Anyone remember the AC Ace? It was a nicely balanced British sports car with a space-frame chassis, four-wheel independent suspension, aluminum body panels, a high-revving straight six powerplant and perfect weight distribution. Car magazines of the day raved about the machine's ideal blend of performance and handling. And yet the delightful little Ace has disappeared into that special memory space reserved for die-hard Anglophile automobilists. Blame the snake.

When GM started cleaning Ford's clock in the early '60's, a Blue Oval man named Carroll Shelby went and stuffed a big old V8 under the hood of the AC Ace and re-badged it a Cobra. The resulting sports car brought fame and fortune to both man and machine, on track and off. Forty-years later, Shelby is still trading on the reputation generated by his modified two-seater. Forty years later, companies are still fabricating Cobra replicas in their thousands. Forty years later, the Cobra is still burnishing Ford's image. Needless to say, nobody worships the well-balanced little sports car that gave birth to a legend.

Today's 11th hour deal between GM and the Canadian Auto Workers (CAW) is yet another example of The General's singular inability to take the bold action needed to avoid bankruptcy. Instead of reasserting its ancient right to fire workers it doesn't need, GM once again agreed to subsidize idled employees. The General will point to the 1000 jobs sliced from its Canadian operations, but the cuts will be achieved through attrition. CAW President Buzz Hargrove knows what's what, and he isn't afraid to spell it out: 'People will either have work or wages."

The idea that an auto worker deserves full salary for not working is insane. But it's not half as crazy as subsidizing the concept with shareholders' money. In case you thought, well, at least GM exchanged impregnable job security for some benefit reductions, forgeddaboutit. The General's 16,400 Canadian blue collar workers also received a 3.5% pay increase over the life of their contract AND increased pension contributions. Industry experts estimate that the pension top-up will cost GM an EXTRA $179m during the three-year period.

A few months ago, mid-size SUV's had to battle each other for supremacy. They locked horns over style, utility, reliability, horsepower and off-road prowess. Market forces changed all that. Now, SUV's like the Nissan Pathfinder must fight for their survival against any vehicle getting 15mpg or better, from station wagons to minivans to plain old sedans. The old question: is this SUV any good? The new question: why bother?

Well, if you like a machine that jumps off the line like a wildebeest that just got a whiff of lion's breath, the Pathfinder is going to take some beating. Sure, there are $30k cars that can dump a Venti bold on your boss' lap with a simple foot flex, but there's something enormously satisfying about making a big rig go so fast so quickly. Never mind the fact that a 270hp 4.0-liter V6 nestles in the Pathfinder's nose. Just feel the G-force.

In his first podcast, Maximum Bob Lutz insists that the full-size SUV market will survive the changing economic climate, albeit in a diminished form. What, no Cat 5 devastation? Nope. GM's Car Czar reckons around 750k Americans "genuinely need" a jumbo SUV (down from last year's estimate of over a million). Yes, well, a man who flies an L39 fighter jet for fun may not be the best judge of how gas prices affect the average SUV buyer. In fact, I reckon MB's market estimate is too optimistic by half.

Lutz' cigar-scarred voice claims that the full-sized SUV's core clientele need their gargantuan gas-guzzler because they 'tow a boat' and 'carry lots of kids". Where's the data for that assertion? In truth, it's highly unlikely that even 50% of full-size SUV drivers ever tow a boat. What's more, there are plenty of capable sprog carriers out there– most now available in four-wheel-drive– that don't suck gas with the jumbo SUV's unrelenting extravagance. So unless these owners of full-sized SUV's tote more than three kids AND a boat, they're free to downsize.

The Pacifica is the original crossover, launched by Chrysler before sky high gas prices turbocharged the entire genre. The Pacifica combines the utility of a minivan (without the stigma of actually having to drive one), the raised seating position of an SUV (without getting dirty looks from drivers with "Proud To Be Vegan" bumper stickers) and the handling of a sedan (without the fuel efficiency). While it may not have everything it needs to roust suburban schleppers from their SUV's, the station wagon stilts is still the original and best shot over the SUV's bow.

In keeping with its multi-tasking mission, the Pacifica doesn't look like anything else on the market. With its dramatic belt line diving from back to front, the forward-leaning Pacifica's sheet metal has all the style of a Sinatra fedora. The details are equally compelling. Unlike its minivan competitors, the crossover's 17" wheels fit the wheel wells. The door handles aren't refugees from a bottomless parts bin. The bright work is deployed sparingly and with taste. In short, the Pacifica is the first pentastar product in a long time that doesn't look like it was designed by committee.

Imagine Maximum Bob Lutz and Marketing Mark LeNeve heading for the unveiling of GM's new 'full-size' SUV's. At the precise moment when another hurricane is eyeing-up Gulf oil refineries, the dynamic duo is charged with selling the idea that The General's latest fuel-sucking land yachts will stop the automaker's financial fibrillation. Never mind all the other diseases eating away at GM: viral benefit payments, broken brands, model metastasis, bubonic incentive programs, hybrid anemia, etc. This SUV thing is where GM gets its first glimpse of the corporate crash cart. So, how did the boys take it?

Denial is a useful psychological condition. It allows humans to maintain hope in the face of ridiculous odds. By that token, Lutz and LaNeve's inability to confront the full horror of GM's situation is both understandable and indefensible. After all, they're the guys behind the wheel of a multi-billion dollar company launching a fleet of the wrong vehicles at the wrong time. And yet they're pathologically incapable of accepting this fact or, more importantly, its implications. I'm serious. This is not the usual corporate spin. These guys are delusional.

In the last century, US car buyers have watched some three thousand automobile companies come and go. Today, Ford, GM and Daimler Chrysler represent the remaining fortunes of the US auto industry. But The Big Three needn't be The Only Three. With modern manufacturing and management tools, another US company could enter the fray. A partnership involving original equipment suppliers and an existing dealer network could be just the ticket to change the rules of a game that Detroit seems determined to lose. The prospective players…

Magna International Inc. supplies automakers with a wide range of OEM (Original Equipment Manufacture) parts. Founded by Frank Stronach, the worldwide conglomerate consists of seven groups: Cosma (chassis), Decoma (plastic body panels, exterior trim and fascias), Intior Automotive (cockpit modules, seats, doors, panels, locks and window systems), Magna Donnelly (mirrors, windows, door handles, automotive electronics), Magna Drivetrain, Magna Steyr (powertrains and general engineering) and Tesma (engines, transmissions and fuel components). Magna has considerable experience co-coordinating complete automobile production, from initial design to final assembly.

You gotta love Audi. Despite its rivals' explosive growth, The Boys from Ingolstadt have resisted the lure of sudden intended niche acceleration. While questions about reliability and resale value have shadowed the brand's progress like a pack of predatory wolves, Audi keeps on plugging away with a limited line of luxury limos, waiting for their turn to fill US owners' heated garages. As always, the A4 is both the point man and the mainstay of Audi's long march. Does the latest evolution finally signal the beginning of the end of the beginning?

From a sheet metal standpoint, the A4 is perfectly positioned to enjoy a rare window of unopposed conservatism. BMW's once-staid products have been turning Japanese (I really think so), Mercedes has renounced their discreet design heritage, Jaguar has overexploited theirs, Cadillac continues to live on the edge and the Asian brands are stuck in Pasticheland (save Infiniti). Aside from its inappropriately voracious snout– perfectly designed to make US license plates look ugly and stupid– the A4 is the ideal choice for drivers who believe discretion is the better part of showing off. It's old money on wheels.

The GM Death Watch series has repeatedly asserted that The General has too many brands selling too many models, with insufficient focus on any level, with excessive overlap on every level. The very first DW entry, "GM Must Die", recommended that the world's largest automaker should be broken-up; its constituent parts deep-sixed and/or spun off into independent corporate entities. I figured the stance placed me well to the right of my fellow GM-bashers. And then I read Al Ries' Ad Age column, "The Sad and Unnecessary Decline of Saturn" and instantly realized I wasn't being radical enough.

Ries wrote that there are only two ways for a company to increase sales: expand the brand (with new products) or expand market share (capture more of the existing market with the existing product). The Atlanta-based marketing consultant asserts that market share is best. Once a brand captures more than 50% of its market, it's virtually unassailable. Ries cites McDonald's, Heinz ketchup, Microsoft, Tabasco, Rolex, Kleenex, Starbucks, WD-40 and Jello as examples of consumer brands whose market sector dominance insulates them from competitive pressure and obviates the need for brand expansion. [NB: variations within a brand's remit, such as Kleenex with Aloe, are not considered brand extensions.]

Last June, Rabid Rick Wagoner unveiled his five-point plan to rescue The General. He promised to downsize GM's production capacity– then let normal attrition take its course. He promised thrilling new products– then accelerated production of gas-guzzling SUV's. He promised he'd cut union benefits– then didn't. He promised to end incentives– then launched the Employee Discount for All program. And lastly, Rabid Rick promised to build cars using cheaper parts made in China. This he's doing. Unfortunately, it's the one promise he shouldn't have made.

A quick reminder: China is a dictatorship. There is no freedom of speech, movement or association. There is no independent judiciary. "Workers' rights" exist entirely at the ruling party's pleasure. It is, in truth, a police state. On the positive side (at least from GM's point-of-view), the country has a large supply of men, women and children who are willing to toil on an assembly line for $1.50 an hour without legal protections, health care or a pension.

Peter DeLorenzo latest rant tore US automakers a new orifice. The Autoextremist accused US manufacturers of putting all their eggs in an SUV shaped basket– despite clear warnings that rising gas prices and political correctness would eventually destroy the genre's over-arching popularity. Although Mr. DeLorenzo's essay is a cogent and scathing indictment of the automakers' short-term thinking, he's sure to face some stiff rhetorical competition from the environmental groups who've been railing against SUV's since the first Suburban burbled its way into the American housewife's heart. Guess what? I'm not joining the chorus.

While I'm happy to condemn GM et al for responding to US market trends with all the alacrity of a three-toed sloth, I reject Mr. DeLorenzo's argument that Detroit artificially induced America's "need" for lumbering leviathans. Did Colgate create the "need" for whitening toothpaste? No; they identified a desire, created a product to satisfy it and marketed the Hell out of it. As a capitalistic enterprise, automakers are obligated to follow the same process. Taking automakers to task for making XXXX SUV's handle like cars– instead of simply abandoning the entire genre as "woefully inappropriate"– makes Mr. DeLorenzo more of an Autoelitist than a player of extreme games.

You can no more assess a PT Cruiser Convertible based on its acceleration, ride and handling than you can rate a Harley Davidson Softail on its ability to keep pace with a Honda Blackbird. As a "cruiser", the PT Convertible can only be judged by one metric: its feel good factor (FGF). Do owners run out of milk at odd intervals? Do they name their cars? Do they lower the lid in winter? Yes, cubed. The PT drop top has all the car-isma cruisers crave– and then some.

First and foremost, it's a four-seater. The rag-top cognoscenti know that a convertible's FGF increases arithmetically with each additional passenger. If the rear seats are spacious, the pleasure generated is almost inconceivable. Try. Imagine stashing a couple of best buds in your Chrysler top-down two-door and heading for the beach; sucking on an ice cold Coke and blissing on Ban de Soleil as your crew sing along with the latest Black Eyed Peas hookfest. If that's not a peak automotive experience (and an example of unpaid product placement), I don't know what is.

Toyota is the most successful automobile company of modern times. By some calculations, they've passed Ford as the world's second largest automaker (a position Ford held since 1952). It's only a matter of time before Toyota surpasses GM for the number one spot. And no wonder: the Japanese company builds an impressive number of highly popular cars and trucks. While its rivals study Toyota's stars– the Camry, the Lexus SUVs and the Prius hybrid— the real recipe for their dominance is found elsewhere.

The most interesting aspect of Toyota's business is how they handle their failures. Take, for example, their forays into the US minivan market. Chrysler invented the genre with the introduction of their Dodge and Plymouth minivans. A few years later, Toyota responded with a small, boxy, mid-engined van, reminiscent of the cargo vans that Chrysler, Ford and GM had sold for years. Needless to say, Toyota's entry didn't even appear on the minivan buyer's radar screen. Toyota then spent a huge amount of money and restyled this van into the smooth and bulbous Toyota Previa. Again, buyers were lined up none-deep.

You get a terrific view from the top of a roller coaster– but there's only one way to go. GM execs would have known the feeling at the beginning of August– if they were paying attention. They weren't. Despite all the experts' warnings, The General's top brass were too busy high-fiving each other over the 'success' of their Employee Discount for Everyone (EDFE) program, talking-up their plans to gently wean customers from discounts and incentives. Well hands in the air boys, the August sales figures are in…

Ward's AutoInfoBank reports that GM's sales are down 16.5%. [All figures cited are in comparison to August '04] Lest you think the results were a simple case of a sinking tide stranding all boats, Autodata reveals that the US automotive market as a whole rose 3.8%. While Daimler Chrysler and Ford eked-out small gains (1.2 and 1.4%), check out their Japanese competition: Toyota (+9.5%), Nissan (+10.6%) and Honda (+18.6%).

Listen up guys: size matters. Not your penis; your testicles. Testicle size determines your level of sexual desire and stamina. By the same token, a minivan's interior is not the ultimate measure of its worth. While minivanistas love to boast about their whip's cubic capacity and cranny count, all MPV's can stow the better part of an NFL specialty team with air-conditioned ease. No, the true gauge of a minivan's basic appeal is its engine. All true pistonheads know that there's not a vehicle made– including minivans– that can't be improved by a large capacity, free-revving powerplant. Luckily, the Nissan Quest's got a big one.

Nissan's people mover holsters a detuned version of the Z-car's 3.5-liter six, with all the usual tricks of the trade (DOHC, variable valve timing and intake, multi-port fuel injection, drive-by-wire throttle, platinum spark plugs, etc.). In other words, this behemoth books. Well, OK, "browses swiftly". Empirically speaking, the Quest accelerates from zero to 60 in 8.2 seconds. The stat may not be stunning in these days of Hemi-engined Jeeps, but the Quest's 240 horses are a mighty frisky herd. The minivan bolts from the starting gate with a vigor that belies its looks, genre, size and age.