An old Mazda RX-7 becomes the first test-car to make Justin nervous
Original story published via http://www.autos.ca
“Whoop, There It Is” was tops on the charts, almost nobody had a cell phone, Justin Bieber hadn’t yet spawned, and I spent countless hours in my bedroom sitting cross-legged on the floor perfecting my skills at Mortal Kombat.
I was also an aspiring car nut. I had nine years into a Hot-Wheels collection, could talk at length about turbo engines to anyone who’d listen, and I read Motor Trend on a nearly daily basis.
And, while trying to pull off Lui Kang’s finishing move on the Sega I bought with my paper route money, I was surrounded by posters of the early nineties sports cars fundamental in turning me into the well-rounded car-geek I am today.
One of those posters, and my favorite at the time, was of the 1993 Mazda RX-7.
At the time, this two-seater was being sold as Mazda’s $45,000-plus flagship sports model. It was largely regarded as the highest-performing street-legal Mazda ever made, and is one of the first examples of that ‘Zoom-Zoom’ DNA present in Mazda’s products to this day.
This machine was hugely special for the Japanese automaker—and largely the reason that Mazda stashed one brand new, bright yellow, un-modified unit away at their head office for two decades. Mazda takes sports cars seriously—and because of the cost of shipping this unsold unit back to Japan, it was used to preserve the legacy of one of their most legendary cars instead.
For a time, this RX-7 was even parked in the front lobby of Mazda Canada’s head office. That’s the same front lobby I walked into to pick up my first ever test-car (a Mazda MX-5) eight years ago (at writing). So, in effect, this actual yellow RX-7 watched from a few feet away as I started my career as a car reviewer.
Recently, I had the rare chance to realize a childhood dream and spend a week driving it.
Sentimental value? Very much.
Picking up the brand-new, 20-year old RX-7 brought more of a nervous, excited pang to my stomach than any other test car, ever. That’s what happens when a great big kid gets to play with one of the coolest toys he could never have as a child.
But there was more.
I arrived, alone, to Mazda’s head office the day of pickup. Before claiming my keys inside, I stood in the empty corner of the parking lot, inspecting the RX-7’s condition for a moment or two.
Not a scratch. Not a dent. No spoilers or coilovers or boost controllers or stickers or torpedo-launcher muffler.
Other than wearing RX-8 wheels and tires as a last-minute replacement for the 20-year old factory rubber, this old girl was just as she was the moment a bunch of Japanese factory workers put her together 20 years earlier. I thought of how gorgeous the RX-7 looks in person, and how that’s purely the effect of its actual shape, since there are no scoops, spoilers or gawdy add-ons.
“Are you the gentleman driving it?”
Someone from Mazda, who I’d never met, was walking up behind me. He was wearing a suit and holding some folders.
“Ya, that’s me” I told him.
He paused a moment to stare at the RX-7 with me. There was a respectful silence.
“Take good care of her, please. She means a lot to us’.
He smiled a moment, and headed off. And I swear I saw his eyes moisten, just a bit. This car meant something to him—and a lot of people inside that office building. I felt like I was stealing their baby, or something.
So, there was a somber, seriousness to picking up this car that I’d never seen before. The Audi R8, Shelby GT500, BWM M5 and other high-dollar, high-power machines never caused it. This was serious business. I was in something more special than any new car could be. I was driving a perfectly original example of a living legend.
It was an interesting week.
The supercomputer-designed suspension, lightweight hollow sway-bars and four-wheel ABS brakes were advanced for their time. Ditto the sophisticated, sequential twin-turbo setup– which helped the 1.3 litre rotary engine generate 255 horsepower and 217 lb.-ft of torque.
Two turbochargers meant two boosts of power smoothly merging with one another—perceived by the driver as virtually lag-free torque from just beyond idle to just shy of the 7,500 RPM redline. This is the sort of technical, mechanical wizardry that makes excited aspiring car fanatics salivate.
Rear-wheel drive and a five-speed manual were standard. All said, RX-7 was fast by standards of its day, and is still quick and potent 20 years later in stock form. At full rip, torsos are pressed into seatbacks as the persistent whistling of the turbochargers enters the cabin– which is sweet. The engine is remarkably smooth and creamy. Noisy, yes—but delightful to listen to.
The rotary engine’s compact size allowed it to be mounted behind the front axle, helping with a 50/50 weight balance. Handling response is instant, direct, and surprisingly heavy and locked-on. For the size and weight of the RX-7, I was expecting a more darty and nervous feel to the steering. Instead, it felt nearly European—favoring a dense and composed feel over hyperactive responses to every flick of the wheel. The bit of effort and tension felt through the steering helps make you a part of the experience.
I couldn’t bring myself to drive the old girl aggressively– but the planted eagerness dialed into this machine can be felt at every touch of the wheel.
Gears change via a heavy, fairly grabby clutch and stiff but short shifter mechanism. Like the steering, changing gears makes you a part of the experience by not isolating any and all feel of the clutch or shifter linkage. Changing up or down here requires a bit of a stomp and a tug, but the mechanical feel is rewarding—and something not common in newer cars.
The cabin exemplifies pure nineties Japanese sports-car cockpit-ness. It’s tight and snug and noisy and hopelessly short on storage– though a centre-mounted tachometer and a centre console curved towards the driver create a truly personal space to take in the performance.
Practical? Hell no. Comfortable? No, not really. Easy to enter and exit? Negative. But if I ever felt more like I was in a cockpit, I don’t remember it. The way the designers turned everything towards the driver generates a “THIS IS MINE” mentality that’s focused entirely on taking in the driving experience.
Much of that experience, in my case, was taken in on the highway. I expected a louder and more jarring ride, and other than the perpetual feel of ‘wearing’ the RX-7, it proved reasonably comfortable. With Dance Mix 94 firing away over CD player and the cruise set to 115 km/h, I put away about 10.3L / 100km towards an overall test average of 15L / 100km.
Which, of course, is totally irrelevant.
See, without the distractions of modern gadgets and fuel economy concerns and safety gear, RX-7’s engineers could focus purely on the driving experience. And this was a car from a segment and an era where focusing on the driving experience was a very big deal.
I like 1993. In fact, I’ve owned a Nissan 240 SX and still own a Toyota MR-2 from that year. Both have pop-up lights and power antennas, like the RX-7. Both are sleek and sexy. Both are rear-wheel drive. But neither matches the Mazda in terms of pure crowd-gathering power, and the ability to drop the jaws of enthusiasts, even some 20 years later.