Luxury personal propeller planes are probably not a vehicle type you think about too often. But they exist, and man, they’re extremely cool. The Cirrus SR22 G7, for example, is basically a sport sedan for the sky. It has four comfortable seats, fine aluminum switchgear, a super-advanced digital interface, and its own emergency parachute system. This summer, my cousin and I rented one for the noble quest of buying a used Miata. And not just any Miata—I finally got the chance to buy my uncle’s blue-on-tan NB2, my personal favorite Miata of all time.
This makes me sound like a silver spoon-sucking dweeb, but it’s relevant context: I come from a family of aviators. Both my grandfathers flew (dad’s dad was a career airline pilot, mom’s dad had his private license). My father flew his first solo flight before he was old enough to drive a car. Unfortunately, I’m not smart enough to manage an airplane myself. Getting a pilot’s license takes a lot of math and physics knowledge, and I could barely do the geometry required to build my deck last year. But my cousin Bobby is carrying the family’s flying torch. He’s been playing with planes for about 20 years and has both commercial and instructor-level pilot credentials.
A couple of weeks ago, Bobby called up to let me know that his dad (my Uncle Bob) was finally looking to sell his old Miata. He was wondering if I might know an efficient way to unload it, or know somebody who’d want to buy it. Well…
I hadn’t seen Uncle Bob’s Miata in probably 20 years, but I could picture it instantly. He drove it to my parents’ house exactly once when I was in middle school, and I vividly remember thinking the dealer-option chrome gas cap was hot shit. I also remembered it was blue-on-tan, my actual personal favorite car color combo. Once I got the full download on the car—NB2 facelift model, six-speed manual, LSD, factory Bilstein dampers, 55,000 miles, and no other owners or modifications—there was no way I was letting it slip through my fingers.
There was only one other piece of the puzzle: getting from my place in New York to my uncle in Massachusetts without a car, so I could drive the Miata home. Naturally, Bobby had a solution, and you can see where this is going. For the low price of some gas money, he was willing to rent a sweet single-prop, scoop me up from a small airport, and bring me back to Hanscom Field, from which it’d just be a short drive to my aunt and uncle’s house, where the Miata had lived since 2002.
Now, by “low price,” I mean he wanted an excuse to fly, and I slightly subsidized him. Even a short half-day jaunt in a rented Cirrus is not trivially cheap. But the experience of flying with my cousin to adopt one of my favorite family cars? Priceless.
Speaking of experiences, flying between regional airports without standard commercial lines is a funny one. The Hudson Valley Regional Airport, about 100 miles north of NYC, is microscopic compared to ATL or Dubai, but it’s a lot busier than a secluded deep-woods airstrip.
After my wife dropped me at the door, I walked into what felt like a college building—kind of a safe-but-liminal-space vibe. The main passenger lounge was a somewhat dated, oversized waiting room with a few tables, and there was a restaurant that looked a little randomly placed, along with a person manning a desk encased by glass walls in the corner. I perched myself at a high-top bar table off to the side and watched Bobby cross Massachusetts on FlightAware. When he pulled up, he really just parked the plane right in front of the building and walked in as breezily as if he’d just parked a car.
Leaving was just as easy. With a nod from the person at the desk, we were buzzed out and strolled straight onto the tarmac to mount up.
Here’s a little visual taste of what the flight was like:
The plane was unbelievably smooth, quiet, and comfortable compared to other small-craft flights I’ve taken (quite a few over the years). I can’t give you firsthand impressions of the driving experience, but here’s what Bobby had to say:
“My first flight in the Cirrus was during a flight lesson. I had spent a lot of time in trainers, learning the basics and trying to keep things economical where I could, but getting in the Cirrus changed everything. It was like an extension of my body. Smooth, responsive, and advanced—yet, intuitive. I never looked back.”
“Cirrus flying has made me a better, safer, and more capable pilot, and I genuinely love every minute in that airplane.”
That was the post-flight report. In the air, our exchange was a little less polished, and more “hell yeah, how sweet is this?!”
I snapped a few pictures of some of my favorite details in the Cirrus cockpit (swipe through below). Some of the knobs look a little automotive-like, but the material choice is on a much higher level. Looking around at all the lovely aluminum and rubberized plastic, I was reminded of a conversation I once had with Jonathan Ward, the guy who turns beat-up old trucks into $500,000 luxury restomods out in Chatsworth, California. Years ago, he told me he had started looking at aircraft parts suppliers to get nicer switchgear and even things like sun visors for his big-buck projects. Having now ridden in this, I finally understood exactly what he was talking about.
And yes, the plane has an emergency parachute. It’s not an ejector seat, but the big red lever in slide seven activates the Cirrus Airframe Parachute System (CAPS), which safely lowers the aircraft to Earth if you have serious problems in the sky. Not at all a common feature in privately operated airplanes, and a little part of me was thinking it’d be fun to try—though I doubt my cousin would have gotten his deposit back if I’d pulled the lever.
Landing at Hanscom Field in Bedford was a whole different vibe from the NY airport. Hanscom’s considerably larger—one of the main corporate-jet hubs for the greater Boston area, with a USAF presence too, but you still won’t catch normal airline flights out of there. As we taxied to the Cirrus towards its hangar, we rolled by an imposing lineup of private and business jets. Bobby said we passed the New England Patriots’ plane, too.
From there, it was just a short ride in my cousin’s car to his childhood home, where my aunt and uncle still stay. The Miata was parked in the driveway where it always had been. All the core pillars of its awesomeness were well intact—the blue paint, the nice wheels. But I had to chuckle to myself as I started inspecting it closely and realized just how retired it really looked. Sunlight had fried the clearcoat on a few pieces; mice had set up shop under the hood; and dents on the hood and side reminded me of all the ball-throwing sports I used to play with my cousins in this very driveway. With the top off, I was pleased to see the interior was intact, but had clearly been rained on more than once.
But none of that diminished the joy of starting this particular project. One of my all-time favorite cars, in my favorite possible color and options combo, in the family since day one? Can’t ask for a better deal than that.
I’m looking forward to learning what this Miata can teach me, and taking autocross a little more seriously next summer.
For now, I’ve got some leaky rubber hoses to replace. And some miles to put on.
Have any fun picked-up-a-new-car stories? Tell me about it! I’m at andrew.collins@thedrive.com.
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