Taming The Dragon

318 curves. 11 miles. Two Miata’s. One Weekend. Endless Memories.

The longer I live, the more I am reminded of the value of experiences and time spent in connection. While our careers may provide the means to explore, we have to be aware of the endless time trap that comes with it and the ability to create separation. And with it the ability to find the lessons present in both. If you are anything like me, there are some experiences that seem to be about one thing, but yet in turn we learn something unseen, unexpected, or of even greater value. I cherish those moments.

Recently, my son Blake and I headed to the mountains of western North Carolina for the 30th anniversary of Miatas at the Gap (MATG), one of the largest and longest-running gatherings of Mazda Miata enthusiasts in the country. Since its beginnings in 1997, the event has brought together people from across the United States around a remarkably simple common connection: a little two-seat roadster and some of the best driving roads in the country.

At the center of it all is the legendary Tail of the Dragon, an 11-mile stretch of US 129 containing an astonishing 318 curves. No stoplights. No intersections. Just corner after corner winding through the mountains along the North Carolina–Tennessee border. Tires and tension. Angles and exhilaration. It is almost as if someone designed the road specifically to find the tension point between pushing a car to its potential and the capacity of the driver. Something that differs greatly by person and vehicle.

Rearview moment… for us, the adventure actually started before we ever reached the Dragon.

Earlier this year, we added a 1994 NA Miata to the family. At 32 years old, the car was in good shape and certainly ahead of its time from a drivers perspective. However, preparing it for a weekend of agressive mountain driving, not to mention the distance to get there required a bit of attention. A little elbow grease and some time in the garage checking, repairing, learning, prepping, and occasionally figuring things out together. Even now, I cherish those mechanical father-son moments that became part of the experience before the trip even began.

Ok, I’ll be honest, there is some history with me (and our family) with Mazda.

My first car was a Mazda. More than three decades later, the 1994 Miata became our seventh Mazda. There is something wonderfully circular about that. Mazda has long built its identity around the relationship between driver and machine, and few cars embody that philosophy better than the Miata. It has never been about overwhelming horsepower or technology. It is lightweight, balanced, responsive and remarkably simple. It is about connection and bringing a smile to your face.

It is a car designed to make driving fun. And on roads like these, you understand exactly why.

Blake and I brought both generations of that philosophy with us; the wonderfully analog 1994 NA and our 2017 RF. One represents the Miata near its beginning; the other shows what Mazda preserved and refined nearly three decades later.

Then we pointed them toward the dragon. Tops down. Engine singing. Brake. Turn in. Find the apex. Accelerate out. Repeat. Again. And again. 318 times.

There is something energizing about finding the upper limits of a machine designed specifically to bend around curves. Not recklessly, but attentively. Learning what the car can do, respecting what it cannot, and gradually becoming more comfortable with both.

Maybe that is the real meaning behind Mazda's old “Zoom-Zoom” idea. Driving doesn't always have to be transportation. Sometimes the journey itself is the point.

But looking back, I won't remember the cars and roads most, although certainly not forgotten. I'll remember Blake and the time spent together.

I'll remember two Miatas carving through the mountains together. Seeing him in the rearview mirror riding my tail. The conversations between drives. Looking at hundreds of other Miatas and hearing the stories behind them. Laughing about our runs. Talking about cars. And sharing something neither of us had ever done before.

There is a particular power in common connection.

It might be cars. Hiking. Sports. Music. Travel. Working on something together. The activity almost doesn't matter. What matters is that it creates space, space to talk, laugh, struggle, learn, and build a story together.

As our children get older, time changes. We no longer automatically get the countless ordinary hours we once had with them. Increasingly, we have to choose to create the extraordinary ones. And adventures we have had with each one, and collectively. And they are cherished.

Maybe that is why this weekend mattered so much.

We went to the mountains to celebrate the 30th anniversary of a little Japanese roadster that has somehow built an enormous community around the simple joy of driving. We went to test a 32-year-old Miata on one of America's great driving roads. We went to tame the Dragon. But somewhere among those 318 curves, I was reminded that the best journeys aren't measured in miles, horsepower, or how quickly you get from one end of the road to the other.

They're measured in who is sitting beside you or driving the Miata in your rearview mirror. And those are the roads worth taking.