The Power Wheels Jeep Hurricane is the car the American market has been screaming for: a sleek, zero-emission, gas-free SUV. AND, with its Ultimate Terrain Traction system, the Hurricane can go places “no other battery powered ride-on can go.” Yes, it’s a toy: a Fisher-Price product for middle class parents with automotively aspirational children– and whose aren’t? But here’s the kicker: it’s based on a concept car unveiled at The North American International Auto Show back in 2005. 

The carbon fiber show car upon which the quarter-scale Hurricane was based featured two Hemis and a four-wheel steering system. The system was so flexible the Jeep could move sideways or spin in a circle, like, well, a Hurricane. While its twin V8 powerplants were never destined for an assembly line, the Hurricane offered other, more practical innovations. 

The Hurricane’s one-piece body was mounted to an aluminium spine; a brilliant piece of engineering promising light weight and strength. Its drive train and suspension were mounted right to the body, making assembly a breeze. The Hurricane was so simple and elegant that I felt sure a version would make it to the showroom. 

Fisher-Price understood the magnetism of the design and built their version. Jeep did not. In the ensuing years, Jeep built the Ten Worst nominees Commander and Patriot, and our first place “winner,” the Compass. As of October, Jeep dealers have 169-day supply of Commanders, the Patriot hangs about for 142 days, and the Compass can go 150 days without further production. For perspective, the less practical and more “fun” Jeep Wrangler has an almost ideal 62-day supply. 

What does the toy industry know that the car industry doesn’t? They know that children don’t calculate mpg or worry about global warming. Whether they’re pushing it around the floor, controlling it by radio or sitting and driving, they want a way cool car. Period. Sure “real” car buyers put away childish things, but do they WANT to?

The debate over whether or not Chrysler CEO Bob Nardelli and Ford CEO Alan Mulally are “car guys” touched upon this issue. And then the media moved on to the business of saving the American car business– even as the toy industry continues to provide America’s pickiest consumers with exactly what they want (albeit and scarily enough built in China). And yet Detroit has had tremendous success with toy-like cars, from the Mustang to the P.T. Cruiser to the Chrysler 300. 

Unfortunately, even when the domestics get the gestalt, they get it wrong. One of the key factors driving the toy industry: instant gratification. When kids see an ad for the V_BOT Radio Control Transforming Vehicle, they want it NOW. No toy company could stay in business with a two-year lag between consumer awareness and products on the shelves.

Now consider the new Chevrolet Camaro and the recent Transformers motion picture. Chevy’s marketing department spent millions placing the new Camaro front and center, to win the hearts and minds of teenagers everywhere and, presumably, unleash pester power. The Camaro-based Bumble Bee went from full-scale prototype to movie car to a toy movie-goers could run out and buy in the space of months. 

Meanwhile, the “real” Camaro is nowhere to be seen. Any traffic generated by one of the biggest– and presumably most expensive– piece of automotive product placement in recent history will be dissipated by delay. Conclusion: even when carmakers appreciate a vehicle’s elemental not to say infantile appeal, they fail to cope with the limited shelf life of new hotness.

Call it the Hot Wheels paradigm. Since 1968, this toymaker has known that its clientele has a short attention span and an insatiable appetite for the thrill (and pride) of the new. That’s why they release an endless fleet of new designs as fast as they can, producing several takes on existing models. That’s why they’ve produced their own creations (The Splittin' Image, Torero, Turbofire, and Twin Mill) and pimped existing models (Volkswagen Beach Bomb) right from the git-go.

Once upon a time, Detroit “got it.” Products were cosmetically refreshed every single year. These days, cars like Ford’s eminently customizable Crown Victoria and its platform siblings are left to wither on the vine– growing older and less desirable with each passing year. Caddy’s new CTS has the right idea, but the pace of progress remains piss poor.

This is not to say Chrysler, Ford and GM should spend all their time listening to adolescent boys. Again, kids don’t sweat gas prices or suffer carbon-based guilt. They’re attracted to extreme machines like Hummers and Vipers, and that kind of vehicle isn’t going to pull Motown out of the muck at the moment. But as my wife points out on a regular basis, most men are developmentally stuck around 12-years old. Why not go to the source? 

I learned to drive in a 1985 Volvo 240. The Nordic boxcar's 2.3-liter four-cylinder engine deployed one hundred and fourteen horsepower against three thousand pounds of Swedish steel. For reasons best left to Roswell conspiracy theorists, the feds recently re-calculated the 240’s mpg: 19/26 (coincidentally the age of the average 240 driver).  That’s not bad for rust, but let’s face it: a used 240 is hardly a Prius driver’s second choice. Even so, the humble Volvo recently inspired an automotive epiphany that could lead to The Mother of All Environmentally Friendly Automobiles.

My [non Honda] insight arrived as I was sitting in traffic, ogling– OK, “observing” a Volvo 240 in the lane next to me. Hmmm. What if you ripped out the 240’s rear seats and installed a state-of-the-art, meltdown proof, South African-made pebble bed reactor? That’s right; it’s time environmentally conscious motorists went nuclear.

I realize that some people won’t immediately embrace the idea of a fission-powered Volvo wagon. Luddites. What’s not to like? Everyone knows nuclear power is safe, clean and cheap. Unlike all the internal-combustionists melting the icepack and drowning baby seals every time they open their car’s throttle body, pilots of a nuclear-powered Volvo 240 would release less carbon dioxide into the atmosphere than a flatulent Guernsey. Yup. Nuclear is the ultimate alternative fuel.

Ethanol? Please. Put that corn juice in your tank and you’ll get fewer miles per gallon than a Sherman tank, and pigs will have to pay supermarket prices for their feed. Are you in favor of more expensive pork chops? That’s un-American. Besides, devoting America's corn crop to E85 production makes about as much sense as reserving Bolivia's most popular export for insomniacs.

Biodiesel? Powering your car on french fry drippings might work if your local diner is willing to tolerate yet another bum lingering around their dumpster, but try running a fleet of FedEx trucks on McDonald’s goodwill. Hydrogen fuel cells? Sounds like a great idea– until you realize it takes more electricity to break water into hydrogen and oxygen than it does to power all the electric carving knives in America.

A few rivet counters will point out that a nuclear powered automobile is nothing new. The 1957 Nucleon concept car was [theoretically] powered by a trunk-mounted mini-reactor. Uranium fission generated steam that drove a set of turbines (one for torque, one for electricity). A cooling loop turned the steam back into water. When the reactor ran out of fissionable material in, say, fourteen thousand years, you just popped down to your local service station and swapped it out your old reactor for a new one.

That said, the Nucleon was Ford’s idea. Frankly, I’m not going to get too worked-up about a nuclear powered car designed by a company that tried to sell me an Aspire. And I’m thinking that it’s no coincidence that The International Atomic Energy Agency was established the same year as the Nucleon's debut.

Anyway, nuclear technology has moved on since then. The new pebble bed reactors consist of a radioactive material surrounded with a graphite coating. This reactor is gas-cooled, rather than water cooled. This breakthrough eliminates the most complex part of conventional reactor designs. Needless to say, the Germans came up with the idea. But the South Africans and the Chinese have started to run with it.

I know you’re all saying “Go with the lowest bidder.” But honestly, if the Chinese government can’t keep lead paint off toys that are going to go into Happy Meals, do you really want to trust that your contractor didn’t take a few shortcuts during the final assembly of your automotive reactor core?

Anyway, we all know that the bathroom is the average American's killing field, and gas is only slightly less explosive than TMZ.com. So a few risks must be assumed. And these must be balanced against the potential rewards, which extend far beyond satisfying the California Air Resource Board.

How many times have you looked around your car and found that you had a cell phone, iPod, radar detector, toaster oven and waffle maker plugged into every available 12-volt outlet? With the abundant electricity produced by a nuclear reactor, you’ll never have to choose between Mary J. Blige and chocolate waffles. In fact, you’ll be able to sell spare juice to the highest bidder. I suspect this capability will come in handy if you live in one of those left-coast states with rolling brownouts (which already sounds vaguely automotive). 

And just think what a nuclear-powered car could do for football season. Once you get your 75” plasma TV and satellite dish combo running, you’ll be the most popular man at the tailgate. Hey! If GM starts making a nuclear-powered car to run alongside the Volt, then this plug-in hybrid thing might actually take off. And here's hoping there'll be a retrofit for the Volvo 240, so that the old ones can, someday, go out with a bang.

Cadillac is something of a comeback kid. The first time the brand was on the ropes, its divisional president interrupted a GM board meeting with a winning proposal: sell Caddies to America’s burgeoning black population. In the ‘90’s, America’s African-American community once again rescued the struggling brand; their passion for a rebadged Yukon infused the ailing automaker with fresh marketing momentum and a pile of cash. Now that the Escalade’s a bomb instead of da bomb, and Caddy’s passenger cars can’t cut the transplanted and/or imported mustard, Cadillac has a new plan. I call it The Beginning of the End. 

Of course that’s not strictly true. Caddy’s been on a downward slope since the aforementioned Depression-era board meeting. While catering to America’s neglected African-American population saved Cadillac from oblivion, it moved the marque drastically down market. Caddy used the same “get out of jail by cheapening the product” card in the ‘70’s. And here we go again, with a new, even lower-priced Caddy. But first, the good news: Cadillac’s killing the DTS.

The DTS is a fat, ugly, front-wheel-drive pile of crap. The model only appeals to people old enough to remember when Cadillac was the Cadillac of cars– and never drove an imported automobile. The DTS is not nearly as good as the cheaper CTS, which is now a lot better than before and almost as large as the DTS. Although GM's erstwhile luxury division [somehow] sold 33,386 DTS year-to-date, and they only cost GM $1.99 a pop, the DTS was always destined to follow its owners into the grave. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

And now the bad news: Cadillac is also dumping the STS. On one hand, yes, of course. STS sales have been playing a game of “how low can you go” since ever (13,156 sales year-to-date). Robert Farago’s review of the model left little doubt that the current STS lacks that certain… anything to make it a suitable alternative to a European or Japanese luxobarge. But that doesn't mean GM should spike the STS and walk. It means they should make the right-sized (i.e. big) STS better.

They could start by upgrading the powertrain. The STS’ V6 stumps-up 302 horsepower, which helps it keeps up with the Lexi of this world– and nothing more. Caddy should make the optional 320 horsepower Northstar V8 standard. Power junkies could still opt for the STS-V's 469 horsepower supercharged Northstar engine. What about mileage? What about it? If a Caddy doesn’t have enough torque to luxuriate down the road, it might as well be/is a gussied-up Buick (i.e. a DTS).

More to the point, a Cadillac should make drivers and passengers feel like millionaires sipping Moet at the Ritz. The STS makes its passengers feel like alcoholics sharing a nip bottle of generic whiskey in a Holiday Inn Express. If Cadillac’s CTS can get a superb interior upgrade, why not the STS? Even without some seriously sharp sheetmetal changes– or better yet with some better creases– a truly sumptuous STS would make the model a viable choice for those who value style above all.

Instead, GM’s decided to build a new $40k to $50k DTS/STS replacement. While engineers and marketers love a clean sheet and a fresh start, the costs of engineering a brand new STS equivalent would be FAR better spent upgrading the STS. The STS doesn’t need class-leading fuel economy or Nürburgring-fettled handling or 500hp (although…). It needs one thing sur tout: pizzazz.  

While it might sound like I’m suggesting Caddy craft some spizzarkle on the cheap, I’m not. Above all, a Caddy must offer high class spizzarkle. And that’s why the decision to offer an “entry level” Caddy (below the CTS) will kill the brand faster than chugging Clorox. Even if the new pocket Caddy is a peach, even if it matches the German and Japanese low-end models, it’s an unconscionable miscalculation. Do Caddy’s keepers really fail to understand that “small” is to Cadillac what “slow” is to Porsche? Have they forgotten the multi-decade mess initiated by the execrable Cimarron? 

I don’t even want to talk about the forthcoming, hecho-en-Mexico Cadillac CUV. More than any other new model, the wannabe X3 shows that Caddy follows (not leads) competitors into market segments– regardless of the impact on the brand’s image or profits.

Despite the hoopla, the European-styled and tuned CTS was not the most successful Cadillac model in recent times. It was the Escalade SUV. But of course it was. The ‘Sclade is immense and intimidating. It’s expensive ($55k just to get in the door). It’s dripping in chrome. It has a pronounceable name and a gargantuan engine with prodigious thrust that says “Rich people don’t care about the price of gas.” Despite its shortcomings, the Escalade is the only “real” Cadillac left. And I reckon it'll be the last.

Carmakers spend millions of dollars on producing concept cars for the Frankfurt Auto Show et. al. But what is a concept car? Is it something a car company is going to do, wants to do, or might one day do? Yes. There are three main categories: teasers (cars that will eventually hit the market in castrated form), styling exercises (masturbatory, image-building efforts that showcase a carmaker's abilities) and science fiction (the shape of things not to come). Needless to say, teasers first.

Ford's Verve may be a tease, but it sure left me feeling satisfied. The model’s lean proportions and aggressive stance are four-wheeled foreplay, while the detailing shows a masterful grasp of sex appeal. Check out those flush aluminum window frames and the interior lighting straight from a high-class mobile phone. I’m sure we’ll see elements of the Verve on the forthcoming Fiesta and Ka, hopefully without birthing a bastard. Cigarette?

Speaking of teases, it seem like the “new” Chevy Camaro has been playing peek-a-boo since John F. Kennedy told Berliners he was a jelly donut. Although the convertible version shown in Frankfurt is fresh, there’s a fine line between a permanent tease and a damn bore. Transformer? I’m done with her. In contrast, Honda's Accord Tourer Concept is practically a done deal, set for introduction in 2008. It is a super-clean design that wanders over the aesthetic border into sterility– not unlike generic-Japanese cars of the 1990s.

BMW thinks its ready-for-’08 X6 is a "completely new kind of car." Ja, it’s part sports car, part SUV. The official description sounds like the beginning a bad joke, but people who don't know what kind of car they want (except that they want a BMW) will take it seriously enough to keep the factory humming. Unlike the majority of this century’s Bangled Bimmers, the X6 isn’t ugly. But I couldn’t find anything particularly likeable in this escapee from Dr. Moreau's island.

Mitsubishi’s Concept-cX showcar may be equally conflicted, but the execution is pretty darn good for an undead company. The cX has Scion’s typography and lots of Mitsubishi styling cues, such as the Lancer's shark's mouth. It’s also slathered in “Green Plastic;” a polymer made from bamboo stolen from hungry pandas. Anyway, the cX certainly improves on the Suzuki SX-4 which inspired it.

VW salesmen pining for the word “Up!” get their own car. Its slab sides and unimaginative design evoke the spirit [sic] of the existing Polo. It reminds me of Ulla in "The Producers,” who likes to "tidyy oop!" apartments (if only because I’m easily distracted). Sadly, the Up! is no four-wheeled Uma Thurman. With its rear-engine design, it probably won't drive as well, either.

The contrast to Toyota's iQ Concept couldn't be larger (smaller?). Toyota’s iQ is about the size of a Smart (go figure), looks more modern, seats three adults and one sprog (or four Oompa-Loompas) and shares crucial design clues with the Auris and Yaris.   

Fellow columnist Jay Shoemaker is right: the Mercedes F-700 is a hit (and no, it doesn't use hydrogen fuel cell technology). Whether or not the DiesOtto engine (1.8-liter, 258hp) ever comes to fruition, the next, or next-to-next S-Class Mercedes, looks stunning. There's some HR Giger evilness to it, which is a good idea for a plutocrat's car. Inside, there’s none of the present S-class' grandfatherly design clues.

The detailing of the cross-town rival BMW’s CS concept is difficult in parts. Do we really want scalloped arches above the rear wheels? It does look appropriately long and swoopy though. If the replacement for the current 7-Series looks likes this, then we won't bitch (as much).

Another pleasantly evil design for 2012: the Nissan Mixim. It dark, geometric style is all about the Vader. Which is exactly the way a small car should look: easy on the Chihuahua, heavy on the Death Star. The Mixim boasts three-abreast seating, a wraparound video screen and lots of origami detailing.

The Koreans are on a [pletzel] roll, and they have the concepts to prove it. The Kia Kee [first image] copies some elements of the Audi Awwwww– I mean, R8. But it’s a good idea of a sports car for 2010. And the Hyundai iBlue is a good (if blurry) vision of a one-box people-carrier of the future: large yet approachable.

Yes, the future is one-box– at least that’s what science fiction movies have been saying for the past 15 years. And thus, GM/Opel's Flextreme (take THAT Ford Flex and Mr. Funkmaster) provides the usual Sci-Fi elements: opposite-opening doors, low sills, flexible seating. We've seen it all before, but it looks pretty good when executed this well. One question, though: will all cars in the future have Segways coming out of their butts?

Jaguar's embargo on pictures of their new XF midrange model expired over the weekend. After seeing the snaps, it’s clear the brand is set to follow suit. Whereas the Jaguar C-XF concept car was a stunning shape with brilliant details, the production version is… meh. Of course, the concept-to-production castration has afflicted many a dream car. But the transformation is particularly regrettable for Jag. While Porsche had 14 years to move production Boxsters back toward the spirit of the original concept, Jaguar is out of time. 

The past fifteen years have been excruciating for fans of the once-legendary British brand. Although Jag’s reliability and quality were removed from the laughing stocks, the company’s management made a stunning and seemingly endless series of catastrophic miscalculations: retro-styling, anemic engines, diesel engines, station wagons, anemic diesel station wagons and a model so execrable it threatened to banish “X” to the bottom of the cool letter list. And the rest, including misbegotten marketing and Ye Olde Ford lack of continual development.

Fast forward to today and the time has come for Lyon’s legacy to face the final curtain– or at least a transfer of ownership from Ford to someone else. But even as FoMoCo prepares to cut bait and fish, Jaguar needs something, anything, to keep itself alive until someone, somewhere can get into resurrection mode. The XF is so not it. In fact, the sedan may reduce the marque's selling price and hinder any efforts to apply the paddles to the brand’s sunken chest. 

The C-XF made the auto show circuit to demonstrate that the old cat had at least one life left. Even before it headed back to the Galactica for federalization, Jag supporters fretted that its claws would be removed. Designer Ian Callum felt compelled to assure onlookers that the concept vehicle would be locked away in the Jaguar "vault" after it made the rounds.

And the concept might still be in that vault, for all we know. Meanwhile the production version of the C-XF is exactly what its admirers feared: yet another bland brand betrayal. 

For example, the door handles, hidden in the B and C pillars on the concept, are now sticking out on the sides of the car just like everything else on the road.  The concept’s glamorous headlamps have become globular and saggy headlights. The C-XF’s low roofline was lifted to allow taller folks to enter comfortably; a sure sign that God hates proper sports cars. 

Jag’s interior defecators took the C-XF’s break-from-tradition cabin– remarkable not just for its shape but for the absence of traditional stuffy Jaguar club-room finishing– and threw it in the rubbish bin. In its stead, the production XF will be adorned with the usual almost BMW-quality leather and wood polished until it looks just like plastic. Oh, a few novel elements from the concept’s interior made it to market.

A gimmicky gear selector knob called JaguarDrive SelectorTM rises from the XF’s center tunnel. Trick yes, but also a bold declaration that Jag’s "true sports saloon” will have neither a manual gearbox nor a dual clutch S-tronic DSG type deal. And although the XF’s six-speed automatic is a welcome advance, it keeps Jaguar in its now traditional spot: one step behind the competition. Lest we forget, Mercedes is packing seven-speed boxes into its cars thee days, and the rest of the luxury pack are paddling pistonheads to performance-related profit.

The XF also features covered air vents that “roll back” when the driver presses  the push-button ignition– that pulses like a “beating heart” (or annoying idiot light). It’s a direct steal from the Volkswagen Phaeton, with one critical telling difference: when the Vee Dub reaches the appropriate cabin temperature, the fascia rolls back and continues heating or cooling with indirect ventilation. Not so the XF. So, what’s the point?

The XF’s engine lineup is the real bright spot in this tarted-up Teutonic wannabe– if only because it isn’t a 3.0-liter Duratec V6. Well not for the Yanks anyway. While the Eurozone gets the old six-pot and a diesel option, American XF’s come one way: with a 300-horse V8. Hang on; Jaguar's latest example of cutting-edge engineering needs two extra cylinders to put out what Infiniti, Cadillac, Acura, Lexus, and BMW are doing with six pipes? And while the eventual 420-horse supercharged V8 will be a screamer, it's far from enough to pull this buggy out of the mud.

On the face of it, before a test drive, the XF looks like it's too little too late. Again. If The Blue Oval Boyz hadn't lost $12.6b last year, the XF might be acceptable. If Jaguar's U.S. sales were more like 2002's 60k cars and not 2006's 20k, the XF might be a "solid effort." But Coventry doesn't have that luxury. The XF needed to be a grand-slam home run. It isn’t. Here’s hoping the new management has better luck. 

The love of all things Jeep ranks high in the automotive pantheon of passion. Porschephiles, ‘Vettistas, Hemiheads, Scuderia– they ain’t got nothin’ on Jeepaholia (Hi, my name is Brad and I love Jeeps.) Jeep devotees are a hardy breed, born to be wild. Other than domestic and commuter runs, they ALWAYS take the road untraveled; sneering at mud, chuckling at chuckholes, belly laughing at boulders. Hummers, Land Cruisers, 4Runners and other four wheel-drive pretenders to the throne are equally capable in certain situations, but they lack Jeep’s visceral appeal. So what is it about the brand that keeps the faithful faithful?

It’s in the genes. When Willys and Ford produced the first Jeeps for the military in WWII, the go-anywhere, do-anything vehicles earned millions of soldiers’ unlimited respect. Some 600k Jeeps proved their worth in the harshest possible environments, from Malaysia’s steamiest jungles to Norway's frozen wastes.  When American G.I.s returned stateside, more than a few had developed a taste for those tough little trucks with the Go-Devil engines. An iconic brand was born.

Jeep purists will tell you that the only “real” Jeep is a CJ. Don’t believe them. Today’s Wrangler is every bit as trail-capable as the CJs of yore, and it sits at the brand’s heart. By the same token, pay no heed to those who suggest that anything other a Wrangler is not a “real” Jeep. While Jeep DNA says outdoors like an Armani suit says espresso bar, Jeeps have not always been trail-ready. In its storied past, Jeep has made pickups, sedans, proto-SUVs and station wagons. Ever since hostilities ceased, the company has stretched the brand’s original remit like Turkish taffy.  

In that not-so-great tradition, Jeep’s current brain trust have recently moved the brand away from its mud-spattered proletarian roots. Given that the public thinks Jeep = Off Road, it’s amazing that Jeep’s Detroit masters have felt so free to swim against a powerful, profitable and powerfully profitable current. 

In 1992, the suits torpedoed the Jeep Comanche, a utilitarian little pickup truck that kept the brand in touch with its working class pedigree. Meanwhile, they gave the bloated Commander the green light. While the Commander was probably a focus group knockout (what do you guys think about a Jeep with a third row?), the realization of this marketing “dream” was too slow and thirsty for urban work, too uncomfortable to comply with the Geneva Convention, and too ugly for Medusa.

Jeep’s handlers also killed the original Cherokee and replaced it with the Liberty, answering a question no one asked. Saying that, the U.S. market responded positively; the Jeep Liberty hit the “cute ute” sweet spot, luring many women into the Jeep fold. (The four-door Wrangler is an attempt to woo back disenfranchised Cherokee fanboys back into the fold.) 

Jeep Inc. then launched the twin brand-engineered demon spawn of the Dodge Caliber. The Patriot and the Compass were a hit and miss affair (literally). While the Patriot reeks of Jeepness, the Compass does not. The Powers That Be also passed on the Rescue concept (a Wrangler-on-steroids over a RAM 2500 frame/drivetrain) and the Gladiator (the long-anticipated Comanche replacement).

The Wrangler-based Gladiator was a slam dunk. The pickup would have reconnected Jeep with its working class base and given Chrysler/Jeep dealers a nice little truck to sell. Even better, the Gladiator would have seven-slotted into the underserved small pickup niche, where the outdated Ford Ranger reigns supreme.

As a brand, even Jeep’s wins cause angst. The four-door Wrangler is a huge hit– which the company can’t produce quickly enough to meet demand. Things are so backed-up in Mopar-land that Jeep has stopped taking orders for ’07 Wranglers, and won’t begin accepting deposits for ’08s until summer’s end. Jeep seriously misjudged demand for both the four-door models and both flavors of the Rubicon. Oops.

Surveying the brand’s recent track record, it’s clear Jeep still represents a “back to basics” meme which resonates deeply and uniquely with a large segment of the car buying populace. Fans of the brand understand– and expect– a Jeep to be a simple, uncluttered and dependable machine with a can-do spirit. Granted, the bar on “simple and uncluttered” has been raised a bit since Willys’ glory days, and dependable no longer means you can fix it yourself on the fly, but the Jeep brand still stands for something authentically American.

Not to put too fine a point on it, Wranglers are to SUVs what minimalism is to art, and what Stickley is to furniture. To remain an iconic brand, Jeep must keep their eye on the ball, and that ball is clearly marked “Trail-Rated.” Jeep’s new owners should rid themselves of the Bloatmobile (Commander) and the Tonka-Toy (Compass) and build the brand around respectfully extending the real icon – the Jeep Wrangler. Now that, anyone can understand.

True story: as a kid, every fall I’d ride my single-speed bike three miles to the local Chevy dealer. Inexplicably, the dealer staff let this mouthy, curious kid sit in their expensive, newly launched iron. In the autumn of 1968, I clambered into a brand spankin’ new ’69 Impala. Its lines were angular where the old ones were bulbous. As a “Chevy man” (boy), I was ready to show it some major love. But one detail grabbed my eye and just wouldn’t let go. Unlike previous Impalas, the dash and doors were covered with very large expanses of fake wood. A pet peeve was born.

If you haven’t spent quality time in a ‘70s GM car, you don’t what I’m talking about. The fake wood of the day was so bad it couldn’t fool a 13-year-old brand apostle who wanted to be fooled. The material had strange angular and cylindrical indentations: the obvious products of metal stamping. The screen-printing dots were so coarse they could be seen with the naked eye from a normal viewing distance. In short, the Impala’s fake wood made today’s Buick LaCrosse look like yesterday’s Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow.

Decades later, I read there was a GM CEO who had a thing for fake wood. He thought the public would regard it as classy. So he ordered it installed into virtually every higher trim level GM product. Yet another clear case of the blind trying to lead the [perceived] dumb.

Fast forward a few decades, GM’s in decline, the transplants have arrived and horrendous fake wood is still with us. For example, the Hyundai Azera’s faux timber radiates a half-coagulated blood maroon unlike any tree product on planet Earth. It blights the dash, doors, console edges, shift knob and interior door handles. Worst of all, fake wood informs the majority of the steering wheel. It’s bad enough to make you long for the lower-line Azera with its all-leather helm.

Why do they do it? Most of the other materials that make the Azera’s living room so inviting are the real deal. The leather actually once said moo. The fabric over your head is real fabric. The gauges are real neon (I think). Why ruin this classy cabin by counterfeiting the one element that has no function whatsoever except to provide luxury?

It’s true: wood really has no business being in a car, save its historical connection and its aesthetic appeal. While other materials are longer lasting, more practical and cheaper, real wood takes us back to more elemental days, when these machines really were horseless carriages. It delights us with a sensuality that no man-made material can recreate. Fake wood? Fake boobs. Same pointless (no pun intended) thing.

Anyway, I admire VW for putting real timber in Passats and Jettas. I’m cheered to learn that Volvo has added a real-wood option as a replacement for the standard polymer lumber (until I learned it’s bundled with the accursed headroom-robbing sunroof). I even took one-and-a-half looks (I can’t sincerely say I got to the second-look stage) when Ford offered a hand-me-down of Lincoln’s real-wood wheel on the woebegone Taurus.

Do carmakers research this stuff, or do they just copy each other? Does the public really like fake wood better than no fake wood? Does the fake stuff come close enough, for enough of us, that the carmakers profit more by saving the cost of the real grows-on-trees stuff? Clearly, the wood thing has become a monster eating away the inside of my brain.

A sincere question, though, for my audience: does anyone out there know how much it costs to put real wood in a car interior? Is burnishing and fitting a bit of genuine elm so prohibitive that automakers must restrict its deployment to the tippy-top of their lines?

Acura steps up for the RL — but pulls the punch for everything beneath it. Infiniti boasts real wood on the G, but on the hidden edge of the ashtray/bin door the “wood grain” mysteriously disappears just as if it were made of ink. I, personally, would pay real money for the genuine article, excepting the painfully obvious sticky-back aftermarket add-ons (and yes, I’ve even looked hard at those). I would even almost sort of start liking a Lexus ES, just to have its shiny God-given veneers.

Some time back, I threw down a mental challenge to myself: If I were the poor soul who had to rescue Buick, what would I do? I ultimately decided I’d offer real leather and real wood on even the lowliest Buick in the showroom as standard equipment. It’s too late to win on technology, but they can still deliver the materials of real luxury.

Can’t they? 

During one of my first job interviews, the HR guy threw me a curve ball. How do you define quality? The question stopped me cold. I’d just read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, in which the main character went insane trying to answer that same question. I don’t remember what I said, but thus began a long-term intellectual exploration. I know this website has tried to define this seemingly nebulous term many times, but here’s what I’ve been thinking.

In software engineering, ISO 9126 defines quality according to six characteristics: functionality, reliability, usability, efficiency, maintainability and portability. Domestic automakers use similar design, performance and longevity parameters to bible stack swear they’re building quality products (these days).

And yet American consumers ain’t buyin’ it (literally). They continue to believe that The Big 2.8 have lower quality automobiles than foreign or transplanted product. The domestics dismiss the apparent discrepancy as a “perception gap.”

Clearly, there is a semantic disconnect. Part of the problem: when it comes to cars, there are hundred of ways to measure “quality.” Is quality determined by materials, acoustics, ergonomics, design, dynamics, reliability or some combination of these and other factors? In what order? Without a specific definition, quality becomes a meaningless term. For example…

My 1988 VW Scirocco 16V had a splendid black leather interior, drove beautifully and consumed transmissions and Pirellis on a regular basis. I also owned a 1995 Ford Escort GT. It never broke down, the seats were living hell and the car drove like a Maytag washer. Both of these car had similar performance characteristics (horsepower, acceleration, grip).

The Volkswagen offered a superior driver-machine connection and curb appeal, with limited reliability and expensive repair costs. The Ford was dynamically inferior, but reliable and cheap to maintain. They were both high quality; they were both low quality.

And what of relative (does it beat the competition) and absolute quality (does it get the job done)? In other words, automotive quality is both subjective AND individual. What, exactly, do you want the vehicle to do? Can you tolerate breakdowns? What are your specific requirements for things such as cost, fuel efficiency, seating capacity and performance? What about the feel of the leather or the amount of steering feedback?

The Biz school def of quality may be our best guide. They define quality as a product or service’s ability to satisfy its customer’s desires. Using this formula, relative satisfaction determines relative quality. If a car “delights” the customer (a nauseating MBA term for sure), it’s considered a “higher quality” vehicle than one that just gets on with the business of meeting expectations.

Most automakers miss the overarching implications of this definition. They obsess over vehicular reliability– the numbers of defects and cycles until failure– because they believe (rightly) that customers find the maintenance process an unpleasant experience. Any subsequent loss of transportation and cash results in a dramatic loss of customer satisfaction, thus lowering perceived quality.

It’s generally acknowledged that the world’s largest carmaker keeps its customers happy by building the most reliable cars. And the automotive media’s fascination with quantifiable comparisons certainly fans the flames of this objective data OCD. But preventing pain is not as important as creating happiness, and again, happiness is the key to automotive quality.

My Escort-owning experience proved (at least to me) that subjective happiness is a better measure of perceived quality than a lack of pain. A car may not break down once during an owner’s tenure (the automaker’s Holy Grail), but an owner may still consider it a POS after five years.

And yes, you CAN engineer-in happiness. Depending on the consumer’s predilections, an exterior that delights them throughout their ownership experience is as important a measure of quality as a reliable engine. 

By the same token, after-sale service is an extremely important determinant of an automobile’s perceived quality. A given Lexus may break down more than a given Cadillac, but a bad (or just ugly-looking) dealership can easily instantly obviate the Caddy’s (theoretical) mechanical advantage.

It’s seems bizarre that carmakers leave overall customer happiness to the vagaries of profit-oriented dealers, mechanics, service stations and other third parties of the automotive service industry. But they do.

You could even say that automakers relentless pursuit of quality is headed in the wrong direction. Instead of obsessing over the hunk of metal and plastic on the floor, they should be looking at the amount of customer happiness. And not just at day one, but at day 3,650 and beyond.

Manufacturers seeking to produce quality cars should commit themselves to delighting customers throughout the entire ownership experience, at every single point of contact: dealership, internet, everywhere. Trying to quantify quality may be enough to drive anyone crazy, but focusing on customer happiness will keep a car company– any car company– in business.

According to yesterday's Yahoo finance, Apple juice is the Detroit’s drink of the moment. Mark Fields, FoMoCo’s Prez Del Americas: "I admire their pure understanding of the brand and the type of customer they're going after.” Mark LeNeve, GM’s Veep of SS&M (Sales, Service and Marketing): "We're really trying to be more like companies like Apple, where we can innovate and move faster.” Eric Ridenour, COO of the C in DCX: "I think a fresh, creative mind is something that you can appreciate and focus simply on some complicated things." While the Big Two Point Five’s top execs are happy to sing the praises of the iMac, iPod, Apple TV and iPhone, it's lip service. They’re unwilling to learn the true lessons of Apple’s recent success. 

Apple Lesson Number 1: Revolution, then evolution

When Steve Jobs returned to ailing Apple, he cut product lines into three core offerings, cut hardware licensing agreements with third party vendors, replaced Macintosh’s Operating System and orchestrated the ouster of the company’s CEO. AFTER Jobs consolidated power, stopped the bleeding and banked some cash, the company expanded its product line. Apple was then in a position to take a chance on a “game-changing technology” like the iPod. And keep improving it on a regular basis.

“GM expects the Chevrolet Volt to be a breakthrough product.” Uh, I don't think so. Although GM has no shortage of engineering expertise, GM is far too sick to realize anything even half this ambitious. Unless the company transforms itself, it will not survive to see its electric cars wean Americans from Arab oil.

Detroit’s pattern of gradual tweaks to the status quo will not rescue the languishing leviathans. They must cut or sell superfluous brands, focus product lines, restructure supply and labor contracts, and defenestrate the senior managers whose neglect drove these once great companies into the ground.

Apple Lesson Number 2: Lead from the front

The Yahoo article counsels the domestics to imitate Apple and focus on customer appeal. This Apple does not do. It doesn’t conduct customer clinics to ask specific demographic groups whether they like a potential product. It doesn’t float trial balloons; unveiling new ideas to trade show audiences YEARS before they begin production. Apple creates something inherently appealing and builds it.

At best, a fast-acting auto manufacturer needs three years to move from concept to production. By the time a new Camaro– sorry, car comes to market, the customer survey data it’s based upon has expired. AND it’s old news. If automakers want to live on the cutting edge, they must lead their customers. They must abandon auto show onanism and unveil complete and completely radical new products, coming to a showroom near you in months, not years. 

Apple Lesson Number 3: Put the visionaries in charge

Steve Jobs surrounds himself with top-drawer creative engineers that propose far out new technologies. When he sees a product that appeals to him (that conforms to his strategic vision for the company), Apple makes it.

A former CFO runs GM. A former airplane designer runs Ford (or not). A productivity genius (or not) helms Chrysler. While there are plenty of “car guys” charging around Detroit’s halls of power, they’re not in charge. No car guy would ever green light a Pontiac Aztek, Jeep Compass or Chrysler's new Sebring.

Apple Lesson Number 4: The brand isn’t everything; it’s the only thing

In general, Apple has stood by its brand identity and product naming conventions since it began business. The iMac started as a Bondi blue colored jelly bean-shaped computer. The name remained through numerous motherboard revisions and a LifeSavers roll of colors. Later, Apple repackaged the iMac as a floating flat screen design. Today it is the all-in-one unit. Throughout the configuration changes, Apple products have retained their identity as quirky yet reliable, user-friendly (yet expensive) computer-related products.

Mark Field’s paean to Apple’s “pure understanding of the brand” is a strange observation for an executive whose company has neglected and abused both brands (Lincoln, Mercury, Jaguar) and models (Town Car, Cougar, S-Type) for decades. At the same time, GM is happy to slap the Caddy badge on a pickup, and Chrysler builds so many different products at so many different price points that the name has become virtually meaningless.

Let's do the math. Of the all the US nameplates Toyota produced in 1996, 55% are still for sale, including the continuation of the Camry’s 24-year run. Fifty percent of Honda's model names also extend back to that date. That’s a stark contrast with Chevrolet (13%), Pontiac (17%), Buick (0%), Cadillac (0%), Ford (23%), Mercury (17%), Lincoln (33%), Chrysler (40%) and Dodge (34%).

“If I only had a killer car, then I'd be as meteorically successful as Apple,” bleat The Big Two Point Five. Nope. If they were healthy companies with product guys at the helm, unwaveringly focused on the long-term development of their products, then they’d be prepared to seize upon new technologies and develop insanely great products– just like Apple. 

[Read the original Yahoo Finance article here.] 

Frisco is a bedroom community just north of Dallas. The Texas town is home to the Frisco Roughriders Double-A baseball team and an IKEA. If there isn’t an IKEA near you, wait ten minutes and check again. Meanwhile, in case you haven’t heard of this Swedish furnishings company, their massive stores combine excellent prices with trendy and efficient design. Need to furnish a 295 square foot living space on the cheap? IKEA is your answer. Need to survey the vehicular habits of the aspiring middle class? Their parking lot awaits.

As you might imagine, IKEA’s parking lot is filled with practical Japanese and stylish European transports. Yes, a few insensitive souls have the audacity to pick up their newly acquired furniture in an SUV or pick-up. But for the most part the Frisco IKEA parking lot is as politically correct as a Sierra Club picnic. This year’s Black Friday crowd was especially partial to Jetta TDI’s.

IKEA’s customers are the sort of trendy, informed suburban/urbanites who see SUV’s as rollover hazards and a danger to other vehicles. They believe that the bigger the vehicle, the more it embroils us in Iraq and the warmer the globe. While they appreciate the need to tow, tote and traverse the Texas outback, driving a great honking truck is not their thing. No way, no how.

Let’s motor on over to the northern fringe of Cow Town (otherwise known as Fort Worth, Texas). Here, where urban sprawl gives way to prairie grass land, you’ll find the “World’s Foremost Outfitter.” Cabela's is a gargantuan retail outlet catering to hunters, campers and anglers, selling everything from shotguns to camo socks. It’s part showroom, part aquarium and part Smithsonian Museum of Natural History.

You're less like to encounter European performance sedans in Cabela's parking lot than vegans at the Spring Creek Barbeque. Nine of ten automobiles parked thereabouts are pickups or SUV’s: Ford F150’s, Dodge Durangos, Chevy Suburbans, Jeep Wranglers, Toyota Tundras, etc. Cabela is temporary home to trucks that know the feel of dirt deep in their treads and mud over their axles; vehicles that pull horse trailers, bass boats, ATV’s and haul hay. There are acres of them.

The psyche of the average Cabela’s patron hasn’t changed since [the first] President Roosevelt took the oath of office. They love the outdoors. Although trucks have replaced equine companions of yore, their owners' passion for animals and conservation is deep and hands-on (killing critters is part of the program). City folk who hate their big rigs confuse them. Life without a truck or SUV? Well that’s just plain ridiculous. What good are cars that can’t pull a stump or haul a cord of wood? They ain’t practical.

Worlds collide in the massive suburbs that separate IKEA and Cabela's. Neighborhoods have one foot in the rugged outdoorsy Cabela’s lifestyle, and the other resting comfortably on a chic IKEA Tylösand ottoman. A Ford Fusion sits just a driveway away from a Dodge Ram MegaCab. No wonder The Big Two Point Five are busy producing “soft-roaders” like the Ford Edge, Lincoln MKX, Saturn Outlook and Vue, GMC Acadia and Buick Enclave. It's their Panglossian attempt to build the best of all possible vehicles for the “average” consumer.

Buyers on the IKEA side of the equation aren’t giving crossovers (CUV’s) a free ride. They are not impressed by the genre’s incremental improvement in gas mileage and the imperceptible decrease in dimension. As far as they're concerned, a CUV is a more defensible choice than an SUV in the same sense that a “regular” Whopper is healthier than its triple stacked iteration. They continue to deride automakers for “forcing” (seducing?) consumers into large, inefficient vehicles that are bad for the environment and, frankly, their own chances of accident survival.

On the Cabela’s side of the equation, CUV’s aren’t real trucks. End of story.

It's true; CUV’s are neither fish nor fowl. They are both inefficient AND outback aversive. So who wants something that looks and quaffs like an SUV but can't do what a proper SUV or pickup can do? The same people who own SUV’s but never tow, haul or mud-plug. They're working class people who fell in love with the SUV’s elevated seating position and the feeling of safety that comes from piloting a vehicle with a whole lot of sheet metal. They're not ready to come off their high horse– just yet.  

Or are they? The last two years have shown a dramatic relationship between soaring gasoline prices and withering SUV sales. Faster than changing environmental policy or fickle suburban fashion trends, pain at the pump is driving SUV refugees straight into the arms of manufacturers who've mastered the art of building small, fuel-efficient vehicles. American consumers are moving all the way from trucks to cars. Half-measure CUV’s won't save Motown from this inexorable migration. 

In the late 70s, Dutch traffic planner Hans Monderman experienced the kind of insight that gets people sent to an asylum. ”Let’s eliminate all traffic signals and signs and remove the divisions between the road and sidewalk where cars and people interact. There will be fewer accidents and traffic flow will improve.” Monderman’s approach seemed completely radical: roads that seem dangerous are safer than roads that seem safe. The concept was a smack in the face of convention.

Accepted traffic planning methods date back to 1929, to Radburn, New Jersey. The residential area was launched as ”The Motor Town of the Future.” It was, in effect, a study in near total human/traffic non-interaction. The reasoning was obvious: cars are big, fast and hard; people are slow, soft and fragile. Segregate the two and people can walk safely and cars can move quickly from A to B. The result became a model for road planners in all developed nations and a blueprint for the world.

The system had an unintended consequence: endless stop-and-go. Where drivers and pedestrians [eventually and inevitably] interact, they both face countless interruptions to their natural flow. They have to stop. Monderman’s counter theory: go slower to move faster. To help road users go with the flow, Monderman recommended bringing cars and people into greater proximity– without signs or signals. Monderman argued that human contact through the windshield creates a self-regulating and efficient traffic flow, as users negotiate with one another for right of way.

Monderman’s ideas were met with near biblical outrage. The Dutchman persisted, until the Netherlands gave him permission to test his theories. In several Dutch towns, engineers ripped out signs and signals, flattened sidewalks and created radical new road-flow patterns. The result: a statistically verified reduction in accidents and fatalities. Monderman’s success with ”human contact flow” has lead to changes in roadways throughout the European Union and the U.S.

An American named Walter Kulash added to the growing ”liveable traffic” (r)evolution. The Senior Traffic Engineer at the Orlando community-planning firm of Glatting Jackson Kercher Anglin Lopez Rinehart Inc. saw that outdated planning had created islands of inactivity in both suburbia and urbia. At night, downtown areas are abandoned. During the day, outlying residential districts are desolate. People spend a lot of time driving from one to the other, usually negotiating traffic snarls.

Kulash believes in creating more efficient habitats, by manipulating street geometry and introducing mixed use of space. Working with planners intent on transforming West Palm Beach from a dead end darkworld to a 24-hour address, Kulash helped create a liveable town out of what used to be shops and parking spaces. Developers have seen property values increase three and four-fold after Kulash’ interventions. His traffic-calming and urban design methods are helping create numerous ”liveable traffic spaces” across North America, where people work, live, shop, play AND drive.

Monderman’s flow generation and Kulash’ traffic calming principles could trigger a shift in automotive tastes. Transportation analysts estimate that the average U.S. vehicle travels roughly 30 miles a day. Encouraged by the ”New Urbanism” planning scene, drivers may finally abandon the idea that their cars must be capable of transcontinental transportation, and shift to lower speed plug-in hybrids and electric vehicles. Rising gas prices and increasing environmental/political consciousness will only accelerate the transition.

A year ago, I asked Walter Kulash’s opinion about a car platform bound for the U.S. Kulash said that the new car fit within his critical ”effective turn-radii” requirement; it would be able to get around the new townscape with ease. In other words, Kulash is creating roads where big cars are as out of place as a sumo wrestler in a ballet troupe.

To conform to American tastes, these vehicles would have to be small on the outside, yet feel big on the inside. The Nissan Versa understands the equation. But the genre needs a premium player to overcome the stigma of ”small = cheap.” In that regard, the long-delayed SMART car is the one to watch. Originally planned as an EV city runner, the Smart cars now sip gasoline. Don’t be surprised to see the platform get new drivetrains as DCX reaches for profit opportunity.

The rise of car sharing companies like Flexcar and Zipcar also show that a growing percentage of drivers are willing to abandon the gratification of ownership for the ease and economy of more practical personal transportation. Where these companies are going, the majors should follow. American carmakers would be wise to adjust their future products to match this merging of urban and suburban environments.

The Big Two Point Five should build products that exploit the new, more people-friendly asphalt paths through our streetscapes. By catering to the switch from gas-guzzling land yachts to economical, environmentally-friendly runabouts, Detroit may discover the economic reinvention it so dearly needs.   

Amory Lovins makes his living studying energy use and efficiency. According to the physicist and cofounder of the Rocky Mountain Institute environmental think tank, the modern automobile uses just one percent of its energy to move its occupant hither and yon. The number is shockingly small, and it may point to big changes for future cars.

Lovins points out that a great deal of an automobile’s engine power does… nothing much. At idle, a car uses its fuel to power accessories and keep itself going. All of which take a friction-filled bite of its overall efficiency. In fact, Lovins reckons only about an eighth of a car’s fuel is burned to turn its wheels. Half of that simply heats up your tires and the air around the vehicle. When you depress the go-pedal, you’re using just six percent of your engine’s total output. 

On average– we’re not talking about a Prius or Hummer here– less than 20% of the energy of gasoline is actually used to drive the wheels of the car. That means very little of the gas you bought moves you down the road.  It’s like buying a twelve pack and taking one sip.

The numbers look absurd, but if you’ve been around cars long enough, you know they’re not completely ridiculous. You know not to touch the exhaust manifold after the engine’s been running. You know not to stand up in your buddy’s convertible. Combustion engines put out a lot of heat and the atmosphere is not nearly as pliable as it seemed when you were standing still. In every mechanical transaction, friction takes a vig.

Then there’s the weight. Basically, 75 percent of what your car’s doing is moving its own weight. Steel, glass and gas are heavy. The more weight you have to move, the more energy you need to overcome gravity and inertia.

It’s as tough to find fault with the physics as it is to accept the outcome. If you were getting one percent return on an investment, you’d move your money. If your employee worked five minutes a day, you’d hand him a box for his Happy Meal toys and mouse pad and change all the administrative passwords. And yet, we put up with one percent efficiency from our cars? Not for long. As the price of producing that single percentage point grows (in many senses), the pressure to improve our vehicles’ energy efficiency grows stronger.

Of course, physics is kind of nice ‘cause everything goes both ways. If three quarters of your fuel is spent on weight, shedding pounds gives you about a seven-fold energy return. Lower your drag and you can pick up some more. Fancy engines are another solution, but materials and design are where the really dramatic energy savings live.

For example, BMW has developed a process for mass-producing carbon fiber-reinforced plastics (CFP). CFP is up to 30 percent lighter than aluminum and 50 percent lighter than steel, without concession to strength. Although the cost of production and application currently relegates the technology to aeronautics and serious racing, new procedures have begun delivering the material to mainstream vehicles. OK, the M6 and M3 are not exactly what you’d call fleet cars, but it’s a start.

CFP is also easier to shape than its ferrous colleagues. Instead of pressing a hood and attaching hitches and hinges, a CFP hood can be extruded with all its doodads in place. Any manufacturer who could master mass production would see its vehicles’ number of parts– and related assembly time– plummet. CFP also offers designers the opportunity to use more complicated forms, to create shapes that can’t be [cost-effectively] hammered out of metal.

Reduced reliance on metal stamping would also lead to quicker refresh rates for styles, and more simultaneous choices. Seven different Scion TCs in the same model year. A WRX that screams I just graduated and one that whispers I was never here. Fins for some, no fins for others. Mass customization.

Greater control of vehicle design can also increase the slipperiness of vehicle, further improving efficiency and performance. Lovins believes a 66 mpg SUV is achievable, without compromising current space or driving dynamics. It could big, brutish, tow a small town and safer too boot. Americans can eat their cake and have it too.

Carbon fiber costs around $8.50 a pound, compared to $1 for the same amount of steel. Unless economies of scale can lower unit prices, it seems a hopeless mismatch. Think how much debate surrounds the commercial value of the current “hybrid premium.” If, however, you believe that oil will not dip below $70 a barrel, that global warming is not the liberal conspiracy that Mr. Limbaugh and his supporters suggest, or that a one percent return on your energy dollar is unacceptable, a little hike in sticker prices could represent a big bargain.

I was making my way through my morning paper recently when my progress was interrupted by a paean to perfection by automotive journalist Matt Nauman. Normally, I don’t pay much attention to the local paper’s car reviews or features; thanks to wall-to-wall dealer ads, these syndicated features are about as independent-minded and critical as a stage mother watching her daughter perform Grease on a high school proscenium. Of course, pistonhead that I am, I still scan them. And Nauman’s work stopped me in my tracks. The subject of his unadulterated adulation, you see, was the Toyota Corolla.

It’s easy to understand the car hack’s choice of subject matter. After 40 years of incredibly humble service, the lowly Corolla is the far-and-away sales champ of all time. With 31.6 million cars sold worldwide it’s The Car That Just Won’t Go Away. More Corollas have occupied our streets than all of the Golf/Rabbits, VW Beetles, Ford Escorts, Honda Civics or Model T’s produced by hand of man.

Although Nauman’s mechanical hagiography matched the vehicle in question for overall excitement, his article was not without insight. His pat-on-the-back interviews, for example, included Keith Byrd. For over eleven years, Mr. Byrd has been one of the thousands of gainfully employed autoworkers who've helped breed 2.5 million Corollas at the Toyota plant in NUMMI in Fremont, California. Byrd described what has become his life’s work with a librarian’s passion. “It’s kind of like water. When you want to get a drink, you know it’s refreshing, but you don’t talk about it all the time.”

Cupid’s automotive arrow also whizzed straight past David Zatz. The man whose surname Dr. Seuss would adore runs the Toyota Corolla fan site corolland.com (which admonishes its readers to pronounce it “Corolla-Land” even though they couldn't quite swing the domain with the "a" in it). “You’ve got good trunk space," Zatz effused. "It’s quiet inside. It corners well enough.” Ernest Bastien, Vice President of Toyota USA’s Vehicle Operations Group added his faint praise to Nauman’s Corolla love-in. “It’s a car that meets the needs of most consumers on an everyday basis.”

[Fair disclosure: I’m guilty of participating in this conspiracy to numb American motorists’ hearts and stultify their minds. My first new car was a shiny 1979 Toyota Corolla SR-5 Liftback, a green machine that tried hard to suggest “sportiness,” but instead delivered just enough utility and economy to keep me driving it for six years. I have served my penance and have emerged on the Other Side.]

The Corolla’s greatest sin– perhaps its only sin– is boredom. Toyota exec Bastien is right: in its many ancient and modern forms, the Corolla has and will continue transport its passengers from A to B with little cost and intrusion. But it will also generate the least desire to stare at the keys and wonder where to take her next. This is precisely why enthusiasts will gleefully deride such a vehicle on these e-pages. This is why sister Camry, venerable and useful as it might be, nearly made it onto the TWAT list.

Too right too. The Corolla is as sexy as Aunt Bea, dressed in steel, plastic, rubber and glass. It’s the automotive equivalent definition of “wallflower.” The Corolla is a shaped box on four wheels. It turns as sharply as cheese. It screams to speed as quickly as Ol’ Paint. It whirs and hums and wheezes. It is to exciting transportation what Slim Jims are to fine cuisine. On any pistonheads’ automotive wish list, the Corolla fits just above moped and girl’s bike.

For enthusiasts, driving a Corolla is living death. Sure, Toyota tuners will argue that the humble Corolla can be modded and prodded into a speed-mobile that can kick serious Civic backside. My question to them would be: why? Is there a reason – any reason – to expend a serious number of Franklins on a vehicle that will still be, in the final analysis, your mother’s car?

In the Corolla's defense, the model was offering five-speeds and DOHC engines back in the ‘70’s, when Detroit was hard-pressed to give motorists four-speeds and SOHC four-cylinder engines. The Corolla offered– offers the two characteristics people look for in a car: economy and reliability. It set the standards for other small cars… which they singularly failed to achieve. 

Yes, well, great. Meanwhile, the Corolla is the match to the enthusiast's fuse. One is always sedately lumbering along (safely below the speed limit) ahead of us and a line of others when we…want…to drive. We shake our heads, never quite understanding why buyers choose to make the public statement, “I really don’t care what my car drives like, handles like, or says to the world. And, when it breaks, I’ll get another one.”

Been there done that. Get the damn thing out of my way.

Volvo arrived late to the SUV party, but they brought some killer tunes. The XC90 was a full-sized soft-roader CUV thingie before full-sized soft-roader CUV thingies were cool. Well, OK, it’s hard to argue that any Volvo was or ever could be “cool;” but the instantly recognizable ride was an instant hit with America’s safety-minded Soccer moms. Although the initial model sported a decidedly anemic five-cylinder engine, the company rectified the situation (for a price) with Yamaha’s V8; an inline six finally replaces the five banger for ‘07. Oh, and there’s a new, smaller XC60 coming too.

Codenamed Y278, the XC60 shares Ford’s C1 platform and major components (including an optional Haldex four wheel-drive system) with the new Volvo V70 and Land Rover’s forthcoming Freelander 2. TTAC’s resident photochopmeister Andrei Avarvarii has prepared a couple of renderings to give us an idea of how Volvo’s new baby will appear when car hacks wet its head at the next Detroit North American International Auto Show (NAIAS).

Avi’s based his work on confirmed reports that the Swedes have opted for a “Honey I Shrunk the Volvo” design approach (which sounds a whole lot kinkier than it is). The XC60’s snout will feature the traditional Volvo grille and a new pair of headlamps, inspired by the company’s other models. The trademark pronounced shoulder lines will suggest the XC60’s “sporty” character (they hope), while the XC60's short front and rear overhangs will emphasize its height (we know). In the rear, new lights and a sportier spoiler differentiate the smaller model from its big brother.

Given that the XC90 is a five passenger SUV/CUV, you gotta wonder why Volvo feels the need to offer another five passenger soft roader that looks the same as the bigger one, only smaller. If anything, they should've gone the other way: creating a seven seat SUV or, better yet, a minivan. Industry wags suggest Ford’s Swedish subsidiary has its sights set on luxury cute utes: the Lexus RX330, BMW X3, Acura RDX and the upcoming Mercedes-Benz MLK-Class (yes, another MB class). Nope. All these baby utes hang-out in the neighborhood of 35 large, where the XC90 also lives. The XC60 will compete lower down in the cute ute food chain, in the low to mid-20’s. It’ll have to take on Toyota’s V6 RAV4, Honda’s VTEC four-powered CRV and (oops) the Mercury Mariner.

So forget luxury. To conquest sales from these highly evolved, much loved competitors (Mariner aside), Volvo will have to sell affordable safety, rather than “premium” branding. The XC60 is also aimed at any members of the Volvo faithful who wants to step out of their cars and step [up] into something larger (taller?) that’s not quite as big (long?) as the XC90– assuming anyone moves from a car to an SUV these days. Of course, a lot of drivers suffering from PTFSD (Post Traumatic Fuel-Sucking Disorder) are getting out of full-sized SUV’s into cute utes. Given the XC90's higher margins, downward migrating XC90 owners must be something of a worry for Volvo of NA.

On the upside, Volvo’s commitment to safety shtick gives their vehicles a huge competitive edge in certain demographics. For example, there may be a large number Volvo owners with university-bound kids for whom a safety-oriented cute ute would be an ideal going away gift. There are two caveats to this scenario: 1) Will style-conscious college kids “let” their parents buy them a boring old Volvo– especially one that looks just like Mom’s? and 2) Did the Ford Explorer SUV = Death equation convince parents that SUV’s are inherently dangerous, even if they own one themselves? More generally, can safety be cute? Does it have to be?

Anyway, in these "SUV's are the anti-Christ" days, much of the XC60’s sales potential depends on the cute ute's fuel economy. We hear that the XC60 will get the same 235-horse 3.2-liter powerplant recently bestowed upon the XC90. In that installation, the EPA awarded the six pot 17/22 mpg. If you add a few mpg’s to the XC90’s economy (allowing for the XC60's lighter curb weight), the smaller ute might just break the critical 20mpg barrier. Then again, it might not. Then again, it better. Toyota’s Toyota RAV4 V6 FWD clocks in at 21/28. Wild card: the XC60’s 158hp 2.2-liter diesel. If the oil burner is US (i.e. California) compliant, a high mileage diesel XC60 with sufficient torque to get out of its own way would sell all day.

The verdict
On one hand, I thought the Jaguar X-Type died (it is dead, right?) for the sin of building an affordable mini-me version of a pricey product. On the other hand, no one wants to die, and Volvo owns that not dying mind space like Pee Wee Herman owns that icky porno theater head space (they still have porno movie houses, right?). On balance, I reckon the XC60 will steal sales from the XC90– and still be a major hit.  

[For more of Mr. Avarvarii's work, please visit www.spyshots.carbonmade.com]

I arrived at the Paris Mondial de L’Automobile too late for the press days. Big mistake. My first attempt to gain entry to the second largest auto show in the world fell on a weekend. I could barely squeeze through the entry gates, let alone get up-close-and-personal with the more attractive models. So I retreated into the Metro, vowing a working week return. Monday morning proved a bit more relaxed, although by midday the crush returned. Luckily, there were a few machines worth the scrum.

I’ve been fascinated with the mid-engined Audi R8 since it first appeared as a concept two years ago. Seeing it in the flesh, I wonder for whom the schnell tolls– other than eccentrics like me. Although the German supercar’s pricing has yet to be released, it will probably live in the neighborhood of $100k; which is rarefied air for an Audi. Still, if Ingolstadt keeps production volumes low, the price tag would make some kind of sense. If not, well, Audi’s historical problems with cliff face depreciation make an “investment” in an R8 seem as dicey as real estate south of North Korea’s lower border.

This is perhaps the first Audi where the oversized grill is pleasing to the eye. (Or maybe I’m just getting used to the brand’s open mouth bass look.) The R8’s overall dimensions are quite compact; the vehicle’s height seems much lower than even the new TT. The basic proportions are spot on. But I still can’t get over the large plastic shroud behind the side windows. It may have something to do with an eventual cabriolet model– or the German automaker’s determination to match the Toyota FJ’s trendy blind spot. It’s the only exterior blemish in an otherwise svelte and sexy design.

The R8’s powerplant gleams through its Ferrari did it first glass hatch. After much conjecture, the German roadster ends-up with the new RS4’s 4.2 liter, 420 horsepower FSI V8. So quipped, the R8 promises zero to 60 sprints in the low 4’s. Industry wags continue to suggest that the R8 will eventually holster a V-10 borrowed from the [Audi owned] Lamborghini Gallardo. Perhaps not. The move would undercut the Gallardo’s price and exclusivity, and deny the R8 the V8 growl it needs to intimidate Porsche’s blown six. 

Meanwhile, the R8’s interior looks far too pedestrian, too similar to the TT. The high seat bolsters make for an awkward entry. Still, I look forward to driving and possibly owning Audi’s first retail supercar.

The Peugeot 908 RC was the most striking and sinister sedan at the show, obviously influenced by the Maybach-based Exelero coupe. The French beast is powered by a 5.5-liter twelve cylinder diesel engine that generates 691 horspower and 885+ foot pounds of torque. The 908 promises astounding performance and something resembling reasonable fuel economy– adding a bit of environmental luster to the brand's RC sports models. 

Obviously, French carmakers enjoyed premiere placement in the show venue. There is no question that they design cars with flair. If the French (and the Italians) can find a way to add the build quality that Toyota has introduced to the American market, the imports might even find some sales success stateside. The Citroen C-Metisse is a bad example. While I love the name and admire the front wheel-drive diesel-hybrid powertrain, I found the car's styling too similar to the Dodge Magnum wagon– whcih is not a good design benchmark for a foreign car.

Speaking of odd design, the VW Iroc concept, meant to be the precursor of a new Scirocco coupe, looked strikingly similar to the silly Skoda Joyster. Take one Joyster and bake in the oven for an hour and out comes the VW. The choice of electric green– an homage to the "viper green metallic" paint offered on the 1976 VW Scirocco– did not enhance its appearance one whit. The twin-charged four-cylinder powerplant is supposedly good for 210hp– about the limit of what you'd want through the front wheels. 

Alfa Romeo 8C Competizione. I'd buy it just to be able to say the name to people. The car's design is a little too wacky, but the performance sounds awesome. As does the price: around $187k. 

Watch out for Alfa though. If the Brera, GT and Spider are any indication, this marque is going to be a lot more important in the world market. If their cars don’t break or rust, if their US dealers don’t treat customers like merde, the cars’ long-awaited return stateside might actually work. The Italian vehicles would certainly benefit from the fact that all the folks who are old enough to have first hand experience with Alfas are too old to remember how bad they were.

There was only one place I could find wide open spaces at the biennial Paris auto show: the General Motors pavilion. Seems that the French, like the Americans, have diminished interest in what was once the world’s most stylish and innovative automobile producer. Until GM can figure out how to Earl-up their designs and power their engines using pomme frites and mayonnaise, Renault, Peugeot and Citroen have little to worry about. Fortunately, I ran pretty well on the stuff, with help from some fine Bordeaux. Salut.