(Business 2.0) – From its stunning introduction in 1970 until its whimpering demise some 26 years later, more than a million people bought some version of the Datsun Z. As a subculture, former Z owners are a tenacious lot--Stone Age Amazonian tribes have shown less resilience. The Z people gather at annual Z happenings, upload Z fan pages on the Internet, scribble treatises in "newZletters," and--like ginny colonialists for whom Myanmar will always be Burma--lament the day Datsun became Nissan. As far back as 1998, when spies caught wind of a possible reintroduction of the car, former Z drivers have focused their powerful obsession toward the rising sun, counting the hours until rebirth.

So perhaps it wasn't surprising that, on my first day in possession of a brand-new 350Z, I was continually waylaid by people (all men) who claimed a Z in their personal history and now wanted to sweat over the Lazarus edition. Let me pause here to mention that few things are as narcotic as listening to stories of past vehicle ownership--particularly when such narratives mingle with episodes of lost youth, as all tales involving the Z apparently do. After the fifth such encounter, I began powering up the windows at intersections, then goosing its 24-valve V-6 safely out of drone's way.

Granted, if you recall how the original exploded onto the market, such mania is understandable. Conceived as something of a demographic smart bomb, the 240Z exactly split the difference between the costly performance of a Porsche and the cheaper nonperformance of what back then passed for sports cars--MGs, Fiats, and, ahem, Opels. The 240Z offered 150 horsepower, Japanese reliability, and radical but appealing styling. If you were newly settled into your first real job and yet still possessed a teenager's asphalt testosterone, the Z was a no-brainer. All this commerce commenced long before I became street legal, but I remember driving a friend's well-preserved 240 almost a decade later: The car skittered like a go-cart, jumping from idle to 60 mph without taking a breath. What's more, it had an eight-track. Hard not to be impressed.

As with many charms of its era, however, the Z did not age well. Trending along with society in general, it grew heavier and costlier, acquiring flashy appurtenances and losing sight of its no-nonsense roots. By the mid-'90s, Nissan was selling just 5,000 of them a year in the United States, and in 1996 it pulled the plug. Cue keening and wailing.

The new version, happily, can best be described as the fossil-fueled equivalent of That '70s Show--enough fondness for its decade of origin to kindle nostalgic fires, yet tempered by a 2002 post-ironic sensibility. Now juiced to an amazingly smooth 287 horsepower, the Z retains the original's go-cart hairiness--albeit a go-cart that can manage 0-to-60 in 5.5 seconds and a top speed of 155 mph. (Such stats rival those of the Porsche Boxster S, but for about 20 grand less; Nissan has again plunked the car down into an entirely new economic category.) The decades have scraped the rest of the skittery feel from the Z, and the car handles beautifully. By placing the engine behind the centerline of the front wheels in a configuration known as "front mid-engine," the designers distributed the weight evenly enough to allow the Z to hold corners through almost any level of acceleration, and the short throws of the canny six-speed shifter mean that you can drive the car very fast, very well.

But make no mistake, you do have to drive this car. The Z is hardly what you'd call drive-by-wire. Even without pushing things--or escaping bothersome strangers--it takes work to be behind the wheel. In a car so tightly wound, every action or inaction is felt immediately. Nissan outfitted the Z with a commendable level of plushness and sophistication for a $30,000 car--including automatic temperature control, heated mirrors, GPS navigation, and outstanding leather seats with massive lateral support--but in spirit and execution this is purely a sports car (a reality driven home by the racetrack-inspired instrumentation). An afternoon of screaming around town and country in the 350Z left me fully jacked up, but a little weary.

Maybe it's an age thing. If so, thousands of former Z owners who anticipate a nice drive down memory lane could be due for a reality check. Thirty years ago my neighbor Daniel had a 240Z, which he relinquished when a wife and two children arrived. With the kids safely emancipated, Daniel's wife told him he could finally replace his lost beloved. After poking around my test car for a while, he slid in behind the wheel, groaning a bit as he settled. "You know," he said after a moment, "I don't think I'm that young anymore." Then he got into his Volvo wagon and drove home.

John Tayman is a contributing writer for Business 2.0.