Today as I was driving to work (really had planned to bike today, but…) I was in stop-and-go next to a Maserati. “That’s a handsome automobile,” I thought. About then I caught a whiff of the oil going out my tailpipe and that brought to mind the mortality of all useful machines. I stopped to look at one of the Maseratis that parks in my structure. It is indeed handsome, even on extended inspection. “I wonder of there’s a Maserati convertible?” I pondered.
There is a Maserati convertible, it turns out. And it’s also a handsome automobile. And… it’s pricey.
Ha. “Pricey.” OK, I know a prestige marque commands a premium, but I wasn’t ready for a price tag that’s damn near twice the Jaguar F-type. That’s the competition, I figure. And while I find the Jag a little butt-heavy (I have heard that the trunk had to be expanded to meet the marketing requirement that it could hold a big-ass set of golf clubs – but if it can only hold one set, that’s what the passenger seat is for), and the Maserati is allegedly a four-seater, there’s just no way to justify spending absurdly too much for the Maserati (assuming you are already reconciled to spending far too much for the Jaguar).
Unless, unless, the Maserati has fewer stupid gizmos. There’s stuff on most modern cars I’d pay to not have. It would take a lot of not-having to justify that price, however.
Possibly the most exotic car (well, as long as you don’t consider Teslas exotic — and they aren’t in LG) I’ve loaded plants into at the little nursery in Los Gatos was a Maserati sedan (so not a convertible).
The Maserati driver, a rather exotic young woman with a great Latinesque accent, bought predictable stuff: Expensive pots and expensive topiaries, for the formal entry of her estate home. I was happy to make a large sale, but a little nervous about loading dirty plants and pots into a car worth more than… well, anything I share ownership in other than the house Janice and I co-own with a bank.
Following standard sales protocol, I asked if she wanted plastic sheets for her car. She declined. I started staging dirty plants and pots by the back of her Maserati and asked her to open the trunk.
“There’s no room in the trunk,” she replied. “Put them on the back seat.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to put some plastic on the *leather*?” I queried.
“No,” was the response. “This is just the car I pick the boys up from school in. I’ll get it detailed later.”
“Oh. OK.”
Thank god she hadn’t shown up in the *nice* car, or I might’ve had to worry about mud ‘n shit.
As far as Miata replacements go, I suggest looking into the (used) Lotus Elise, sold as recently as 2011.
The Elise fails to appeal to me in much the same way that the Tesla Roadster (which has similar provenance) and the Alfa Romeo 4C fail to appeal to me. Which makes me wonder if I should have my testosterone levels checked.
Well, the Elise and the Alfa 4C Spider do evoke childhood memories of a period in the ’70s when the very existence of the convertible (in the US) was in serious question. “Targa Tops” and “T-Tops” were suddenly much in vogue, as automakers prepared to deal with a regulated future in which convertibles were deemed too dangerous in roll-over accidents. The Porsche 911 Targa and 914, the Fiat X1/9, the Lancia Scorpio, The Pontiac Firebird T-Top, and other neutered convertibles were the result.
Cadillac even marketed the 1976 Convertible DeVille as perhaps your last chance to buy an American convertible (featuring 190 hp output from 500 cubic inches — woohoo!).
In an instance of judicial sanity, Chrysler won a federal lawsuit based on common sense: People who drive cars with no tops should realize the lack of top will not protect them in a roll-over crash.
On the other hand, I did have some time on my hands and a Mazda dealer across the street yesterday morning (Mini in for service), and I got a good close look at the new Miata – and I like it a lot. Oddly I was not approached by a salesman, so I didn’t get to test if the top is as easy to raise and lower as it has been on previous models.