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

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

Delphi manufactures brakes, engine electronics, body hardware, safety devices (side airbags), audio systems and interior components (steering wheels, HVAC systems, instrument panels, etc.). The company is an industry leader in vehicle stability systems and anti-lock brakes, with superb facilities for testing and validation. Although Delphi's onerous UAW contracts and misplaced faith in birth parent GM have sent the company spiraling towards bankruptcy, there's no question that they have a tremendous reservoir of talented engineers and production workers.

AutoNation is America's largest retailer of new and used cars, with 278 dealerships. Their network may not rival that of The Big Three, but it's roughly the same size as Saturn's original dealer group. AutoNation is known as a risk taker that's not afraid to take the tough decisions it needs to compete.

Why would these three companies want to join forces? Magna and Delphi are fighting an uphill battle in an increasingly cutthroat business. The Big Three have forced them into endless rounds of vicious cost-cutting. The bloodletting continues, even as the suppliers struggle to compete against Asian companies paying their workers less per day than Magna and Delphi pay theirs for an hour's labor. Clearly, the business of being a Tier 1 Supplier no longer generates significant profits for either organization.

For its part, AutoNation earns its crust selling cars whose margins have been pared to the bone. As the middleman, they're at the mercy of the rising and falling fortunes of indifferent and bureaucratic automobile manufacturers– despite being closerthanthis to their customers.

Working in concert, Magna, Delphi and AutoNation have the motive, means and opportunity to create an entirely new automobile from the ground up. This new car– this new brand– could begin life free from the dead hand of the past. The group could launch a fresh product with bold marketing and a highly-motivated sales force (thanks to higher margins). They could boldly go where The Big Three can only limp along.

Of course, there are plenty of missing pieces to the puzzle, including the new car's engine. The powerplant could be sourced from… competitors. Many automakers sell engines to their rivals; Honda continues to provide complete engines to GM. What's more, Delphi's expertise in engine controls means they'd only require a basic engine. All the other necessary components– transmissions, tires, glass and paint– could be easily purchased from US suppliers.

As for the production facility for the new vehicle, the decline in automobile manufacturing around Detroit offers plenty of opportunities. Ford's soon-to-be-abandoned Wixom plant is just one potential solution. Ironically, Michigan is spending millions upgrading the roads and bridges around the plant for better access. There's every reason to believe the state would add tax incentives and abatements to help secure new jobs and a new future for the area.

Imagine building a new small car with the quirkiness of the MINI, the practicality of a Scion and the usefulness of a PT Cruiser. Install a class-leading engine for performance and handling, price the product correctly, market it cleverly and support it with first-class sales and service. As long as the Delphi/Magna/AutoNation group maintained a single-minded focus on producing a high-quality model, the new car could signal the dawn of a new era of American ingenuity and innovation.

BMW recently surprised enthusiasts by announcing that they're adding a turbo-charged 3-Series to their line-up. For a company famous for its sweet-spinning, normally aspirated six-cylinder engines, a turbo-3 seems a quirky development– to say the least. Twenty years ago, sure. Back then, [gasoline powered] turbocharged cars were THE answer, promising all the power of a big engine with the fuel economy of a small engine. Of course, it wasn't true then, and it's not true now.

In theory, a turbocharger captures some of the wasted energy in a car's exhaust system to "enhance" the engine's performance. In practice, a turbocharger is nothing more than a fan placed in the exhaust stream that powers a supercharger. The supercharger force-feeds fuel-rich air into the engine's combustion chamber. The resulting engine acts as if it has more displacement than the physical measurements of its bore and stroke indicate.

In the '80s, consumers demanded more powerful cars– at a time when automakers had spent fortunes downsizing their cars and scaling back their engines. A turbo was seen as a quick way to add power to existing powerplants. Car companies started bolting turbos onto their small engines as fast as Garrett and other suppliers could make them.

By the mid-80s, Chrysler offered four-cylinder turbo engines in all of their products, including minivans. Buick turbocharged the antediluvian V6 and made a performance car out of a family sedan. Pontiac added a turbo to the anemic Olds V8 they inherited for the Firebird. Ford even offered two turbo Lincolns, a four-cylinder gasoline engine and a six-cylinder diesel.

The drawbacks soon became apparent. Top of the list: "turbo lag". Because it takes time for the engine's exhaust gases to spool-up the turbo's fan, acceleration lagged behind engine demand. This problem was exacerbated by the rather primitive engine controls available at the time. The lower compression ratios, required by any supercharged engine back then, also reduced response and performance. The result was soggy response, poor part throttle economy, and non-linear acceleration at constant throttle openings.

The turbo also made a number of very un-car-like noises, especially to people whose ears had matured to the music of a V8. Some of those noises turned expensive; neglecting routine maintenance often resulted in a short life for the turbo. Skimping on oil changes and oil quality led to premature bearing failures and required replacement of the turbo.

Drivers soon noticed that turbo-induced power wasn't really "free". The basic laws of physics mandate that fuel mileage depends on how much the car weighs and how fast you go. When a small engine makes power like a large engine, it uses gas like a large engine as well. Eventually the carmakers developed larger engines that weighed the same or less than the older four-cylinder engines equipped with a turbo. These larger engines provided better performance without all of the quirks of the turbo.

A number of manufacturers turned to superchargers. A supercharger pressurizes the intake air, just like a turbo, but is mechanically driven by the engine. A modern supercharger can run at a much slower speeds and deliver an equivalent amount of air to the engine as a turbo. Since superchargers are engine-driven and constantly engaged, there's no lag between driver demand and engine response. Buick ditched the turbo and supercharged their venerable V6. Ford, faced with disappointing power outputs from their modular engines, likewise added superchargers to some of their cars. Mercedes currently relies on superchargers for many of their high performance models.

In today's rallying scene, where engine displacement is limited by regulation, teams still turn to turbos for extra performance and live with the attendant idiosyncrasies. That's why Subaru and Mitsubishi install turbos on their fearsome rally cars. Buyers of the street versions tolerate the usual drawbacks in exchange for blistering acceleration at the top of the rev range, and the panache of driving a copy of a WRC rally car.

Mercedes currently produces several road cars using twin turbos– a smaller turbo to get the supercharger up to speed under light throttle, and a larger one to add power once the waste gasses are flowing freely. This set-up virtually eliminates turbo lag and maximizes engine power, but its complexity, inefficiency and expense restrict the system to the company's top-of-range models. [MB's lesser-priced performance cars rely on large displacement engines or superchargers.] The same parameters apply to the top-of-the-range Porsche Turbo, and will most likely relate to the new turbocharged six-cylinder BMW.

Further down the food chain, the turbo-charged engine is a dead duck. Low cost, fuel-efficient turbo solutions are both unavailable and commercially undesirable. The turbocharged minivan is gone forever. Besides, when it comes to smooth power, reliability and aural satisfaction, wouldn't you really rather have a V8?

At Microsoft's recent "Global Automotive Summit", someone asked Bill Gates if he thought the auto industry should aim for cars that "wouldn't let themselves crash". To which Mr. Gates replied "absolutely". Bill was, of course, sandbagged. The media love to paint the world's wealthiest man as the world's most powerful control freak– which, of course, he is. But the subtext is always there: Bill Gates is a fascist. In this case, the press got him to "admit" he wants his company to take control of your car.

Again, the insinuation contains an element of truth. For some time now, the automobile industry has been moving towards augmenting/replacing human decision-making with computerized control. Mercedes' Distronic adaptive cruise control is only the most impressive example. The system integrates forward-facing radar with their car's "drive by wire" throttle and brakes, automatically maintaining a safe distance from the vehicle ahead. Rumor has it that the new S-Class will add an emergency braking algorithm, raising electronic intervention to the next level.

Mercedes' braking system will eventually appear in Chrysler vehicles and other mass market products. At the same time, Volvo is unveiling its lane departure warning system. Using sideways-looking radar, the device will guard against driver fatigue and help prevent collisions with vehicles in a driver's "blind spot". From there, it's a slippery slope (without traction control) to computer-controlled steering intervention to automated steering, braking and acceleration. Yes, that's right: a car that drives itself.

It may seem like one of those Popular Mechanics cover stories that never quite pans out, but robots can already negotiate highly challenging physical environments. It's also no secret that the Pentagon is busy developing combat vehicles that can negotiate harsh terrain without any human intervention or oversight, at speed. Within the next twenty years, our relatively safe and featureless highways will accommodate fully automated automobiles. The "set it and forget it" car will follow.

Of course, that's not exactly what Bill endorsed at his press conference. Mr. Gates only agreed that we need cars that wouldn't "let themselves crash". Anyone who's seen a fatal traffic accident up close and personal, or watched a moron drive, would surely agree that effective computerized safety intervention is a laudable goal. I mean, who WOULDN'T want a car that would stop you from crashing?

Enthusiasts. This special interest group can think of nothing worse than a car, truck or SUV that denies them driving's constant, ever-changing challenges– even if the human controlled vehicle is inherently less safe than its robotized equivalent. Wait; there IS a worse nightmare: a self-driving car powered by Microsoft software.

When Mr. Gates unfavorably compared the pace of the auto and computer industry's progress at a COMDEX convention, car enthusiasts launched a withering counter-attack. Their reaction revealed the extent of their antipathy to MSBill. Ironically enough, most of the sarcasm centered on safety issues. For example, "If GM had developed technology like Microsoft, your car would crash twice a day for no reason whatsoever. For some reason you would simply accept this."

It's funny stuff, but irrelevant. The truth is that the majority of people on our roads are not enthusiasts. They do not enjoy driving– at least not in the same sense that pistonheads do. (Hence the large numbers of motorists talking on their cell while driving and the huge take-up rate for satellite radio.) When the Chicago Tribune recently asked readers what features they would like on their car, real or fanciful, nearly 25 percent of the more than 100 respondents named autopilot as the top desire. Most people would gladly sacrifice a large measure of driving pleasure– and autonomy– for extra covenience and safety.

Why wouldn't they? Why shouldn't they? In emergency situations, over 50% of drivers take no evasive action whatsoever. Enthusiasts have been arguing for years for an active, human factors approach to automotive safety: better training, higher driving standards, regular re-testing, selective enforcement, etc. But there is an economic imperative at work. If you raised the standards high enough to prevent serious accidents, you'd probably remove 25% of all drivers from our roads.

The fully computerized car is the ideal way to reconcile driver stupidity with the need to keep our population mobile. And make no mistake: society is up for it. Computerized control has been the de facto standard for the airline industry for many years. Modern planes will not "let themselves crash". They can take-off and land automatically. (In fact they do, all the time.) We accept this development in safety's name, yet commercial airplanes are thousands of times safer than automobiles.

In the US at least, the self-driving car will never be federally mandated. So it's not an either or situation. Enthusiasts should encourage Mr. Gates' in his [unstated] desire to make a self-driving car. It will let them enjoy 'active' driving in a much safer world.

I can't figure out the appeal of the Continuously Variable Transmission (CVT). Currently featured in the new Ford 500 sedan, the transmission system consists of a pair of cones and a steel drive belt to transfer power. The CVT offers a continuous ratio change (similar to changing gear with a standard manual or automatic) by varying the diameter of the cones, without a step in ratios like a conventional automatic transmission. While conceptually simple, the actual hardware is tremendously complex and expensive. What's more, supporters' claim that the CVT increases economy and performance simply doesn't bear close scrutiny.

Proponents claim that the CVT offers superior mileage by providing a higher overdrive ratio than other transmissions. (Overdrive is another way of saying that the engine turns slower than the driveshaft, which is typical of all modern automatic transmissions.) In the case of the Ford 500's Ford/ZF unit, the overdrive ratio is .41:1. In other words, the engine turns 4/10s of a revolution for every turn of the driveshaft. That's considerably greater than the .69 overdrive ratio of the conventional automatic transmission on offer.

In theory. In practice, the Ford CVT's ratio is 5.41:1; which is a much lower final drive ratio compared to the same car with a conventional automatic. The result is an overall ratio of 2.2:1 in the CVT car vs. 2.3:1 in a car with an autobox. The overall relationship of engine speed to wheel speed is nearly identical.

At 70 mph, the tach needle would point to the same number, no matter which transmission was installed. When cruising down the expressway, the engines in both cars would be going the same speed, doing the same amount of work, and thus getting the same mileage. The comparison remains valid at any cruising speed over about 30, where the automatic transmission is in overdrive.

It's a similar situation for off-the-line acceleration. The CVT has much less torque multiplication, but a lower-geared final drive. The Ford uses a torque converter between the engine and the gearbox to further increase torque multiplication at launch. Since Ford uses torque converters with the same torque multiplication (effectively the same as a gear reduction), the overall ratio between the engine and the wheels is the same. With the same gear ratios, the cars will have the same acceleration, no more and no less.

The CVT's main claim to fame is that it keeps the engine at a constant speed, either the most efficient or the most powerful, while accelerating. In the days when engines had narrow power bands and peaked torque curves, this may have been more than a theoretical advantage. But today's engines have torque curves as flat as Kansas, and power curves to match. And today's automatic transmissions have five or six geared speeds, usually with only about 18-25% ratio differences between ratios. In other words, modern engines have essentially the same amount of power or torque over a relatively wide RPM range, and today's automatic transmissions have a narrow enough ratio spread between their gears to use all of the torque and power that the engine produces.

Every transmission suffers internal power losses, but internal losses in the CVT's hydraulic control system are higher than that of a conventional automatic transmission. The hydraulic control systems have to operate at higher pressures or flows, to squeeze the steel cones on steel belts, diverting more energy from the engine and leaving less to move the car. Since the CVT's torque converter is similar to the conventional transmission, internal efficiency of the CVT is lower. This hurts the CVT's ability to deliver the promised higher mileage.

The CVT also requires special, expensive fluid to withstand the heat and pressure demands, and scheduled oil changes. In fact, all things being equal, the CVT has no performance, economy or reliability advantages over a more conventional system. But this equation doesn't include ergonomic factors, which put the CVT at a distinct disadvantage.

It's clear that people aren't comfortable driving a car without transmission shift 'feel"; they like to know when their transmission is in "low gear" or 'high gear'. Obviously, a seamless CVT transmission doesn't transmit this kind of information. As a result of customer feedback, Audi felt compelled to programmed their CVT to have steps, just like a conventional automatic transmission. This made drivers feel better, but defeated the CVT's original purpose.

Of course, I'm not the only one who fails to see the rationale for a CVT. After having invested millions in new technology and a new plant, rumor has it that Ford is about to discontinue the CVT option from the 500, writing off their investment before the model year has properly begun. The move would be a hugely expensive about-face, but it's the right thing to do.

Our main man Daniel Howes of the Detroit News recently asked 'what the Hell happened to mass customization"? Mass customization means building a product to a customer's exact specifications, then delivering it before they get pissed off. As the choice of three trim levels seems to satisfy most sheep– I mean people, I don't thing the Big Three's lack of a Dell-style manufacturing system is a major problem. But the wider point is well taken. When will the auto industry wake up and realize that it's the 21st century?

The continued existence of The North American International Auto Show is the best example of carmakers' inability to accept and accommodate the enormous technological changes that have swept society. Let's face it: it's a dead show walking. Why would anyone other than industry-types on expense accounts fight the crowds, eat horrendous food and PAY to look at a parked car when they can see the same machine driving on their desktop? Besides, by the time Detroit's Cobo Center opens its doors to the frozen throngs, more than 75% of the new cars on display have already debuted in electronic/photographic form.

As well they should. With over 60 new models appearing each year, unveiling dozens of new cars in a single three-day window makes no sense whatsoever. It's like Ben & Jerry's, Hagen Daz, and Baskin & Robbins all announcing their new flavors on the fourth of July weekend. In the multi-media millennium, an actual physical auto show is an expensive, inefficient anachronism. Enthusiasts are sated; civilians are jaded.

The car industry's inability to utilize the web effectively as a sales tool is another example of their lack of contemporary thinking. All the carmakers' websites present a staggering array of product and let the customer have at it. Surfers can research a potential purchase, but the information is devoid of context, warmth or individualization. There's no interactive element recognizing the customer's particular needs and guiding them through the options. No wonder the majority of surfer-buyers peel off to edmunds.com for a better idea of a car's suitability and actual price.

Electronic after-sales contact is just as old fashioned– in the sense that there isn't any. Study after study shows that car buyers want MORE dealer contact, not less. Yet there's no email follow-up to see if drivers know how to operate their car's toys, or to advise them when retrofitted options become available. There's no customer-specific information timed to coincide with usage patterns: winter driving tips, summer vacation planning assistance, trade-in time depreciation updates, etc. There's only… silence.

Computers can keep track of a huge number of buying preferences and behaviors. There's an ever-increasing number of ways to interact with customers: telephone, websites, email, direct mail, text messaging, CD-ROMs and more. But carmakers can't seem to put all these elements together to increase customer satisfaction and loyalty. They act as if the new media is the old media, and put on lingerie competitions at sporting events.

Service departments have also neglected the possibilities inherent in the new technology. With the advent of GPS and on-board telemetries, it's amazing that the dealers' most profitable division still waits for their customers' cars to break down, or for their patrons to remember when it's time for service. Even discounting remote interrogation, surely there's an algorithm that can predict what will go wrong with a customer's car before it occurs, taking into account the customer's probable (or actual) driving habits and nationwide, model-specific service patterns.

And finally, the cars themselves show an inexplicable reluctance to evolve towards modern sensibilities. Computer interfaces like BMW's iDrive and Audi's MMI controllers seem to reflect a cutting edge hi-tech ethos. In fact, these awkward devices betray a stunning ignorance of simple ergonomics, requiring unacceptable physical, visual and mental diversion from the mission critical task of driving. What happened to the kind of thinking that led to the gentle red light glowing over a BMW's dash or GM's heads-up display? We don't need more technology, we need BETTER technology.

The obvious way to conclude this rant is to talk about supertanker turning circles, dinosaur brains and the possibility of smaller, faster car companies taking over from the large, unwieldy ones. But I won't go there. Instead, I refer you to America's gigantic after-market tuning industry. These guys build to suit, party with their customers and innovate on a daily basis. If Danny wants to know where to find mass customization, he could do worse than to watch Pimp My Ride.

My recent editorial "Death to the Stick Shift" questioned the safety of– and slavish affection for– manual transmissions. The main premise of my article was simple: it takes a higher level of driver attention to operate a manual transmission than an automatic.

This point was proven by my many critics, who argued that driving a stick shift prevents drivers from engaging in dangerous multi-tasking. This erstwhile advantage simply reinforces the assertion that a manual demands greater concentration (however subconscious). By the same token, it's disingenuous to assert that an automatic transmission is inherently dangerous because it allows drivers to talk on their cell, eat, drink or otherwise distract themselves. Inattentive drivers are a hazard, no matter what kind of car they drive.

Fans of the manual transmission may not realize that they are merely lever pushers; the synchronizers inside the gearbox do the actual shifting. Anyone who's driven a non-synchro box is immediately aware that there is a much higher level of skill and experience needed to shift gears. So, if attending to the mechanical needs of the car makes someone a better driver, wouldn't a non-synchro box make them an even better driver? Should we turn back the clock of progress in the mistaken belief that it's safer to work harder? Of course not.

The second recurring theme expressed by my less splenetic respondents is that stick shifts are more fuel efficient than automatics. This opinion is usually based upon a narrow analysis of a particular component, rather than an analysis of total powertrain efficiency.

An automatic's torque converter actually increases the torque output, while allowing engine speed to rise– sort of like a hydraulic version of a CVT (continuous variable transmission). Thus the increase in engine speed upon acceleration in an auto-equipped car is not slippage, but the torque converter acting as, essentially, a lower gear. (A side benefit is that the engine has a higher torque output at higher speed, increasing acceleration even more.) The hydrodynamic losses in the autobox' torque converter are more than made up by the increase in effective gear ratio spread.

Gear ratio spread is, simply put, the ratio between the lowest and the highest ratio in a given box. A larger ratio spread allows the box to have a lower first gear (for better initial acceleration) and a higher top gear (for quieter cruising). Typically, a modern six-speed transmission has a ratio spread of about six, while an average four-speed automatic has a ratio spread of about 10 to 11. This allows engine speed to be more efficiently matched to the vehicle's needs.

Couple this inherent efficiency advantage with sophisticated electronic controls that measure the vehicle's lateral and longitudinal accelerations, monitor the position, speed and rate of change of driver controls; and it's easy to see how a modern automatic transmission can anticipate the driver and vehicle needs and to consistently provide the proper gear ratio.

Many e-mailers also took issue with my claim that automatics are cheaper to maintain than standards. Historically, manual transmissions may have been less expensive to maintain than their automatic counterparts, but the stick shift's mechanical evolution (read: increasing sophistication) has reduced the gap to naught. Today, replacing a clutch on Thunderbird Super Coupe at a franchised Ford dealer will cost over $2000 in labor alone. Rebuilding the 5-speed transmission of a light-duty Ford F150 will set you back well over $4000.

The corollary to this argument is that manual transmissions are more durable than automatics. If that were the case, every corporate fleet in America would be stocked with manual transmission cars and trucks. Fleet managers earn their bonuses by cutting costs, and they have a huge amount of real world data upon which to make objective financial decisions. Hence the near total dominance of automatic transmissions within large fleets. Think about it: the chances of finding a manual transmission taxi are somewhat less than finding a lunar rover trolling for passengers in Manhattan.

Other control components of vehicles, including the steering wheel, are based on decades of psychological and anthropometric research. There have been many attempts to replace the steering wheel, including joysticks, but the human brain just isn't wired for them. Even the operational convention of turning clockwise for a right turn evolved through years of study and 'field testing'. There are many studies on the efficiency and safety of current automotive controls. Yet many enthusiasts would exempt manual transmissions from the normal process of mechanical evolution, which has already led to the development of the modern automatic transmission.

Meanwhile, the consumer has spoken. The millions of US buyers who opt for today's automatic transmissions do not do so because they are stupid, uncoordinated, unsafe or oblivious to the joys of driving. They do so because they know a good thing when they drive one.

Here in the world's biggest automotive market, the automatic gearbox rules, with the vast majority of American electing to have their cars do the shifting for them.  This, despite the fact that automatics are inherently less efficient than stick shift systems (an autobox's torque converter squanders resources unless in full lockup). What's more, the average slushbox falls apart sooner than a manual transmission, while often being a high-cost option in the first place. But even if you stray beyond the empirical realm, the truth of the matter is obvious: manual transmissions are the more pleasurable, safer choice.

Enthusiast drivers derive much of their satisfaction by changing gears of their own accord. Even the best adaptive automatics consistently fail to respond to the sporting driver's commands with suitably efficiency. (Hence the motivations behind most racers opting for manual gearchanges, even when the sanctioning bodies under which they compete fail to mandate them.) Technological advances like "fly-by-wire" throttles and GPS-based logic may eventually eliminate the autobox' temporal shortcomings, but until then, accomplished cog swappers know the tripedal dance remains most efficient and satisfying method for conducting business.

Okay – I'll throw you automatic-types a bone here… Volkswagen's DSG 'box is admittedly fantastic – a seriously entertaining gewgaw so overwhelmingly competent it gives even dyed-in-the-wool manual guys like me reason for pause. While we're at it, I've little doubt that the 7-speed automanual in BMW's gonzo new M5 strokes like liquid sex, but neither of these two systems are traditional slushboxes. Yes, semi-automatics have been alternatives for decades, but truly effective, reliable, and inexpensive units are only just coming on stream.

Arguments about the relative safety of the two systems– another suitably emotive topic on which to base this discussion — are almost as fuzzy as the logic controlling many of today's automatics. Even so, I believe that the average manual driver is an inherently safer pilot than his/her autopilot counterpart. Operating a manual forces the driver to concentrate on the task of driving. To select the appropriate gear, DIY shifters must reconcile the road's geography and coefficient of adhesion, engine and vehicle speed, and traffic conditions. The automatic driver? Dip into 'D' and carpet the pedal. Might as well have a bag of Callaways rattling 'round back and a gimlet in hand headed for the back nine.

As such, automatics may be the stop-and-go commuter's friend, but they encourage drivers to engage in activities utterly unrelated to vehiculation. Automatic operators more readily disconnect from the inherently dangerous process that is driving, freeing up the spare neurons needed to check one's voicemail, shuffle through an MP3 collection and/or quaff a tall double soy latte.

Oh, and if 'automatics are safer than manuals because they're easier to operate', what about the steering wheel? By this yardstick, the steering wheel is another monumentally inefficient and treacherous method of car control, mandating the coordinated use of two arms flailing about and crossing hand-over-hand (directly over a latent explosive bag, no less). Surely my ten-year-old's Playstation controller has the whole system beat stone dead, the drive-by-wire articulation of his entire universe being but a thumb-press away.

While we're at it, braking via a hinged floor plate is an equally antediluvian activity when a two-centimeter round plastic button would suffice. No feedback, you say? Artificial dynamic reinforcement could be dialed-in with a servomechanism and a few choice keystrokes, but why not let the hordes of available electronic nannies (ABS, EBD, etc.) handle such distractions instead?

Take the argument against manuals to its logical conclusion and you end up with a stunning rationale for mass transit. If we all cruise in lockstep down Technology Road, the promise of satellite-governed transportation pods lie just beyond the next bend… a move that'll rid us of the nasty and tedious business that is driving altogether. That's alright for some, maybe even most, but not all. Some still find perverse pleasure in mastering heel-toe. Some take adolescent joy in an engine strained if only to hear it on song. Some would rather turn a wheel in anger than commute in silence. Others, however, are simply seeking the most efficient manner in which to decant themselves from port to port. Bravo, straphangers — here's your column shifter.

Mind you, I'm a realist. The day will come when manual transmissions will be the exclusive preserve of secondhand poverty-spec econobox owners and doddering vintage car aficionados. Whether that's because an ever-increasing number of consumers can't be bothered to shift for themselves (making it impossible for automakers to cost-effectively produce manuals), because stringent environmental laws outlaw them, or because GPS-regulated vehicles proscribe such individualistic behavior, I've little doubt that the manual will eventually go the way of tiller steering. At which time you'll find me hunched over a dog-eared Hemmings, checkbook in hand, fevered glint in my eye.

Check out the standard features on the latest automotive delicacy. Electronic engine controls? Check. Variable valve timing? Check. Throttle by wire? Anti-lock brakes? Speed-variable power steering? Electronic stability system? All-wheel drive? HID headlights? Air bags, front and side? Check, check and double check. Archaic system of transferring engine power to the wheels requiring the use of 2 feet, 3 pedals, both hands, visual, aural and fine motor coordination to operate the car? Yep, got that too.

Of course, the last feature is actually a traditional manual transmission and clutch. It seems that engineering progress has reached everywhere in the enthusiast's car except for the footwell. Today's manual clutch is the same antiquated system that's been around for the last 100 years, and it's a fundamentally unsafe way to control a car.

Driver distraction is one of the major causes of vehicle accidents. According to a 2001 national survey conducted by the Network of Employers for Traffic Safety (NETS), roughly 25% of all fatal automobile accidents are caused by driver inattention. Although this research didn't examine the role of the manual transmission, its potential risks are patently obvious. Operating a manual transmission is an inherently difficult and dangerous procedure…

To start from standstill, the driver must coordinate both feet, using the right foot to bring up the engine speed and the left foot to slowly engage the clutch. At the same time, he has to judge the engine speed to anticipate the change to another gear. This he does aurally (listening to the revs) or visually (watching the tachometer). Listening to the engine can distract the driver from important auditory stimuli (e.g. approaching emergency vehicles), while watching the tachometer removes his eyes from the road. At the same time, neither foot is available for instantaneous braking.

Once underway, the dance of the feet begins anew– except now the driver must use his or her right hand to move the shift lever in coordination with his or her feet. The lack of a foot available for the brake pedal is even more critical since the car is now moving faster, and the driver is now steering with one hand.

Consider that this has to happen five or six times just to get to cruising speed, requiring driver concentration at some level. The amount of distraction caused by downshifting, shifting while turning a corner, and so on is even greater. Heaven help the chicken that decides to cross the road in front of a driver using a manual transmission.

Contrast this process with the fine art of driving an automatic transmission. The driver slips the shifter into drive and presses the accelerator. He's free to carve a corner without reacting to changes in vehicle speed or conditions by removing his right foot from the gas pedal. The transmission's electronic control system monitors the vehicle's speed, lateral and longitudinal acceleration; the steering wheel position and acceleration; and changes gear ratios accordingly.

Stick shift sticklers often defend their archaic rituals by arguing that manual transmissions are more fuel-efficient. Not so. While EPA numbers occasionally favor manual versions of a particular car, the comparison is skewed by the testing process, differences in gear ratios, engine tuning and vehicle option content. In real-world operation, manual cars never get mileage as good as a comparable automatic. The manual's mechanical efficiency advantage is always lost because drivers never shift optimally for efficiency. Engines are invariably over-revved, either through ignorance or the pursuit of aural pleasure. A properly sorted automatic is always in the correct gear, never makes a mistake, and demands infinitely less attention from the driver.

Why do enthusiasts cling to manuals when the safety and efficiency drawbacks are so obvious, and the alternative automatic transmission so well developed? Sometimes it's ignorance. Many enthusiasts have never driven a car equipped with a state-of-the-art automatic transmission, complete with electronics that adapt to the sporting driver's shifting preferences. More often the attitude is rooted deep in the car enthusiast's psyche: 'I want to be in control' or 'It connects me more intimately with the car'. Strip away the human vs. mechanical rationale and Zen posturing and all that remains is simple, willful resistance to change and progress.

The manually shifted automatic transmission seems to offer a compromise solution. These systems give enthusiast drivers the option of overriding the automatic function with either a separate gate to manipulate the transmission's logic circuit, or paddle shifters that ape the controls of a Formula One car. It's a logical "cake and eat it too" solution.

Though admirably sophisticated, the combined manual – automatic transmission is a technological dead-end. By the middle of the last century, many American automobiles used variations of the semi-automatic transmission. None survived the development of the automatic transmission, for four good reasons: safety, reliability, driving pleasure and, above all, common sense.

At the end of my local car wash, the Peruvian supervisor offers customers a choice of air fresheners. The battered spray bottles are hand-labeled: watermelon, cherry, vanilla, pine, apple, strawberry, lemon, pina colada and new car smell. Needless to say, the scents are about as authentic as a velveteen Last Supper. The idea that someone would actually choose to submit their nostrils to such an egregious olfactory attack is a source of constant wonder. But hey, Ford still sells Thunderbirds, so I guess there's no accounting for taste.

Maybe people first turn to these synthetic fragrances because their new cars smell so nasty. I recently drove a box-fresh Ford Five Hundred. Even before I turned the key, every nerve, cell and fiber of my body told me that I was sitting in a fantastically cheap car. It smelled awful, like a $20-a-night motel room sanitized with porno strength ammonia. The so-called "top note" was pure adhesive, pungent enough to get an underage passenger arrested for glue sniffing. The "bottom note" was, well, there wasn't any. And this was the top-spec, leather-lined SEL version.

The newly-minted Pontiac G6 that arrived on my driveway was worse. The cabin emitted a nostril-curling sour glue odor that made my hand reach for the electric window button faster than if I'd thrown a dead skunk in the back seat. When my step-daughter added that distinctive odor known as a McDonald's happy meal, my nose wasn't. If someone had smoked a cigarette in the car, I would have been forced to Google "nosegay".

Of course, both cars will mellow with the miles; the out-gassing of the offending volatile organic compounds (VOC's) will dissipate as the construction materials settle into adolescence. Eventually, the Ford and the Pontiac will reveal their owners' habits, rather than their manufacturer's suppliers.

That still leaves a lingering mystery: why do car companies ignore this critical characteristic of their automotive products? They spend billions appeasing the gods of NVH (Noise Vibration and Harshness) and not a nickel to try and make their cars' interiors smell at least as appealing as a sheet of Bounce fabric softener.

The feel-good factor created by upmarket smells simply can't be underestimated. The Continental GT is a fine car, but the German machine would not wear the Bentley crest so easily if it weren't for the deep, rich leather smell leaching out of every nook and cranny of its cow-covered interior. The odor is a direct shot to the brain, constantly whispering "money, money, money". The GT could have Passat internals and still literally reek of class.

As companies like Ford and Buick try to take their products upmarket, or try to find a brand-specific competitive advantage, they would do well to address the smells coming from their malodorous machines. Adding or prolonging that "new car smell" is not enough; most people can tell the difference between slatherings of cheap adhesive and the judicious use of more premium materials. Fitting a leather interior is also insufficient; properly fragrant leather is an expensive business and most post-manufacturer treatments are dire. No, what's needed here requires considerably more commitment…

Every car brand should have its own olfactory signature: a carefully-crafted defining smell. What is now a random, unintentional by-product of a car's manufacturing process should be brought under rigorous scientific control. It should be subjected to safety-testing, focus-grouping and executive approval at the highest level. In fact, a car's smell should be regarded as the next great marketing opportunity. It should be considered a fundamental selling point for products, print ads and dealerships.

Meanwhile, carmakers are busy removing smell from their cars. While there is no government standard for automotive air quality, the industry is sensitive to their adhesives' effect on workers and customers. (Besides, if you have too many VOC's floating around, the windows fog up.) Carmakers have turned to less toxic, less odiferous glues to hold their products together. The end result: car companies are producing more and more new cars that don't smell like new cars– or anything else for that matter.

Which brings us full circle. Drivers with neutral smelling vehicles feel the need to add scent to their cabins with chemical fragrances. None of these scents are labeled; as "household products" they're not required to list their ingredients. Nor are the "air fresheners" regulated for safety. And they sure don't smell good to a, dare I say it, educated sniffer.

All this could be avoided by the addition of a perfumer to the manufacturing staff. The official "nose" could work with suppliers to add or eliminate smells, or, failing that, infuse the finished cabin with a safe, long-lasting fragrance. Either way, his or her olfactory expertise would help entice new customers and build brand loyalty– as anyone with a nose for business will tell you.