If there was ever a question about which Wolf was devoted to which Miata more, Adam would win, hands down. His passion for his car is probably the reason why I don't write about Bucky often; I don't want to step on someone else's creative endeavor, even if he is my husband.

But sometimes, I just want to pimp my ride.

I've had Bucky since September, 2003. He had 16,900 miles on him when we bought him at a shady-assed car sale over at Cottonwood Mall. The dealer, who attempted to yo-yo us, ended up eating his profit after we presented him with Xeroxed copies of the transaction and the letter of complaint we shipped off to the Attorney General. It's funny how used car salesmen quake at the mere mention of Patsy Madrid.

It was love right off the bat, of course. I've been nuts about Miatas since they were introduced in 1990 and the feeling was compounded when my dad bought his own in 1994. I envied Adam his purchase in 2000, even when, later that year, I had my own chance to buy a new car, I leased a VW Jetta. At the time I reasoned we needed a sensible car, a car with a back seat and four doors and I liked the look of the fourth generation Jetta.

You know what I discovered during the 39 months of the lease? Jettas aren't the end-all, be-all of German engineering.

Buying the second Miata, my Miata, was a no-brainer. Plus, it vaulted us into that elusive, enviable statistic: we are two Miata household.



Bucky got his name from a deficient clutch, a failure point in the second generation of MX5s. The first couple of shifts -- especially at take offs -- the pedal shudders against the foot, the car bucks through the launch and, okay, it looks like I'm one of those stupid girls who never bothered to learn a stick. But by the fourth launch, it's fine.

"Bucky" is also an homage to Get Fuzzy and the ornery siamese cat. I love that strip.

Since I've owned him, we've only done a few modifications. Adam spent an evening applying the WMD stripe. One weekend we threw on Tom's old Racing Beat suspension, but the shocks are due for replacement and there's mention of a possible Tein overhaul. Probably the most noticeable upgrade has been the airbox swap. I replaced the factory airbox with a Monster Flow intake. It boosted the BHP by maybe, maybe a pony, but it made all the difference in the world. Before the intake, Bucky sounded like a regular car. Now there's a distinctive engine sound. Not "note," that lends the eronious mental image of the car hanging out at Berkelee for a couple of semesters, it makes the engine sound distinguished, polished, refined.

It's not. Drop Bucky into a low gear and mash on the accelerator and it's middle-to-lower register growling. The noise is enough to catch the attention of post-adolescent boys in their souped-up Civics, but Buck's all talk: it's the sound and the fury signifying nothing.

The noise from the intake dies out as he climbs up past 3500 r.p.m., but the car's still loud. If the top's up, it rattles. If I'm driving solo, the passenger seat rattles. The fit-and-finish, loose from an errant hot wiring attempt, rattles. Junk in the trunk rattles. There is only one solution: the stereo is always cranked to eleven. The best driving CD for Bucky is comprised of Fountains of Wayne and U2. The first CD I ever played after I bought the car was "Pop."

I haven't put him on a Dyno or done any acceleration tests on him. The engine is a normally asperated 1.8 liter four cylander outputting about 100 BHP. He only looks fast. I don't know what his zero-to-sixty time is, I can only guess at his quarter mile. Still, he's got a fair amount of torque at the bottom of the powerband. He can get off the line quickly, usually faster than a turbo lagging Subaru or Mitsubishi. He's geared towards the shorter end of the spectrum, which suits the rear-wheel drive roadster model. This is a car designed for zipping around mountains, not mad dashes against salt flats.

I love my car. You've probably figured it out. I love my car.