A fine-handling car carries on a conversation with the tips of your fingers and the seat of your pants, and not just near the limit of adhesion. Whether the engine’s up front, in the middle or out back; whether the powerplant propels the front, rear or both wheels, a true “driver’s car” is a master of communication and balance. While many cars have been successfully marketed based on their “ultimate driving,” very few are capable of delivering such erudition. Many are downright pigs, offering nothing more than understeer followed by more understeer. As Jonny Lieberman’s review indicates, the Mazda RX-8 is not amongst them. It is an under-appreciated gem.

Only two cars in the RX-8’s price range arguably handle better: the Honda S2000 (in its final year) and Mazda’s own Miata. Neither has a rear seat or is remotely as livable as the RX-8, and the Honda is insanely expensive to insure. And i enjoy driving the RX-8 more.

While I haven’t always been a fan of Motor Trend, the October 2008 issue includes a “giant handling test” that’s well worth reading. They lead off with instrumented testing, where the RX-8 doesn’t fare well against a group that includes the Dodge Viper ACR, BMW M3, Mitsubishi Evo, Porsche 911 Turbo, Nissan GT-R and Audi R8. So I figured they were going to bury the RX-8 in their rankings.

But another part of the comparison test involves a subjective component, where professional road-racer Randy Pobst ranked the RX-8 third, behind only the $120k Audi R8 and $63k BMW M3 (the light steering apparently comes alive on the track). Ahead of even the Porsche— and Pobst races a Porsche.

In the purest sense of a sports car, the rear-drive RX-8 is the most satisfying through corners. I felt like it was a glove on my hand. I could put it right where I wanted. Extremely well balanced, easy to drift, unfettered by weight. The all-wheel-drive cars tend to understeer, and then when they do break loose it’s a big event and a lot happens. In the RX-8, on the other hand, things happen a little bit at a time. It’s just so much fun to drive. The more powerful cars feel like riding a horse. The RX-8 feels like wings bolted right to your arms.

Note that Pobst says “the most satisfying through corners,” not merely “one of the most.” I couldn’t agree more. I’ve driven an RX-8 on WV16 and OH26, two roads packed with challenging curves. It was the most satisfying driving experience I’ve ever had.

I’m aware of the arguments against the RX-8, most of which center around the rotary engine. Yes, the Wankel’s fuel economy is poor. In my experience, the car gets 15 mpg in all-out hooning mode, 17 in typical suburban driving, and 21 when cruising on the freeway. But plenty of vehicles have been sold that do worse. And the recent fuel price spike indicates that it’s not all about frugality. In the first eight months of last year, when gas prices were lower, Mazda still only shifted 4,417 RX-8s.

Next up: the lack of low-end torque. There’s a fix: downshift. Where some engines reward a downshift with a raucous fuss, the rotary begs to be revved. Sure, the RX-8 doesn’t launch strongly, but once underway on a winding road, power is not an issue. I’ll grant that there’s a certain adolescent thrill to rocketing oneself and 3,500+ pounds of metal and plastic forward by merely pressing down on a pedal. But is this really what performance driving has devolved to?

Apparently so. Mazda developed a unique engine and chassis for the RX-8— bits not shared with a midsize sedan. They’re offering a lightweight car with outstanding handling and a livable ride. They even toss a usable rear seat into the deal, AND an amazingly low price for a bespoke low-volume car (under $30k new, under $20k used with low miles). And yet Mazda sold just 2,591 RX-8s in the first eight months of 2008.

The unavoidable implication: handling simply isn’t a high priority for more than a few thousand people a year. When driving enthusiasts have to choose between handling and torque, nearly all of them choose torque. This certainly lets a lot of other manufacturers off the hook; torque is much easier to provide than communicative steering and a finely-balanced chassis. Just drop a powerful engine into a sexy-looking car (e.g. any of the new wave V8 muscle cars), and sales will follow.

In the future, when electric motors drive the wheels and steering is via wire, the torque temptation will only increase. Electric motors can certainly deliver low-end grunt, so few people will mind that any steering feel these vehicles provide will be entirely artificial. My advice to those with limited budgets who really care about handling, whose driving isn’t all in a straight line: buy a Mazda RX-8 while you still can.

Oil shock version three-point-something is roiling the global economy. SUVs are doing a fair imitation of the dinosaurs in Fantasia. As the U.S. auto industry undergoes a rapid, convulsive, paradigm product shift, I feel a slight pang for T-Rex: the Chevrolet Suburban. I hope this example of the species pulls through. The SUV segment may be history, but the Suburban IS history.

In the last thirty years or so, GM's cycled through product names at a fearsome clip. The Suburban is the exception; it’s been in The General’s lineup for sixty-plus years. Even more astoundingly, it's hardly changed. It’s always been a very large enclosed truck (originally called a “station wagon”), skirting the line between personal and commercial vehicle.

During those years, panel vans were America's urban workhorse. And there have always been jobs requiring more power or rough-road ability. Built for the great American outback, the Suburban was blue collar to its bones. The Car Talk brothers have joked that the Suburban should have been named the Chevy “Rural;” “suburb” wasn’t far enough out (even in the sixties).

The basic “covered truck” design carried through the years. The Suburban didn’t get much bigger, but the cars got a lot smaller. By the nineties, the Suburban was a true dinosaur: body-on-frame, large overhangs, freakishly huge engine, you name it.

The big-ass ‘Burban held one trump card: it drove like a pickup truck, not a panel van. While the 'Burban occupied huge chunks of the road, the SUV was reasonably easy to keep on it (parking the behemoth was another matter). Even Consumer Reports praised the road manners of later models (if not the brakes). 

No one is exactly sure what kicked off the boom at the huge end of the SUV market. Jeeps, Broncos and Blazers had been steadily carving out a nice little niche for themselves in the snow belt, the mountains, the midwest and the plains of Texas. And then, suddenly, sales for the Chevy Suburban went crazy.

I’ve heard tell it was a survey that named the SUV the safest vehicle on the road (four tons of not-too-tippy metal will do that) that pushed the Suburban over the tipping point. The built-like-a-brick-shithouse Suburban also held its value incredibly well. The much-bemoaned Corporate Average Fuel Economy "light truck" fuel economy exemption sure didn't hurt sales. Or the fact that the price of gas remained incredibly cheap (relative to incomes). 

Sometime in the 70’s, half the soccer team arrived at the field in a Suburban, albeit one kid at a time. Having conquered its namesake, the Suburban belated tried to become worthy of the crown. 

Over the next decade plus, GM slowly honed the old work horse’s roughest edges. They couldn’t do much about the size (that was the Tahoe) or the mileage (just barely double-digits), but amenities arrived. GM made the so-called “Texas Cadillac” into a real one (and a GMC to boot). Environmentalists moaned. Safety experts wailed. And still they sold.

With profits approaching five figures per vehicle, challengers for the champ arrived in force. Ford finally won the “mine’s bigger than yours” contest with the Excursion, which was slightly bigger, just as thirsty, far more ungainly and a lot tippier than the 'Burban. The Excursion went into the books as proof that even Americans have limits. The Suburban partied like it would always be 1999.

When gas prices started creeping up, the GM sheltered behind the need for “utility.” They also started a trend to keep the metal moving that has yet to play out: discounts, incentives and low-rate financing. Five plus years later, it’s clear that most of those 'Burban buyers never needed that so-called utility. Turth to tell, the Suburban will always be a compromised car/minivan. But as a “just shy of totally commercial” work vehicle, it was– and is– divine. 

A common tale of the Suburban’s power: you can put your whole race team in it, stash the tools in the cargo bay and tow your race car to the track. With that kind of load, eight to ten mpg looks pretty efficient. 

I wasn’t sure if this was an apocryphal advantage until one of my ESL students drove a Suburban to Buffalo/Niagara Falls. The truck carried the entire Japanese staff of a tier one Honda supplier and their luggage, and towed the boat for their “retreat."  He had instructions from his boss “don’t try to go around any trouble.” The trip made quite an impression on the driver; he looked into buying a Suburban when he transferred to the States (only to be saved from financial ignominy by an attack of sanity).

OK, here it is: I love that old brick. The piggish, plenty-powerful Chevrolet Suburban forces you to stretch your horizons to find a task worthy of its capabilities (and justify the fuel bills). These days, ten grand will buy you a nice, clean, relatively low mileage example. I can’t quite justify one, and my life is the poorer for it.       

A guy says he’s stopped using premium gas in his “premium gas required” car because it’s too damn expensive. It’s a joke, right? He’s saving 30 cents now, only to threaten his warranty and pay thousands in repairs later? “Yes” is the easy answer. But the truth about cars can be a funny thing, especially when you add fuel and flames.

With apologies to the chemists, theoretical physicists and tuners out there, here is an octane apercu: octane rating measures knock resistance. It has nothing to do with energy content. Engine knock (or ping) occurs when fuel detonates before the piston is in the right spot. The temperature and pressure in the cylinder cause the fuel-air mixture to detonate prior to the spark.

The effect is like tapping the cylinder head with a ball peen hammer, hence the sound. Add the intended spark, and you can have two flame fronts in the cylinder smashing together in the kind of closed-cage match no one leaves. Seriously, knock would destroy a lot of engines if not for octane.

Octane (a.k.a. 2,2,4 trimethylpentane) is a chunk of carbon and hydrogen added to gasoline to prevent premature detonation. In a bit of counter-intuitive chemistry making phrases like “high octane thriller” slightly ridiculous, it actually slows the combustion process. Octane’s fame as a performance enhancement comes from allowing higher compression, which results in more punch. The higher compression comes from the factory, not the pump.

The octane rating itself comes from good old fashioned testing. And I do not use that phrase lightly. To rate octane, testers use special single cylinder motors developed in the 1930s. In the United States, octane is reported as an average of research octane (RON) and motor octane (MON). That’s what that yellow "octane by R + M / 2" pump sticker means. In Europe, it’s RON only, so the numbers run higher. RON tests the fuel under load, but both numbers help engine makers match their designs to available fuel.

The rule, then, is use whatever octane rating the manufacturer recommends. A force-fed SAAB asking for 93 octane fuel really needs it. Fuel with less won’t be able to put up with the pressure of the turbo and temperature inside the cylinder. It will start sounding like the opening of Silly Love Songs, and no one wants to hear that.

On the other side, a Honda Accord is set up to use 87 octane. The environment inside Accord cylinders is not going push that fuel beyond its limits, so it can’t take advantage of the extra resilience of the more expensive brew. It’s added cost with no added advantage. Who wants to waste an extra cent on their fuel?

All rules are meant to be broken, though, which is why dropping gas grade to save money– or picking it up to increase performance– isn’t necessarily a joke. There are times when you may want to stray from the owner’s manual and, as is usually the case, only you can help you know when.

With some cars, there is no choice.  Carbon build-up inside an engine might mean you must use higher octane fuel. In older cars, you are the knock sensor and have to respond accordingly.   

Newer cars have their own knock sensors, like little U-boat commanders listening for pings. Upon hearing the noise, they retard the timing, firing off sparks when they can still do some good. That means reduced power and efficiency. So, while you’re saving at the pump by avoiding higher octane fuel, you’ll end up paying at the throttle.

Exactly how much difference any of this makes varies for every car. You can (and this is not recommended the author or anyone remotely related to TTAC) take a new Passat, run regular gas and not hear any blacksmithing from under the hood. You will also fail to get that squeal you wanted as the light turned green. 

Perhaps more importantly at the moment, your mileage may be off. Whether the drop is enough to warrant the extra cost of higher octane fuel is… uncertain. The only way to really know for sure whether or not premium fuel is worth the money: test out a couple of tanks of gas.

If a test is allowed. Some manufactures "recommend" premium fuel, others "require" it. For the most part, a car manufacture weighs mileage, horsepower and fuel grade against its perception of the ideal buyer. They want to put out the best numbers they can. Conversely, no company wants to tell you to fill up with 93. It’s an added, and inconspicuous, cost of ownership, one that owners are forced to confront often.

Bottom line: if a manufacturer asks you to spend more ON their car, not FOR it, you may want to laugh it off.

Critics of Chevrolet's upcoming plug-in gas-electric hybrid Volt fail to realize one thing: it doesn't matter if the car isn't perfect. It doesn't even matter if the Volt fails to achieve ANY of its much-hyped metrics: price, range or reliability. It's what happens AFTER GM's Hail Mary is released that counts. If GM can keep plugging away (so to speak) on the Volt, they could, eventually, offer a genuine competitor to the the all-conquering Toyota Prius. One need only look at the fiddly roof still blighting the once red-hot Pontiac Solstice to know the odds of this happening are not high. Or, alternatively, contemplate GM's new product development history vs. the genesis of the Prius.

Back in the late 1980s and early 1990s, academics investigated why Japanese companies in general, and Japanese auto companies in specific, were doing so well. A key finding: while American companies tended to think the choice was between a breakthrough, “leapfrogging” product and more of the same, Japanese companies often pursued a “rapid inch-up” strategy. With the latter, you get a reasonably good product at a viable price to market, learn from the process, then follow up with an improved (if still not perfect) product. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Companies seeking a "moon shot" breakthrough are much more likely to get discouraged, ball up the entire effort, and start over from scratch. They miss the basic rule: companies that aim for and achieve a series of base hits with innovative products often end-up outscoring those that alternate between swinging for the fences and sitting it out.

Japanese companies have had a further advantage: a significant number of Japanese "early adopters." These consumers are willing to buy bleeding edge technology for its own sake. They’ll pay well over the odds for an imperfect innovation– as long as it’s more advanced than any available alternative. That goes double if the new technology can be conspicuously consumed. Lest we forget, the Prius was originally developed for Japan, not for Hollywood.

Are these purchasing decisions rational? In isolation and in strictly financial terms, no. But when people buy a new technology, it gives the manufacturer the learning experience and financial means to launch continuous improvements and, eventually, benefit from economy of scale. The rest of us eventually get an improved, less expensive iteration. So, in the long run, these initially expensive decisions make a lot of sense.

Remember all of the arguments against digital cameras? The same process of slow growth leading to a mass market tipping point applied to the Prius– and could well apply to ALL hybrids. Is the Prius perfect? No. Does offer leading-edge technology at a price many people can afford? Yes, as we approach the third generation, it does. 

This is a critical point. Toyota isn’t ready to say, “mission accomplished.” The next Prius, with slightly improved everything, will arrive next year. No doubt work has already begun on its fourth generation replacement.

Compare the Prius' slow and steady march to GM’s failed sprints. Time and time again, they’ve created a car they thought would leapfrog the competition. When it didn’t meet expectations, they cut off investment, often  abandoning the model name. GM didn’t learn from the Corvair-Vega-Cavalier-Saturn (or the less ambitious Cobalt). Each time, they failed to quickly follow up with incrementally improved versions until they got the product right. (The exception that proves the rule: the Chevrolet Corvette.)

Seeking a breakthrough, GM spent a billion dollars to develop the all-electric EV1 (while serving pushrods to the masses). When the EV1 failed to set the world on fire, GM crushed it. Despite the looming Toyota Prius, lost U.S. market share and anti-SUV grumblings, there was no EV2.

True, GM does have its “dual-mode hybrid.” Though technically superior to the system in the current Prius, it was introduced in GM’s most outmoded package-—a large, live-axled, body-on-frame SUV. The enormous cost differential would not be insurmountable to early adopters. But what are the chances of buyers of large conventional SUVs fitting that description? Predictably, GM hybrid SUV sales have been dismal.

There will soon be a dual-mode Saturn VUE. The “dual-mode” variant will look much like regular VUEs, and the costly system could send its price deep into the thirties. But it could work. The key question: will GM continue to iterate even if sales remain low— or will they abandon the dual-mode system entirely when the Volt's E-Flex architecture appears? No points for answering that question.

The plug-in Chevy Volt is, indeed, GM's best hope in this most recent technological arms race. It will come in a distinctive wrapper (we think). It will seat four (unlike the EV1). On the downside, it's increasingly clear– thanks to Car Czar Bob Lutz' shrug at a recent test of a Volt mule– that GM's Hail Mary won't be cheap.  Again, so what? The more important factor: does GM have the will (and financial ability) to learn from the experience and persevere through the inevitable setbacks to continuously improve upon the initial effort and bring the costs down?

We shall see. Meanwhile, critics of both the Prius and the Volt don’t get it. They knock the vehicles for failing to meet their expectations for a paradigm shift. By so doing, the naysayers delay the very things they claim to want.

Fantastic products rarely emerge from the lab fully-formed, like Athena from Zeus' head. And if everyone waited for perfect products, and criticized anyone who didn’t do likewise, we’d still be riding horses. The best possible products evolve over time when persistent visionary companies team up with technophilic consumers to engage in continuous innovation. At which point the naysayers say, “Now it’s good enough for me,” without the slightest sense of hypocrisy.

Does the head of Saturn have photos of important movers and shakers with goats? How else can you explain Saturn’s survival? All that’s left of GM’s “different kind of car company” is the same old spray of red ink. From import fighter to importer of Americanized Opels, Saturn’s been an abject failure for decades. And yet, GM’s has deemed Saturn one of their three “sales channels.” While there are few (non-goat-related) “image” reasons for Saturn to continue, a close look at the numbers shows its defense lies in what can be done, not what people [re]think.

There’s no two ways about it: Saturn has lost its “mindshare.” All those fond memories of American pride, homecomings, dealer barbecues, friendly sales folk and dent-proof plastic panels have faded away. Spring Hill has sprung. But then,let's keep Saturn's lost branding in perspective. GM’s “gang of three” (Pontiac, Buick, GMC; Saab, Hummer, Cadillac) doesn’t have much brand equity either.

Pontiac is defined by a handful of hot cars built because division-heads grew tired of flogging posh Chevies. Buick has history, but it hasn’t been a credible “luxe” car for anyone under 60 for 30 years or more. GMC is another exercise in “keeping the Chevies down.” And Cadillac is wandering all over the map, offering gilded pickups, bling SUVs and Nurburgring-fettled European-style sports sedans.

Equally important, Saturn hasn’t pissed in its customers’ cornflakes. Saturn remains relatively free from the incendiary “I’ll never buy a GM product again” consumer frustration with lousy build quality and disinterested dealers (a.k.a. the "perception gap"). In that sense, the brand’s amorphous rep offers a far better recovery point than the rest of GM's brands (save Hummer).

In fact, Saturn dealers have consistently exceeded their customer’s expectations. In customer satisfaction surveys, Saturn’s dealer network scores well above GM’s other brands– and many imports. Saturn dealers are carefully chosen (even company-owned where the law allows). And best of all, there aren’t too many of them. 

In today’s fragmented car market, a small number (435) of single-franchise dealers (90 percent) is a very good thing indeed. While Saturn’s sales aren’t setting the world on fire, their per-dealer sales are comparable to Chevy’s (about 550 vehicles per dealer a year). In comparison, the combined averages of Buick/Pontiac/GMC (BPG) dealers rack-up about 400 vehicles sales per dealer (Toyota and Honda average well over a thousand). 

Fewer, stronger dealers make controlling image and holding the line on promotions a much easier proposition. It’s worth noting that the Saturn Sky has nowhere near the lot problems of its near-relation the Solstice. With only 400-odd dealerships, a Saturn dealer would have confidence that if he asked for a Sky, he would get it. Pontiac dealers, less sure of new supplies, marked their first Solsti to the skies and killed sales momentum dead.

Saturn dealers may be strong, but it’s there are some real heavyweights in the BPG mix. The top 400 “combo” dealers– the top 20 percent– are at least as big as the Saturn dealers. So why would GM cull its BPG dealers— a rumor currently swirling around Motown– to protect a brand they’ve never really liked or understood? 

Simply put, if The General kills “any” dealers, they have to kill all of them. There’s no legally defensible way to separate “good” B/P/G dealers from the deadweight. The [epic] legal bills involved in killing 2000 dealerships would be far greater if GM tried to only kill the “worst” 1500. Whole lines have to be killed en masse.

Turning Saturn into “Opel West” may have been one of the least successful product strategies GM’s launched in a long time (and that’s saying something), but it has a silver lining. It separates Saturn from Chevy. Without B/P/G, without having to worry about stepping on corporate toes or badge-engineered clones, Chevy could begin to resemble the “full” car line it claims to be– instead of diving for the bargain basement.

Saturn would have space to become… something. This website has suggested Saturn become GM’s “green brand,” offering a range of all alt. power vehicles (the plug-in Saturn Vue is scheduled to proceed the Chevy Volt). Alternatively, Saturn could become the “stylish” alternative for more discerning (and well-heeled) buyers, a sort of “Atlantic Mazda.” Yes, this would place Saturn close to the classic Oldsmobile image, before that brand was killed off. But tempus fugit. 

Simple mathematics suggests it’s not time to give up on Saturn. Despite its incoherent branding, misfiring marketing, non-competitive products and declining sales, GM executives must know that the division looks more like where they want to go than any of GM’s other stores. Of course, to get from here to there, GM needs to find a way to make money off Saturn— a goal that has eluded them since January 7, 1985, the day the brand was launched See? There’s always a catch.     

In GM Death Watch 171, Mr. Farago contends that GM suffers from corporate-grade Attention Deficiency Disorder (ADD). He’s probably right. However, some ADD may be a good thing, if not a necessity, in an automobile company’s culture. Any carmaker operating in this period of uncertainty– recession, 25 percent higher Corporate Average Fuel Economy (CAFE) standards, high fuel prices, CO2 emission concerns, and more– would be foolish NOT to invest the time and energy into developing as many alternative solutions as possible.

Yes, GM is definitely moving in several different directions at once. However, I’d also argue that the mandated fuel economy improvements over the coming years (both driven by federal regulations and demands of the marketplace) will require a multi-pronged approach to improving fuel economy/reducing fossil fuel dependence. I don’t think there is any one correct answer about how to get GM’s fleet to 35 miles per gallon.

In addition to fuel cells, hybrids and diesels, GM will also have to do work on lightening its relatively porcine vehicles and improving the economy and refinement of their traditional gasoline-powered engines. Pruning the remaining four-speed automatics from the lineup and replacing them with six speeds, CVTs or DSGs would also incrementally help both fuel economy and performance. Adding gasoline direct injection technology to more engines could also improve both economy and hydrocarbon emissions.

Each little piece of the puzzle gets them a little closer to the magic 35 miles per gallon figure (or 50 mpg if California gets its way).

GM has been (rightfully) criticized in the past for not bothering to make longer-term investments in technologies such as hybrids. Such failure to invest in advanced technologies during the SUV boom of the 1990s in large part led to GM’s need to play catch-up to Toyota’s hybrid juggernaut. Nobody knows exactly what form our personal transport will take in the next decade or two. It seems prudent for GM to try a few different technologies, so they're not left in the dust of a company that was lucky or smart enough to pick the right one to invest in.

General Motors is also a victim of its own historical fits and starts; engineering by press release rings hollow after a few years.

Car enthusiasts are tired of hearing about the Camaro and Volt, neither of which can be purchased, yet are prominently featured in press releases, websites and even advertisements. Nobody believes GM when it says that it will be an environmental leader; how can the same company that builds the Hummer H2 and more full-size pickups and SUVs than any other company on the planet say that with a straight face? 

Because the automaker has very little environmental credibility, it feels the need to overcompensate with five-page advertisements in auto rags about their alt-fuel initiatives, while spending precious R&D resources on future technologies that may or may not come to fruition. But they really don’t have any choice, especially if they want to a) remain viable in a world of $5 gas and b) attempt to change perceptions.

GM is not unique in its shotgun approach to improving fuel economy. Ford, Nissan, Toyota, Mitsubishi and Honda (among others) are either considering or introducing diesels in their trucks (Ford, Nissan and Toyota) or cars (Acura TSX, Mitsubishi), while still developing hybrids (Ford, Toyota and Honda) and hydrogen fuel cells (Honda FCX). The differentiator may be management talent (or a lack of) among these companies. 

The better-managed car companies will manage to juggle all of the irons in the fire successfully, and the others won't.  From that standpoint, I share Mr. Farago's concern.

GM has not yet proven to me, or many others, that it has the capability or resources to follow through on the development of many of these projects.  However, it knows that it has to get the Volt out the door someday at some price, the light duty truck diesel’s development is finished, the two-mode hybrid is on the market, and the company now offers modern six-speed automatics on most of its vehicles. 

Other than the Volt, still left on the to-do list: taking some mass out of its vehicles without sacrificing comfort and safety and continuing with either hydrogen fuel cell development or further electric vehicle (E-Flex) development.

I believe that in the coming years, we’ll see each manufacturer taking a different approach to the issue of reducing CO2 emissions and fuel consumption. The creative ones that execute their strategies successfully will own the market. Those who bet on the wrong technologies will be left gasping for air. I don’t think we’re at the point where we can say that GM is trying too many different things, because we just don’t know what combination of GM’s projects will earn its keep. And then some.

Despite this website’s constant ruminations on the handling capabilities of various contemporary automobiles, the truth about cars is this: on any road that isn’t The Tail of the Dragon, you can set the cruise control to 10mph over the limit, put your feet up and just steer. Above that, well, what sets the lowly Camry and its ilk apart from cars whose dynamics get the Serious Drivers’ Seal of Approval is how quickly things start to get dicey. And that’s where the real fun begins.

I’ve driven plenty of machines renowned for their handling prowess. They all lived up to the “on rails” cliché. In fact, cars like Porsche’s legendary ass-engined 911 or BMW’s sublime 3-Series only start to get interesting when you approach triple digits. So, when do you drive through the twisties at triple-digit speeds? Let me venture a guess, and say that, like H.M.S. Pinafore’s Captain Corcoran, the answer is “hardly ever.” The high handling limits limit your driving fun to the track or simple S&M (standing and modeling). 

To me, a car only becomes fun when adhesion starts to degrade; when the front end starts to get light; when the body pogos like the audience at a Devo concert. Cane a car with track-worthy handling and you might as well be sitting at home playing a video game. Except for the G-forces, the experience is the same, and at home you don’t have to worry about speeding tickets and/or finding a place to pee. With a truly marginal car, going fast means you're working hard just to survive. Now that’s what I call entertainment!

My formative driving years were spent behind the wheel of a 1965 Dodge Custom 880 with bad tires and worse shocks. At three years old with 60-odd thousand miles on the clock, it was already deep into its jalopyhood. I drove that car between Brooklyn and my Jersey Girl’s house, via the West Side Highway (slick cobblestones, narrow lanes, and S-curves) at near-suicidal speeds.

The car and road combo taught me quite a bit about real-world handling, as did the route to Jersey Girl’s replacement, which included the full length of the wonderfully primitive Interboro Parkway. By that time, the Dodge had been replaced by a 1964 Jaguar Mark 2 sedan, which was a whole other kind of treacherous, but no less entertaining and educational.

Then there was the 1965 Mustang convertible, a zippy 289 four-speed that had spent its early years traversing the potholes of Manhattan and the frost heaves of the surrounding highways. By the time I got it, the chassis sagged half an inch if both doors were opened at the same time. Needless to say, I was in top-down heaven. Too much power, too little chassis and rock-hard bias ply tires meant that I could break loose the rear end pretty much at will, and did so at every opportunity.

Then there was the ’63 Corvair. While not quite the rolling coffin that Ralph Nader claimed it to be, the Corvair’s handling presented a challenge to the unwary. Despite having less power than you’d need to pull the skin off a bowl of pudding, that Corvair took me off-road, ass-end first, more than once. After a while, I learned the trick, which was to drop the front tire pressure to about half that of the rear.

Around that time I began to notice that Porsche drivers flashed their lights at each other, like members of some secret society. We members of the lumpen proletariat thought they were just rich, smug a-holes. In truth they were members of a secret society, and even though nobody knew it at the time, so were we. The society’s membership consisted of drivers whose cars were trying to kill them, but hadn’t succeeded. By flashing their lights, they were saying “Still alive? Good for you. Me too!”

In those days, only a few cars had serious homicidal tendencies, but almost all of them exhibited one form or other of crappy handling. Wrestling such a car into submission took special skills, and those skills varied depending on the nature of the crapiness. It also took a devil-may-care attitude that, let’s face it, is impossible when you’re driving a car that’s equipped with eleventy-seven airbags and a host of computer-controlled nannies looking over your shoulder, ready to do whatever it takes to keep those airbags from having to deploy.

None of today’s cars get my heart pounding like the crappy-handling heaps of yore. Fortunately (or not), there are still a few real stinkers still for sale; brand new cars that beg you to give up any attempt at serious speed. Whenever I see a crap car driver going for it I think “Good for him!” And get the Hell out of the way.

For all intents and purposes, a Porsche sports car is the very definition of luxury; an indication that there's another car in the garage for the daily to and fro. By default, this significantly limits the brand’s potential audience. And no matter how lucrative it may be, no matter how pure the brand’s following, watching competitors reaping the benefit of additional markets is no easy job for an auto exec. In fact, it was only a matter of time before the German automaker bucked against its self-imposed limitations and tried something different.

Of course, the real problem was Porsche’s chosen direction. No one expected the Sultans of Stuttgart to offer the world an SUV. Unleashed in 2003, the Cayenne released an enormous and entirely justified torrent of outrage. That the German automaker, formerly one of the auto industry's most focused players, would break away from its core competency was bad enough. But an SUV? The gap between an SUV and a sports car is a chasm that should not be crossed in one bound, if at all. 

Even worse, the Cayenne sold at a dizzying pace. It soon became– and currently remains– the brand’s best-selling model in North America. Sales have flooded the company with new revenue. Rather than follow through on their promise to apply the additional funds to sports car development, Porsche used the cash to take control of Volkswagen, Audi and their portfolios. And instead of using any leftover cash to create a new entry-level sports car, or engineer a two-door 928 successor, Porsche crafted another alleged monstrosity: a four-door sedan.

And yet the Panamera doesn’t deserve the criticism; it shouldn't to be lumped-in with the Cayenne. The German sedan is a natural progression for Porsche. It represents a sense of continuity with the brand’s central promise (that's wholly absent from the Cayenne): practical performance. 

Now don’t ask me “what could be more practical than an SUV?” and quote slalom and zero to sixty times for the hyperformance Cayenne Turbo S. It’s true: just as Porsche’s engineers managed to do the impossible with the 911’s rear-engined layout (ei.e. keep it from constantly flying backwards into a hedge), they somehow built a truck that can corner. But it does not handle like a Porsche. It handles like a truck modified by Porsche. In terms of brand-faithful performance, the Cayenne ain’t it.  

As a car, the Panamera is sure to have it: that unique combination of engine character, suspension sophistication, steering communication, braking ability and sublime chassis control that endears Porwche's mean machines to their rabid fan base. The Panamera will accelerate, corner and brake like no other sedan built. The Nürburgring-fettled passenger car will be a "real" Porsche.  

At the same time, the new Porsche Panamera will be a superb everyday family sedan. It’s literally made for toting children, suitcases, groceries and stuff. That may not seem to be a concept inherent to a car company that built its name on speed and performance, but many 911 owners consider the Carrera’s ability to stash small children and/or a weekend’s worth of luggage the most important factor that sets its apart from sports cars offering similar levels of performance.

Of course, all of this assumes the production Panamera will live up to this ideal. It certainly seems to be the case, given the brand’s history and the information gathered since the car's initial announcement in 2005. The exterior resembles an oversized and stretched 911, right down to the hatchback (which has become the main point of discussion surrounding the car). Even better, there's every possibility that the finalized design will lessen the frumpy rear.

For the Porsche purist, there is a potential downside to the Panamera: marginalizing the 911. While the Carrera will always have its true believers, the Panamera will offer most (if not all) of the 911’s performance with a great deal more practicality. Now that the Boxster/Cayman are finally getting the power and respect they deserve, now that there will be a Porsche whose get-up-and-go rivals the Carrera, the 911 will fall in an uncomfortable niche between a pure, affordable sports car and a day-to-day road rocket/GT. 

In any case, for a car company striving to expand its reach, the Panamera is a logical new direction. The real issue is what comes next. The sure-fire success of Porsche's sedan will undoubtedly trigger another, significantly more worrisome test of the automaker's character. After all, the distance between a full-size luxury car and a compact executive car is only a hop, skip and a jump away.

[Kevin RE Watts writes about Lexus at passionatepursuit.com.]

Autumn in Texas plays host to a weekly cultural phenomenon known as high school football. Burgeoning grid iron gods burst on to the field of play from inflatable tunnels through mists of smoke and a phalanx of sparkly drill team coeds. A 300-student marching band plays the school fight song while two dozen cheerleaders power tumble across the field to herald the arrival of the young jocks. The stadium fills with ten thousand spectators-– mostly proud parents and rabid students-– who arrived to the game in typical Texas fashion: by truck. It is under the glare of these Friday night lights that I examine the value of GM's new hybrid SUVs.

Contrary to popular belief, these vehicular behemoths are seldom used as single passenger commuter transport. Nor are they all owned by rural hicks working a ranch. They’re mostly driven by busy parents hauling their children, kid’s friends and equipment to dozens of school, church and sporting events. And yes, many of the Lone Star State's SUV owners regularly pull boats to the north Texas lakes. These buyers are, indeed, the “power users” for which these massively-powered big-framed vehicles were designed.

Even if you reject this “justification” for SUV and pickup truck ownership as a luxury our country (or the planet) can no longer afford, even if you disallow the argument that small cars just don’t cut it in America’s rural heartland, know this: Texan big rig buyers aren’t blind or immune to high gasoline prices. They understand and appreciate environmental concerns. And they sure as Hell get the connection between foreign military entanglements and the politics of oil production. For this savvy SUV market at least, the General’s hybridization of the Tahoe makes perfect sense.

Toyota, and to a lesser extent Honda, have occupied the eco-friendly automotive mindspace by fitting hybrid engines into small or midsize front wheel drive cars; vehicles that are already amongst their most economical platforms. Gas – electric propulsion has generally boosted these cars’ fuel efficiency from EPA estimates in the 30mpg range, to the 40mpg range. It’s an amazing technological accomplishment that fully deserves the PR plaudits and financial rewards received. 

By comparison, the 4×2 hybrid Yukon looks like a misfire. The two-mode hybrid system “only” delivers 21/22 miles per gallon. Aside from buyers of high-priced luxury cars, no sedan driving consumer in his right mind would settle for that kind of mileage. Mileage in the twenties? How great is that? Counter intuitively, it’s quite amazing. Indeed, by my calculations it is 39 percent better in conservation terms than putting a hybrid engine in an already economical car.

Let’s run some numbers. 

The 2008 Honda Civic sedan is powered by a 140hp, 1.8-liter i-VTEC four-cylinder engine. Mated to a five-speed manual, the Civic’s EPA numbers clock-in at 25mpg around town, and 36mpg on the highway. In a year of combined driving (15k miles at 29mpg), a Civic owner would need to pump 517.2 gallons into his or her petrol sipper.

Honda’s effort to supercharge the mpg results with a hybrid electric elevates mileage to 40/45mpg. In a typical year of driving, the Civic owner burns 357.1 gallons of CO2-emitting gasoline (based on combined 42mpg). That’s a savings of 160.1 gallons.

A typical 4×2 Chevy Tahoe rumbling through Lone Star State suburbs has a 5.3-liter V8 Vortec engine mated to ye olde four-speed cogswapper. Tea leaves, chicken bones, and entrails tell the prognosticating bureaucrats at the EPA that the rig will achieve 14mpg while stoppin' and goin' and 20mpg while crusin'. In a year of driving at 16mpg combined, the Tahoe owner will have to feed the beast 937.5 gallons of dead dino juice.

Despite having a larger 6.0-liter V8 engine, the Tahoe Hybrid increases 'round town gas mileage by 50 percent and highway mileage by 10 percent (21/22mpg). Over 15k miles, the hybrid variant chugs only 714.3 gallons; saving the Tahoe driver (and the environment) 223.2 gallons.

In other words, a Tahoe owner that opts for hybrid saves 63.1 more gallons of gasoline every year than a Civic driver who makes the same choice.

This demonstrates what GM has been saying for years: improving the gas mileage of the thirstiest (and most popular) vehicles is more important for reducing consumption, pollution and CO2 than wringing stratospheric mileage from the cars that are already among the most fuel efficient.

Of course, many environmentally-conscious people would like to see Yukon drivers trade-in their “obscenely large” family truckster for a more “practical” Civic Hybrid or suchlike. But as long as we live in a free country, individuals are free to determine which vehicle best suits their lifestyle, financial constraints and belief system. For those of us who huddle against the chill air in rural high school football stadiums, the Chevrolet Tahoe Hybrid looks like a remarkable, yes sensible, option. I wish it well.

Before I respond to Steven Wade’s article “In Defense of Saab” and the resulting comments, I want to say a few words about the medium of discourse: the automotive blog. A few years ago, when automotive blogs first appeared, I was thrilled that I could comment on objectionable opinions. The ability to lodge instant feedback instantly rendered car magazines an anachronism. Or so I thought. After a month of commenting, I reread my previous posts. I was shocked by what I found. My comments were filled with hearsay evidence, unfounded opinions, attacks on cars I had never owned and a general prevalence of bullshit.

Most dictionaries define the word “bullshit” as a lie. Bullshit is not a lie. A liar is a person who misrepresents the truth in an effort to convince another person of a falsehood. A bullshitter can be stating a truth or falsity; it is not the statement but their intentions which they misrepresent. Bullshitters are not concerned with what is true or false. They’re concerned with how convincing their statement appears. A bullshitter will say anything if it will help them to achieve their goal.

One of the more prevalent forms of bullshit in our modern society is a statement or series of statements in which a person misrepresents themselves so as to be perceived in a more knowledgeable light. Automotive blogs are suffused with this kind of bullshit. Not to put too fine a point on it, The Truth About Cars is a website in which the editors and commentators are locked in a never ending cycle of unsubstantiated opinions and predictions presented as fact.

I read one automotive blog daily: Trollhattansaab.net . It’s written, moderated and published by Steven Wade, author of the Saab article that brought me to this site. In many ways, Trollhattansaab.net is no better than any other automotive blog in its output of bullshit. Mr. Wade is neither an engineer nor a member of the automotive industry. His information is often second hand. And although he is quick to point out the flaws he finds with Saab cars and the company, his opinions in regard to other brands are biased and largely unfounded.

I read Trollhattansaab.net in order to explore the main question that Mr. Wade often contemplates on his site. How does a brand that currently sells under 160k vehicles a year attract enough passionate owners that Trollhattansaab.net receives well over 5k unique visitors per day? Why is it that Saab drivers are so passionate about being Saab drivers?

I do not have the answer, and neither does Mr. Wade. However, on his site you will find thousands of comments from Saab owners describing why they love and occasionally dislike their cars. These statements are fact. They are real. They are based on years of owning Saab products. And these are the comments which should make up the majority of automotive blogs. Comments from owners about their experiences with their vehicles– and their vehicles only– are the only comments of value.

If I were asked to write an article on Saab for The Truth About Cars, I would not fill it with predictions, hopeful opinions or a detailed look at the company’s historical innovations. If this website is really The Truth About Cars, I would write the following:

The truth about the 1999 Saab 9-5 Wagon is that in eight years mine has never needed a single repair. I’ve never encountered a couch it could not carry, nor experienced weather too dangerous to drive through. In my 1999 Saab 9-5 Wagon, I feel confident and safe. And best of all, when there is no one on the road and I jam the accelerator into the floor and hear that turbocharger spool up as it flings me around the bend, I smile.

It is a Saab but also heavily influenced by its parent company GM. Does that make it a worse car? No. Does it matter to people who evaluate cars not on performance or design but based on biases about a company? Yes. To summarize: if automotive blogs are to be of any value to consumers or manufacturers then their editors and commentators have to reconsider why they are writing. Is it to present an unfounded opinion about a car they took for a quick test drive? Would it not be better if the reviewer presented just the empirical facts about the car, and left the first impressions for the consumer to form on his own?

Consumer Reports’ recent announcement that bias had influenced the reliability ratings of certain vehicles may trigger a change in that publication, from opinionated and biased car reviews, to the principles the publication was founded on: providing scientific testing of consumer products. I urge the editors and readers of this blog to follow suit.

I’d just slipped the nozzle into my Cadillac XLR-V. A dark Merc SL550 rolled up, its driver eyeing my Bowling Green Batmobile. As he busied himself with the credit card ritual, every few seconds his eyes darted sideways to the Caddy. “Mind if I look inside?” He sat behind the wheel, running his fingers across the interior surfaces. “Nice,” he pronounced. “Comfortable. And it’s easy to see out. There isn’t as much storage as my SL, but I’d be OK with that.” As he exited the XLR-V, he issued his verdict: “I wish I had the courage.”

“It’s been completely reliable,” I assured the SL guy, figuring he was wary of GM’s reputation for mechanical “mishaps.”  “I’ve had it for over 23,000 miles without any problems.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I wish I had the courage to buy a car I’d have to explain to my friends. I love the style; I really admire it. But no one would understand if I bought a Cadillac. You have more guts than me.”

Americans scraped their way through the Depression, prevailed in two global wars, hung tough for 45 years of Cold War, went to the moon and opened our markets to help lift the world to prosperity. And now it comes to this: a man who likes a car designed and made by Americans in the United States– which he can clearly afford– is squeamish at the prospect of explaining an American-made automotive choice to his peers.

It may be unpopular to say it, but the existential threat to Detroit’s Big Three has a consumer component. There are 360 degrees of blame. Consumers must step up too.

Detroit’s products have changed. Whether you credit government intervention, consumer activism or foreign competition, there are no more rusting Vegas, exploding Pintos and 8-6-4 Cadillacs that can’t do math on the fly. As this website has pointed out on numerous occasions, product quality data says pretty much everything offered to American car buyers is mechanically reliable. Even if that salient fact hasn’t yet reached American consumer’s ears, reliability is not as important as it once was. Car choice often descends into pointless arguments over interior plastics, comparative depreciation and social acceptability.

This is why American manufacturers haven’t enjoyed the sales resurgence their new, improved products deserve: prejudice. American consumers share an irrational belief that American-made goods are inherently inferior to those produced by Japanese, German and even Korean manufacturers. A VW may find its way into the repair shop twice as often as a Chevrolet, but the German-branded car is still perceived as a higher quality product simply because it’s German.

A recent study by J.D. Power revealed that 80 percent of America's new car intenders won’t actively cross-shop either domestic or foreign, depending on their preference. While you can blame this horrific statistic on Detroit’s previous sins, it’s still a blanket condemnation of the Americans consumer’s idea of fair play. “You gotta put Mercury on your list,” the ad practically begs. And so it should be. Again, it may be unfashionable to suggest, but there is a penalty to pay for this blind bias against home-grown (or at least sold) products.

The United States is the only First World country projected to be substantially larger in population at the end of this century than it is today. The theory of comparative advantage says we should let our uncompetitive industries die. But of course, economists always neglect the human factor of politics. We have global responsibilities. We will continue to be a magnet for those with hope, and must accommodate an expanding, diverse population. We need a full-spectrum economy, not one divided between wealthy and struggling.

Manufacturing jobs are the bridge. As the US Department of Commerce reported in March, 2007:“Auto manufacturing remains one of the economy’s best paying industries. Production workers’ average hourly earnings were projected to reach $30.02 (excluding benefits) in 2006. Wages were 79 percent greater than the national average for all manufacturing industries.”

They also note that reductions in employment by GM, Ford and Chrysler will not be made up by transplant hiring. Beyond that, transplant sales do not support the tens of thousands of domestic high-salary headquarters jobs that a Detroit 3 purchase does today.

A holistic understanding of our mutual social contract suggests that we should at least give Detroit a fair shot at our patronage. In a 16 million units annual new vehicle market, can we find one million more buyers for the best, most competitive domestic iron?

Having driven the primary competitors in the volume car biz, I’m convinced that if a million import bigots dropped their bias against domestic iron and truly reconsidered what constitutes meaningful difference in a car comparison, they’d make the right choice– and not regret it. And we’d all be stronger for it.

If one word describes Saab’s recent past, it’s underinvestment. Back when the Swedish brand was self-sustaining, they operated their R&D department on a sko sträng. Despite the limitations, Saab created distinctively styled, innovatively engineered automobiles. Then, in 1990, GM bought half of Saab. Ten years later they bought the rest. Since that time, Saab has faced the same financial limitations as before, but without the managerial freedom to overcome them. Late in 2007, it looks like Saab is finally getting the money– and respect– they need. 

This nascent renaissance began last year, when GM began spruiking a newfound commitment to Saab. That’s when Saab unveiled the stunning Aero-X concept car. Launched at the Geneva Auto Show, equipped (at least theoretically) with a 2.8-liter BioPower V6 twin-turbo engine, the 400hp prototype gave Saab the kind of techno and style cred it hasn’t enjoyed since flowers had power. Suddenly, no one was talking about rebadged Opels, not even Saab.

"This concept shows the exciting possibilities that are open to us as we evolve a more progressive design language for the Saab brand," said Jan Åke Jonsson, Saab's Managing Director. "Our designers, engineers and marketers in Sweden are ideally placed to nurture and communicate the unique DNA of the Saab brand.”

That newfound commitment has finally begun to take shape in the 2008 model year, with the refreshed Saab 9-3.  The improved model is more physically aggressive, but it’s not just another facelift. It’s much quieter, more surefooted and incorporates a couple of genuine mechanical innovations: the twin-turbo diesel engine (TTiD) and Haldex’s all-new Cross-Wheel Drive system (XWD).

XWD is a box fresh all-wheel-drive (AWD) system; Saab is the first company to use it. (Remember when Saab was all about innovation?) Like most modern AWD systems, XWD can split power between the front and rear wheels, as one or the other loses traction. But it’s also capable of splitting power to the rear wheels from side to side, via a new electronic limited slip differential. The end result: Saab’s own testers put an XWD-equipped model through slalom tests quicker, and with greater control, than several premium German and Japanese AWD competitors-– including the Porsche 911 Turbo.

The brilliant new TTiD engine is an oil-burner that delivers a heretofore unseen combination of performance, economy and smoothness. It’s a 180-horse, in-line common rail diesel, with direct and multiple injection, turbocharged and intercooled. While US consumers won’t get a shot at purchasing this engine– GM reckons it can’t be made compliant with U.S. emissions regulations and remain competitively priced– European customers will.

In the medium term, Saab is busy creating an expanded range to boost sales to finally rid the brand of all that annual red ink. To that end, Saab’s crafting an all-new 9-3, an all-new and bigger 9-5 flagship, a midsize 9-4x SUV (a ground-up replacement for the TWAT-winning 9-7x), and a new smaller Saab (called 9-1, for now). All these models are set to hit the streets by 2011.

Saab’s value to GM isn’t just about what it can contribute to the bottom line through additional sales. Saab also brings to GM’s table a varied and valuable technological contribution; one which The General can use to benefit cars right across its brand portfolio, right across the world.

Recently, Saab has begun to expand their areas of technological expertise. With an outlook toward cellulosic ethanol, Saab have been given the lead role in developing GM’s future E85 capability. GM’s previous E85 efforts have been an exercise in CAFE dodging, resulting in low-mileage utes that rarely use the fuel. Saab’s E85 technology uses turbocharging to take advantage of ethanol’s high octane rating. The end result? Around 20 percent more power and torque when running on E85.

Saab served as a “test bed” for XWD technology– debuting in the 2008 Saab 9-3– and will handle the roll out for this technology to all of GM’s FWD-based offerings. And, lest we forget, Saab has been offering turbocharged cars for 30 years. They’re already GM’s leader on the technology, which is key to helping the General create desirable products in these CO2-conscious times.

Saab didn’t build its heritage and cult following based on doing things differently for the sake of difference. They have a noble history and loyal customers because their innovations made sense. Make no mistake: that same spirit of innovation is still alive at Saab– even if it’s somewhat muffled by being part of GM’s bigger picture. Saab are still GM’s only global premium brand, and it looks like they’re finally starting to make the contribution that a premium player needs to make. 

All that said, it remains to be seen if the “new” Saab is GM’s latest flavor-of the-month– or a company finally ready to capitalize on GM’s patronage.

[Steven Wade publishes www.trollhattansaab.net ]

The “tumblehome” is the narrowing of a car’s profile from its beltline to its roof. This design trick creates a sleek, visually trim appearance without losing interior space. The tumblehome was once a hallmark of American automotive design, gracing evocative machines like the Plymouth Barracuda, Buick Riviera and Ford Thunderbird. In today’s Minivan-esque sedans and family-truckster CUVs, it’s hopelessly out of fashion. Now that Ford’s axing the Lincoln Town Car, it time to ask: should Detroit let this proud, once popular design tradition go quietly into that long good night? 

Born as a separate model in 1981, the big Lincoln earned its crust as a pillow soft luxobarge, complete with a waft-compatible 5.0-liter V8. In 1990, the Town Car lost its angularity and gained [rear] air suspension. In '95, the interior received a much-needed makeover. In '98 and and '03, more cosmetic tweakery attempted to keep the flame alive. In the last four years, it's been flickering.

The last 2007 Lincoln Town Car rolled off the Wixom, Michigan assembly line on June 1. Ford's moving production to its St. Thomas, Ontario, Assembly Plant, where The Blue Oval builds the equally iconic Crown Victoria and it’s (over-priced) sister, the Grand Marquis. Come 2009, the formerly American-built Lincoln-branded keeper of the Yank Tank flame will either meet its Motown maker or get a sorely-needed reskin. 

This do-or-die decision comes as the people in charge of writing Ford’s 104-year history are busy drafting Chapter 11, as The Glass House Gang try to sell a range of cars without a shred of American swagger. MK-what? Life on the Edge? Born again Taurus? Have you driven a Ford lately? Forget about tumblehome. It’s tumble down.

Obviously, I come not to bury the Town Car, but to praise it– even though our own William C. Montgomery calls ye olde Panther chassis “a relic of a bygone era when big clumsy sedans were the cultural SUVs of the highway.” Even though the old fogies at LincolnsOnline have turned against the current, beancounted Town Car.

Fair enough, but the Lincoln Town Car is also the automotive embodiment of what’s been right with American automaking since the Eisenhower administration. It’s a large-and-in-charge machine with endless comfort, stateside style, mechanical reliability and time-tested (and how) durability. 

Not convinced? Plenty of people are. In fact, the Town Car’s been a FoMoCo cash cow for over twenty years. In 1985, Lee Iacocca noted that the model netted Henry's mob over a billion dollars annually. While Ford was in its [first] pre-Taurus dire straits, it was the venerable Lincoln Town Car that kept them afloat.

Ironically, the Town Car’s financial success sealed its fate. Ford siphoned-off the model’s $10k-per-unit revenue to purchase a Jaguar-shaped black hole and an English off-roader company, and then starved the Town Car of development. Is it any coincidence that Ford’s and Lincoln’s sales declined as Toyota’s and Lexus’ rose?

When the rest of the world abandoned the body-on-frame sedan, the big Lincoln soldiered on, still banking profits for the company that spurned it. Its customers have remained faithful, even as Ford pursues an ill-advised agenda of world car synergies.

In short, preserving the Town Car isn’t about a bunch of nostalgic pistonheads embracing the last American land yacht. It’s about Ford’s seizing the chance to invest in a proven nameplate with a proven long-term revenue model. With some creative engineering, a new Town Car could return both the model and marque to major glory.

There are plenty of reasons why a re-engineered Town Car could provide a base from which to revive the entire American big car genre. For one thing, it could embody distinct and distinctive American style.

Pundits said the Chrysler 300C marked the return of the great American sedan. It did (selling well) and it didn’t (no one moved the ball forward). A new Town Car could lift the styling from the 2002 Continental Concept, complete with suicide doors (cough, Ford Flex), and boldly go where gangsta Cs and gussied-up Camcords fear to tread.

For another, Americans love to waft. While it’s hard to defend a 29-year-old automotive platform, it’s not impossible. The Town Car [still] represents the quintessential straight-line style of motoring. Ditch the Panther’s rear solid axle, install the Explorer’s slow-selling 292hp V8, add a six-speed slushbox and the new Town Car could make some serious imperious progress. 

Of course, this is all fantasy. Dearborn's current management team insists that a Volvo-based Ford with the Taurus/Sable/MK-whatever moniker on the trunk will save the company's skin. More absurdly, The Blue Oval Boyz  continue to believe that throwing money at Jaguar’s problems will pay off. Does Ford need a better Volvo-Taurus?  Should they ditch Jag? Sure. But the Lincoln Town Car should be part of the way Fordward.  

Saving the Town Car isn’t a moral obligation; it’s a brand faithful growth strategy in an increasingly competitive market. To think that Americans loyal to the last rolling tribute to the American Sedan will praise the Town Car’s un-American (alphanumeric) replacement is a sad, twisted joke. Following the Lincoln brand’s badge-engineered downward spiral, this joke only brings smiles to your local Lexus dealer.

Even in neglect, nobody does the American sedan better than the Lincoln Town Car. And nobody ever will.

[Update: this article has been updated and re-published here]

When I first heard about the Audi “sudden unintended acceleration” segment on CBS’s 60 Minutes in 1986, I knew immediately that they were blowing smoke. Literally.

A few years earlier, I was part of a TV crew shooting an educational program. Legendary race-car driver Parnelli Jones was the guest celebrity. The producer offered to take us to lunch in his 1976 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham. We hopped in. Parnelli took the wheel.

Parnelli fired up the Caddy’s big V8, dropped it in gear and floored it- with his other foot on the brake. The left rear wheel lit up in a screeching howl; the car was soon engulfed in a cloud of acrid smoke. The Caddy didn’t move an inch- obviously. And neither did Parnelli, glancing at the wincing producer with his wicked grin. I had assumed (wrongly) that race-car drivers grew up eventually.

The experience seared in a lesson in basic automobile physics: brakes are always more powerful than engines, even when they have 500 cubic inches (8.2 liters). Too bad we didn’t have our cameras running. We could have made a graphic rebuttal to 60 Minutes’ fraudulent destruction of Audi.

Let’s set the scene. It’s 1984. Audi sales had shot up 48 percent on the strength of their new aero-dynamic 5000, the hot new weapon in the perpetually-escalating suburban driveway status war. It was a stunning piece. Audi was on a roll.

Suddenly, the war turned bloody. Moms in runaway Audi 5000’s were mowing down their little kids in the driveway and pinning granny against the far garage wall.

This hadn’t happened with the Olds Cutlass Supreme Coupe, the “hot” suburban car Mom traded in for her Audi. The German car certainly felt different. Unlike the Olds’ wide push-bar brake pedal– that some Americans still operated with their left feet– the Audi had that weird, small brake pedal, kinda’ close to the gas pedal.

And these Audis had a mind of their own. No matter how hard Mom pushed on the brake pedal, the Audi kept on going, right through the garage door. This despite the fact that the little five-cylinder mill only cranked out 130 horsepower. And the top-notch four-wheel disc brake system probably could generate well over 600 g-force horsepower.

Apparently, the brakes were failing at exactly the same moment that the gas pedal decided it had a mind of its own. Perfectly plausible, at least to the 60 Minutes crew.

About as plausible as ignoring the police report of the most dramatic victim on the show, Kristi Bradosky, who ran over her six year old son. That report said “Bradosky’s foot slipped off the brake pedal onto the gas pedal accelerating the auto.” Denial isn’t just a river.

Ed Bradley’s 17 minute “investigative report” aired on November 23, 1986. Between interviews of the teary-eyed “victims” (drivers) of unintended acceleration swearing their feet were on the brake pedal, CBS showed a clip of a driverless Audi lurching forward on its own.

Viewers didn’t see the canister of compressed air on the passenger-side floor with a hose running to a hole drilled in the transmission. An “expert” had rigged the Rube Goldberg device to shift the big Audi into drive and, like any automatic-equipped car, move forward (unless the brakes are depressed).

The clip was blatantly deceptive AND totally irrelevant. Nobody claimed driverless Audis were taking off and killing kids. Mom was always at the wheel, pushing the 5000’s “brake” pedal with all her might.

In 1989, after three years of studying the blatantly obvious, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA) issued their report on Audi’s “sudden unintended acceleration problem.” NHTA’s findings fully exonerated Audi and some other implicated foreign makes.

The report concluded that the Audi’s pedal placement was different enough from American cars’ normal set-up (closer to each other) to cause some drivers to mistakenly press the gas instead of the brake. 60 Minutes did not retract their piece; they called the NHTSA report “an opinion.”

A flood of lawsuits was already washing over Audi, not to mention a tsunami of bad publicity. Audi took a questionable stance: they didn’t blame the drivers for the problem, even after the NHTSA report came out. Hey, the customer’s always right, and we sure wouldn’t want to make our American customers look stupid. Anything but that.

So the German automaker took it on the chin. Audi sales collapsed, from 74k units in 1984 to 12k by 1991. The timing added insult to injury; sales fell during the same years when Lexus arrived to battle for the hearts and wallets of America’s up-scale consumers. The Japanese autos quickly became the new suburban driveway prestige weapon.

Audi’s wanna-be-Lexus drivers launched a class action suit charging lost resale value. No wonder the brand almost abandoned the U.S. in 1993. It’s a killer market.

Fifty years ago, GM’s engineers and designers worked overtime to create a radical new economy or “compact” car. Its mission: take on the VW Beetle and a host of European imports flooding the U.S. market. The 1960 Chevrolet Corvair flopped in its intended role. Nevertheless, it went on to become one of the single most influential American cars ever made. Its legacy can still be seen around the world.

The Chevrolet Corvair was a space efficient, low-slung compact with a six-cylinder air-cooled engine. The rear engine promised a low center of gravity, light unassisted steering, superb traction and balanced braking– all the same qualities that Porsche had been cultivating successfully for years. Budget-minded American driving enthusiasts were thrilled.

Unfortunately, the design came with intrinsic liabilities: poor heating, a complex (read: expensive) alloy engine, oil leaks and distinctly un-American handling qualities (read: oversteer). It was the last quality that attracted the attention of a consumer crusader named Ralph Nader, who highlighted the Corvair in his seminal tome “Unsafe at any speed.”

The Corvair was not intrinsically unsafe. As long as owners maintained the eleven pound differential between its front (15/19lbs) and rear (26/30lbs) tires, the Corvair’s handling remained friendly and innocuous. But Americans were (and are) not known for monitoring their vehicle’s tire pressure. Gas station attendants of the time had a mantra: “24 pounds all around.” They became unwitting co-conspirators in the Corvair’s fall (spin) from grace.

With incorrect tire pressures, a rapidly cornering Corvair driver could easily find the vehicle’s back end heading towards the front. The average US driver was simply not prepared to handle that eventuality. Could GM have done more to avoid the oversteer stigma? Yes. GM saved six dollars per car by not making the front anti-sway bar standard. And who knows how much (little) the effective rear camber-compensating spring adopted in 1964 cost.

In 1972, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration issued a report exonerating the Corvair from Nader’s accusations. It arrived too late. Chevrolet had deep-sixed the Corvair seven years earlier. Even without the safety controversy, Chevy knew Ford’s highly conventional Falcon was about to eat their lunch. What’s more, GM’s beancounters had proclaimed that the Corvair was too expensive to make profitably (setting a pattern for small car thinking that continues to this day).

In the fall of 1959, Chevrolet was already cooking up Plan B: the 1962 Chevy II. Utterly conventional (and boring), the bigger Nova was the real anti-Falcon, and the route to compact-car profits. Which left a question: what to do with the Corvair?

The answer was the Corvair’s enduring U.S. legacy: the sporty Monza coupe. The model debuted at the 1960 New York Auto Show, complete with bucket seats, a higher output engine and a four-speed manual transmission. The Monza was an unexpected home run. In 1960, Chevy hastily assembled 14k Monzas. By 1961, the Monza dominated the Corvair line-up, and single-handedly created the market for popular-priced American-made performance cars.

But creating a market is not the same as exploiting it. Lee Iacocca’s seminal Mustang did that. Turbocharging and quad-carb induction couldn’t overcome the little six’s limitations against cheap V8 power. The Chevrolet Camaro was quickly pressed into action.

Meanwhile, the clean, elegant and highly-original 1960 Corvair initiated a styling revolution. In fact, it would be difficult to overstate the Corvair’s impact on European automotive design. Before the Monza, Europe was overdue for a new design lexicon. Even the conceptually-revolutionary 1959 Mini still wore the styling language of the early/mid fifties. The Corvair’s influence on subsequent European small and mid-size cars was unrivaled and unprecedented.

Some were blatant rip-offs: the NSU Prinz/1000, Hillman/Sunbeam Imp, Simca 1000, ZAZ-966, Panhard Dyna Coupe. Others were merely profoundly influenced: Fiat 1500, Lancia Fulvia, VW 1600 L Coupe (“the German Monza”) and a host of other early-mid sixties cars around the globe.

Yes, most of these models were narrower and taller than the Corvair. But the Corvair’s strong, high belt-line crease, its clean and inward curving lower flanks, airy green-house, under-cut front and strong rectilinear lines make its influence easily identifiable– even today.

Take a look a BMW 5-Series. That strong horizontal crease-line running unbroken from front to rear has long been BMW DNA, but it’s a genetic transplant from the Corvair. BMW’s renaissance (and styling DNA) is based on their mid-sixties sedans and coupes, including the popular 2002. Their design elements scream “Corvair”.

The timelessly elegant, superb handling 1965 Chevrolet Corvair was built past the Camaro’s 1967 intro– just so General Motors would not be seen to be buckling-in to Nader and other detractors. But tightening emission and safety standards had sealed its fate; the Corvair died a quiet death in 1969.

Mustangs, Camaros, BMW’s. Not a bad legacy, for such a star-crossed little car.