A bite-size sports car with all the amenities.
Another aspect of the X1/9's charm is the ease with which it takes to fresh-air motoring. The lightweight roof panel is no problem for one person to lift off, and it can be stowed in the front trunk just under the lid, still leaving room for a fair amount of cargo beneath.
Because this is a targa-style convertible, you're left with sheetmetal pillars in the rear corners of the cockpit and a glass wall behind, both of which are barriers to close communion with nature. But on the plus side is an uncommonly draft-free cockpit. And if you put the side windows up, leaving only the roof off, there is very little more turbulence inside than with most sunroofs. But even if you don't like sun on your head, the X1/9 is still fun. Every time we drive one of these little sweethearts, we're reminded of how exhilarating it is to fling around a low-mass car. No ponderous bulk. No grunts and groans. Just put your fingertips on the controls and express your wishes. You feel as though you can go anywhere—straightening curves, around plodders, into half-size parking slots. You're not limited to the moves that normal cars can make. Driving the X1/9 is more like running sitting down. Realistically, of course, it is a car, and we car critics must attempt to distill its behavior down to normal road tester's terms. Like almost every car in the world, the X1/9 understeers, yet it is much more amusing than most because it's one of the few road cars alive these days in which you can definitely sense the rear tires building up slip angles. You have the feeling that the tail is trying to hang out back there—not get away and whack the fence, but just get a little drift angle going. We regard this as a genuine bonus. For the experienced driver, it's a little extra activity to play with. For the novice, it's a warning of what might happen, long before he's even close to the soup. We do have a few mild criticisms of the X1/9's responses. The test car had very little self-centering in the steering. You have to consciously crank the wheel back ahead again after every turn—probably a quirk of this particular example since it hasn't been a problem on others we've driven. Also, the new five-speed shifter is spring-loaded toward the center of the pattern—the three-four slot—so you must pull hard left to keep from getting hung up in the crossbar on the one-two shift. If the spring is really necessary, which we doubt, it should be a little less pushy. Finally, the test car had a vapor-lock problem when we restarted a warm engine—not enough to prevent the start, but enough to make running very ragged for a minute or two. Fiat has a fix, and a factory spokesman thought it had been applied to this car. If it had, the engine was not impressed. So there you have it, a couple of warts on what remains an engaging little sports car. We agree that the price increases of the past two years are large to the point of being alarming, but we think the X1/9 is still the leader in the bite-size sports-car class. That has to be worth something. Besides, there's one thing we all know about new-car prices: there is no sense in waiting for them to go down.Forget drinking. If your spirits are in need of uplifting, I suggest taking a large dose of X1/9, especially on sunny days. That way you can peel back the top and let the sun warm your body while the roadster's fancy footwork warms your careworn heart. I can overlook the fact that the X1/9's engine thrashes incessantly, that the center console puts a dent in my right shin, and that the beer-tap shift lever only cooperates part of the time, simply because this car is so playful. The X1/9 may be an up-to-the-minute sports car, but it's bursting with old-style fun. There's communion among you, the car, the road, and the elements. It shadows your every move as if you were wired to it, and it's so nimble it could probably do the hustle. If you're car-shopping with serious ideas about Interstate capability, trunk space, or people room, walk on by. But if you're up for a runabout that's perfect for mad dashes to the liquor store or for rushing through the mountains to Elsinore for lunch, then form up at your local Fiat dealer. And be ready to smile. —I get a warm feeling when I run across something good that has been made better. Like this new X1/9. The little dear has always been a particular favorite of mine. I've always liked its looks, its handling, and its high fun-to-drive rating. My only complaint has been the absence of power and a five-speed gearbox. The new car takes care of that, thank you. Now, something happens when you put your foot to the floor. No more waiting——for the tach needle to creep its way toward the red zone. And the ratios in the new box have the right numbers—no untoward gaps to reduce your forward momentum. I am not very fond of the Fiat Strada–style rocker switches, and the only thing I can say about the strange shift knob is that it certainly is a strange shift knob. Yessir, in this case, good has definitely gotten better. —Addiction is the scourge of car fanatics. Yesterday, I spent five hours at the wheel of the X1/9 just because it gives me the simply uncontrollable urge to stretch out the wonderful moments until just about forever. The X1/9 is intoxicating. Once I discovered how to dislocate my right knee in order to slip in under the wheel, little could have dislodged me short of a bomb under the seat. Put the car on and it feels like a Gucci loafer: snug, but pliant and comfortable. Put it in gear and it feels like a junior Ferrari: noisy, but firm and direct. It goes, handles, and stops with an energy level that raises yours so high you feel you may never come down. Like all addictions, however, this one has its bad sides, and they detract from the joys of this otherwise rambunctious and efficient little whippet. Unless your right ankle is just naturally built funny and hooked to a foot the size of a Frisbee, you won't be able to heel-and-toe the pedals without creative orthopedic surgery. And the shift linkage has all the obstinate qualities of a spoiled brat, badly in need of a solid course in remedial manners. But . . . pardon me, I have to go drive it again. —
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