2006 Honda Odyssey Touring

2006 Honda Odyssey Touring - Still with us? The exception is Honda, where Touring means Odyssey with whipped cream, a cherry, and nuts. The model line tops here, complete with power liftgate, power-adjustable pedals, auto on/off headlights, and seven-speaker stereo with subwoofer. The big change for 2007: Now the tilt column telescopes, too.

While other minivan makers try for pretty — think Toyota Sienna — or pleasant — as in Dodge Caravan — this Honda has a heavyset look about it, wide and slab-sided and unapologetic for offering space in Costco quantities. The grille thrusts forward, a strong chrome statement. Each front corner houses a pair of searchlights, and the wheels shoulder their way out to the edges of the box. Another hefty chrome gesture finishes the space between the taillights.

“Touring,” the car-world adjective, brings with it a vague performance implication. This Honda is similarly vague on the topic. Touring and EX-L models get the i-VTEC V-6. There’s no power advantage, but the torque peaks at 4500 rpm, 500 earlier than engines in lesser Odysseys, and it boosts mileage by shutting down three cylinders during cruise and coast. The result is 20 mpg city and 28 highway versus 19 and 25.

What the Touring brings, really, is a Ritz-Carlton level of comfort and convenience inside. The instruments are wonderfully legible, the many switches inevitable with power doors are exactly where you want them to be, the seat levers and releases work intuitively, the second row tilts and slides in one motion to ease boarding of the third row. Honda, of course, pioneered the fold-into-the-floor third row, and no one else has yet done it better.

2006 Honda Ridgeline RTL

2006 Honda Ridgeline RTL - At the conclusion of that test, our take on the car-or-truck issue was this: “Who cares?” And now, after two years and 40,000 miles with a Ridgeline, we heartily endorse the finding of that ’05 comparison-test crew: “Let’s appreciate the Ridgeline for what it is: a new type of utility vehicle.” Hey, even the state of Michigan, which has more than a little motor-vehicle experience, is confused about the Ridgeline’s classification.

Whatever we may choose to call it, a vehicle is ultimately defined by what it does, and what better word than “utility” to describe a vehicle that does just about everything. And yet everything, as it applies to the Ridgeline, does have limits. For example, Honda’s unibody truck (a structural distinction that makes it unique in pickupdom) is rated to tow as much as 5000 pounds, which is on the low side of capabilities of mid-size pickups.

Even though all-wheel drive is standard, there’s no low-range feature for creeping in tough job-site terrain—our ’05 comparo rated the Ridgeline least comfortable with off-road duty—and, of course, no one, true trucker or poultry inspector, has ever called the Ridgeline pretty. In fact, the U-word—ugly—pops up often in our test truck’s logbook.

Just about everyone who drove the Ridgeline was pleasantly surprised by its agility, and all occupants had good things to say about its ride quality. Sometimes they even forgot to add the “for a truck” disclaimer, and one logbook scribbler thought it behaved “like a tall Accord.”

Inevitably, there were a few niggling gripes. For example, after creeping blindly through a frog-strangling downpour, one logbook diarist thought the windshield wipers’ fast setting was hard to distinguish from the slow one.

And speaking of design-imposed drawbacks, the cargo-bed sides, which slope up en route to the front of the box (from 16.0 inches at the rear to 21.5 inches at the front) made it impossible to grab stuff in the bed’s center without bellying up against the outside of the truck—not a good thing if you happened to be wearing your Tom Wolfe whites. Period.

GMC Canyon SLE Crew Cab 4WD Z71

GMC Canyon SLE Crew Cab 4WD Z71 - But now, with the appearance of the GMC Canyon and its nearly identical sister, the Chevrolet Colorado, it's okay to forget about the rough-as-a-cob S-10. The Canyon/Colorado duo is styled with stubby overhangs, squared-off wheel openings, and the squinty four-eyed visage of the full-size Silverado and Sierra. They look a little like dazed rodeo bulls, brawny but lovable.

The platform here is genuinely new, shared with no other light truck or SUV in GM's vast repertoire. Three cab sizes are available—regular, extended, and crew—on two wheelbases. Two bed lengths are offered—73.0 inches and 61.0 inches.

Drive the Canyon and what you notice first is that it's far, far more solid than any S-10 ever built or imagined. Torsional rigidity is way up, with minimal bed shimmy, no shivers through the dash, no subassemblies in motion. The new body mounts are adept at blocking harshness transmitted through the frame. Impacts, right up to genuine slobber knockers, are distant, nontroubling events. Accidentally drop two wheels off the right side of the road? The Canyon doesn't care. Go ahead and drive all day like that.

The new in-line five idles at about 600 rpm, where it evinces a peculiar staccato backbeat that is felt more than heard. Crack the throttle a titch, up to 900 or so rpm, and the idle suddenly goes as smooth as Vaseline. At wide-open whack, the engine emits a curious lowing, like a cow with acid reflux. It needs to be about an octave lower and divorced from all 4-H club proceedings before 20-something males, rabid subscribers to the compact-truck class, will find it agreeably macho. This engine, with its twin balance shafts, is otherwise devoid of the mechanical clatter and thrash that afflicted all previous S-10 and Sonoma powerplants. It is subdued and carlike all the way to its 6100-rpm redline.

Sixty mph materializes in 8.9 seconds, way better than the 9.5 seconds of a Nissan Frontier SC, one of the "quick" compact trucks. Funny thing is, the Canyon never feels fast. Instead, the in-line five often acts overwhelmed by this pickup's 4254 pounds—only 40 pounds lighter than the mid-size Dodge Dakota Quad Cab Sport with a 235-horse iron-block V-8. Even minor jabs at the Canyon's throttle induce transmission kickdowns, over and over, with the result that revs seem too often intruding in the 3500-and-above range.

Fortunately, the Canyon's ride-and-handling trade-off is nearly perfect, a major achievement for a tall-stance off-road suspension. The gas-charged monotube shocks have been tuned to their most benign settings, and the 15-inch Generals feature forgiving sidewalls. On the most rutted, ravaged roads, the ride is more luxury SUV than compact truck. Even with all that compliance, there's little of the squirm you feel in, say, a TrailBlazer, and body motions are satisfactorily controlled.

GM's revised steering is also a major improvement, although the effort could have been a hair lighter. Freeway tracking is excellent, with a strong sense of straight-ahead. There's minimal kickback, even on potholed roads, and the vibration that does wend its way up the column is, by truck standards, forgivable. You can usually place the Canyon within a few inches of where you want it, a trait that contributes hugely to driving satisfaction.

Our test truck came with bench seats encased in a handsome gray twill that looked classy and felt durable. The front seat remains comfortable for all-day grinds, although the seatback is slightly overpadded. The rear bench is tolerable for two adults for one-hour trips, but the cushion is low, hoisting your knees unnaturally. The steering wheel is adjustable for rake through a huge arc.

A new Tacoma, Frontier, and Dakota are all on the horizon. Right now, though, the Canyon stands as the gotta-have in the compact-truck class—tops in ride, fit and finish, solidity, impact isolation, and general driving refinement. We'd have preferred more oomph—acceleration a little closer, say, to the 7.7-second 0-to-60 performance of the current manual-trans V-8 Dakota. And we'd have preferred fuel economy better than an observed 14 mpg, but that's what you get with a 2.1-ton pickup with the frontal area of a Subic Bay ferry.

This truck is built in GM's Shreveport plant, which means you can get a Colorado in Louisiana. Naturally, you can drive a Canyon into Colorado or even into a Colorado canyon, but you wouldn't want to drive a Colorado into a Canyon.

2007 GMC Yukon Denali

2007 GMC Yukon Denali - For 2007 comes an even more Escalade-like Denali, with a shared 6.2-liter V-8 and six-speed, that should nonetheless continue to take a corporate-designated second place.

This new powertrain is, for now, exclusive to Denali and Escalade models, but we expect the six-speed will eventually make its way down-market. That drivetrain is also the Denali’s biggest difference among lesser Yukons, since all of GM’s full-size SUVs benefit from a stiffer chassis, improved fit and finish, much enhanced interiors, and upgraded road manners.

The bored-out all-aluminum 6.2-liter engine sports variable cam timing and makes 380 horsepower and 415 pound-feet of torque (a seemingly random 23 horsepower and two pound-feet shy of the ’07 Escalade), and the 6L80 six-speed is a simplified transmission design—GM’s first “clutch to clutch”—which is roughly the same size as the old four-speed unit. In practice, it almost always serves up smooth shifts and is happy to kick down two or three ratios when prodded.

The full-time 40/60-split all-wheel drive is basically unchanged (a rear-drive model comes later). Give the Denali the boot and the front wheels squawk as they claw for traction on the way to a mighty 6.2-second 0-to-60 dash and 15.0-second quarter-mile time, besting the last-gen Escalade by 1.6 and 1.0 seconds, respectively. These stats would also lay low competitors such as the Lincoln Navigator and Infiniti QX56.

Visually, the Denali adds a few chrome pieces, including a mesh grille, door handles, and roof rails. It also comes with a collection of standard equipment such as a power liftgate, Bose sound system, remote starter, Nuance leather seats, and 18-inch wheels (our tester had the optional 20s). When it comes to luxury, however, the Denali stops short of the Escalade; it doesn’t have a differentiated interior design with soft-touch plastics or white-LED backlighting for the gauges.

Still, the best thing about GM’s new SUVs is their driving behavior. Autoride (two-position automatically adjusting dampers) is still the Denali’s suspension of choice, and over a stretch of rough pavement this 5610-pound brute feels impossibly solid and composed and, at the same time, comfortably compliant.

The Denali’s price has dropped $2070 to $47,990, a compelling $9000 less than an Escalade. But with standard second-row buckets, it holds just four adults (only small kids will fit in back, unlike in the Navigator). This strikes us as a rather ex-pen-sive family hauler, especially considering that its value typically plummets about $20,000 in the first two years.

2007 GMC Acadia SLT AWD

2007 GMC Acadia SLT AWD - In any case, the change was fortuitous, because the Acadia is not a truck. Not in the traditional body-on-frame truck sense. It looks sorta like a truck, and the EPA calls it a truck, but the bones are front-drive unibody. They call it the Lambda architecture, designed for GM’s big new front-drive utility vehicles. The result is one of those new-breed rides we call crossovers — neither car nor truck, and a first for GMC.

Separated from her boyfriend, Gabriel Lajeunesse, when the Redcoats herded the Acadians onto transports, Evangeline wound up in Louisiana and spent the rest of her life trying to reconnect with Gabriel. And even though she was a fictional figure, she has come to be regarded as the original queen of the Cajuns. (Acadians.Cajuns. Get it?)

That’s the essence of this new GM line, which includes the Saturn Outlook, with the Buick Enclave due next fall. Although these new vehicles lack sliding doors and have more ground clearance, they serve essentially the same function as minivans. They have to serve that function, because GM, like Ford, is giving up on minivans. So you can forget about the Buick Terraza, Chevy Uplander, and Saturn Relay. Which should be pretty easy.

To be fair, most minivans have more cargo capacity than this, but they don’t have the Acadia’s ground clearance (7.4 inches) or towing capacity: with the Trail­er­ing package (primarily a bigger radiator) it’s rated to drag a trailer weighing up to 4500 pounds. Body-on-frame SUVs have a clear advantage in this area — half-ton Yukon trailering limits range between 7500 and 8200 pounds, but 4500 is pretty good for a unibodied vehicle that’s primarily a front-driver. The basic trailering capability for the Honda Pilot, for example, is 3500 pounds.

Interpreting from the finished product, the Acadia design charter seems to have been to duplicate the Pilot’s excellent ergonomics, build quality, and nimble (by SUV standards) dynamics on a larger scale. We have to say mission accomplished. The Acadia’s responses are, inevitably, tempered by its mass, but those responses measure up as exceptional among vehicles in this size class.

The Acadia’s suspension employs coil-over struts up front, a new multilink arrangement at the rear with ball-jointed lateral links, and hefty anti-roll bars at both ends. The bars help keep cornering attitudes remarkably level, allowing the chassis guys to keep the spring and damping rates supple. Steering response, via a hydraulic variable-assist rack-and-pinion system, enhances the surprising sense of agility — it’s accurate, informative, and beautifully weighted,

So, first-rate for stops. But when it comes to go, the dynamics are a bit ordinary. GM’s DOHC 3.6-liter 24-valve V-6, tuned for 275 horsepower and 251 pound-feet of torque, provides propulsion via GM’s new six-speed automatic. In our all-wheel-drive tester, most of this power (90 percent) goes to the front wheels most of the time. When system sensors anticipate wheelspin up front, a clutch pack apportions additional power to the rear wheels, up to 40 percent. The system also uses brake intervention to handle side-to-side adhesion differences.

In the realm of everyday family usefulness and livability, the Acadia is going to be a very pleasant traveling companion. The second and third rows provide adult roominess, and the second row provides fore-and-aft adjustability as well as reclining seatbacks. They can also be folded up against the front seatbacks, in addition to flat.

As you’d expect, there are the usual family-peacekeeping options — a DVD player for those seated in the rear, ample audio with jacks for auxiliary equipment, dual climate controls, plus a nav system and OnStar hardware. Safety features are similarly comprehensive: standard ABS; standard StabiliTrak; and multiple airbags, including seat-mounted sides up front and curtain bags protecting all three rows.

But watch it when you’re checking those option boxes. Although the front-drive Acadia starts at a reasonable $29,990, extras add up quickly. Our tester tallied in at $44,965, which begins to seem pretty pricey.

2007 GMC Sierra Denali AWD

2007 GMC Sierra Denali AWD - Although the Denali would be among the last of these new big’uns to roll out—arriving in dealerships this spring—there in a corner of the display at the event shone a Denali prototype, lookin’ all blingy and glitzy and movie-starry in a shiny deep-black clear-coat with chrome-pipe side rails and gobs of chrome coating the door handles, 20-inch wheels, and upper and lower grillwork, all gleaming in the Michigan summer sun.

Then came our Denali crew-cab tester, which showed up at the doorstep of our West Coast Bureau rendered in a milquetoast off-beige Silver Birch Metallic. Wait, where was the chrome? It was there, but it had nothing to set it off. The pipe side rails would have helped, but they, too, were missing. Thus, the Denali looked like any ol’ Sierra, and the eight inches of clearance above the wheels completely dwarfed the chrome 20s. The rear bumper and the black-trimmed taillamps were downright cheap-looking. Blah.

And so we canceled our reservations at the Ivy and Chateau Marmont and used the Denali as a typical Angeleno would any other pickup. We went shopping. We drove to the gym. We picked up friends and asked what they thought. We drove by a few condo construction sites, where we garnered the only thumbs-ups of the week. It all went very well.

But we sure were comfortable. It still surprises us just how pleasant the interiors of GM’s full-size pickups have become, and the Sierra Denali has the nicest of them all, not counting the Escalade EXT, which, to some, is more of an SUV anyway. The Denali’s “ebony” leather interior (which, alas, looked lovely) comes close to the same level of pampering for which the Escalade is known. The architecture is similar (the EXT only comes in 130-inch, short-wheelbase form), and most of the EXT’s standard and optional features—including 12-way-adjustable power seats, navigation, OnStar, and an upgraded Bose stereo—are available on the Denali.

The rear quarters are also quite accommodating, although the seatback could benefit from a bit more rake. Ours had the optional DVD entertainment system with a flip-down screen large enough for those behind you in the Sunset Boulevard bar crawl to enjoy your selection of rap videos. Some of us would trade the additional inch of headroom in the Denali for the versatility of the EXT’s folding-and-tumbling rear seat and Midgate, but that would require—get this—nearly 13,000 more of your hard-earned bucks.

We should have known the Denali would drive like a truck, since that’s what it is. And considering its 5580-pound weight, this truck is reasonably quick. At the track—where this vehicle really doesn’t belong, by the way—the Denali’s 403 horsepower and 417 pound-feet of torque hustled it to 60 in just 6.2 seconds, nearly a full second quicker than the porky 5814-pound Escalade EXT, even though both are aided by a six-speed automatic (with manumatic controls via an up- and downshift rocker switch on the gooseneck gearshift).

Not surprisingly, when it comes time to turn, the Sierra Denali demonstrates far less of the favorable road manners we’ve enjoyed in the Escalade (with its massively reinforced rear structure) and Yukon Denali SUV. Our skidpad number of 0.74 g, with moderate understeer, hardly puts the Denali in the Corvette-osphere, but it is slightly better than the EXT, although the Denali’s considerable body roll doesn’t help the cause.

You can’t come close to that in the Caddy. Nor can the Cadillac approach the Denali in value. Our all-wheel-drive crew-cab tester had a base price of $42,095, and even loaded with options, the price was $48,495. Thus, we think the Denali makes a good case for the significant number of moneyed folks who, for whatever reason—personal or professional—want a luxury truck with no compromises in capability.

2006 Ford Futura Sprint GTA Wagon

2006 Ford Futura Sprint GTA Wagon - Forty-three years have passed and now comes another Futura Sprint, only this one’s a wagon based on the all-wheel-drive Ford of Europe platform that currently underpins the Asia-only Taunus and, of all things, the SEAT Toledo minivan.

But forget all that. What’s important about the Futura Sprint is that wagons are apparently again in vogue, despite the best efforts of Detroit marketers, who have, in recent years, applied the term “crossover” to so many models that the transgender community raised holy hell from Cleveland to Cedar Point.

The car’s New England designer, Emmett L. Brown, apprenticed for J Mays, and the two have long agitated for a wagon “from the early Beach Boys era — a woody without the wood.” Brown’s best-known previous creations include the Ford Cinnamon concept shown in Turin and — laugh if you will — a $900 art deco countertop radio for Panasonic that made it all the way to the Tokyo Museum of Modern Art.

The dash and the IP are perhaps too relentlessly retro, with five memory pushbuttons on the radio and a push/pull headlight switch that doubles as a dimmer. Two of the steering wheel’s spokes are swathed in chrome, two are highlighted with what Ford swears is genuine teak veneer, and one is so populated by redundant radio controls that we don’t know what its surface is supposed to resemble.

The Futura Sprint GT/A is no rocket but does easily keep up with, say, a Chevy Malibu Maxx for the length of the quarter-mile. The car is more at home on a road course or skidpad, where its 17.5-inch Fulda Redcoats grip like Iowa chiggers, assisted by unflappable standard-issue Monroe triple-adjustable shocks, independently toggled to one’s preferred setting via a chrome rheostat next to the ashtray. The settings are imaginatively named. In order of firmness they are: Harbor Freeway, Santa Monica Boulevard, and Mulholland Drive. Brown reports that the original idea was for the firmest setting to be called “Good Vibrations,” but the marketing mavens nixed it.

The cushion on the Futura Sprint’s front bench is hewn from a single piece of high-tech memory foam that somewhat embarrassingly displays the exact contours of your backside for up to three minutes after you’ve departed. But the seatbacks — in keeping with the SoCal beach motif — are fashioned from the same webbing deployed so successfully in the costly Herman Miller Aeron office chair. We found those seatbacks stiff and unyielding, but at least they breathe and, like the cargo bay, are easily cleaned with a soapy scrub brush.

The somewhat featureless and uncarpeted cargo bay is a utilitarian touch in what is otherwise a stroll down Whimsy Lane, but it also seems to amplify road noise and echo whatever is on the radio — good if it’s Andrea Bocelli, bad if it’s the Mumps. The cargo bay looks as if it might swallow a surfboard, but no one surfs on the Detroit River, so we’re not sure.

Blue-oval execs say they’re aiming the Futura Sprint GT/A wagon at “the hip and clever 20-somethings who comprise the audience for reality TV shows.” To that end, they’ve contrived a bold new pricing policy that may prove too clever by half. Buyers must purchase the Futura Sprint in what Ford calls “provisional segments.” For instance, the chassis ($13,560) is naturally mandatory, as is an engine ($1150 to $2200, depending on output).

The Futura Sprint GT/A wagon is half the car that Ford intended but 108 percent the car that youthful singles at one time might reasonably have predicted. As such, that same old truism obtains: You can’t take to the bank what you still owe.

2007 Ford Expedition EL Limited 4X4

2007 Ford Expedition EL Limited 4X4 - If you think the Expedition EL is a big sucker, just wait till the Colonial III slides into showrooms. The book, which bills itself as “the comprehensive, all-color guide to the major spacecraft of the last century,” puts the TTA Colonial III’s cabin volume at 750,000 cubic dekameters, or 26.5 billion cubic feet. Finally, a vehicle you can toss a stroller into unfolded — and with a bit of extra knickknack room for, say, Las Vegas.

Yet the EL is smaller than the Excursion — at the wheelbase by 6.1 inches and bumper to bumper by 5.1 inches, the better to weave around apoplectic environmentalists. The EPA quotes no mileage figures for the EL, owing to its over-8500-pound gross weight rating. Ours ran 14 miles on a gallon.

No one could accuse the iron-block 5.4-liter V-8 and six-speed automatic transmission of getting off easily, what with 6280 pounds to tote in our EL Limited 4x4. The run to 60 mph is 9.0 seconds with all 300 horsepower and 365 pound-feet of torque working hard. The EL’s 8750-pound towing capacity (9000 with two-wheel drive) is down on a Suburban’s, which maxes at 9700. Still, it’s probably not worth waiting 38 years for the McKinley Ion Drive Model C2 to be invented.

The Expedition’s rear multilink suspension helps soften impacts and keeps the body stable and on course around freeway off-ramps. But even a tangle of control arms can’t lighten the EL’s heavy step or enliven its labored acceleration. The ride is commendably quiet, but parking the EL takes all the finesse of guiding the Colonial III between Saturn and its rings.

2008 Ford Escape Limited V-6 4WD

2008 Ford Escape Limited V-6 4WD - The small sport-ute segment is rapidly evolving, though, and for 2008, Ford is giving the Escape a face lift. It is still the same old Escape underneath, but with a new look—or a new face on the old look. The Escape’s new face will be instantly familiar to anyone who has seen a Ford SUV in the past decade.

For the Escape, that means cleaner sides and a new nose. A higher, more smoothly chamfered beltline over a barren rocker—less plastic cladding—adds visual height to the side view. A scaled-down, squared-off version of the trapezoidal grille and a power-bulge hood from the Explorer and Expedition mean that each of Ford’s SUVs is as unique as any wiener in a pack of Ball Park franks.

The Limited—only available with the V-6 and all-wheel drive—Escape we tested comes fitted with leather seats. The Limited Luxury package adds seat heaters and dual-zone climate control for $795. We found all seats—with the usual exception of the rear-middle one—to be comfortable, although none offers any substantial lateral support. Full-size adults in the second row might find that seat too upright for long stints.

One particularly hard point in the Escape is the center-stack and console surround. Vehicles with the tricolor tan interior get a classy sort of matte platinum trim here, but cars with the black interior, like our tester, have a high-gloss black plastic that looks cheaper than Kmart vending-machine jewelry and is so soft that our fingernails left scratches in it. Then again, we haven’t had a manicure in weeks.

And the driver will need to watch the road, because the Escape communicates about as well as a week-old corpse, and there’s nobody from CSI, CSI: Miami, CSI: NY, CSI: Deadwood, or even CSI: Juneau around. There’s a disconnect in the steering similar to watching a movie in which the sound is a 10th of a second off. You stare and stare until you begin to wonder if it’s all in your head and everything is actually fine, but you’re not totally satisfied with that assessment, and then the movie goes to commercial. When it comes back, you know you were right, because now the problem is gone.

As noted, we had praised the previous Escape for its class-leading performance. Partly as a function of the class advancing, and partly as a function of the Escape regressing, the 2008 Ford Escape is no longer a class leader in any performance category. In fact, we measured distinct decreases in every one of our performance tests, despite this Escape weighing only 139 more pounds than the last Escape we tested.

Exhibit A—The Skidpad: For comparison’s sake, the weakest skidpad performance we measured in 2006 was for the Jeep Wrangler Unlimited Rubicon, which moped around the skidpad at the same 0.61 g that we managed in the commercial-truck-based GMC Topkick pickup. The Escape we tested in 2001 pulled a comparably epic 0.75 g.

Exhibit B—Acceleration: Zero-to-60 mph in 8.5 seconds, the quarter-mile in 17.3 at 82 mph, 0-to-100 in 24.2 seconds. These numbers, ladies and gentlemen, are figures we recorded six years ago while testing the then-new 2001 Escape. Now here we are with the updated version, and with the Escape Limited churning full mustard, all we could extract was 0-to-60 in 9.5 seconds and the quarter-mile in 17.3 seconds at 82 mph.

The Escape now takes 10 more seconds to get to 100 mph than it did in 2001 and an additional 33 feet to stop from 70 mph (169 versus 202). It’s worth noting that number would have put the Escape second to last in the 2001 comparo. In a panic stop, that’s easily the difference between a whew and a hefty body-shop bill.

The Escape gets winded quickly when asked to run, and its new styling will have a hard time hiding among its softer-edged competitors. Ford’s chorus seems to be, “You can’t run, you can’t hide, but can you love my Escape?”

2008 Ford Taurus Limited

2008 Ford Taurus Limited - All-new in this context accurately describes the powertrain, the styling from the A-pillar forward, and the rear fascia. The rest of the reborn Taurus, like its Mercury Sable counterpart, is reworked Five Hundred (or Montego), with more front-suspension travel, some localized chassis stiffening, and lots of sound-deadening material.

That’s more than offset by the car’s new 3.5-liter aluminum V-6, whipping up 263 horsepower and 249 pound-feet of torque versus 203 horsepower and 207 pound-feet for the underpowered 3.0-liter V-6 in the Five Hundred. With a six-speed automatic (the unloved CVT is no longer available) powering the front wheels (all-wheel drive is also offered), the Taurus hustles to 60 mph in 6.8 seconds, 1.1 seconds quicker than that uninspiring test car of ’05.

This still isn’t quickest in a high mid-price group that includes brisk operators such as the Toyota Avalon and Nissan Maxima, but it’s in the hunt, and the power boost reduces the drama inherent in trying to pass on a two-lane.

As before, safety will be a major part of the marketing. With its five-star NHTSA crash ratings, Ford is already calling it “the world’s safest family sedan.” Congratulations, but there are a couple curiosities. For one, if safety is so paramount, why is Ford’s AdvanceTrac stability control standard on the Taurus X SUV and optional ($495) on the sedan? For another, braking performance from 70 mph to standstill has worsened by eight feet since our ’05 test—a longish 187 feet, aggravated by fade.

In October 1985, we praised the then-new Taurus as “the gutsiest car of our time” for its bold departure from tradition. The state of the art has obviously changed over the past couple decades, and it would be hard to connect those words with this latter-day “all-new” Taurus. But favorably comparable with the best ain’t bad.

Ferrari F430

Ferrari F430 - Coasting isn't what management consultants would label a "core competency" at Ferrari. The black mare has been prancing at redline ever since current president and CEO Luca Cordero di Montezemolo kicked the door down in 1991. What had been a sleepy compound of squat red-brick workshops has become an Architectural Digest centerfold, the latest addition being Ferrari's Centro Sviluppo Prodotto, or Product Development Center.

Carrying over much of its extruded aluminum space frame, suspension, interior layout, and longitudinal V-8 configuration, the F430 isn't considered a replacement for the 360 Modena so much as an evolution of it. Inside Ferrari, the 360 was called the F131, and the company ladled out about 10,000 servings. Although 70 percent of the parts are new and the price increase should be about $9500, to $167,000 with gas-guzzler tax, the F430 is called the F131 Evoluzione or, more simply, "the Evo" by Ferrari's engineers.

Back in 1961, Phil Hill won the F1 world championship in a Ferrari 156 that featured similar "shark nose" vents, Stephenson explains. So it's retro? "I hate that word retro," snaps the father of the new Mini. "We're carrying over our DNA, much like you have your grandmother's eyes or nose." Family genetics also spawned an industry called rhinoplasty, but that's neither here nor there.

As in the 360 Modena, this new F430 is the only Ferrari or Maserati to use a flat-plane crankshaft. That means half of its connecting-rod journals line up directly opposite the other half, making the crank look as flat as a dash mark when viewed head-on. Most V-8s, including Maserati's own version of the motor, have a two-plane crank that looks like an X and spaces the rod journals at 90-degree intervals for smoothness. Ferrari says the flat way, which mimics two inline fours joined at the hip, increases vibration but pays benefits in breathing and power production. It also grinds a particular edge into the Ferrari's bark at high revs.

The F430's V-8 isn't just a spinner; its new dual-displacement intake plenum and variable valve timing put the pants press to the torque curve. American-delivered F430s with the optional F1 paddle-shift automated manual transmission go without the launch control that lets the driver commit hairy high-rpm clutch drops, but never mind; Ferrari's test drivers instructed us to just drop it in low and flatten the aluminum stick of a gas pedal—lightly at first to keep the 285/35 hams in back adhering to the pavement. While the engine went Bwwaaaaaa! and those crackle-red mounds twitched in the rearview mirror, the computer counted to 60 in—wait, does that say 3.5 seconds? Look, the quarter-mile is 11.7 seconds at 123 mph. Can't be. Fearing a test-box meltdown, we consulted with a rival magazine that was radar-gunning another F430 driven by a factory pilot. Results: practically identical.

Our time at Fiorano was unusually generous, thanks to the absence of an F1 testing crew. This late in yet another smack-down season, perhaps the Ferrari team doesn't even wash the cars between races. However, Ferrari's Gestione Sportiva, the racing department, rides along in every F430, most obviously on the steering wheel.

In the E-Diff, hydraulic pressure supplied by the self-shifting F1 transmission's pump (opt for an old-time stick, and you still get the pump and the E-Diff) compresses a stack of friction plates in the differential that transfers torque from side to side. The computer watches your movements and supplies the torque split needed in back to maintain traction and help rotate the car through corners. We can sum up the E-Diff in two words: It works.

Fiorano's lack of a suitable skidpad kept us from measuring lateral forces in our usual way, but we did see more than 1.05 g through some of the circuit's corners. Put in motion by a firm brake pedal, the carbon-ceramic discs—an option expected to cost the same as a Scion xB, or $14,000—performed four successive stops from 70 mph in fewer than 150 feet. Ferrari claims they're good for 350 laps at Fiorano without fade. They didn't mention the moaning that the huge carbon-impregnated silicon discs make when they're cold, or the wind whistle one of our sample F430s made at speeds above 60 mph, probably from an ill-fitting windshield gasket.

Now that the beginner's Ferrari has reached supercar levels of performance, maybe it's time to pump some excitement into the F1 program, too.

2007 Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano

2007 Ferrari 599 GTB Fiorano - Even Ferrari’s PR man had to stifle a snigger. Not because of the wounded English, but because most drivers who are worried about their carbon footprint aren’t trying to plug themselves into an Italian two-seater whose 611-hp V-12 has a 10-mpg fuel fetish. That the 599’s production rate of about 800 cars per year is unlikely to affect ocean levels one way or another is not important. Ferrari didn’t get where it is by skimping on details.

Where exactly is Ferrari? At the top of its game, the ultra-A-list car brand with the ultra-A-list lineup emerging from its doors. The House of Enzo built 5658 cars in 2006, up five percent over 2005, and still the celebrities and the admirals of industry—mere captains can’t afford them—willingly bend a knee and submit to two-year queues for a dose.

For testing, Ferrari supplied a different 599 than this one, although equipped the same. Minded by a couple of Puma-shod technicians, it reached 60 mph in 3.3 seconds and turned the quarter-mile in 11.2 seconds at 131 mph with the dry-mouthed, clammy-palmed author gripping the wheel. We were unable to record a top speed, owing to a short runway. The skidpad yielded a gripping 0.97-g performance, and the $18,550 optional carbon-ceramic brakes screeched to a halt from 70 mph in 148 feet, nine fewer than an Audi R8.

The 599’s mighty acceleration numbers are almost identical to the Enzo’s [C/D, July 2003]. At 3953 pounds, the Fiorano is 691 pounds heavier than the mid-engine, carbon-fiber Enzo and, by the factory’s accounting, has 39 fewer horsepower. Ferrari conservatively claims 3.7 seconds for the 599’s 62-mph mark. So, the 599 shouldn’t be this fast, but it certifiably was. Ferrari explains that the Enzo uses five-year-old technology and that the company has trimmed shift times of its F1 transmission (now called F1-SuperFast) down to 100 milliseconds and improved the electronic differential and subsequent traction.

It’s hard to be subtle in a Ferrari, but this slate-gray 599 comes close. The 599’s basic shape, a forward-sloping wedge with big hips packing big rubber and a low, fast-moving slip of a roofline, is a sort of Corvette-meets-Supra profile that is both audacious and fairly familiar.

Cranberry-red leather with licorice-red French stitching covers most of the interior, including the rear parcel shelf ($2418 extra to have it leather upholstered) and the ceiling ($439 extra). There is even a red-leather bootie on the $573 fire extinguisher with chrome clasps that can bite viciously into the passenger’s ankle during spirited maneuvering. What isn’t swathed in red is wrapped in black hide, and carbon-fiber panels are fitted as a $5621 trim option. The center air vents bulge like the two afterburners of an F-18, and the twin leather straps of the parcel shelf look strong enough to secure an engine block in a hairpin.

Select from six tightly spaced gears using the F1-SuperFast transmission paddles, or let the computer shift for you in automatic mode. Ferrari has made continual improvements in the software, but the smooth way is still the manual way. Shift with the paddles while lifting slightly between gears, and the 599 gently eases through traffic. Reverse can be maddening. The aft-mounted transaxle arbitrarily drops into neutral if you’re just feathering the throttle to scootch out of a parking space ($1294 rearview sensors watch your back). Perhaps it’s trying to preserve the clutch, which suffers a hard life. Reversing up a modest grade for 20 feet produced the stale odor of burned friction lining.

Short-stroke screamers don’t generally pack much torque in the basement. But towering intake stacks, variable cam timing, and tubular headers allow the 599 to surge impressively from 3000 rpm even in higher gears. The usable portion of the tach stops at 8200, and lots of living happens in between. Wide open, the engine yowls in fury and the rear squats ruthlessly—with this much power, only wheelie bars could stop it—as the steering goes light and squiggle-prone. Shifts bang home under full throttle, even harder if you switch the steering-wheel selector from sport to race, which also dials back the stability control and stiffens the shocks.

The carbon-ceramic brakes are a wonder (for $18,550, they should be). Sensitive and progressive from light trail braking to full anti-lock braking, the pedal selects just what your foot desires. More amazing, after 500 miles of hard driving, the 20-inch alloys were still shiny. Has Ferrari developed the cure for brake filth? Hair-trigger sharp and weighted to the lighter side, the steering is as faultless as the brakes. Combine the two, plus that stunning throttle, to make electrifying charges through curves.

While returning the 599 to a Los Angeles dealer—the car’s short front overhang is a blessing on driveway ramps—we overheard a salesman quote a half-million-dollar price to a couple of customers. There were no gasps, just nods, the complacent look of lambs in an abattoir. Ferrari says it encourages dealers to sell at sticker and that many longtime customers do pay just that, but the company acknowledges that dealers are independent operations the factory doesn’t control.

Dodge Ram SRT-10 Quad Cab

Dodge Ram SRT-10 Quad Cab - When the folks at Dodge's Street and Racing Technology (SRT) set out to build this more practical version of the Ram SRT-10, they took a half-step back from the goal of ultimate performance and instead focused on adding versatility while maintaining its ferocious performance. To that end, the Quad Cab has four real doors, seats a family-friendly six, and comes only with an anyone-can-drive-it automatic.

The 8.3-liter V-10 Viper engine that pumps out 500 horsepower and 525 pound-feet of torque ensures that performance won't be compromised. However, the Quad Cab, unlike the regular cab, uses Dodge's 48RE four-speed and is automatic only. This tranny usually sees duty on the business end of the Cummins diesel engine in 2500- or 3500-series Ram trucks.

Despite weighing in at 5618 pounds (479 more than the regular-cab SRT-10) and employing a power-robbing automatic, this truck's performance still qualifies as exceptional. The Quad Cab's 5.6-second 0-to-60 time was 0.7 second slower than the regular cab's, and the quarter-mile was 0.6 second off at 14.2 seconds. The Quad Cab squealed its tires to a 0.83-g skidpad rating, 0.03 g less than its two-door sibling, and registered a lofty 147 mph top speed, just 6 mph slower.

Dodge invited us out to its proving ground in Chelsea, Michigan, to sample the SRT-10 Quad Cab in an autocross setting. After a few tire-spinning starts and a couple attempts to hang out the tail around an entire sweeping left-hander, we were left giggling like grade-school dorks who'd just successfully slipped a whoopee cushion on the teacher's chair without his noticing.

Also, the brakes suffer from a condition known as knock-back. This occurs under hard cornering when a wheel (and pertinent brake rotor) moves slightly relative to the location of the brake caliper, causing the brake pad to be pushed back and giving the driver that sinking feeling when he goes for the brakes and—whoa!—the pedal goes nearly to the floor before the pads and rotors are reunited.

Dodge hopes some Viper owners, who presumably have put down 85K for their superfast roadsters, will be willing to shell out another $50,850 ($5000 more than the regular-cab SRT-10) for an SRT-10 Quad Cab. In a year, we'll see if there were enough of them out there to make this powerful truck a success.

Dodge Viper SRT10 Coupe

Dodge Viper SRT10 Coupe - Turns out we got what we deserved from this altruistic act, too. We got to drive the new Viper SRT10 coupe a long way in the high-speed world of highways and unpatrolled byways, through canyons and valleys and alongside the shining Pacific. After that, trolling the big coupe around in suburban Los Angeles felt like using a sledgehammer to swat a flea.

Some of the noises from the gearbox are pretty rude, too, at times, and you wonder if a couple pounds of noise-deadening liner might have helped. But then you recall driving the car at Mazda Raceway Laguna Seca, how it ran up the hill to the Corkscrew hard in third gear, the V-10 bellowing as its 500-hp rage poured down the driveshaft and clawed at the pavement through giant 14.0-inch-wide Michelins.

We tried that softtop car by way of comparison, and although the convertible is as much fun as ever, it likes to hang out its tail on the end of the engine's seemingly bottomless tide of torque. The similarities between the two Viper versions are obvious; the chassis are essentially identical. But the coupe was never a sure thing, according to SRT director Dan Knott, and the car was, after all, designed first as a convertible.

In fact, Knott says the only body parts the Viper SRT10 coupe shares with the convertible are the front fascia and the fenders, hood, and doors. New to the coupe along with the new canopy and decklid are the rear quarter-panels, the windshield surround, the door side glass, the rear fascia, and the taillamps.

Although increased practicality seems a bit of an oxymoron for a car well suited to club racing and autocrossing, our trip down through California confirmed the friendly nature of the Viper coupe. With big gearwheels shrilling along under your right elbow at 80 mph in sixth gear at just 1600 rpm on the interstate, the Viper ingests distances with the best of them. Its noise intensity may not be at Lexus levels, but the ride provided by the long-wheelbase chassis isn't bad at all, and I found the seat supportive and shaped to spread the load in a way that produced few pressure points.

That's in keeping with the rest of the car's ergonomics. The wheel is square on to the driver and tilts to suit his or her style. Unlike the original Viper, which had offset pedals, this car's pedals are dead ahead. When adjusted all the way down, they were perfectly suited to heel-and-toe operation by these 34-inch-inseam legs and size-12 feet.

We have no complaints about steering and brake calibrations. The weighting and feedback levels seem just about right, helping lend an overall impression of a car that seems smaller when on the move than when viewed at rest. Another aspect of the Viper coupe that bumps its utility quotient is a short front overhang that largely cancels concerns about bottoming the chin spoiler on curbs and badly engineered surface transitions.

We didn't quite get to that velocity during our drive, but we can report complete stability at 160-plus. For those planning to explore the upper reaches of the dial, it's comforting to know the Viper has Zero Pressure versions of Michelin's Pilot Sport tires, which are self-supporting in the event of a puncture. The car also has as standard equipment a tire-pressure monitoring system, seatbelts with pretensioners, multistage airbags, and ABS.

Accompanying this latest generation of the Viper is the opportunity to select various options to customize the car, including the stone-white stripes made famous by the Viper GTS combined with various exterior colors, two wheel styles (a five-spoke and an H-pattern), and interior leather color combinations.

2007 Dodge Caliber RT

2007 Dodge Caliber RT - The elevated sticker price on the Caliber R/T invites comparisons with cars that weren’t part of that cheap-car comparo, such as the Mazda 3. Although the Caliber’s chunky looks make it seem deceptively large, it’s actually three inches shorter than the Mazda. Compared with a Nissan Versa (which finished second in that comparo), the Caliber is four inches longer.

At least the Caliber’s interior space isn’t wasted. Head-, shoulder-, and legroom dimensions are all close to the Mazda's and Nissan's, but the Caliber's 19 cubic feet of storage space trump the 3's by two and the Versa's by one. When it comes to the feel of the interior, however, the Caliber falls far short of the competition. Our R/T test car came with a nice-looking glossy red surround to the radio and climate-control stack, but the rest of the interior plastics felt cheap.

Like the interior—well, actually like pretty much every part of the Caliber—the powertrain is a combination of good ideas and lack of refinement. The continuously variable transmission, which also has a manumatic mode, works smoothly and makes the most of the engine’s 165 pound-feet of torque. As in most CVT-equipped cars, though, making the most of that torque means holding the engine steady at high revs, and the droning of the taxed four-cylinder quickly becomes tiresome. Tiresome is also a good way to describe the acceleration. Saddled with a 3163-pound curb weight, the Caliber R/T takes 9.6 seconds to hit 60 miles per hour, which is just 0.1 second quicker than the base $15,185 Caliber from the comparo and 1.1 seconds slower than a Honda Fit Sport.

Basically, the Caliber is basic transportation. Its refinement isn’t on par with the competition, and the driving experience doesn’t excite. It’s still a perfectly good car, but it’s not the best in—or even near the top of—its segment. We, like any driving enthusiasts, expect more, even from an entry-level car like the Caliber.

2007 Chrysler Sebring Limited

2007 Chrysler Sebring Limited - When the driver first plops down on the Sebring’s softly cushioned and unsupportive seats and looks at the two-tone Sun City interior, speed isn’t what comes to mind. But the power issue has definitely been addressed. Ignite the aluminum V-6, stomp the throttle, and 60 mph flashes by in 6.8 seconds. The six-speed automatic quickly shifts through its tightly spaced second and third gears and pushes the bulky body through the quarter-mile at 92 mph in 15.3 seconds. That’s solid performance for a $25,995 (the cost of a Sebring Limited with the optional V-6 and six-speed tranny) mid-size sedan, although a V-6 Honda Accord is 0.2 second quicker in both tests and is $200 cheaper.

Unfortunately, this big V-6 seems to have overcome only the power problem. The suspension is mushy, with springs that rebound about as quickly as a loaf of Wonder bread you’ve accidentally stepped on.

Instead of appealing to enthusiasts, Chrysler opts to thrill potential buyers with gadgets and utility. The six-speaker, six-CD-changer stereo sounds upscale in this price class. We enjoyed the standard swiveling map lights and the heating and cooling cup holder — it kept our Starbucks at 123 degrees — and loved the folding front seat that allows transport of items longer than nine feet. Among the options on our test car were 18-inch wheels ($250); the Luxury package that includes an interior air filter, chrome wheels, and heated seats ($1195); and stability control ($425).

Chevrolet Cobalt SS Supercharged

Chevrolet Cobalt SS Supercharged - The price leap from the Camaro to the Corvette was cavernous. Back in '02, a Camaro Z28 cost about $23,000, and at almost $42,000, a Corvette listed for nearly double. Thus, horsepower crazies who were cost conscious were forced to get their fix elsewhere. After all, it wasn't as if dealers could push the rental-fleet Cavalier as a starting block from which to move into a Corvette (although some of them probably tried).

A far cry from the rear-drive, V-8-powered, 3400-pound Camaro—indeed, the 2911-pound SS Supercharged scorches its front tires with only a four-cylinder engine—it nonetheless performs within earshot of the old Z28. Our test vehicle, which resembled a sunburned lobster, ripped from 0 to 60 in just 5.9 seconds and through the quarter-mile in only 14.4 at 100 mph. The last Z28 coupe we tested in February 1999 was quicker but not out of range—0 to 60 in 5.2 and the quarter in 13.8 at 104.

Thankfully for Chevy, the Cobalt's numbers also put it in the same league as the cross-town rival $21,195 Dodge SRT4. The Dodge, armed with a 230-hp turbocharged four-cylinder, is quicker to 60 (5.3 seconds) and the quarter-mile (13.9 at 103) but, like the Z28, slower around the skidpad (0.86 g) and longer in 70-to-0 braking (169 feet).

Creating a car with as much bang for the buck as an SRT4 is a formidable feat, but Chevy has arguably done it with the SS Supercharged. GM's Performance Division began with Delta architecture—the foundation for the lukewarm Saturn Ion—and bolted on a plethora of performance parts to get things boiling. Underhood is the LSJ 2.0-liter Ecotec four-cylinder that, augmented by an Eaton supercharger, produces 205 horsepower and 200 pound-feet of torque. To transfer the power, engineers opted for a Swedish-built FGP five-speed manual transmission—the same unit found in Saab's 9-5—and shortened the throws to four inches for a sportier feel. The combo works.

With that many horses on tap, Chevy made sure the SS Supercharged could keep them corralled. Compared with a standard Cobalt coupe, the SS Supercharged features unique strut valving, stiffer springs, larger anti-roll bars, a quarter-inch-lower ride height, bigger brakes with high-performance linings, and 18-inch forged alloys wearing 215/45 Pirellis. Our tester also had the $1500 Performance package that adds Recaro front seats and a Quaife limited-slip differential. Around our local handling loop, the Cobalt displayed minimal body roll and understeer, as well as impressive front-end grip that felt enhanced by the LSD.

The Cobalt SS Supercharged might be a souped-up econobox, but it punches the scorecard with big-league numbers. Is it a home run? Close. Think of it more as a ground-rule double—out of the park but still another hit from scoring.

Chevrolet Malibu Maxx SS

Chevrolet Malibu Maxx SS - Who’s Jeff? He is a GM man, one of the few from Generation X. He lives in the Long Island suburb of Plainview—we’re not making the name up—with his wife and new baby, his antique Cadillac, an Oldsmobile Alero, and a Chevy Malibu company car. He drives about 50,000 miles a year and goes for a spacious vehicle that doesn’t cost much and gets decent fuel economy. The Malibu Maxx SS makes him hot. “As a company rep, I aspire to that car.”

True, the Maxx is already a Gauloises-smoking bohemian at the Chevrolet of baseball, hot dogs, and apple-pie fame. It rolls on GM’s front-drive Epsilon platform, which it shares with European cosmopolitans from Saab and Opel. To American eyes, the body is a somewhat runty-looking cross between a family sedan and an ice chest, but it speaks to the Continental preference for hatchbacks. The chassis is also stiff and relatively sophisticated. Check out those cast-aluminum arms in the multilink rear suspension. Were autobahns consulted in the making of the Maxx?

The SS badge is really about the engine, and at the $24,690 base price (ours had only a $325 satellite-radio receiver increasing its sticker), the Maxx SS gets more of it. This is still a 60-degree iron-block pushrod V-6—and you were expecting . . . what?—but the bores grow by three millimeters and total displacement rises from 3.5 liters to 3.9. A variable-length intake plenum optimizes airflow, and a new variable-valve-timing system rotates the cam to crack open the intake valves (and yes, the exhaust valves, too) earlier or later depending on the motion of your right foot. That’s a first for “cam in block” engines, says GM.

Snigger if you wish. Say that’s like being first out with a black-and-white plasma-screen TV, but pushrod cam phasing is a new wrinkle worth noting and a widget that even the Corvette doesn’t have.

Ultimately, easier breathing is what the fuss is about, and the 3.9 revs hard and fast with an unusually crisp song that we’re unaccustomed to in GM’s pushrod V-6s. It also doesn’t gasp at the far end of the tach, winding to the 6200-rpm redline with a steady, consistent push. We’d be hooting even louder if this 3.9 were making, say, the same 250 horsepower and 242 pound-feet as the overhead-cam 3.5-liter V-6 in the Saturn Vue Red Line.

Chevy gives the engine just four speeds to work with and an up-and-down button on the shifter if you want to change your own gears. After toggling into and out of overdrive a few times, the novelty wears off. The automatic’s computer doesn’t hate to downshift, so you rarely feel the need to take over. When you do, the button quickly becomes second nature to your fingers.

It’s not an American car if it can’t lay rubber. The Maxx sure does—a good 20 feet of it if you disable the traction control. Neighbor’s party kept you up last night? Blast ’em out of bed at 7 a.m. with a burnout that will set off fire alarms. More judicious control gets the Maxx through a quarter-mile of asphalt in 15.3 seconds at 91 mph, having whisked past 60 mph in 6.9 seconds. The speed governor checks in at 115 mph.

Chewing the front tires was a behavior we noted often in the base Maxx. The SS corners with far less understeer at speed, whether through extra rubber or better tuning of the suspension or both. We thought the electric motor providing the power assist was supplying unusually good feedback until we realized there’s no motor. In the Maxx SS, GM replaces the electric-power-steering servo with a hydraulic one, and the SS tracks a turn flatly and impressively faithfully to the path you aim it along. Granted, it does try to aim itself under hard acceleration, tugging at the rim with torque steer, but the change in steering hardware is definitely applause material.

You can have any interior color in the SS as long as it’s black (your exterior paint choices are silver, black, white, and Caddy-killer blue). Except for some silver-painted plastic and chrome glints here and there, the Malibu is as dark inside as a film bag. The supportive front seats are dressed in a black vinyl-and-cloth mix accented by a cross-hatch pattern that looks like it belongs in a mid-’70s Porsche. A three-spoke steering wheel with a strange but inoffensive squared-off rim adds to the sport atmosphere. Adjustable pedals are standard.

The back seat is the star, as if the designers started with a living-room love seat and put a car around it. It is spacious, with 41 inches of legroom and a bottom cushion that slides back and forth to expand the baggage capacity as needed. The rear seatback tilts to three positions, and the daylight pours in through two skylights, which have retractable shades.

If there’s a betrayal, it’s the SS’s cheap trimmings. Ragged mold partlines are everywhere. Several plastic trim pieces feel as if they were secured by bubblegum and a prayer. There’s this sense that if you turned the car over and shook it vigorously the entire interior might fall out.

Speaking of price, this SS’s $25,015 as-tested sticker (less whatever spiffs are offered this week) comes in a shade below the $25,380 of the Maxx LTZ, which has leather seats and a few other refinements but not the maximum-bore V-6. We could drone on about idle quality and interior materials, both of which are better in a Honda or Toyota. We might mention that the more agile Mazda 6 wagon costs about the same and offers a stick.