until the Beyblade under the hood slams into a hard fuel cut for a brief moment, with enough time to grab fourth for a mere second before braking. The exhaust cracks and chops as the rotary bounces off its limiter with a soft but distinct pop-pop-pop!

“Heh. Fun, ain’t it?” is the only feedback I receive as we glide over the last hill and disappear around the first bend. Funny enough, I was never a big rotary fan growing up for all-wheel-drive and/or inline-six reasons. But now, I see. The Zoom Zoom cultists are on to something.

A Hero Car of The Gran Turismo Era

The FD generation was the last of the RX-7s, praised in in-period car reviews for its potent engine and fleetfootedness. In some Best Motoring shootouts, it even beat titans like the Skyline GT-R around handling courses. However, it was also criticized for mediocre interior build quality and reliability issues with long-term testers–Car and Driver’s tester infamously made nine unscheduled dealer visits over 35,000 miles.

Specs:

Current Values: $30,000 to $50,000 (based on spec, mileage, and condition)

Powertrain: 1.3L twin-turbocharged Wankel two-rotor//5-speed manual

Horsepower: 255 horsepower @ 6,500 RPM (stock USDM models), approx. 360 horsepower (current)

Torque: 217 pound-feet @ 5,000 RPM (stock USDM models)

Seating Capacity: 2 (USDM models), 4 (JDM models)

Cargo Volume: 5.7 cubic feet

MPG: 17 city, 25 highway, 23 combined

Curb Weight: approx. 2,780 pounds

Less than 14,000 USDM FD RX-7s exist out of 69,000-plus FD RX-7s produced globally between 1992 and 2002. That relative commonness, combined with its temperamental engine and perceived build quality hiccups, kept resale values in check as its peers soared far beyond the heliopause. With its hike into the $30,000 to $40,000 range for decent examples, still noticeably less than similar-condition Skylines and Supras, people tread cautiously.

This white USDM RX-7, minty fresh with less than 30,000 miles on the clock, begs to differ and makes a case for a reliable rotary, if such a thing can exist. Mimicking the coveted Spirit R in appearance, its modifications go deep beneath the skin, utilizing knowledge honed over decades of the platform’s cult following.

Built By A Honda Guy, Taught On The Internet

Godges sought to treat himself following his transition from university to the workforce a decade ago. His dream car was a Honda NSX, which had become unobtanium on the second-hand market to people just entering a new career. However, a low-mile FD under the care of its original and now-geriatric owner, who purchased it brand new here in Vegas in 1993, presented itself. Honda or not, it was too pristine to pass up.

“I feel bad because this thing was never my dream car,” Godges reflects. “I’m more of a Honda guy. Even the color scheme with the Spirit R seats, I found cool because it kind of mimics the Honda Type Rs. But I know for many people, this car in this state of build is their dream car. But you know? It grew on me.”

An engineer by trade, Godges fell enamored with the rotary’s allure, anyway, and sought to extract every ounce of potential without harming its inherent character or everyday usability. Within the first three years, his RX-7 slowly transitioned from being an old man’s time capsule into an understated track star, focusing on accessible performance and enhanced reliability thanks to the abundance of support he found online.

“You delete the oil metering pump because it’s a potential failure point, and you get more consistent lubrication with premix,” he explains. “Once that’s done, you can switch to fully synthetic oil and have its benefits without worrying about burning it because your seals are only lubricated with premix, and the engine oil only lubricates everything else. You get better overall lubrication and almost no oil consumption.”

Other decisions include switching to pure coolant in an unpressurized cooling system to reduce the chances of blowing hoses or corroding hardware, negating the reduced cooling capacity with a much larger Koyorad radiator. A GReddy V-mount intercooler dominates the engine bay and chills heat-soaked intake temps from the unshielded air intake and the rotary’s inherently high operating temperatures. Anything rubber has been converted to silicone.

“None of this is made-up stuff. This is actually advice from Mazdaspeed themselves, things they tell owners that want to use their street cars for sportier applications, since a lot of what’s stock is there for economy and emissions. These are the same techniques they use on their 787B race car or like their 20B race engines.”

You Still Have To Commute To The Touge

For something so extreme on paper, the result is shockingly… docile?

Start-up is painless. Its HKS Super Turbo catback is throaty yet reserved when it’s not coaxed. A tame exhaust and no engine porting create an RX-7 that’s content with gently wafting around town, with temps reading surprisingly cool on a hundred-degree summer day. The most hardcore aspect is the manual-converted steering, which utilizes an aftermarket rack designed for a Lotus. It was a quick concession for addressing a leaky steering pump, and even then, it’s not atrocious at low speeds.

Preserving this FD’s usability was a success. Even the OEM stereo works and sounds great and has been rigged so that Godges and I could rip to the tune of Super Eurobeat albums. You know. Like nerds.

But, as I warn with all old Japanese cars, please sit in one before you buy! The FD’s voluptuous lines hide how tiny it is, as small as today’s BRZ, and its cockpit interior doesn’t feel much more cavernous than an NA Miata’s. Thank goodness, the cutesy sunroof in a car this small doesn’t eat up much headroom.

Otherwise, you can easily forgo a trailer and drive this to the track yourself, which its owner does. And yet, as livable as it is, once you’ve reached the track or back road you’ve spent hours in transit for, the RX-7 still isn’t shy to flaunt what it’s meant to be: An S-tier driver’s car.

A Red Sun At Heart

I get why that loud-mouthed hot head from that one anime lived and died by this car, and it wasn’t just copium laced with plot armor.

“Even in a brief drive, the RX-7 proved taut, hunkered down, stuck to the pavement, quick, fast, and hard-edged,” MotorTrend’s Don Fuller noted in a first drive review. “It carves through canyons like a mean outside linebacker on a pass rush.”

“It’s sensational on the twisties out of Prescott—never any duress or doubt,” Car and Driver staff praised in a 1993 comparison. “The bite, balance, and brakes are A-1. Just about perfect for going the snakiest way with little chance of getting bit.”

Now, with over a hundred more ponies than stock, the only thing getting bit by an RX-7 is the road beneath you.

Swinging this thing from hairpin to hairpin, sweeper to sweeper, the Bridgestone RE-71 tires enveloping the squared set of SakeBomb Garage wheels, reimagined replicas of the RX-7 Type RZ wheels, never relinquish grip at a fast back road pace. The FD’s advantages in agility compared to a Skyline GT-R and chassis communication compared to today’s GR86 are otherworldly.

There’s feedback through the bottom of the Spirit R Recaros. There’s feedback through the floorboard. There’s feedback through the top of the gear lever and the edges of the steering wheel. There’s feedback everywhere.

The manual steering rack lightens significantly at speed but weighs back up with load, transmitting Morse code from the front tires, and is utterly devoid of play or numbness. These reverberations tell you exactly how the car feels. However, sensations over rough tarmac can make your palms ache if you white-knuckle the wheel too hard.

The brake and throttle pedals are spaced for effortless heel-toeing and weighted for excellent modulation. Other old cars can feel too heavy, while newer cars often feel way too sensitive. The Miata-like shifter works a smartly ratioed five-speed that never felt too short or long-legged on the tight asphalt ribbons draped over the state line.

The Öhlins Road & Track coilovers yield an impressively compliant ride at all speeds. The car is never upset over Goodsprings’ tattered two-lanes that have never been maintained since 842 A.D. Body control remains superb, and the double-wishbone suspension at all corners keeps alignment and handling predictable under load and over varying road conditions.

As for the 13B rotary, this massaged example blends an assuring smoothness with a spicy zing as it shrieks to its 8,250 rpm ceiling, 250 rpm higher than stock. Its estimated 360 horsepower is plenty to keep its 2,800-pound frame glued to the ass end of more powerful cars. 0-to-60 in 5.3 seconds and the quarter-mile in 14.0 seconds at 100 mph for stock cars is believable, and I won’t be shocked if this one can beat down on today’s muscle cars.

The notorious torque dip as the twin turbos perform their sequential activation is felt for only a split second. Godges believes the tune on his A’PEXi Power FC has considerably smoothed the powerband. Although I can’t speak for a bone stock RX-7, what remains is amusing and mostly unobtrusive. However, I’m warned of being caught off guard mid-corner by that 4,000-rpm boost creep.

“These were considered widow makers in their day,” Godges lightheartedly notes. “There’ve been a few times on track where I’ve felt it want to snap because the turbos suddenly surge in the middle of a corner for just that moment. It’s charming in its own way. But man.”

An All-Time Great Now and Forever

If it wasn’t already obvious, no, a Mazda RX-7 isn’t for everyone. No shit. Godges says so. Seemingly, all my rotary-owning friends say so. Everyone implores me to steer clear. “Don’t buy an FD, bro,” is the number one thing FD owners tell me. Too many maintenance woes for a level of speed that can be found elsewhere. Fine, fine, I get it.

But c’mon. Just let me smoke the same pipe they’re smoking. I want whatever has them believing that a little premix and the threat of flooding because you moved your car three feet are worthwhile compromises for this kind of high.

Keisuke Takahashi was right. The Red Suns were right. Han Lue, Orange Julius, and 2001-era Dominic Toretto were all right. The FD Mazda RX-7 stands tall among the best driver’s cars, both of its age and the present day, and thrashing one with a fire in your heart and Eurobeat in your ears is worth every moment of your anime or video game fantasies. It’s that good. Or, well, at least this little white comet is that good.

Now, Mazda. Finish the production Iconic SP, already. 

And before we go any further, no, I haven’t seen Ronin. Don’t ask. Sorry to disappoint those hoping for more movie references, but that’s okay. A good car like the D2 S8 doesn’t need stardom to attain greatness. It just has to be genuine.

Remembering The Lost Bahnstormer

Even at 20-plus years old, Nye’s S8 doesn’t look a day over 10. It’s clean. It’s tidy. It’s a mostly pristine example of a late-90s to 2000s Audi, rocking 73,000 miles on the clock without a single hole anywhere in its upholstery and an OEM+ CarPlay unit as its only mod. He’s only had it for a year at the time of publishing, but its current state is the way he intends to keep it. A drivable time capsule… Er, with CarPlay.

“I think I’ve only put 3,000 or so miles on it, and most of that was driving it back from Texas and a road trip to Palm Springs a few months ago,” Nye explains as he details how it stays so minty under the Vegas sun, which he partly attributes to his frequent absences when he’s away as a commercial pilot. “It mostly sits around the airport parking garage where it feels it belongs.”

Specs:

Current Values: $10,000 to $30,000 (based on mileage and condition)

Powertrain: 4.2L DOHC V8 // 5-speed automatic

Horsepower: 364 horsepower @ 7,000 RPM

Torque: 317 pound-feet @ 3,400 RPM

Seating Capacity: 4

Cargo Volume: 17.6 cubic feet

MPG: 13 city, 20 highway, 15 combined

Curb Weight: approx. 3,860 pounds

Actual production numbers are tricky to find, but it’s widely agreed that North America got about 1,250 cars, if not fewer. The D2 was the first-ever S8. The D2 A8 as a whole was also the first Audi to utilize an aluminum space frame, which they proudly proclaimed with a circular emblem on the corner of the door sill and B-pillar. The D2 S8 was also the first Audi sports sedan to be featured as an action movie hero car, thanks to Ronin, starting a lineage that’d later be followed by The Transporter, Taken, Hitman, and more.

Fun fact. The key phrases earlier are “sports sedan” and “action movie,” as the first Audi movie car was actually an Audi 5000 in E.T.

A Transcontinental Express

“No, no, I mean drive this car,” Nye offered. “Take it wherever, do what you got to do, and really feel it out.”

I originally planned to take the car for the evening. Nye insisted I take it for the weekend. Was he this generous because this generation was truly exceptional? Or was it to flex some Bush-era motoring on a Zoomer who was still shitting their pants when this car was discontinued? Ah, well. Didn’t matter. At that point, it’d only be rude to refuse. And so I took his keys and wafted towards the horizon.

I took the long way home on the first night, chasing the mountains’ edge at the city outskirts as the sun dipped beneath their peaks. The S8 delighted me as I’m sure it did some young exec back in my diaper years, puttering along and lazily slushing its five gears below 3,000 rpm as I blasted Japanese city pop through crystal-clear OEM speakers.

The leather was a little firm, but the seats were plenty supportive, and the split armrests that double as storage cubbies are an ingenious touch I wish more large cars emulated. Aircon blows frosty through seven forward vents, just like the cooling system that works tirelessly to ensure that lump of a V8 never bumps the temp needle above half, even during 100-degree summers.

Audi’s efforts also get the Friends N’ Family stamp of approval. A family birthday dinner on the second night and a movie outing with friends the following night were exercises of the S8’s unwavering talent for shuttling adults in comfort and speed. On the Strip, it blends seamlessly into the neon-lit river of Ubers and limos before making the highway excursion home without breaking a sweat like a proper Bahnstormer, all with three passengers in tow.

If there’s any bone to pick, it’s those door plastics showing their age more than any other interior material by a country mile, picking up scratches and wearing loose with time, feeling more Volkswagen than Audi as a result. Audi isn’t the only one guilty of chintzy plastics, however, as it was seemingly a trend that plagued that era of German cars.

Those S Badges Mean Something

What isn’t chintzy is how the S8 conducts itself while bearing its badge, which presumably meant “Super-fast-as-hell-my-dude,” or something like that in German. At a Car and Driver-tested 5.8 seconds to 60 and 14.4 seconds to the quarter-mile at 99 mph, it surely was super fast in its day, and its unflappable highway manners and 155-mph top speed certainly cement that.

Okay, fine. The gruntier Mercedes-Benz S55 AMG, despite being heavier and rear-drive versus the S8’s Quattro all-wheel drive, was 0.3 and 0.4 seconds quicker, respectively, with a quarter-mile trap three mph faster. Today’s ND Miata and GR86 also blitz the S8 by roughly the same amount. However, it’s still no slacker. Like its bodywork, it just likes to carry itself with a little more restraint and maturity.

The 4.2-liter V8, a smooth and capable workhorse, thrums enthusiastically to its 7,000-rpm peak, its hushed exhaust getting throatier once it starts singing in the higher octaves. The five-speed auto is decent at executing firm, timely upshifts and holding gears to keep you basking in the V8’s powerband in Sport, although it’s a little recalcitrant when downshifting or manually swapping cogs. A DSG, this most certainly is not, but it better suits its character, anyway–no one is or ever will track these things.

Just as sorted is the suspension. The S8 is brilliantly composed and is as well-suited to carving as it is commuting. Height is nearly an inch lower than a standard D2 A8, with larger sway bars, 40% firmer compression damping, and 30% firmer spring rates. Capable of 0.88 g back in the day, it nearly matched the sportier and more aggressive S55’s 0.90 g, a figure which Nye’s particular S8 can easily obliterate with its Michelin Pilot Sport 4S rubber.

“It’s shockingly light in the front, which it shouldn’t be,” Nye raves, lauding Audi’s suspension tuning and the S8’s apparent reluctance to understeer. “The engine is in front of the front wheels, basically. I don’t know how they made it drive so well. It shouldn’t.”

“It’s fleet, secure, and quietly confident,” Car and Driver’s Daniel Pund praises in an in-period review. “It corners flat and true and stops with reassuring force.”

“Four-piston Brembo ventilated disc brakes and 18-inch Avus wheels wrapped in 245/45ZR18 Dunlop SP Sport tires serve up good stops and sharp cornering,” MotorTrend’s Chuck Schifsky notes in a short first-drive review. “Its ride is slightly rougher than that of an A8, but the S8’s improved steering response and reduced body roll are worth it.”

This leviathan is a shockingly competent sweetheart when the highway fades into scenic two-lanes, dispatching undulations, midcorner bumps, and fast esses without fuss. It’ll never be mistaken for a sports car, but to move like this in a near-two-ton luxo sedan carries its own sense of whimsy.

Its athleticism is noticeable on the street but doesn’t detract from the luxury experience. It merely gives bumps a bit more of an edge but is never upsetting, and it pays off when the S8 leans ever so slightly, digs in, and holds steady all the way around a bend. Surely, at douchebag pace around a racetrack, that hilariously forward-mounted V8 will rear its fugly head. But at a spirited backroad pace, which is how most of these will be driven anyway, it’s more than up to the task.

I’m sure the Lexus IS350 F Sport I outran in the twisties near Goodsprings would agree.

One of Audi’s Finest Is A Modern Classic

Here I am, writing this review, looking back on a car I forgot existed until weeks ago with deeply rose-tinted goggles. But, of course, it’s not perfect.

Rarity and age make it a challenge to source parts, not to mention their high cost. Those 4.2-liter V8s are their own maintenance hurdle, but Nye is more so kept awake at night by the transmission, notorious for either running a gazillion miles or disintegrating into atoms without notice. It lacks the aggression of its contemporaries in both speed and looks, and, frankly, an immaculate Lexus LS or Toyota Celsior for the same money will be far more coddling. And, again, seriously, what are these door plastics?

But a D2 S8 is still a good car. A damn good, lovably endearing car in a way the Germans don’t really do anymore, with all-wheel drive capability to boot and a “just right” way in which it balances comfort and performance like no other of its era.

As Nye puts it best: “It’s used Kia Soul money for so much car.” Quick enough, with a sonorous V8, and an impressively multitalented chassis lends to the D2 S8 being an Audi worth remembering, with or without Robert De Niro fame points. 

These tinker toy rally cars are now bargain bin buys. Ratty ones that have traveled to the moon and back command as little as six stacks. Minty-fresh, late-year ones rarely crest $17,000. Such value in an inflated economy where GTIs start at $32k brings the ST’s relevance and allure back into question. Thanks to a gracious owner and friend, I get to re-experience one of the car community’s favorite runts of recent history for a weekend and find out if it’s the perfect solution for our shallower pockets.

What Is It?

We all remember the little brother to the Focus ST and RS. Skepticisms surrounding it were almost immediately dismissed after people noted its value and driving dynamics. But that was between 2014 and 2019. It materialized then faded away pre-pandemic. Kiddos were born when it first arrived and are now completing the fifth grade.

A 1.6-liter EcoBoost four-banger summons 19 psi of boost to produce 197 horsepower and 202 pound-feet, blowing NC and ND Miatas out of the water. Mk7 Golf GTIs pushed 210 horsepower without the Performance Pack but weighed nearly 400 pounds more than the ST’s svelte 2,740 pounds. That’s nearly 100 pounds down on a Toyota GR86 and almost 200 pounds down on today’s Honda Civic Si. 0-60 in 6.7 seconds and quarter-miles in 15.0 at 94 miles per hour were hot on the heels of the BRZ/FR-S twins.

The standard interior is expectedly, um, standard, with cloth seats and acres of weirdly textured dashboard plastics that you can probably file your nails on. However, reckless spending at the dealerships earned you some baller Recaros, a moonroof, a larger infotainment display, and auto climate controls.

Specs:

Current Values: $6,000 to $16,000 (based on age and condition)

Powertrain: 1.6L turbocharged inline-four // 6-speed manual

Horsepower: 197 horsepower @ 6,350 RPM

Torque: 202 pound-feet @ 4,200 RPM

Seating Capacity: 5

Cargo Volume: 10.1 cubic feet (seats up), 25.4 cubic feet (seats down)

MPG: 26 city, 33 highway, 29 combined

Curb Weight: approx. 2,740 pounds

Turn A Drab Commute Into A Fiesta

I was giddy when my friend, for whom I was dogsitting in exchange for a weekend with her keys, handed me her 73,000-mile, mildly modded example. We’re talking stancy-boy coilovers, a Mountune exhaust, Rotiform wheels, a delightfully goofy blow-off valve, and no shortage of Pokémon merch. Even the badges are orange, because Charmander.

It rattles a bit, not nearly as much as expected. The stance did a number on one of the fender liners, which shrieks during slow, sharp right-hand turns, and the paint shows a bit of age on some panels. It also violently protests the existence of sharp road imperfections with harsh impacts, which you wouldn’t initially expect because it’s decently damped everywhere else. Could just be stiff springs. But other than the quirks of this particular example, Fiesta STs turn the Nine-to-Five Grand Prix into child’s play.

Vast expanses of glass and blind-spot mirrors mean literal blindness is your only excuse for hitting things. The trunk is decent for weekend trips, and my friend has proven its family car worth shoehorning in a certified chonker of a baby seat, which still leaves ample, if snug, passenger space on either side.

Scoring a 2017-and-up car or updating the older Ford infotainment systems nets you CarPlay and Android Auto. Bluetooth or wired audio connections sync quickly and are controlled by a responsive 8-inch touchscreen. The only aspects indicating that the interface is of another era are the comparatively small screen size and the CD slot, if anyone still has a Now That’s What I Call Music disc.

And then there’s its knack for effortless hypermiling despite its sporting pretensions. 75 miles per hour on level ground nets 40-plus MPG, easily eclipsing its EPA figures of 26 city and 33 highway, with enough torque to pass without downshifting. My friend averaged 30.4 during her tenure, with the trip computer indicating 364 miles of range with a full 12.4-gallon tank.

Eat your heart out, Corollas. And Miatas, too, while we’re at it.

A Front-Drive Miata Wagon?

Of the three and a half days I drove my friend’s FiST, a single quick jaunt to a canyon had me rediscover what I keep forgetting about this perennial favorite. Just as Miatas and 86s are tactile palette cleansers dismissing the trend of fattened, numbed, overcomplicated sports cars, so is the Fiesta, but with usable rear seats and a hatch.

The electrically assisted steering is reactive, appropriately weighted, and does an exemplary job at translating road surface and suspension load changes into tangible sensations. Torque steer is present, but totally negligible. There’s enough oomph to momentarily shred the front tires with a gentle shimmy, and that’s it.

Its handling feels more impressive today, considering the lack of tech. There are no adaptive dampers, intricate drive modes, or even a limited-slip diff, although there’s brake vectoring instead, which works seamlessly without overtaxing the tiny yet effective brakes. You sure as hell won’t threaten any Hyundai Ns, but you’re still in a corner with a ferocious featherweight, quick on its feet with a pleasant resistance to understeer. With a hint of trail braking, you’re more likely to drift into a wall rather than plow into one.

In contrast, the EcoBoost is perhaps the least interesting part. This car is all about faux-rally shenanigans, while the motor is merely a means to an end. Stock cars are mute and uninteresting but can be rectified with a tasteful exhaust and perhaps a silly blow-off valve, like what my friend has equipped, introducing a bassy hum and giggle-inducing whooshes.

Like many EcoBoosts, it fizzles out up top and doesn’t really care if you hit the 6,400-rpm redline, so long as you’re already at peak torque. On the plus, the engine is undoubtedly effective, with a hearty midrange that arrives steadily to press you into your seat. It mates its power perfectly with this chassis and that delectable six-speed that rocks one of the most satisfying shifters this side of a Honda. Gears slot into place precisely with a mechanical sensation and a clutch that’s brainless to operate.

Obviously, when built to an absurdly low price point, there will be nitpicks, from the awkwardly low-mounted gear lever to the pathetically bolstered base seats and the stock powertrain’s hush-hush lack of any thu’um or charm. There were also infamous issues with blend door actuators practicing their drum routine and cars overheating during hard driving, which strangely didn’t affect all stock cars but did indeed plague a notable handful. Thankfully, solutions exist for most ergonomic, quality control, or dynamic bones you have to pick.

If it seems like I’m glazing a decade-old, front-wheel-drive Ford with such fervent desire, it’s because I am. But before you blast little ole’ me, I urge you to listen to (or also blast) everyone else who experienced one, from seasoned journalists to companions who cleared a space in their garages for one.

“I prefer the way the Fiesta ST drives to the Focus ST,” MotorTrend’s Marc Noordelos commented in a long-term test update of a 2014 car. “The smaller Ford is more fun, and has a better balance between power and chassis dynamics.”

“There is just enough handling for the power at hand… or just enough power for the handling, depending on your point of view,” Car and Driver’s Alexander Stoklosa praised after driving a 2017-year car. “The handling is eminently predictable, the steering quick and communicative. Like the Miata, this is a car with which you could easily use to teach a newbie how to drive quickly.”

“In a great example of how front-drive street cars can handle, the rear just hints at rotation when you press hard, but it doesn’t do big slides unless provoked,” MotorTrend’s Carlos Lago wrote during 2014’s Best Driver’s Car, where it came sixth out of ten contestants, beating out the Mk7 GTI and VA WRX STI by prioritizing laughs over speed on track where its absolute limits are exploited. “A car this inexpensive placing this high in Best Driver’s Car is remarkable, and some wondered why it didn’t place even higher. When it comes to fun, the Fiesta ST is a giant-killer.”

A Gold Standard In Cheap Thrills, Now and Forever

In an old listicle I wrote for PRNDL regarding my favorite cars, I remembered that I summarized the Fiesta ST as such: “It teaches us it’s truly not about the size of the dog in the fight but rather the size of the fight in the dog,” and later pointing out, “Yes, it’s a bargain-bin runt with less than 200 horsepower, yet here I am, ranking it within a breath of Supras and STIs.”

Even after sampling higher-performing titans in my career, both brand-new and from decades past, the Fiesta still stands strong eleven years after its launch through balance, confidence, and driver communication made affordable. Its ace tricks wooed many, enough to convince friends and even other journos like Jonny Lieberman and Matt Farah to buy their own. At one point, four close friends each had one to call their own at the same time. Four, dammit. Each regards their STs as a canon event that greatly influenced their tastes. One of them still has his.

Anecdotes aren’t data, but all of these experiences sure as hell mean something. They mean we don’t have to look far for cheap-yet-practical thrills when a benchmark was here all along.

I had a heated discussion with an old friend, with his take being that a Honda S2000 is not that great of an experience and is undeserving of the pedestal it’s placed on, and a Scion FR-S is a vastly superior driver’s car. Bah! I stood up for the Honda, defending a car I’ve never owned but have driven in fleeting moments, but those were just enough to come to a strong enough conclusion.

Has it become easier to forget how great of a driver’s car the S2000 was and still is? It better not have, not while it’s a formula to be cherished in this era of forced induction and electrification. Thanks (again) to my friend Joe, owner of the NA Miata I reviewed a moment ago, I sampled a 99.9% stock 2002 AP1 S2000 in the dusty hills outside Las Vegas to see if Johnny Tran’s Honda of choice of Honda still stands proud today.

What Is It?

Produced from 1999 to 2009, the S2000 was the spiritual successor to Honda’s S500, S600, and S800 roadsters, cutesy sports cars with tiny engines and big spirits. The S2000’s mission was simple. Just be a damn good sports car to usher Honda into a new millennium. It was already a rarity among Hondas upon debut, being a rear-drive, two-seater sports car and not some spin-off of an econobox. The only other Honda product at the time that vaguely mirrored that formula was the NSX.

Thanks to Joe, I had a chance to sample his AP1 variant, the chassis code denoting that it’s of the first batch produced until 2004. Akin to the naming convention of the vintage roadsters, the S2000 wielded a 2.0-liter engine, dubbed F20C, producing 240 horsepower at 8,300 rpm and 153 pound-feet at 7,500 rpm, mile markers you pass en route to the 9,000-rpm summit. Never mind that the AP2 was still called an S2000 yet was stroked to 2.2 liters.

Specs:

Like Joe’s Miata, this S2000 is a well-preserved beauty that offers a glimpse into 2000s-era motoring. It’s arguably a better relic than his Miata being less modified, with stock suspension, stock wheels, and a minor exhaust mod that uncorks the stock exhaust a wee bit. Joe’s S2000 does have more miles than his Miata by a negligible amount, showing 69,000 miles on the clock.

Fine, It Can Still Be A Hairdresser’s Whip… Sort Of

The S2000 will always be a dandy runabout for weekend errands, and that’s before you ever come close to exploiting VTEC. Its leather seats are plush, offering ample support for highway stints, while that rambunctious four-banger has no issues humming along in sixth gear at 80 mph. Its ride is firm but never harsh, and it soaks most Nevadan expansion joints and potholes without much fret.

The power soft top is perhaps too well-insulated. On a stock car, it hides more exhaust and induction noise than I expected, but that means NVH is unobtrusive for the bold bunch who actually bought one to daily drive. In fact, the only real strikes against the S2000 are blatant ergonomic quirks that scream, “What the hell are you doing? I’m a sports car, not a goddamn Accord.”

Its trunk dwarfs obvious rivals like the MX-5 Miata, but only barely. You and your passenger are also fighting for that one cupholder that’s inconveniently in the way of your shifting arm. The hideaway single-din radio limits your choices of aftermarket head units; no CarPlay screens unless you opt for one of those goofy pop-out ones. The stock seats in their lowest position may prove to be in a compromised position for taller occupants, as might the non-telescoping steering wheel. Like I say for many old Japanese sports cars, sit in one before you buy!

Yeah. S2000s are definitely not for the vertically gifted. As if they don’t have it bad enough with how often they’re asked how the weather is up there. It’s a shame how this car gate keeps taller drivers from its polarizing but addicting experience, as it’s something all enthusiasts ought to experience once.

A Four-Wheeled Blade Dance

The sleek but tame design of the S2000 masks its driving characteristics under a thin veil, easily lifted at the wack of the gas pedal. The longitudinally-mounted, double-overhead-cam F20C is a joyous WABAC device, propelling you into an age where natural aspiration was correct aspiration. Paired with appropriately short gears, worked by a delightfully mechanical shifter that’s Honda-trademark good, the F20C smoothly and sonorously howls to nine grand, with VTEC resulting in a tangible difference you feel and hear.

240 horsepower is plenty for a car this light – roughly as light as today’s GR86 – as it was the most power-dense naturally aspirated engine of its time for a short period, with 120 horsepower per liter. Its lofty power and torque peaks aren’t really obstacles when they come this easy. Not that I would want more power without first coming to grips with that butt-puckering chassis.

Whereas any Miata or today’s GR86 are kind-hearted partners, willing to obey every command, an S2000 is, well, it’s that but also not. It’s a sharp, responsive, lovably direct car with a coked-up giddiness that not many have today. It can also be a conniving bitch that’ll stab you in the back at what it perceives as the slightest hint of incompetence, and boy, is this car distrusting. But is it masochistic of me to say that I adore it because of that?

The double-wishbone front end and 205-wide front tires grapple the road like it owes it money. Understeer, at least on the dusty hills outside Las Vegas, was nowhere to be found, even as Joe and I caned it with anger in our souls and sand in our eyes. But that ass end loves to shimmy around, even with the staggered wheel setup’s 225-wide rear tires. Whether you’re trailbraking, accelerating over a crest, or Scandi flicking, it’ll wag loose sooner and more abruptly than you’d expect. Maybe it’s torque from the short gears, the infamously quirky rear suspension geometry, the Torsen rear diff, or all of the above. But a wary mind and quick hands can ease its nerves.

Some call that frustrating and prefer the AP2’s comparatively buttoned-down manners, and they wouldn’t be wrong. But there’s pleasure in something that makes you tug at its reigns to make it heel before sweetening up to you, later showing the razor-edged responsiveness that’s another hallmark of the S2000. As Joe put it best, it’s a rewarding challenge that’s a hoot to get right.

If you’re down for that hair-raising of a driving experience, the only other sore thumb is its electric power-assisted steering (EPAS). It’s an old system that’s appreciably hefty and quick on its toes but doesn’t quite weigh up appropriately under load. It could just be this car, but I’m told old Honda EPAS systems were never the best. Boo!

Heads up to tinkerers who can’t leave shit alone. Feel free to bask in the quintillions of dollars in aftermarket support. You can create whatever you want, from a tame Sunday cruiser to a Pikes Peak record-setter. Hell, shove a K24 in there and open the door to a wider assortment of powertrain goods, or turn it into a coupe with your choice of hardtop. Just Google “Evasive Motorsports” or meander through Best Motoring’s playlists for inspiration while you’re at it.

They Don’t Make ‘Em Like This Anymore

God Arm was right to rock an S2000 in Initial D.

Maybe I am a masochist who enjoys the tsundere types. You should be, too. An 86, BRZ, or Miata will turn you into a great driver on your own time, slowly and safely. An S2000 will force you to become one by tackling that twerk-happy posterior or via exploiting the abundant aftermarket in search of hardware to tame it. Conquer that chassis, and you’ll notice it craves hooliganism at all speeds, yearning to be flogged as much as it yearns for you to learn how to flog it. And when you’re not being a nuisance at 9,000 revolutions, it can still chillax for casual jaunts to (insert X boba shop here).

In many ways, an S2000 is a manic Miata with a firmer chassis, quicker but worse-feeling steering, and a more hellacious engine. Yes, it’s literally and physically not for everyone. I won’t even recommend this car to a lot of friends for the quirks we’ve discussed. However, if you fit and love a screaming powertrain matched with the charm of a bipolar lover who can shatter your jaw as easily as they can cuddle you, Honda built your kind of car 25 years ago.

Oh, holy shit, this car came out 25 years ago. You know what that means to 1999 and (soon) 2000 AP1 owners? Classic plates, baby!

“Miata is always the answer,” people incessantly bark online like broken records. However, they can’t all be wrong, right? And after all, wouldn’t it be refreshing to enjoy some pure, distilled driving like my ancestors – by ancestors, I mean my dad and uncles? After years of walking this Earth with high-octane in my veins and exhaust fumes in my lungs, I finally discovered if Miata truly is the answer or if it’s merely copium for people who forgot cars can now make over 200 horsepower.

Spoiler alert. I’m the one who needs copium… Copium for the withdrawals I’m now having after giving the car back.

What Is It?

Produced in Hiroshima, Japan from 1989 to 1997, the Mazda MX-5 Miata, dubbed the Eunos Roadster on its home turf, was the brainchild of Mazda’s North American product planner at the time and former auto journalist Bob Hall. A lifelong enthusiast, Hall spurred the Miata into development, insisting that Mazda build an inexpensive sibling to the RX-7 and produce something that can recapture the joyous spirit found in roadsters of old.

This particular example, lent by my good friend Joe, is a 1992 NA1 Miata, meaning it’s the first iteration of the first generation, wielding a 1.6-liter inline four-cylinder producing 116 horsepower at 6,500 rpm and 100 pound-feet at 5,500 rpm. Paired with incredibly short gears for its five-speed manual and tipping the scales at a hair over 2,200 pounds, that otherwise laughable power figure enabled respectable 0-to-60 sprints in the mid-to-high eight-second range. Not fast, but not bad.

Specs:

Current Values: $6,000 to $15,000 (based on condition)

Powertrain: 1.6L DOHC inline-four // 5-speed manual

Horsepower: 116 horsepower @ 6,500 RPM

Torque: 100 pound-feet @ 5,500 RPM

Seating Capacity: 2

Cargo Volume: 3.6 cubic feet

Curb Weight: approx. 2,216 pounds

Let it go on record when I say that Joe’s Miata is a pretty bang-on example that’s hard to come by here on the barren sands of the Las Vegas Valley. It’s nearly stock, with the only real modification being a set of coilovers to replace the blown OEM struts, Enkei RPF1 wheels wrapped in fairly mild Continental summer tires, and a tame but throaty exhaust. It’s immaculately well-preserved inside and out, even retaining the factory radio and tape player, which may be expected given the 61,000 miles on the odometer.

Blah, Blah, Blah, Street Car

Alright. I must do this every time I review a car, regardless of what that car is or where I publish the review. So, here it is. Here are my two cents on the NA1 Miata as an everyday street car, a.k.a. all the neat yet trivial shit that likely mattered little to prospective buyers when new and sure as hell matters little to prospective buyers now.

An NA Miata is a surprisingly livable urban runabout. That wind-up toy size makes it stupendously easy to dart in and out of parking lots like a rat scurrying from a pissed-off chef. Drop the surprisingly well-insulated manual soft top and enjoy the infinite headroom and near-perfect 360-degree visibility as you cruise down city streets in relative comfort with the ample factory radio blaring its little heart out with impressive-ish volume and clarity. Even the simplistic cloth seats are cozy enough for a few hours of commuting, although storage space is expectedly minimal, with tiny cupholders and a few tiny cubbies.

Fuel economy is just okay, with an average EPA rating of 24 mpg, but it’s further neutered by a small 11.9-gallon fuel tank and the fact that 80 mph in fifth gear equates to 4,000 rpm. Although an NA Miata is reasonably stable at those speeds, even when passing (or being passed by) semis, it’s not a bahnstormer in the slightest, and that’s okay.

Where it comes alive and why you buy this damn thing in the first place is when the going gets twisty. Really twisty. Really, really twisty.

A Hard Factory Reset On Driving Pleasure

Gods be praised that we can still snag cars like these for under five figures without looking too hard because GREAT GOOGILY MOOGILY, it’s a breathtaking and honest refresher on how blue-collar driver’s cars used to be. No traction or stability control. No adjustable drive modes. No powertrain settings. Just drop a gear and, er, well, try to disappear, just like the pioneers used to do when they drove these on the Oregon Trail.

Joe and I departed the borders of the Las Vegas Valley, escaping the nearby dust storm and running for the hills between Goodsprings and Sandy Valley in search of a good time by exercising his Miata and S2000 (review on that soon, wink, wink). Lo and behold, I’ve been absolved of my modern car woes, a revelation I sensed coming before we even hit the canyon road.

An NA Miata is obviously not the most spacious thing on the commute. Don’t care. Its small size lets you toy with a pseudo racing line on winding roads without coming dangerously close to the lane markers. The featherweight sensation its size affords pays dividends as you tirelessly swing this thing around bends like a child’s plaything, with driver inputs light in effort but communicative in feedback as the car reacts to your will with glee and encouragement.

An NA Miata is not the fastest thing on the road, either. Doesn’t matter. 116 horsepower from its impressively smooth and rev-happy four-banger is ample for rocketing such a lightweight car out of corners, while its wicked short gears only amplify the sensation of speed. Joe left me for dead between every turn when he wielded his S2000, the Miata having no counterattack for the VTEC onslaught. But I sure as hell felt just as fast, if not faster. The simple, legible tach swings quickly even if the speedo doesn’t, and you’re always working that satisfyingly firm gear shifter, the lever resting inches from the steering wheel, chasing that 7,000-rpm redline.

Sure, not every NA Miata will drive like this. Expect many on Marketplace to be tired and worn, like that exhausted coworker who’s been around the block too long but still greets you with a smile as they clock in. Give that person a jolt of caffeine and maybe a good full-body massage, and they’ll be down to party with you all night long.

That’s an NA Miata. Kind-hearted and gentle but always yearning for shenanigans with hardly a fret, and they only get better the nicer, more well-kept, and “massaged” they are. As a car from an appliance standpoint, they’re impractical, dainty, and easily strained at American highway speeds. Driven in anger, they’re deceptively solid and precise, with a lot more vigor than you’d expect from that spec sheet.

And yes, if you please, there’s that infinitely wide aftermarket to build whatever Miata you want, should you crave more. Race car, rally car, stance car, go crazy! The world is your oyster for building the sharpest, most capable track weapon or the goofiest, most atrocious stance build  TikTok will ever see. This needs no further elaboration. We’ve all seen Spec Miata race footage. And we’ve also all seen the hype beast edits of slammed Miatas with RGB underglow and a dancing Kuromi in the background.

“Yippee!”

Of the cars I’ve reviewed in the last year or two, an NA1 Miata is certainly the slowest of the bunch. It won’t turn laps like my BRZ, nor will its comparatively simple powertrain sing like Joe’s S2000. It’s fighting for its life to even keep up with a current-generation Prius, and it might as well be a caveman’s invention compared to high-tech legends of its time like Skyline GT-Rs and Lancer Evos. And despite all of that, it’s probably the car I’m most eager to drive again. And again. And again. And again, until the wheels fall off and Joe puts a restraining order on me.

Most intriguing of all is the Miata’s lack of ego regarding the driving experience it delivers. There’s no perceived smugness around its abilities because, objectively, it really doesn’t have much going for it. A Miata doesn’t affirm to you how great it is as a car, even if it is a Colin Chapman wet dream infused with a smooth, willing engine.

A Miata affirms to you how great you are as a driver to be able to push it hard and have such a sidesplitting time at speeds that won’t land you in a cell block. Die-hards on the internet preached for years, and now I can see why because if you seek an affordable plaything that will teach you what a driver’s car truly is, then Miata truly is the answer. Now and always.