About six months ago, I did a silly thing.
I bought a car.
But that's not silly, you might say. I suppose, that depends on what sort of car I bought. What I bought, was a Mazda Rx8. You know, with the wankel engine.
Now, a picture should've immediately formed in your mind if you're in any way knowledgeable about cars and you're probably nodding your head and going, yep, that's a stupid thing to buy. It made sense at the time, believe me. It's a sports car, but because of the unique engine having a low-tax capacity and the fact that it was registered as a 4-door saloon means that the annual tax and insurance I pay on it, is a good deal less than I would otherwise.
It still took me a while to find a good one. The first one I tried was a shed, with a dying engine. But, the third one I found - which I bought - is fairly decent. Good engine, solid interior. All happy.
The thing I'm finding with this car however, is that it tends to make demagogues of people. If you drive it, you either love it or hate it, and it makes you want to shout about it. You can probably guess which side I fall on.
I paid about 4,900 for it. Since then, I've had a full service that cost me a grand, then another grand in a repair and upgrade of the ignition system. It's a lot of money for me – but at the same time it's not especially something I regret doing.
Because this car's just so damned intoxicating. I'm not sure what it is exactly.
I learned to drive in the family diesel. It was a chugging, gutless, heavy thing but harmlessly numb to drive. It sort of made the process of operating it as forgettable as possible. This Rx is basically the exact opposite to it in every way.
It allows you to be involved, if you want to. It tells you what it's doing and responds to you. The front wheels snout there way over imperfections in the road, tugging at the wheel to let you know what's down there. Inside meanwhile, it's comfortable, with a proper entertainment systems and enough luxury features to make it feel like a proper, high-priced Grand Tourer. Then put your foot down in the right gear and it takes off with a howl from the engine.
That engine is part of it, I think. It's a wankel motor. In this day and age, it's literally unique. It's an endangered species, slowly becoming rarer and rarer. No more are being made. It's entirely likely that no more will be made for road-going vehicles. The experience it offers is effectively unique.
It's this compact little cube of power. And because there's no reciprocating motion in it like a conventional engine, it runs smooth as a turbine, without ever feeling under stress. There's no vibration like you feel with any conventional engine, no harshness. There's effectively just three moving parts in it; two rotors, and an eccentric shaft.
And that's its biggest strength, but also the biggest weakness of the engine. When something does go wrong, it has a tendency to cascade through and damage more and more parts, until it finally kills the motor.
A worn sparkplug damaged an ignition coil on my car. It also damaged the catalytic converter by blasting it with unburned petrol. I replaced the sparkplugs, but the damaged coil continued to get worse before finally failing. It was replaced with an upgrade kit that came in at a cool 500 quid. The damaged catalytic converter finally failed and clogged itself, effectively half-blocking the car's exhaust and causing the engine to run hot and suffocate on it's own backpressure. Eventually, that'd kill the engine seals, which kills the engine.
I had the catalyst removed before that happened. It smells like a refinery fire going down the road, but it seems to back to full health. Still, there's the possibility that I did damage to the engine core that'll show itself in the near future.
And that's the first thing that everyone says to me about it. Don't you know those things like to blow their engines? Well, yeah? The engine seals do tend to wear out; it's the nature of the beast. You can help it live longer by adding a little lubricating oil to the fuel, and changing the engine oil regularly – but eventually it's going to lose compression and say 'nope'.
And when it does, I'll end up paying another 2,500 to a specialist to overhaul it.
Why would I do something that mad?
It's almost quixotic, isn't it? It just sort of makes you do it, like an addiction. And I can sort of justify it, buy saying that with the cheaper tax and insurance, I'm saving the cost of an engine overhaul every year compared to owning another car with similar performance. Buy a BMW, being the obvious suggestion.
But none of them will be quite like the Rx. None of them will have that eerily smooth engine. None of them will scream up to 9500rpm, with the only sign that the engine's in any way perturbed by this being a little beep from the tacho. And if you just need to get somewhere down a motorway, it'll happily sit back and let you get on with getting there, humming quietly along.
There's another thing I like about this car. Since that first service, I've done a lot of my own maintenance on it. I fitted the upgraded coils. I replaced the brakes. I can follow the maintenance schedule, no problem. It's just that simple to work on. It's probably one of the last cars that responds really well to the home mechanic. And it needs some care in the way modern cars just don't.
Maybe that's it.
It's the end of an era. It's the last of the affordable, entertaining, sports cars that used to proliferate before the automobile became an appliance. It's the last wankel – the final-result of a fourty-year experiment that was long since abandoned by everyone else. It's one of the last cars that can be worked on effectively the amateur at home. It's not a corporate exercise in cynicism and artificially packaged, overpriced fun, but something put together because the company doing it decided it would be a fun and interesting thing to do.
It's a passion-project, and maybe that's why it inspires so much passion in some people.
I've taken a few people for a drive in it, and the response has always been the same.
I can't believe you bought this thing, and I'd never buy one myself, but I'm glad it exists.
I guess I'm just one of the madmen who feel the need to keep these unusual things moving, because when the last one finally splutters to a halt, the automotive world will be a less interesting place to be.
Would I suggest someone go out and buy one? Probably not. But if someone came to me and asked me if they should buy one, I wouldn't tell them not to.
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
I bought a car.
But that's not silly, you might say. I suppose, that depends on what sort of car I bought. What I bought, was a Mazda Rx8. You know, with the wankel engine.
Now, a picture should've immediately formed in your mind if you're in any way knowledgeable about cars and you're probably nodding your head and going, yep, that's a stupid thing to buy. It made sense at the time, believe me. It's a sports car, but because of the unique engine having a low-tax capacity and the fact that it was registered as a 4-door saloon means that the annual tax and insurance I pay on it, is a good deal less than I would otherwise.
It still took me a while to find a good one. The first one I tried was a shed, with a dying engine. But, the third one I found - which I bought - is fairly decent. Good engine, solid interior. All happy.
The thing I'm finding with this car however, is that it tends to make demagogues of people. If you drive it, you either love it or hate it, and it makes you want to shout about it. You can probably guess which side I fall on.
I paid about 4,900 for it. Since then, I've had a full service that cost me a grand, then another grand in a repair and upgrade of the ignition system. It's a lot of money for me – but at the same time it's not especially something I regret doing.
Because this car's just so damned intoxicating. I'm not sure what it is exactly.
I learned to drive in the family diesel. It was a chugging, gutless, heavy thing but harmlessly numb to drive. It sort of made the process of operating it as forgettable as possible. This Rx is basically the exact opposite to it in every way.
It allows you to be involved, if you want to. It tells you what it's doing and responds to you. The front wheels snout there way over imperfections in the road, tugging at the wheel to let you know what's down there. Inside meanwhile, it's comfortable, with a proper entertainment systems and enough luxury features to make it feel like a proper, high-priced Grand Tourer. Then put your foot down in the right gear and it takes off with a howl from the engine.
That engine is part of it, I think. It's a wankel motor. In this day and age, it's literally unique. It's an endangered species, slowly becoming rarer and rarer. No more are being made. It's entirely likely that no more will be made for road-going vehicles. The experience it offers is effectively unique.
It's this compact little cube of power. And because there's no reciprocating motion in it like a conventional engine, it runs smooth as a turbine, without ever feeling under stress. There's no vibration like you feel with any conventional engine, no harshness. There's effectively just three moving parts in it; two rotors, and an eccentric shaft.
And that's its biggest strength, but also the biggest weakness of the engine. When something does go wrong, it has a tendency to cascade through and damage more and more parts, until it finally kills the motor.
A worn sparkplug damaged an ignition coil on my car. It also damaged the catalytic converter by blasting it with unburned petrol. I replaced the sparkplugs, but the damaged coil continued to get worse before finally failing. It was replaced with an upgrade kit that came in at a cool 500 quid. The damaged catalytic converter finally failed and clogged itself, effectively half-blocking the car's exhaust and causing the engine to run hot and suffocate on it's own backpressure. Eventually, that'd kill the engine seals, which kills the engine.
I had the catalyst removed before that happened. It smells like a refinery fire going down the road, but it seems to back to full health. Still, there's the possibility that I did damage to the engine core that'll show itself in the near future.
And that's the first thing that everyone says to me about it. Don't you know those things like to blow their engines? Well, yeah? The engine seals do tend to wear out; it's the nature of the beast. You can help it live longer by adding a little lubricating oil to the fuel, and changing the engine oil regularly – but eventually it's going to lose compression and say 'nope'.
And when it does, I'll end up paying another 2,500 to a specialist to overhaul it.
Why would I do something that mad?
It's almost quixotic, isn't it? It just sort of makes you do it, like an addiction. And I can sort of justify it, buy saying that with the cheaper tax and insurance, I'm saving the cost of an engine overhaul every year compared to owning another car with similar performance. Buy a BMW, being the obvious suggestion.
But none of them will be quite like the Rx. None of them will have that eerily smooth engine. None of them will scream up to 9500rpm, with the only sign that the engine's in any way perturbed by this being a little beep from the tacho. And if you just need to get somewhere down a motorway, it'll happily sit back and let you get on with getting there, humming quietly along.
There's another thing I like about this car. Since that first service, I've done a lot of my own maintenance on it. I fitted the upgraded coils. I replaced the brakes. I can follow the maintenance schedule, no problem. It's just that simple to work on. It's probably one of the last cars that responds really well to the home mechanic. And it needs some care in the way modern cars just don't.
Maybe that's it.
It's the end of an era. It's the last of the affordable, entertaining, sports cars that used to proliferate before the automobile became an appliance. It's the last wankel – the final-result of a fourty-year experiment that was long since abandoned by everyone else. It's one of the last cars that can be worked on effectively the amateur at home. It's not a corporate exercise in cynicism and artificially packaged, overpriced fun, but something put together because the company doing it decided it would be a fun and interesting thing to do.
It's a passion-project, and maybe that's why it inspires so much passion in some people.
I've taken a few people for a drive in it, and the response has always been the same.
I can't believe you bought this thing, and I'd never buy one myself, but I'm glad it exists.
I guess I'm just one of the madmen who feel the need to keep these unusual things moving, because when the last one finally splutters to a halt, the automotive world will be a less interesting place to be.
Would I suggest someone go out and buy one? Probably not. But if someone came to me and asked me if they should buy one, I wouldn't tell them not to.
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?