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? 

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.

2020. That’s the year by which all automakers selling vehicles in the United States must [now] achieve a Corporate Average Fuel Economy (CAFE) of 35mpg. The symbolism is strictly ironic. The politicians who crafted the new Energy Bill hardly displayed 20-20 vision. They singularly failed to see that their well-meaning efforts to force Americans to conserve fuel by forcing manufacturers to produce fuel efficient vehicles evokes the law of unintended consequences. While it’s impossible to see the future with perfect clarity, there are obvious “unforeseen” pitfalls.

Let’s start with the legislation’s basic assumption: automakers can create a range of vehicles with a combined fuel economy of 35mpg. Ostensibly, there’s no need to reinvent the wheel (and everything attached to it). All carmakers have to do is build and sell more vehicles like the ones that already achieve the requisite target. According to the official EPA website, only two cars sold in the U.S. literally fit the bill: the Honda Civic Hybrid and the Toyota Prius. Uh-oh.

First, both cars are niche products; the vast majority of American consumers prefer to drive something else. That reality creates a strange paradigm. Any automaker that doesn't meet the new standards has a far better chance of selling vehicles and making money than one who does. If the CAFE fines are lower than the profits generated by ignoring the standards, auto execs wishing to maximize shareholder value must turn their backs on the legislative directive, pay up and get on with it. To wit: BMW and Mercedes' current CAFE fines.

Second, the Prius and Civic hybrid both use proprietary technology. Detroit doesn’t possess the necessary gas – electric expertise to replicate their mpg results. To think that The Big 2.8 can catch-up with Toyota and Honda in 12 years, never mind overtake them, is a leap of faith without historical basis. Yes, this dilemma is Detroit’s own damn fault. But Ford, GM and Chrysler are already teetering on the abyss. This legislation is a shove in the wrong direction.

Third, the Prius and the Civic Hybrid's towing capacity is listed as“not recommended.” While I’m sure there are plenty of environmental campaigners who’ll be happy to learn of the Energy Bill’s de facto death sentence for SUVs, the economic impact of neutering pickup trucks' load carrying and towing capacity would be dramatic.

The argument against this line of thinking: automakers will now race to develop technological solutions that will raise their CAFE numbers by 40 percent without sacrificing comfort, performance, price, practicality, towing, safety or reliability. Call it the “if we can put a man on the moon…” school of thought.

If we accept this metaphor, Japan is America with a ten year lead. Detroit is Communist Russia. Ford is bankrupt. Chrysler is bust downsizing for re-sale. And even if Chevrolet’s Volt turns out to be a stunning technological triumph, there’s little chance GM can convert their entire passenger and light truck lineup to lithium-ion battery-aided propulsion— and get people to buy the result— by 2020. That said, GM may not have to Volt-up the whole fleet; the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration might agree to some highly advantageous mpg calculations for plug-in gas – electric hybrids; a new formula that will help off-set the rest of the fleet's low-mileage stats.

The potential for finagling on CAFE raises the automakers’ most obvious “solution” to Congress’ “solution” to our dependence on foreign oil: cheating. The new Energy Bill extends the ethanol credits that inflate automakers’ EPA stats based on almost entirely theoretical E85 use. I have every confidence that Representative John Dingell (D-Michigan) secured plenty of exemptions, exceptions and get out of jail free cards for his Detroit constituents.

For example, the Detroit Free Press reports that “Money generated from fines that luxury automakers would receive for missing fuel-economy standards are to be given to automakers that retool old factories for building models with advanced technology.” If we assume the “luxury automakers” bit is Freep conjecture, this rider could mean that automakers who violate CAFE can use their own CAFE fines to fund new product development. How great is that?

The way I see it, either this Energy Bill will defeat Detroit, or provide enough loopholes and clever caveats to render its 35mpg target meaningless, or simply fail under the weight of its own unrealistic expectations. At the end of the proverbial day, legislation that attempts to control the free market on this scale is doomed to failure. There's  only way this will work: if the free market heads in the same direction at the same time– allowing legislators to claim credit for events they didn't create or control.

Of course, I could be completely wrong. Perhaps the Energy Bill will usher in a golden age of environmentally friendly automobiles. Wanna bet?

The pop rivets on the crudely fabricated rocker panels were a dead giveaway: tell-tales of ill health under the distraction of a box fresh $29.95 Earl Scheib paint job. I noticed the rivets as soon as the smarmy soon-to-be seller of the ’57 MGA pulled into the driveway. But I was 15, and not the intended victim. That would be my older brother, who was utterly blinded by lust as the late-summer sun sparkled on the curvaceous roadster. He was 19, and about to enter that unique form of parallel hell endemic to the ownership of a clapped-out rusty English car. His only consolation: unlike most self-inflicted drives to auto-hell, his would at least be fairly quick, and a one-way trip. Read More >

Ad agencies evaluate the effectiveness of their artistry using a "recall score." The metric measures how well consumers remember a brand and/or product within 24 hours of having seen its advert. A high recall score means the commercial hot-wired the product into the consumers' minds. A low score means the sponsor wasted their money. Although I watch quite a bit of TV, this semi-professional pistonhead can't recall more than a handful of car ads. So much for carmakers getting their money's worth.

One ad that managed to stick in my mental craw: GM's $150m campaign for Chevy's new "now you see, now you can't buy it" Malibu. The ads show a computer-generated facsimile of the ‘Bu zooming around intimidating Camrys and generally showing off its sleek new lines. At first I wondered if the ad agency also couldn't get their hands on one, hence the computer animation. Then I wondered where they spent the remaining $149,975,000.

But at least the Malibu is in production. Another ad GM's running shows an ethnically blended troop of kids with their ears against a Volt, listening to it hum. The hip young spokesman tells them it's "the extended-range electric car powered by the miracle of the advanced lithium-ion battery pack." And hey! "They expect they'll get up to 40 miles without a drop of gas." The kids gasp their appreciation like they're about to snort Pixies Sticks.  "I've heard the future and it hums" the actor exclaims. The obligatory voice-over intones "Chevy- from gas-friendly to gas free. That's an American revolution."

What they don't bother to say, except in small print flashed momentarily at the bottom of the screen, is that you can't have get one– no matter how badly you want it. They also neglect to mention that the production model- whenever it arrives- will look nothing like the sexy beast whispering God knows what into kids' ears (where's Steve King when you need him?). Or that once you go past that claimed 40-mile range you're burning petrochemicals to recharge the batteries. Or that currently the only "gas free" model Chevy offers is a large diesel-powered pickup truck. 

The manufacturers all seem Hell bent on saving us from our own tailpipe pollution (i.e. alleviating globally-warmed guilt). From Accords driving through tunnels lined with images of nature at its best to Subarus coexisting with Bambi, carmakers want you to believe that it's OK to buy their car; Mother Nature won't mind a bit if you do. 

The most blatant example of eco-misdirection is from Toyota. They show a Prius made of twigs and leaves raising spontaneously from the muck of a bog only to return to it, convincing us (they hope) that their eco-mobile is one with nature. Just don't think about what's required to manufacture or dispose of those battery packs crammed within. Or the fuel oil burned to ship the cars here from Japan. 

The award for the strangest eco-mercial shows a group of hit men trying to take each other out with water pistols, super shooters and water balloons. The message? "What if we could replace something harmful with water?" You guessed it: it's an ad for Honda's yet-to-be-released limited production Clarity hydrogen fuel cell car. 

So hit men won't kill each other with water balloons (is there a hit man jobs bank?) and we won't kill each other with the Clarity because all it produces is water instead of that yucky greenhouse gas. Of course, we're not supposed to think about how much energy is used to make that hydrogen or what the by-products of that process might be. Or the fact that water vapor is a greenhouse gas. I'm beginning to think Norway had the right idea by banning car ads that extol the a car's benefit to the environment.

Meanwhile, trucks. Big. Macho Trucks. Ford, Chevy, Toyota, Nissan and Dodge all have the toughest truck. They're all the biggest, haul the most, tow the most, last the longest and offer "class leading" fuel economy. By implication, anyone who doesn't buy theirs is a weenie. And they practically take a sledgehammer to their truck to prove… some weird sado-masochistic point.

The Tundra ad best reflects this chorus of "any abuse you can take I can take more" pre-school of thought. The Texas Toyota hauls a trailer up and then down an iron teeter-totter poised over a cliff (I think) in a landscape that would give Mad Max the heebie-jeebies. What's the point? If you're ever performing truck tricks at a post-apocalyptic party, the Tundra's the way to go. 

And that's it. That's all I got. Except this: a new study of auto advertising found that Japanese auto manufacturers reached 22 percent more audience than U.S. automakers and 27 percent more than European manufacturers. Considering the car ads in question, it's clear that the entire auto industry's reach exceeds its grasp. 

We here at TTAC spend a good part of our time trying to discern a car’s subjective worth. But the free market provides the final judgment. And when it comes time to rate an automobile manufacturer’s overall vitality, resale value is the way to go. Foresight, engineering and design all figure into what someone is willing to pay after the new car smell fades, when there’s a couple of Cheerios in the seat rails. Forget professional pundits and industry analysts; residual values are the ultimate arbiter of a carmaker’s strength. And guess what? Volkswagen is America’s most valued carmaker.

Taken collectively, Volkswagen’s U.S. lineup holds 48 percent of its value after five years. BMW, Honda and Acura are close behind, each with around 45 percent retained value. While only the VW Eos won its individual category, the Rabbit and Jetta both manage to retain greater than 50 percent of their value after five years. VW’s models placed high enough in all of their classes to earn the top spot.

This startling stat arrives via Kelly Blue Book (KBB), who just published their predicted resale values rankings for the 2008 model year. A fluke?  A statistical anomaly?

Well, KBB’s methodology does help VW. Only automotive brands with four or more models for sale in the U.S. are included, and all of those vehicles must cost under $60k. Still, Honda and Toyota have no trouble playing by those rules; they’re this year’s runners-up. And, the findings are not that different from KBB’s competitors in the value ranking business.

Automotive Lease Guide (ALG) has been tracking values and selling their knowledge to banks, leasing companies and the automotive industry for more than 37 years. ALG announced their Residual Value Awards in October. Here Volkswagen placed third, behind Honda and Toyota respectively. Another excellent showing. Of course, they also have a methodology which aids VW's cause.

This year's ALG awards are based on 2008 model year vehicles, just like Kelly’s, but comprising only a three-year history. (This is the sixth year ALG has included a brand award.) The envelopes are sealed after a careful study of segment competition, historical vehicle performance and industry trends. The trick here is the split.

ALG differentiates between standard and luxury vehicles. In fact, ALG produces a whole second list. So VW didn’t have to compete with Infiniti, Lexus and BMW (to name a few). ALG also excludes marques with fewer than four models. So that put MINI and Scion out of the brand running– which is significant given that MINI scooped the compact category. (Both brands are also excluded from KBB’s list.)

Volkswagens may have found some advantages within the rules, but it doesn’t detract from the validity of their ranking. KBB and ALG produce similar results at the top of both their lists, and at the base. KBB relegates Suzuki, Kia, GMC, Mercury, Dodge, Chrysler and Ford to the bottom of the worst performers for regular old vehicles. ALG’s methodology differed, but the names remained the same. And as for luxury cars, Cadillac, Jaguar, Lincoln, Saab and Volvo all fell below average in both ALG and Kelly’s final reckoning.

There’s a truckload of reasons why a carmaker might find itself parked at the bottom of these residuals lists. Unreliable vehicles, poor image, bad service, a wavering corporate future; each carmaker suffers its own particular frustration combo plate. Volkswagen has hardly been immune from these missteps. But with the Phaeton’s fade to black and a pruning of the pricier Passats, the people’s car has inched back into customers’ good graces. No to put too fine a point on it, most Volkswagen’s are what buyers want them to be.

Volksie has also paid attention to the laws of supply and demand. VW is fairly strict with pricing and, more importantly, doesn’t dump an undo number of cars on North American lots. They build what the market will bear, avoiding huge Rabbits warrens in rental fleets waiting to nibble up space on used car lots. Price and supply find a natural equilibrium that results in relatively high resale values.

Volkswagen won only one of its categories, as divvied by ALG. The Eos took best sporty car (a suspicious sounding group). As in decathlons, it seems that being the best at any one thing is not as important as being solid overall. That might be the wider lesson worth learning.

Taken car by car, VW is nearly never number one. Taken as a whole, VW is doing a great job generating value. That type of continuous performance seems to engender a consistent level of trust in the market place. Volkswagen might not be making the biggest bang with any one car, but playing together they’re getting it done.

Rail all you like against Volkswagen’s reliability and the brand’s piss-poor dealer service. But the market has spoken.

Selecting a performance tire is a daunting process. Over ten different tire manufacturers offer over forty different brands in a multitude of configurations for a range of road conditions. Tire prices range from less than a single Ben Franklin to nearly three times that amount. And it’s difficult to isolate objective information about any given tire because of the number of variables and the inability for any one tire to be the best in any one category (e.g. grip, wear, wet weather traction, wheel protection, comfort, etc.) Oy vey.

When it comes to negotiating this round rubber labyrinth, TTAC hearts the Tire Rack. The online retailer consistently displays genuine care and concern for its customers, and exhibits fanatical dedication to discerning and revealing the truth about tires. To this end, the Tire Rack’s website publishes end users’ ratings. The rankings for summer performance tires cover both wet and dry conditions, as well as comfort considerations. 

The Michelin Pilot Exalto PE2 sits at the top of the consumer rankings. Pilots are often used as OEM equipment on high performance cars like the BMW M3. Known for their incredible stickiness, they wear out faster than an OCD’s toothbrush. In our 18” size, Exalto’s run a cool $168 per tire. As this test was on my own nickel, I scanned for a less expensive alternative. 

The tire ranked number two by folks like you and me was a genuine surprise. We’re talking about rubber rated higher than all the biggest playas in the high performance biz: Firestone Firehawk Wide Oval, Bridgestone Potenza, BFGoodrich g-Force T/A and Kumho Ecsta SPT. And the winner is… the Exclaim UHP from General Tire.

General Tire has been around for nearly a century, selling a tire with little or no racing heritage and a reputation for average quality at low prices, best suited to the Sears and K-Mart crowd. Twenty years ago, General Tire’s parent GenCorp. decided to focus on missiles and real estate. They sold their tire business to Continental, Europe’s leading tire manufacture.

Looking to upgrade my Audi’s 16” wheels and all-season tires for around $1500 clams, I had to balance costs with performance. Given the lack of snow in Miami, and desiring the highest possible grip, I opted for an Ultra High Performance Summer Tire. Based on the Tire Rack reviews, I bought four General Exclaim UHPs mounted on eighteen inch offset correct wheels.

Once mounted, an eagled-eyed friend noticed that one of the wheels was mounted backwards. The Tire Rack’s shipping department missed the directional arrow, which should point forward. To their credit, they paid a local tire shop to remount the tire in the correct direction.

Of course, tire testing is a subjective business, and I’m not equipped with equipment to measure maximum g-force and other key metrics. In addition, the test vehicle’s suspension and brake capabilities will affect any and all tire test results. All that said, I plied my new rubber on-street, during (simulated) panic maneuvers and during autocross style slaloms. I also got the Audi’s feet wet. 

All tests were performed with the A4’s stock brakes and an H-sport suspension upgrade. I also turned off traction control via the e-Nanny button. [Note: on most cars, the button only modifies the degree of traction control. On some cars, the Nanny can never be dismissed.]

During panic stop tests, the Exclaims provided good strong bite on a clean asphalt road. In high speed panic turns, the tires were laterally compliant in a predictable manner. While squealing like four stuck pigs, the tires were able to make maximum turns without much resistance. Hustling the Audi around the cones proved the Exclaims’ high level of lateral grip, though the modified suspension aided the tires’ traction by reducing roll.

The Exclaims handled moderately wet weather without any noticeable diminution of safety. Worryingly (if not unpredictably) the ultra grippy shoes hydroplaned in heavy rain when traveling over 70 mph. Below this speed, stopping and turning was not greatly affected by stagnant water.

The Exclaims were quiet over most surfaces, but they increased the Audi’s torque steer– which I blame more on the tire size than the Exclaim’s construction or tire pattern themselves. Tire wear was a little below average for a high performance tire; more than 50 of the tread done gone after just 10k miles. To be fair, I have an extremely heavy foot, and front wheel-drive cars tend to wear out tires a lot faster than rear drivers.

But hey, the General Exclaims cost just $86 per tire. Use, lose, repeat. At half the price of the Pilots, and with better wear life, the General Exclaim may not have the cachet of some– most performance tires. But for drivers who care more about performance (and money) than snobbery, the Generals are a genuine bargain.

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.]

As Gregg Easterbrook once famously proclaimed, torture numbers and they’ll confess to anything. As an accountant, I’ve always considered numbers to be a lot more malleable than most math-challenged people believe; they’ll confess the truth long before an interrogator gets out the metaphorical water board. For example, a simple analysis on a small subset of GM and Toyota’s voluminous public data can yield important insights into their relative corporate personalities. By looking at both company’s 2006 U.S. Sales and Inventory figures, the numbers sing like a canary.

Obviously, GM and Toyota’s sales and inventory stats are not 100 percent comparable. For one thing, The General is [still] largely a truck-based manufacturer. Despite a desperate shift toward CUV’s and increased investment in its passenger car brands, trucks account for 57 percent of the automaker’s 2006 unit sales. Toyota’s is far more of a car-maker. Despite upping Tundra sales to around 180k per year, 42 percent of the Japanese manufacturer’s 2006 unit sales were trucks.

In the 12 calendar months comprising 2006, General Motors sold 4.065 million vehicles in the North American market.  In the same time frame, Toyota sold 2.543 million units. To achieve these sales, General Motors carried an average inventory of 1.064 million vehicles throughout the year.

If you prorate GM’s Sales-to-Inventory relationship to Toyota’s, you would be forgiven for assuming Toyota would average about 600k vehicles in inventory at any given time during 2006. In actual fact, Toyota’s average 2006 inventory was just 216,536 vehicles.

Put differently, Toyota sold about 218k cars per month last year to Americans. At any given time, ToMoCo’s average inventory never contained more than 30 days worth of product. Ceteris paribus, had Toyota stopped producing cars on June 1, 2006, it would have run out of cars before July Fourth fireworks hit the sky over Bozeman, Montana.

During the same period, The General sold 335k mainstream cars and 3k Corvettes per month. The American automaker’s average inventory stood in excess of one million and never below 919k (in July 2006). So The General kept about three months and four days worth of unsold cars on hand-– many of which were still on dealer lots (remember, once a car ships to a dealer, GM recognizes a sale). Ceteris paribus, had GM stopped producing cars on June 1, 2006, its inventory would have lasted until Labor Day.

Why did Toyota need only 20 percent of GM’s inventory to sell 60 percent as many vehicles? Theories abound. Here’s mine…

In 2006, General Motors sold 78 models over eight brands. Toyota sold 27 models over three brands. Consumers seeking a family-friendly, Toyota-made car could opt for a Camry, Prius or, if well-to-do, an Avalon. In 2006, the General offered up about fifteen Camry alternatives. Pontiac, the would-be sport brand, accounted for three Camry-class cars alone: Grand Am, Grand Prix, G6.

Enter the new Chevrolet Malibu. How many do new ‘Bu’s do you keep in stock when a loyal GM customer could easily pick another car in the same segment, at the same dealer, or cross the street to a Saturn dealer and pick a badge-engineered clone of the “original?” Sure, the new car might generate conquest sales (and we could include non-fleet GM buyers in that metric), but how in the world do you guesstimate that number?

Meanwhile, satisfied (or dissatisfied) Camry buyers can choose… another Camry. Toyota can predict potential sales with astounding accuracy simply because their tightly focused brand portfolio eliminates a large number of variables. They can also draw upon statistical analysis of retail Camry buyers’ habits stretching back to 1983.

All of which brings us to the meat of the matter. Brand focus leads to increased consumer loyalty, which leads to better forecasts, which leads to better inventory management, which leads to lower inventory. While General Motors has long championed the “whatever sticks to the wall” approach, Toyota has been content to do a few things well.

Numbers are just symptoms of the corporate culture that produces them. Years into a “turnaround”, GM refuses to give a deadline on its return to long-term, stable profitability. In that light, it should come as no surprise that the same company can not proclaim, with any credibility, how many bread-and-butter sedans from its bread-and-butter brand it will sell. Funny thing about numbers: even in their absence, they can be significant.

Money, like energy, is never lost. As the U.S. new car market heads down a hidey hole– chased by high gas prices, a cooling housing market and a sluggish economy– the used car business is booming. That’s because Ditech’s right: people are smart. OK, well, they’re not stupid enough to repeat expensive mistakes. In the last five years or so, tens of millions of American got burned by buying a new car. They’re mad as Hell and they’re not buying new anymore.  

“There were approximately 43m potential new-car buyers in 2007,” CNW Research’s Art Spinella reveals. “That's the lowest level in years, which has typically been in the 51 to 53m range." An increasingly large percentage of these new car disparu are buying used. In 2003, 11.6 percent of American car buyers replaced a vehicle purchased new with a used car. This year, it’s 17 percent– and rising.

Why wouldn’t it? Depreciation has kneecapped millions of [former] new car buyers. Although Detroit has sworn off fleet sales (the surest way ever invented to hammer the residual values of a retail model) and promised an end to new car sales incentives (the second best way to strip money from existing owners), in the first case, the damage has been done, and in the second, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over. And it ain’t over. 

The post-Katrina SUV exodus strangling Detroit’s profits is an on-going situation. Hundreds of thousands of truck owners [still] want to dump their shiny gas hog for a more parsimonious vehicle. Unfortunately, everyone wants to do the same thing. Being upside down, backwards and SOL has eliminated or lowered both their purchasing power and their desire to get stuck (i.e. buy) in another new car. 

The fantastic proliferation of models and the end of the traditional “model year change” has also led consumers towards used cars. With so many cars, trucks, SUVs and minivans from so many different brands, it’s hard for the neighbors to tell (or care) that you’re driving an “old” car. Even more importantly, the traditional used car downside has been virtually eliminated. The average car’s durability and reliability has made the words “Why would I want to buy someone else’s problems?” only slightly more relevant as “Remember the Maine!”

Just as the country’s brand patterns have gone bi-polar (split between domestic and transplant), there’s an increasingly large and rigid divide between new and used car buyers. Again, the latter is gaining ground at the expense of the former. CNW reports that the percentage of car shoppers looking for one- to four-year-old models doubled; from 2003's 16 percent to this year's 32.4 percent. The coming economic downturn will only accelerate the trend.

There’s not much hope that these used car buyers will return to the new car market anytime soon. That’s bad news for carmakers already throttling back on production. But here’s the weird thing: local used car dealers are also suffering; the so-called “independents” sold 3m used cars in October, vs. 4.5m in September. 

Private sellers are also losing out. "A year ago, casual sales [a.k.a. private sellers] were responsible for 38 percent of used-retail sales,” Spinella reveals. “November, however, is tracking at barely 33.4 percent.” Spinella attributes the decline to cash-strapped owners looking to dealers for a quick and easy way out of their vehicle. Besides, there’s a new kid in town, ready to hoover-up any clean-looking used car it can find.

Franchised dealers are the big winners in all this. Perhaps it’s a case of “the lesser of three evils,” but used car customers are happier buying their pre-owned transportation from a nationally branded dealer than a corner car lot or a friend of a friend (who knows a guy). The recent and dramatic proliferation of manufacturers’ Certified Pre-Owned (CPO) programs reflects their snowballing success in the marketplace. Aside from Jeep Wrangler sales, Chrysler’s CPO program is one of the few profit engines for their entire business.

Clearly, manufacturers must quickly take account of the used car boom and re-examine their business plan. American carmakers (in particular) built their empires on a class-based theory of planned obsolescence. They depended on status-seeking new car customers buying an endless succession of bright shiny objects. These days, new cars compete with used cars as well as other new cars. Any manufacturer who doesn't promote pre-owned examples of its product line faces an enormous and growing competitive disadvantage. 

In that sense, the new used car reality also requires a new attitude. Carmakers must learn to view the used car buyer as one of their own, rather than "sloppy seconds." They must use direct, positive, relevant and ongoing consumer contact to keep used car buyers within the fold. Woe betides the carmaker who continues to view owners of used cars bearing their brand as second class citizens; the company that masters America’s used car buyers wins.

Driving my new 2004 Audi with the family on a vacation to Sanibel Island, the check engine light (CEL) illuminated. We were 125 miles from home. In the past, an engine warning light would trigger panic, confusion and nameless dread. (Owners’ manuals are no help; they simply tell afflicted drivers to take the car to an official dealer.) All I could do was find, phone and visit a local dealer (if they were open) or limp home, knowing that every mile might be making an unknown situation worse. These days, I have an alternative: the OBD-II Actron 9135 scanner.

Modern cars are lousy with sensors. They measure engine function, transmission operation, emissions, fuel consumption, brake operation and more. The sensors report to the ECU (Electronic Control Unit). If the ECU detects a problem with a monitored system, it stores the information until the condition occurs x times over y period of time. At that point, the ECU triggers the appropriate idiot light.

Thanks to the federal legislation, all cars sold since 1996 must include an open access port to the ECU. Anyone– not just franchised dealers– can use this OBD-II port to diagnose vehicle problems.

The OBD-II system is a data collector, not a testing device. A detected fault could be in the idiot light, the ECU, the sensor collecting the data, or the measured device/part/system. Regardless, knowing which part of your vehicle is stricken is extremely helpful. For one thing, many faults can lead to expensive repairs if they’re not addressed in a timely fashion. 

Equally important, an OBD-II scanner provides consumer protection. Even if you don’t have a clue how to fix a reported fault, you can go to your dealer or mechanic safe in the knowledge that they can’t snow you with a bogus diagnosis. In fact, most dealers will charge you more than the cost of the unit ($69.99) just to plug-in their OBD-II scanner.

Like most code readers, the Actron 9135 connects directly to the OBD-II port under the driver’s dash. With the car’s ignition in the “on” position, the battery provides power for the scanner. The scanner takes about a minute to establish communications with the ECU. Once the "ready" signal is displayed on the LCD screen, you can test a variety of systems and functions. 

Pressing the large “Read” button tells the car to return any fault codes stored in the ECU. If you're lucky, you'll see “no faults” on the screen. If not, the screen will report the code and attempt to describe the problem based on the generic OBD-II codes.

The Society of Engineers created these fault codes. While manufacturers license them for diagnostic use, they are not required to restrict themselves to generic codes. That means the Actron (and other readers) may not be able to read some or all of the codes from certain vehicles. Actron offers a free web-based look-up service, as well as a fee-based service to diagnose code symptoms and recommend possible repair solutions.

The Actron 9135 can also test a vehicle’s emissions control systems. With this tool, a car owner can determine if there are any emissions issues prior to undergoing (and possibly failing) a state emissions test. If any of the emission devices are malfunctioning, the scanner will identify the exact problem. If all systems report ready, the vehicle will most likely pass an emissions test.

Now, back to my story…

Since I’d just gassed the Audi, I thought I hadn’t put the gas cap on tightly enough; a loose gas cap will trigger a CEL since the system detects that as fuel vapor leak, and the scanner will return a P0440 code. I re-tightened the cap and hoped for the best, knowing that a loose cap CEL will reset in a few start-stop cycles.

When we arrived at our hotel, I reached for my handy dandy Actron scanner. Anal retentive gadget freak that I am, I’d checked the ECU a few days before the trip. The ECU hadn't been storing any codes (i.e. I was good to go). This time, the Actron immediately displayed a code (P0741) and a short statement indicating that the problem involved a sensor related to the vehicle’s torque converter. Uh-oh.

The Audi is headed for the dealer. No matter how this turns out, I highly recommend the Actron 9135 OBD-II handheld scanner. The oil and grease resistant, field upgradeable unit comes with an eight foot cable and free tech support. It’s a simple tool that offers proof– if proof were needed– that information is power. Oh, and one quick question: why don’t manufacturers build-in this system? Take a wild guess…  

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My name is Chris. I’m a car review addict. I spend an inordinate amount of my time and energy reading car reviews. Fortunately, there’s no shortage of online and print dealers dedicated to the not-so-obscure art of describing an automobile. With such a superabundance of automotive editorial, why do I have such a hard time reconciling professional reviews with my own test driving experience? Are car reviewers— TTAC’s included—blinded by bias?

Yes. The main problem is emotional. Whether professional car hack or amateur enthusiast, the ability to analyze a vehicle is occluded by the emotional imperatives that make us want to attempt the task in the first place. No matter how objective a car journalist tries to be, they can no more surmount their inherent emotional imperatives than they can resist cocking their ear at the burble of a V8 or cast a loving eye on the sophistication of a silent hybrid.

These subconscious patterns– what Russian behaviorists call “stimulus response patterns”– form early in life. My wife talks about her first car with tremendous enthusiasm. A Chevette. Say what you will about the Chevette’s relative or absolute abilities, she will always view the car in a positive light, associating it with her newfound mobility and expanding social life. In the same sense, author JK Rowling waxes lyrically about her Ford Anglia. And I have special place in my heart for the Datsun 240K.

Were the Chevette, 240K and Anglia good cars? Perhaps. But one thing is for sure: no rational person would consider my wife’s, Ms. Rowling’s or my own assessments of these models as objective analysis. Clearly, our opinion of these machines is colored by emotional events in our lives– rather than automotive excellence or lack thereof (although I swear that the 240K was a great car).

We never outgrow these automatic automotive responses; we simply build on them. And just as past behavior is the best guide to future performance, enthusiasts stash their emotional baggage in the trunk of any new car they test. You can often see it even before they clap eyes or climb aboard a new car.

For example, U.S. bloggers are buzzing at the imminent arrival of the BMW 1-Series stateside. The car has generated enough Internet sizzle to shame an Apple iGizmo. A great deal of this excitement is created by enthusiasts’ idea of what the 1-Series should be– a modern 2002– rather than the car itself (which appears to be a porky hatchback conversion). The 1-Series’ association with the “old” 2002 has permanently prejudiced many pistonheads' perception of the product.

Experience and expectation are not the only factors clouding car reviewers’ judgment. They’re also skewed (not to say skewered) by their perception of any given car’s place in the reviewer's real or imagined social associations. What Kurt Vonnegut called the “granfalloon.” 

No one is immune from granfalloonery. If you’ve ever waved to another driver of the same car, or dismissed Hummer owners as right wing fanatics, or considered hybrid drivers tree-hugging hypocrites, or passed judgment on a car you haven’t tested, then you’re the owner of a granfalloon. As social creatures, there’s simply no avoiding it. In fact, our socially-determined prejudices are so pervasive they’re background noise.

Automotively speaking, these hidden biases center on brands. Our socially-derived experiences and expectations of car brands are powerful and deeply ingrained. They form the basis of all our product perceptions and choices and, thus, account for accusations of bias aimed at reviewers. Critics' critics operate under a fundamentally different granfalloon than the journalist’s.

Have a look at the one-star rating TTAC’s publisher Robert Farago recently awarded the new Ford Focus. Had the car been presented as a KIA or a new Chinese brand, would Mr. Farago’s final assessment have been more generous? Would he have lauded the Focus for possessing an above average interior for an economy car? 

Perhaps Farago was [consciously or unconsciously] comparing the new American Focus to the supposedly superior Euro Focus denied American consumers. I believe that Farago’s negative attitude towards the car was triggered by both the engine bay’s flimsy electrical tape AND what he believed a Ford should be.

In short, given the inescapable avalanche of emotional associations that shape human perceptions, no car reviewer can ever claim to be an “unbiased” critic. But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. As long as he or she uses “emotional intelligence.”

A car reviewer should try to balance emotional imperatives with rational analysis. It’s not a question of removing emotion. Take that away and we’d all be driving Toyota Corollas (my bad). It’s a matter of acknowledging emotional responses and then understanding, sympathizing and respecting people who don’t share them. A little more of that attitude on this site would add welcome light, and remove unnecessary heart.

[TTAC's posting policy: no accusations of bias against the site in the comments section. Normally, we ask commentators objecting to our editorial stance or style to email robert.farago@thetruthaboutcars.com to engage in a private dialog. In this case, you are free to vent any such concerns– provided you stay within the bounds of mutual respect.]

Daniel Howes thinks Detroit is jinxed. In his latest column, “Automakers vexed by external forces,” the Detroit News scribe suggests that The Big 2.8 are latter day Joe Btfsplks, doomed to walk through life with a dark cloud hanging over their collective heads. Just as they're improving their products and cutting production costs, the domestic automakers have become hapless victims of slowing economic growth, rising oil prices and a soft housing market. It's the "Motown curse." Or, as I like to call it, another peg upon which a loser may hang his hat.

"As much as the fundamental gains in this year's contract talks remain," Howes writes. "The queasy reality is that no matter what Detroit's Big Auto and Big Labor managed to achieve, their gains could be swamped by economic forces beyond their control." True but— It’s not bad luck. It’s bad planning. If America’s soaring gas prices and slumping housing market are about to "swamp" The Big 2.8’s best-laid plans, why is Toyota forecasting growth?   

Because Detroit’s plans aren’t best laid. They’re, well, I think you know what I was about to say. Despite Howes’ proxy prevarication, Motown’s predicament relative to the current economic downturn isn’t a case of “when a bad economy happens to a good company.” These are simply the times that test an automakers’ soul, and Detroit’s is about to be found wanting. Again. Once again the Big 2.8 are caught flat-footed thanks to their inability to think or plan for the long-term. And in the long term, that’s ALWAYS a recipe for disaster.

Anyone remember the K-car? When the K helped pull the “Crisis Corporation” back from the brink of oblivion, Chrysler took the winning platform and milked it to death, using it for everything from minivans to luxury cars. Management gave two divisions identical vehicles with different badges– and then killed one of them because of plummeting sales. Again and again, great Chrysler products withered from years of neglect. “Cab forward" design anyone?

And what of the Town Car? Lincoln’s passenger product poured billions into Ford’s corporate coffers— which FoMoCo used to purchase brands they didn’t need, whose products then suffered from the cold dead hand of Ford’s erstwhile international brand management and leaden, impenetrable bureaucracy. Meanwhile, the engine of this excess was left to wither and rot on the vine, along with its similarly profitable Panther platform partners.

Mr. Howes might say all this is old news. The “new Detroit” has learned its lesson. And ain’t it a bitch: just when they’ve finally accepted what anyone with half a brain has known all along (like, say, Toyota), BANG! Fate kneecaps them.

Howes’ presupposition is fundamentally flawed. Detroit shows no evidence that it’s learned from its mistakes. Why did the K-car creator just kill the PT Cruiser, a vehicle with a huge following (and no significant update in the last eight years)? Where is the “new” Chrysler 300? While you can't argue with CEO Nardelli's desire to strip and flip rationalize his company's model lineup, where’s the long term commitment to the only thing that can sustain their business: product excellence? The same place it’s always been: nowhere.

Check out Ford’s new Lincoln MKS. It’s yet another travesty-on-wheels: a tarted-up something else rather than a glorious original, a car that embodies the values of a once proud brand, sold at the proper price point. GM’s effort to leverage its global assets to reinvigorate its U.S. brands is equally pathetic. They import cars from here and there without any coherent idea of who should get what and why—as witnessed by their continued insistence on badge engineering everything with even a glimmer of sales success. 

"The wild card in Detroit's collective turnaround has never been what it can control," Howes notes. "It's been what it mostly can't, which is everyone else." You can almost hear Warren Zevon belting-out “Poor Poor Pitful Me”— only without the irony. All of us have had to deal with factors beyond our control. But Detroit had control over the decisions that got them to where they are today: a leaf blowing in an economic whirlwind. Or you could say, the stronger your hand, the less trouble a wild card will cause.

Blaming Detroit's current plight on forces beyond their control is like saying it was bad luck that a mountain climber without a map got lost. When times are tough, the weak are the first to go. I feel sorry for all the people caught-up in Detroit’s decline— from Howes’ “poor slobs who hold mortgages” to the downtrodden creatives who know what could have been. But it’s not like survival of the fittest is a new rule. Or that no one in the industry understood that the “fittest” automaker is the one selling the best cars at the best price. 

Detroit’s weak because its brand and products are weak. Blaming external factors for this predicament is a loser’s game. One that Detroit’s knows all too well, and shows no sign of abandoning.

 You can read Daniel Howes' original column here.

Now that you’ve attached that cherry faux sunroof you snagged on EBay onto your econobox, it’s time to spruce up the interior. No, I’m not talking about a pine-scented Magic Tree® air freshener (review to follow). Nothing says upwardly mobile motor like a leather-wrapped steering wheel. Now you could stunt down to your local auto parts store and pick-up one of those slide-on leather covers for about twenty bucks. But unless you have hands the size of Sasquatch, you may find this to be a sub-optimal solution. Thankfully, a slimmer, higher quality alternative is available. If properly installed, it adds a tasteful touch to any tiller. 

Wheelskins has been flogging cow skin wheel covers for over thirty years. The Berkeley-based aftermarketeers currently offer three styles of single and two-tone skins to fit virtually any whip’s wheel. The covers come in fourteen colors– from black to jackass yellow– complete with a handy guide for monitor-challenged web surfers and color blind males (“Tan is the color of tobacco or a football.”).  You can mix and match hues for a two-tone covering to complement your fly yellow AMC Pacer– or way-too-black Ferrari F430.

If you buy your cover directly from Wheelskins– which is more expensive than sourcing one of their retailers– you’re looking at an autosartorial investment of $44.95 for a single tone cover, $49.95 for two-tone and $54.95 for the BCBG perforated Euro model. If one of their six standard sizes doesn’t fit your Citroën DS or suchlike, Wheelskins will craft a custom covering for a small additional fee. And yes, they make covers in extra large sizes for your Peterbilt, Freightliner, Kenworth, etc. and dinky sizes for your golf cart and pedal car.

The Wheelskins ordering process starts with a steering wheel measurement. The website provides a chart to determine wheel size based on your vehicle’s year, make and model. Once you’ve determined the exact size required, you’ve got to choose between single or two-tone. I went for Tommy two-tone, opting for a suitably macho red and black combo.

Both versions can be had in EuroPerf– which has nothing to do with scantily-clad women posing behind plate glass windows in Amsterdam’s De Wallen. You can order your EuroPerf skin perforated at the top and bottom of a two tone model, on the sides of a two-tone model, or all around the cover of any model cover. You know; just in case you were wondering.

The Wheelskins box arrived containing the leather cover, a spool of thread, a large sharp needle and instructions. Obviously, very few people (you know whom I mean guys) have the sewing skills required to make a sock puppet– let alone sew a daily use item requiring one hundred plus stitches. And remember: this all must be done within the confines of your car. Although I can cook a mean Quiche and thread a needle with one eye closed, I never got the results I wanted. As the thread started to unravel, I gave up. 

So I let an experienced seamstress go to work on the project. About halfway through, she complained that it would be easier for a rich man to pass through the eye of a camel (or something like that) and gave up. Though I think Florida’s oppressive heat played a part in her surrender, you have been warned.

Another problem arose: the wide spokes of my test vehicle’s helm. If your steering wheel spokes are thin, the Wheelskins covering will not be greatly affected by lack of grip on the spokes. BUT if the spokes are very wide, the covering will stick out due to insufficient pull on the cover (dummy stitches indeed). A small piece of Velcro could have solved the problem, but Wheelskins [thoughtlessly] neglected to provide it.

After I finally completed the installation I found that the join of the two pieces of leather (at 10 and 2) was uncomfortable, forcing me to change my grip on the wheel. While I understand that one must suffer for one’s art, my thirty-year-old wheel helmsmanship habits proved too strong to change. I tried reversing the cover to place the larger swath of red leather on the bottom. To say the result looked awkward would be like saying a duck-billed Platypus is a rather odd sort of creature.

Overall, I liked the look and quality of the Wheelskins cover. But I can only recommend the product with two big ass caveats. First, measure twice, order once. Second, keep in mind that the end results depend entirely on the wheel being wrapped and the installer being warped (i.e. an indefatigable OCD seamstress). Try to attach the wrong Wheelskins cover to your wheel or screw-up the install [NB: don’t drink and stitch], and you’ll be ripping the cover off in a few days. Just like I did.

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Stop the presses! GM has a hit! Well, at least a hit with the media. In fact, the mainstream automotive press loves the new Chevrolet Malibu so much they’re ready, willing and able to tell the world that this is it! The product-led turnaround that GM’s quintessential non-car guy, CEO Rick Wagoner, predicted seven years ago. Arriving as it does immediately after GM’s new two-tier labor contract with United Auto Workers, the new ‘Bu seems the literal embodiment of a corner turned. But is it? Is the new Chevy a harbinger of a new dawn for the beleaguered America automaker? 

The new Chevrolet Malibu is hardly Detroit’s first “world beater” since the transplants transplanted stateside. Some of these automobiles never deserved this appellation (e.g. the old GM J-cars)– and proved the point in the commercial marketplace. Others fully deserved the plaudits. Even as its market share erosion began in earnest, The Big 2.8 has produced some genuinely remarkable, class-leading cars. So, what happened to them?

Cast your mind back to the turn of the millennium. What was the “wonder car” from Detroit that year? That’s right: the new Ford Focus. It was Car of the Year on two continents. It was an American-built small car that Americans actually wanted. And yet here it is, just seven years later: a finalist for TTAC’s Automotive Hall of Shame; an awkward-looking car that’s so uncompetitive in its class that even FoMoCo considers it little more than “place holder” for a future replacement.

Recalls were the first sign that the best of the best wasn’t so good. While the Focus never approached Vega-levels of self-destruction and lacked the “massive single flaw” of the Pinto, the Focus was recalled 14 times (steering, structure, suspension, etc.) in 2000, and another 10 times the following year. However much they liked their hatchback, the recalls had a damping effect on actual and potential customers’ enthusiasm.

All those warranty claims sliced the Focus’ thin profit margins. Rather than significantly renew or refresh the car’s mechanical components to keep pace with (never mind outpace) its inexorably improving competition, Ford “de-contented” (i.e. cheapened) the [American] Focus and used low price to keep its competitive hopes alive. Marketing support simply disappeared, as FoMoCo moved onto the Next Big Thing. Ironically, a lack of focus transformed a Car of the Year into a TTAC Ten Worst finalist.

Ford is hardly the first automaker to fail to maintain new model momentum. Volkswagen’s entire history post (original) Beetle is the same story writ large. Chrysler also has a long, sad history of slowing but surely extricating defeat from the jaws of victory.  

It is hard to explain the Neon’s impact when it first hit the market in 1994. It was good looking, well-sized and American-made. The combination of the spiraling Yen and special bare-bones construction gave the Dodge Neon a solid price advantage. The ever-paranoid Japanese media even dubbed the Neon “the Japanese car killer.”

Flash forward 13 years and the Neon is toast, while the Corolla and Civic are still here, still selling in vast quantities.  

While the Neon had some early mechanical issues, they were not Focus bad. The Neon’s troubles arrived later, as the model aged. Thanks to beancounting, the car’s mechanicals weren’t built to last. The Neon morphed from “new car” to “heap” after just a few years. As a result, resale value dived low and stayed there. The difference in depreciation confirmed the fact that Toyota and Honda were selling their cars on “value” not “price."

Believe it or not, this came as something of a shock to Toyonda; their management had no idea of their own strength. The men who designed the Neon literally paved the transplants’ way to prosperity. As for the former “killer,” the Neon received only one half-hearted update. By the time it vanished, most of the kids who got stuck with one had no idea how revolutionary the car had once been.

What does this mean for our friend the Malibu?  First, it’s far too early to declare victory. The slow rollout brings hope that Malibu’s quality will be kept high. But no one will know what’s what until real volume hits the streets. Even then, it will take a couple of years to see if the ‘Bu’s bits are built to last— a key quality for success in this segment.

And after THAT, there remains the nagging suspicion that GM, a company with well over 100 models spread over eight brands, will repeat its history of neglect, aggressive corner cutting and itinerant marketing. 

For those of you who say of course GM’s learned its lesson, two questions. What has been done to fix the Saturn Aura’s less than stellar gearbox? And when was the last time you saw an ad for the car? Well exactly.