Rockets are from Mars, Miatas are from Venus, MPH Magazine, March 2005
Life is about choices, right? Pepsi versus Coke. Nokia versus Samsung. Tera Patrick versus Jenna Jameson. But when you think about it, these aren't really choices at all - they're merely two versions of the same thing. It's a different story when it comes to transporting yourself, though. Aside from your standard-issue sedans, coupes, or SUVs, you've got your skateboards, Segways, and scooters; jet-packs, jitneys, and jump ropes. For non-dorks the choices narrow a bit, but not by much. For example: say you've got $16,000 to spend, what would you choose?

High on your list should be the muy-macho, mega-engined 2.3-liter Triumph Rocket III motorcycle (which is endowed with the largest-ever displacement powerplant in a production bike). Then again, say you are sick of overcompensating and want something that tells the ladies that you're secure in your manhood. Enter the Mazda MX-5 Miata.

These motoring antipodes have more in common than meets the eye: They're both inspired by traditionally British sporting sensibilities, they each flaunt 140 horsepower, and they're both flamboyantly wrapped.

First, a key fact worthy of consideration in this battle royale: Motorcycles can be death machines. Bikers, beneath the machismo and swagger peculiar to their bad-ass archetypes, know the dire odds plaguing their two-wheeled world. The common aphorism, "It's not if you go down, it's when," casts a dark specter of uncertainty over the otherwise hedonistically sensual and life-affirming act of riding a motorcycle. Bikes are all or nothing; there is no Frappuccino sipping, no cellphone chatting, and certainly no vanity-mirror lollygagging. One inopportune lapse of attention amidst the carnivorous automotive population, and a biker can be eating asphalt.

When riding the $15,990 Rocket III, a strange calculus asserts itself. Though the odds of getting involved in a speed-related heap of trouble increase with the bike's ridiculous velocity, its sheer mass creates such a visual disturbance that motorists can't help but notice it. If Honda Gold Wings are the ubiquitous wallpaper of American motorcycling, the Rocket is a house fire; it takes the established visual lexicon of the cruiser - large gas tank, exposed engine, chrome exhaust pipes - and cranks everything up to 11. Saddle up on this baby and your feelings of invincibility suddenly swell. Though the front pegs create a reclined, open-legged position that inspires sympathy for the experience of getting a "female exam," there's nothing feminine about the bike's ultra-wide stance, which is accentuated by thick, 240-mm rear tires. But the Rocket's charisma resides mainly in its mechanical feedback. The shifter operates with a reassuring CLUNK, and the clutch works smoothly without requiring an excessive amount of force. Twist the throttle, and power shoots through the shaft drive to the rear wheels, thrusting the bike forward with a momentum that is insistently angry, seemingly unstoppable, and capable of producing 1.2 gs of accelerating force while launching the bike to 60 mph in a scant 2.8 seconds.

Power delivery is surprisingly straightforward considering the peaky nature of motorcycle engines, and comes on thick from 3000 rpm all the way to redline (if road space allows). Though the engine puts out 140 horsepower, that figure works out to only 61 hp/liter, well under the 100-plus hp/liter figure of most sport bikes. The engine-development team at Triumph chose to tune the Rocket III for torque, not horsepower, aiming for gut-wrenching, low-end grunt, rather than a more Japanese-style, high-end zing. They also realized that riders' arms would be pulled out of their sockets unless power delivery was made rider-friendly with a progressive throttle linkage and a smoother fuel-injection tune. With horsepower identical to the Triumph but triple the weight, the Mazda Miata is still, by automotive standards, a rather uncompromising sports car. Though its rep is tainted by the perception that it's a car for nancy boys, anyone who's ever driven a Miata understands that a certain something inspires its rabid following. It is, after all, a car that's fun at any speed, even 25 mph in a school zone.

Two-year-old Miatas can be had for around $16,000, though most of the online sellers we solicited for a test car were reluctant to participate in our battle of the sexes. When informed of this story's motorcycle-versus-car angle, several sensitive Miata owners wanted to shield their precious little roadsters from possible ridicule. The vibe was strangely consistent - cultish yet endearing - as though the owners had signed blood oaths promising to protect and serve the sacred Miata name.

Galvanized by the challenge, we kept searching until we found a silver 1999 model. This particular specimen's Kelley Blue Book retail value was a paltry $11,835, though that figure does not reflect the car's aftermarket additions, which include a roll bar, strut bracing, and TSW wheels. These common mods for the oft-autocrossed Miata bring its value closer to our $16,000 target. The seller, a clean-cut guy with the manliest of manly names, Roman Bruno, was willing to lend us his Miata, though he (like the other owners) cautioned us to not be too harsh. Warnings aside, Bruno ultimately understood that his sweet little car should be able to fend for itself against ravenous British motorcycles with more engine than brains. A peek into this Miata's center compartment revealed enough grooming products to indicate that Mr. Bruno is, in fact, a man who cares deeply about the health of his pores, teeth, and hair as he whips around the streets of Los Angeles. While discussing the topic of image, Bruno volunteered that although he also drives a Jeep, his friends still give him crap about the Miata, proving that even with a manly name, it's impossible to shake the car's femme-y mystique. There's no getting around the fact that the Miata is underpowered, especially when compared with the Triumph. It seems comically unable to accelerate with more than a casual, free-revving enthusiasm akin to Mickey Mouse skipping down Main Street whistling "Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah."

But that's not the point of the Miata; it's about the f-word, stupid: fun. It doesn't offer the best acceleration, the best brakes, or the most incredible cornering, but it does feel right. Mazda doesn't release an official zero-to-60 time, but Miata owners wouldn't be grossly inaccurate if they responded to a bragging Rocket rider by saying, "Oh yeah? You can hit 60 in 2.8 seconds? My Miata can do it in 8.2!" Dyslexia, Mazda style.

In the handling department, the MX-5 is a model of good behavior. Turnin is telepathic, and weight transfer is perceptible, though never dramatic or disconcerting. Unlike the lopsided power-to-handling ratio of the Rocket, the Miata's balanced dynamics turn driving into a Zen-like experience, a unity between driver and machine. A hopelessly cheesy cliche, but one that happens to be true in this case.

While the Mazda can be maneuvered with a pinkie, the Triumph requires arm strength and coordination to gracefully turn its 700-plus pounds of metal and attitude. But it's still better than most cruisers, thanks to a low center of gravity and crisp suspension tuning. However, those not properly acquainted with its pegscraping tendencies might be overly cautious, appearing geriatric and, ironically, womanly. Of course, whatever momentum may be lost to rider caution is made up in the straightaways, at which point the surly Triumph beats the Miata with the vulgarity and brute force of a missile destroying a chandelier factory. Then again, the Miata driver could be simultaneously blasting Britney Spears, drinking a Slurpee, and gabbing on a cell phone as he gets his ass whooped, but that's neither here nor there in the world of pure-performance driving. Real-world distractions aside, if you want tire-shredding thrills with supercar levels of straightline performance, the Rocket is the no-brainer.

Maybe that's all it boils down to: whether you wear your testosterone on the outside - oozing all over your Vanson leathers - or tucked discreetly inside the center compartment of your Miata, alongside your skin-care products. If you don't mind getting to your destination a few minutes later and don't give a crap what people think, maybe you owe yourself a used Miata. On the other hand, if the whole neighborhood needs to know that you're packing 147 pound-feet of torque between your legs, then by all means, go Rocket. Either way - two wheels or four, British or Japanese, Mars or Venus - you get an ungodly amount of fun, and choice, for just $16,000.
Basem Wasef
info@basemwasef.com
323.791.8560