A month ago, I reviewed the 470-horsepower, 470-pound-feet Chrysler 300C SRT8. Today, we have a much milder 2012 Dodge Charger SXT Plus with the 292-horsepower, 260-pound-feet V6 and Rallye Appearance Group. I enjoyed driving the weaker car more. This is where you note the date of publication. But I’m not foolin.

Chrysler’s new corporate V6 is “best in class” in some segments, but “worst in class” among V6-powered rear-wheel-drive sedans, where Hyundai’s revised 3.8 leads the pack. Blame the lack of direct injection. Better yet, forget the numbers. The V6 might give up 31 foot-pounds of torque to the Genesis and over 200 to the SRT mill, but it still feels plenty torquey in typical driving. No, it can’t break the rear tires loose at 35 miles-per-hour, but it can and will shove you into the seat when called upon to do so. In this application, the new corporate engine also sounds more like a good ol’ American V8 than any DOHC six has a right to, fitting the character of this 21st-century muscle car. Throttle-induced oversteer remains a very real possibility, and with fewer pound-feet in play it’s easier to modulate. In default mode the stability control, though better than most, kills the joy. Hit a button on the center console to raise its threshold to a more appropriate level.

The V6’s low-rpm grunt came as a surprise, as the same engine feels soft at low rpm in the Dodge Durango and Jeep Grand Cherokee. Credit two substantial differences. First, the Charger, at 3,996 pounds, checks in nearly a half-ton below the all-wheel-drive SUVs.

Second, the Charger is the first corporate application of a new eight-speed ZF automatic transmission. Compared to the old five-speed automatic (which remains standard in the base Charger), the new one’s ratios start lower (12.48 vs. 10.99 overall) and top out higher (1.78 vs. 2.54), enabling both better performance and better fuel economy. Anyone who’s been thinking that five or six ratios is plenty—this transmission will change your mind. BMW uses a related transmission in its cars, but the Dodge variant actually shifts more smoothly. Compared to the old five-speed, the new transmission is much smoother, much more responsive, and smarter. It’s quick to upshift, but also quick to downshift when summoned by your right foot.

Want to select and hold a specific gear? We’ve debated whether, with a manumatic, it makes more sense to push forward or pull backward for a downshift. Chrysler, the first automaker to offer a manually-shiftable automatic in a mainstream car, went the road less traveled: side-to-side. With the new transmission, they’ve eliminated the ability to shift via the shifter altogether. Instead, the Rallye Appearance Group includes well-designed die-cast magnesium paddle shifters. Jaguars should (but don’t) come with paddles as nice as these.

A monostatic shifter (which, like a computer joystick, returns to center each time after being pushed or pulled) attends the new transmission. You’ll find these in nearly all current two-pedal BMWs, but the Chrysler/Dodge implementation is different. The Pentastar bunch (like the Audi A8 team) must have decided that BMW’s system–pushing a button to engage Park and pushing forward for Reverse—strays too far from long-established convention. So P-R-N-D remain in their usual order. The downside of this arrangement: the system must intuit from the distance of your pull whether you’re seeking Reverse or Drive, and the detents are nearly imperceptible. Too often the system, uncertain of your request, decides that the best action is no action at all. It sometimes took me three or four attempts to engage Drive—usually when I was most in a hurry to do so. Calmly and firmly pull back on the T-handle WHILE depressing the button on top of it, and you’ll get Drive (nearly) every time. Chrysler has done such a good job with the touch and voice controls of the car’s uconnect infotainment system, how could they botch something as simple as a shifter?

Pulling back on the Charger’s shifter once in D engages Sport mode. Pull back on the shifter again to revert to D. I didn’t notice a large difference in transmission behavior between the two—the transmission’s shifts become a little quicker and its shifting strategy becomes a little more aggressive. The biggest difference between the modes: if you use the paddles in S, the transmission won’t override your gear selection. I actually preferred D. The car takes corners well in second, which is six paddle pulls down from top gear in S-manual mode. But manually shift the car in D, then prod the accelerator, and you get second or third right away. The transmission will then hold until you approach the redline or request an upshift. (To exit manual mode hold down on the upshift paddle for a few seconds or toggle between S and D.)

Fuel economy? The new transmission bumps the Charger’s EPA ratings from 18 city, 27 highway to 19/31. The trip computer reported averages between 19 and 25 in typical suburban driving, dependent on the number of red lights and the aggressiveness of my right foot, with the average usually in the low 20s. On a 78-mph light-footed cruise to the airport it reported 31.5.

In any iteration the Dodge Charger and the closely related Chrysler 300 feel like the big, heavy cars they are. But the V6-powered car feels significantly lighter and better balanced than the SRT. Perhaps because it is. Three-quarters of the SRT8’s 369 additional pounds sit over the front wheels. Even 100 extra pounds in the nose can affect a car’s handling. Nearly three times this amount can be counted on to substantially change the character of a car. Where the SRT’s responses to steering inputs are deliberate, the V6 car feels almost chuckable. If the lighter car still isn’t rotating quickly enough for you, dip into the throttle to nudge the rear end around. Not looking to drive a big sedan like you stole it? Even in casual driving the lighter car simply feels better. The V6’s electro-hydraulic steering is at least as direct and communicative as the (not exactly chatty) belt-driven system in the SRT8. The weak link lies elsewhere: the 245/45VR20 Firestone Firehawk GTV tires lack grip despite their large contact patches and squeal loudly the moment they start to slip.

With the Rallye Appearance Group’s “performance suspension” (similar in tuning to the V8-powered R/T), the Charger sometimes rides a little lumpy and thumpy. Some will prefer the more relaxed tuning of the standard suspension. But the car glides down most roads smoothly and quietly. Add in the large, comfortable sport bucket seats, and the Charger proves exceedingly pleasant both around town and on the highway.

Luxury cues are mixed. The warmly hued Nappa leather upholstery looks and feels upscale, but the coarse texture of the black instrument panel and upper doors successfully disguises their soft-touch composition. Not that the Charger’s “modern day muscle car” exterior promises any luxury within. For those seeking more upscale styling (but the same texture to the black interior bits) Chrysler offers the 300.

The tested car (with most but not all options—no nav or adaptive cruise present) listed for $35,510. But the new powertrain can be had for much less if you’re willing to do without leather, sunroof, dubs, and such. A Charger SE with the optional ($1,000 well spent) 8-speed automatic lists for $27,420. A strongly recommended deletion even for those who like their cars loaded: do without the rear spoiler and save $225. Dropping the red tri-coat paint can save another $500, bringing the price to $34,785.

A Chrysler 300S equipped like the tested car lists for $41,460. It does include nearly $2,000 in additional content (based on TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool), most notably a larger sunroof and adaptive cruise control (also available on the Dodge), but this still leaves a gap of about $4,750. Suddenly I find myself warming to the Dodge’s styling. Only Hyundai (yes, Hyundai) offers another large rear-wheel-drive sedan in this price range, and that only if “this price range” extends all the way to $43,850. A nearly $2,500 feature adjustment in the Korean cruiser’s favor still leaves the Dodge with a roughly $6,600 price advantage. In this context, the tested car’s mid-thirties price seems a bargain.

With gas prices once again hovering around $4, and perhaps headed even higher, you’d think that a two-ton, 200-inch rear-wheel-drive sedan would make about as much sense as seat heaters in Miami. But, thanks to a new engine and transmission, the big Dodge’s EPA numbers are competitive with those of the much smaller, much lighter Accord and Camry V6s. Yet you don’t have to sacrifice performance. The powertrain provides plenty of thrust and its relatively low weight actually enables better handling than is possible with a massive HEMI pushing down on the front treads. Even more than the SRT8, the V6 car simply feels right. Add in a relatively low price, oversteer-on-demand, big comfy seats, and the ability to effortlessly devour miles by the hundreds, and (with assists from a German transmission, Canadian factory workers, and Italian overlords), the Charger successfully sustains the tradition of the big American sedan.

Dodge provided the car with insurance and a tank of gas.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta.com, an online provider of car reliability and real-world fuel economy information.

Women and minivans, women and minivans. They don’t quite go together like a horse and carriage, but it’s possible to be just a little more romantic about either when the location is right. I fell in love with the revise-and-retouch 2011 Chrysler minivans during an epic Northern California trip, as detailed in my first-drive review, but sometimes the girl who bewitched you in that far-away hotel room turns out to be a completely damaged headcase in daily living, and sometimes a manufacturer-prepped van in a gorgeous setting doesn’t hold up in that cold, no-makeup morning.

To find out, I requested (meaning “rented”) a Grand Caravan from my local PR flack (meaning “Enterprise counter agent”) and I set out on a trip designed to test the not-so-minivan to its limits (meaning “I had a trip I was going to take anyway and I want to get paid for doing it.”) Only by driving nearly two thousand miles in under three days could I determine if Chrysler was ready to compete against the leaders in the segment. Translation: “I will submit my fuel receipts for this trip, and they will not be paid because there was no reason to cover this kind of distance.”

My initial review of the Town & Country was so enthusiastic that Michael Karesh promptly contributed a counterpoint where he provided detailed statistical comparisons to other minivans, as well as a link to a site called “TrueDelta”. I’ve never been to “TrueDelta”, but based on the name I expect it has something to do with either maximizing acceleration or evaluating photos of the mons veneris. I’m interested in both of those things, both separately and together, so I’m saving my first trip to the site for a day when I really need a pick-me-up of hot, nasty, bad-ass speed.

The van I drove would cost a buyer $27,425 MSRP less rebates as of this writing. Frankly, it seems like a hell of a bargain and then some. It’s missing a lot of the goodies — heated seats, a moonroof, navigation, remote start, the super-duper Infinity sound system, leather interior, et al — but it has all the critical pieces of equipment for a middle-class family, from power doors to a rear-view camera. The stereo is pretty good, although the Caravan’s oddly hushed interior goes a long way towards flattering it.

My route was like so: from sunny Powell, Ohio, drive to Mt. Pico in Vermont, Mt. Kearsarge in New Hampshire, and then up the Maine coast so my partner in crime, Vodka McBigbra, could put on her favorite bikini and scandalize entire vacationing families while I played “Little Wing” on the hotel balcony. Follow a similar route, with less mountain-road driving and more freeway drone, on the way back.

I resolved to drive the entire trip in the Caravan’s “Econ” mode, which is selected by pressing a small button on the center console. That button is right next to the hazard button and it’s twice as big as said hazard button. I took this as a cheerful indicator that Chrysler didn’t expect the van to break down, and they didn’t expect me to misuse the hazard button for long-term parking in airport loading zones, but they did expect me to be economical and whatnot.

The dash readout doesn’t lie. Well, it may lie, but the (in)frequency of my fuel stops indicated that it wasn’t lying by much. That’s the overall readout for 1500 miles, much of it up and down some pretty curvy roads in Vermont. Yes, I did leave the transmission in “Econ” mode, which makes the Caravan a little sluggish in everyday driving, but when I needed to grab a gear or two I did it with the convenient dashboard tip-shifter, and once, during a particularly determined rush up an on-ramp, I looked down and realized I was doing a solid buck-oh-five. At that speed, the Caravan is quiet and controllable. Don’t give this to your teenaged son and think he’s going to slow down as a result. This is a quick vehicle and the engine absolutely encourages abuse in the same way that Ford’s Duratec really doesn’t.

Stow-N-Go: priceless if you have children and need quick space. Lame otherwise, although when I returned the vehicle to Enterprise I told the cutie behind the counter that “somebody stole the seats, I think” and then watched in complete satisfaction as she looked for them in the van.

The Grand Caravan is rated for 3600lbs towing capacity. That’s perilously close to what a Plymouth Neon race car weighs on a Featherlite trailer. I thought about that particular combination a lot during my trip. Why not enjoy a reasonably-sized vehicle with a massive amount of reconfigurable, weather-proofed interior space and outstanding fuel mileage for all the times when I’m not towing?

Let’s take a minute to talk about (in)famous auto writer LJK Setright and his “hundred-mile rule”. Setright said that legitimate automotive testing could consist of no more than one hundred miles. By the time the hundred-mile mark rolls around, you see, the faults of the vehicle would have receded in the tester’s consciousness, the same way a constant noise or smell tends to fade into the background of our awareness after some time has passed. I think he’s at least half-right, but it’s only well past the 100-mile mark that the fitness of the vehicle for long trips is truly apparent. Some minor faults in seating position or control effort aren’t too bothersome in a short trip, but they become all-conqueringly miserable while crossing a continent. Michael and I have already given you the 100-mile review.

Past one hundred miles, when the nine hundredth mile without any kind of meaningful rest stop appears, the Caravan reveals some unexpected strengths and weaknesses. Strength: unlike many vans, the seat position doesn’t put stress on the knees and ankles. Weakness: the seats need more back support, perhaps adjustable. Strength: it’s quiet, it tracks hands-off, and it’s relatively impervious to wind. Weakness: the armest on the right side is hard and the left side armrest is poorly positioned on the door. Strength: visibility is outstanding all the way around. Weakness: the center console makes it difficult to get into the back area for making out helping a child who needs help.

The bottom line? Over the course of some long, annoying drives, the Caravan is as good, or better, than any midsize sedan you can buy for this kind of money. Forget the space, forget the van-centric virtues. If you drive this vehicle a thousand miles out, all by your lonesome, and then drive a LaCrosse a thousand miles back, you’ll prefer the Caravan. I’m not kidding. Why buy a sedan? The Caravan matches most of them for economy, is priced within shouting distance of them, and then you turn around and OMFG FIVE MORE PEOPLE AND A BUNCH OF STUFF GOES BACK THERE TOO. Down a backroad, the G/C will bitchslap a lot of fairly recent mid-sizers, it will beat them up the ramp to the freeway, and you can just happen to PUT A ZILLION CUBIC FEET OF RARE CAGED BIRDS FROM MEXICO IN THE BACK.

It turns out this is one California romance that holds up in the cold light of a Maine sunrise. The Grand Caravan is simply a great car. It isn’t a Great Little Car — the spiritual successor to that is a Mazda 2 — but it’s a Nice Big Van. Money well spent, as a rental, and I suspect it would be money well spent as a purchase, too. The word will spread. The Caravan wasn’t the original minivan — that was a bit of Iacocca marketing magic — but it’s one of the best.

The Chevrolet TrailBlazer and its many sibs are extinct. The Ford Explorer nameplate survives, but it’s now attached to a car-based crossover. Only one family of domestic midsize conventional SUVs remains—and, quite ironically, it’s based on a Mercedes platform. We’ve examined the five-seat Jeep Grand Cherokee before. For those more focused on people hauling than rock crawling Chrysler more recently introduced the seven-seat Dodge Durango. Is the all-new 2011 Durango only for people who need the dependable towing capacity of a conventional SUV? Or can it compete with the transverse-engined competition on their own terms?

As in its first two generations, the 2011 Dodge Durango combines the width of a midsize SUV with the length of a full-size SUV. The third-generation’s clean, well-proportioned exterior is a huge improvement over the perpetually pregnant previous one. If there is any fault with the new SUV’s handsome styling it’s that little aside from a crosshair grille distinguishes it as a Dodge. Also, it could easily be from a decade ago. But there’s also much to be said for timeless designs. The new Durango might not be au courant, but it also won’t look dated tomorrow.

The 2011 Durango’s interior is similarly almost too tasteful for its own good. The design could hardly be simpler, and some areas like the center console appear plain. With no racy curves and no fancy graphics, there’s nothing in here to surprise and delight—unless you’re surprised and delighted to find first-rate materials in a Dodge. Chrysler has upgraded nearly all of its interiors for the 2011 model year, and those in the Durango and the related Jeep Grand Cherokee are the best of the bunch. Not only does the top-of-the-line Citadel’s tan leather with black stitching feel as good as it looks (black leather is also available), but just about everything feels solid enough to go the distance. In terms of interior materials and workmanship, the more highly styled Ford Explorer is a step or two behind and GM’s large crossovers are hopelessly outclassed.
The Durango’s touchscreen controls don’t look as slick as those in the Explorer’s MyFord Touch system, but they’re easier to operate. One exception: the Garmin-powered navigation screens don’t only appear crudely rendered, but they don’t display many street names, so it’s often hard to tell where you are at a glance. The main instruments are similar to those in other 2011 Dodges. Their red perimeters, a Dodge brand cue, don’t fit the upscale, un-Dodge character of the rest of the interior.

Getting into the Durango highlights its first serious deficiency: the floor is considerably higher than in a car-based crossover, so it’s not as easy to step up onto. Once you’re up in the seat, though, the driving position is very good. The instrument panel and the pillars flanking the windshield are far less massive than those in the Ford. The Dodge’s windshield is comfortably raked and is neither too close nor too distant. Then there’s the width of the interior. With 58.5 inches of shoulder room up front, the Durango is about three inches narrower inside than the Explorer and GM’s large crossovers. There’s less headroom in the Dodge as well. So people seeking the roomiest possible vehicle won’t find it in the Durango. But, for others, the Durango’s cozier interior together with its driving position make it easy to drive for a vehicle that’s nearly 200 inches long and nearly 5,400 pounds.

The front seats are firm, perhaps too firm for some people. My main problem with them: I had to struggle to position the four-way-adjustable lumbar support so that it didn’t prod me uncomfortably. It’s a great feature very badly executed. On the other hand, the headrests have some fore-aft adjustment, a rarity these days.

The second row is comfortably high off the floor. The third isn’t, but this is typical, and the new Durango’s way back is considerably roomier than in the past and competitive with the car-based competition. And, if the kids back there get out of line, there’s a button on the dash to whack them on the back of the head with the headrest. This also serves to lower the headrests to improve rearward visibility, which is limited regardless. The rearview monitor proves very helpful.

Partly because so much space has been allocated to the third-row seat, there’s less cargo space behind it than in the Explorer or larger GM crossovers. Good enough for sizable grocery runs, but on family trips all of the luggage isn’t likely to fit without folding a seat or putting some up on the roof. Fold both rows—very easily done, as unlike in the Explorer the headrests flop forward automatically—and there’s still much less cargo volume than in the GM crossovers (84.5 vs. 116.9 cubic feet), but a few cubes more than in the Explorer. The Dodge does have an ace up its sleeve: unlike in these competitors, its front passenger seat also folds flat, to form a very long load floor (except in the Citadel, where the front passenger seat power reclines).

The new Durango is available with two engines, a DOHC 290-horsepower 3.6-liter “Pentastar” V6 and a cam-in-block 360-horsepower 5.7-liter “Hemi” V8. I’ve sampled the former in the related Jeep Grand Cherokee, and found it sluggish up to 35 mph or so. A new transmission with more than five-speeds of the Mercedes-supplied unit would help, but one isn’t available yet. Until one is, the V8 is the obvious choice for anyone who cares about low-speed performance. Because of the Hemi-powered Durango’s curb weight and the tall initial gearing of its Chrysler-engineered five-speed automatic (where the ratios are based on what was doable rather than what was desirable), even the V8 feels a little soft up to 4,500 rpm. Bottom line: with the 2011 Durango you need the V8 to match the low-speed performance of the V6s in competitors. 360 horsepower isn’t what it used to be.

In which case you won’t be matching their fuel economy. While the Durango V6 AWD earns competitive EPA ratings of 16/22, the Hemi AWD manages only 13/20 despite the ability to run on four cylinders while cruising. Even the old-school Chevrolet Tahoe achieves 15/21. In the real world the trip computer reported 13.5 to 16.5 in suburban driving but only about 18 on the highway.

In the V8’s defense, you can tow 7,200 pounds with it (7,400 with RWD), which is over a ton more than with car-based competitors. And the official specs might understate the difference. The longitudinal transmission in the Durango was designed with a high towing capacity in mind, and has been used in Dodge trucks for years. The transverse automatic in the Explorer and GM crossovers is inherently more fragile, and was designed primarily for use in cars. So if you need to tow a few tons the Dodge has a clear advantage.

If only the Durango’s brakes felt as strong as its powertrain. While they might be up to the task when pressed (with no mountains nearby and nothing to tow, I didn’t work them hard), they require an unusual amount of effort. Press down with a typical amount of force and it seems like the Durango doesn’t want to stop.

Partly because you sit so high, the Durango feels less agile than the Explorer and large GM crossovers. A VW Touareg feels even more car-like, aided by more compact dimensions and firmer suspension tuning. But the Durango’s handling is stable, balanced, and thoroughly predictable, with better body control than you’ll find in large conventional SUVs like the Chevrolet Tahoe and Ford Expedition. It also feels less massive and bulky than the platform donor Mercedes GL-Class, or the Infiniti QX56, for that matter. The Dodge’s all-wheel-drive system effectively limits the potential for fun. With it the attitude of the chassis is always dull but safe moderate understeer. I drove a rear-wheel-drive Durango earlier, when there was snow on the roads, and found it much more entertaining, with progressive, easily controllable oversteer when powering out of turns. I didn’t feel the need for all-wheel-drive, though the great majority of snow belt residents will no doubt insist upon it. The stability control system works very well, smoothly intervening only as much as is necessary.

While some bobbling is unavoidable with such a tall vehicle, the Durango generally rides very smoothly and quietly. Above all, it feels solid and precisely controlled the way premium European vehicles tend to. In comparison the large GM SUVs and, to an even greater extent, the large Ford SUVs feel unrefined and dated. Even the car-based crossover’s from these manufacturers can’t quite match the Dodge in this regard. Between its ride and its interior the Durango oozes quality.

The 2011 Durango has the look and feel of a premium car, but not necessarily a premium price. The tested vehicle’s $48,530 sticker might seem steep, but this is the top-of-the-line Citadel with every available option except the towing package. (A Durango Crew with V6, AWD, and leather lists for $37,565.) A similarly loaded 2011 Ford Explorer lists for $400 more. Adjusting for feature differences using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool give’s the Ford a $1,775 advantage, but removing the $1,895 Hemi from the equation would more than cancel this out. Compared to the GMC Acadia, the Dodge with the Hemi is about $500 less before adjusting for feature differences and about $2,250 less afterwards. Remove the Hemi and the Dodge is significantly less expensive than the GMC. And compared to the Mercedes-Benz GL450 that provided its platform? Over $32,000 less before adjusting for feature differences, and nearly $29,000 less afterwards. From this perspective the Dodge could be a bargain.

Ultimately, the 2011 Dodge Dodge competes strongly with the Ford Explorer and large GM crossovers on their own terms. It does have a higher step-in and tighter interior, but handles nearly as well, rides better, and looks and feels considerably more expensive—without actually being more expensive. For heavy towing, GM and Ford offer only large conventional SUVs, and these feel unrefined and dated in comparison. The Durango’s weakest area: its transmissions. Fuel economy lags with the V8, while the V6 needs a transmission with a larger number of better ratios to provide competitive low-speed performance. Granted, most people drive in a relaxed fashion and so will find nothing wrong with the current powertrain. For the others, a new transmission is on the way.

Dodge provided the Durango Citadel, insurance and one tank of gas for this review.

The Durango Crew was provided by Michael Williams at Southfield Dodge in Southfield, MI (248) 354-2950.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta.com, an online source of automotive pricing and reliability data.

When I first heard that Chrysler had revised nearly every one of its models for the 2011 model year, I cynically assumed the changes couldn’t possibility make much of a difference. After all, how much could they have done with little money and even less time—and with Detroit’s tendency to make minor changes and expect them to have a major impact? Then I drove the new Dodge Grand Caravan, and was amazed at how much its ride and handling had improved. For those seeking something smaller, or who simply refuse to buy a minivan, Dodge offers the Journey crossover. Underwhelming before, does it now similarly surprise?

The Journey’s sheet metal remains the same. It’s nearly as boxy as the minivan’s, but with the higher stance and the longer, more horizontal front clip of a crossover. Nothing fancy, but nothing off-putting, either. Of course, paint it “mango tango” and even a basic box will get noticed. A revised front fascia and the new 19-inch alloys fitted to the Crew and R/T trim levels suggest that the Journey is now a driving machine. The chrome-clad wheels fitted to the tested Lux, though equally large, aren’t as aggressively styled. One potential mod: even the 19s don’t begin to fill the wheel openings, and the rear in particular could be lowered a couple of inches.

The Journey’s interior revisions are much more extensive, and have an immediate impact. The tan leather fitted to the seats of the tested car looks and feels rich. It attractively contrasts with the black stitching and the soft-touch black trim panels. The thickly padded faux leather on the door panels extends to the inner surface of the door pulls—a premium touch too rarely found even among much more expensive cars. The doors shut with reassuring solidity. The instrument panel was already a soft-touch affair, but the new one has a cleaner, more upscale appearance to match. The various switches aren’t quite up to the rest of the interior. Even so, this is now easily the most upscale interior in the segment. Now in the bottom spot: the Honda Pilot.

The Journey’s ergonomics are also much improved. A large touchscreen, shared with the redesigned Charger sedan, is located where it’s easy to see and reach, without being awkwardly perched atop the instrument panel (as it was previously). The screen’s graphics are larger than most, making it easy to quickly find and tap the desired control (in distinct contrast to the Ford’s newest system). The screen does wash out at times, but simply designed and conveniently located knobs and buttons remain for key functions. A potential source of confusion: the fan speed knob is located between two for the audio system. But I never had the slightest trouble finding the right one. The Bluetooth for the phone works well. It’s possible to dial using the touchscreen, but the voice recognition system got the number right on the first try (simply hit the phone button on the steering wheel then say “Dial 1-234-555-1212”).

The front buckets continue the Journey’s newly premium character, with ample padding and enough contour that you’re coddled within the seat rather than sitting upon it. The driver gets an effective four-way power lumbar adjustment—but oddly a manual recliner. The view forward is very car-like, similar to the Chevrolet Equinox (but with much less of a sense of tunnel vision) and not nearly as high and upright as in the Kia Sorento or Toyota Highlander. The view rearward: not so good thanks to a small rear window and tall headrests that fill most of it.

Unfortunately, nothing could be done about the tight rear seats – short of reworking the metal. The second row—which continues to lack contour but is comfortably high off the floor—must be nearly all of the way back to provide enough legroom for adults, but if this is done there’s almost no legroom in the optional third row.

Adults might occupy both rows in a pinch, but the rearmost is best suited for pre-teens. (Built-in booster seats are an option in the second row.)

The Sorento offers a little more rear legroom (but less headroom in the third row) while the Highlander offers much more. The latter offers more shoulder room as well. The GM crossovers offer about the same amount of shoulder room as the Dodge, but far more rear legroom—easily done since they have no optional third row. Even the Mazda5 microvan, much smaller on the outside, is roomier on the inside.

There might not be much room in the back of the Journey, but Chrysler has equipped it like a large minivan. Every outboard seating position gets an airliner-like aimable LED reading light that looks classy and works well. The third-row seat package includes rear automatic climate control with vents in the ceiling.

In its original iteration, the Journey included an unusually large number of places to stash things. Storage compartments inside the front passenger seat and beneath the floor in the second row have been carried over. A well at the base of the center stack could easily hold a large camera.

There’s a couple inches more cargo space behind the third row than in the Sorento and Highlander—so unlike in those competitors, a single row of grocery bags would fit with no crushing of the eggs. Every seat save the driver’s can be folded to extend the cargo area. The load floor is high off the ground, though, a casualty of the crossover stance.

Like just about every other Chrysler product, for 2011 the Journey can be outfitted with the corporation’s new “Pentastar” 3.6-liter DOHC V6 engine mated to a manually-shiftable six-speed automatic. With 283-horsepower, this mill is considerably more powerful than last year’s 235-horsepower 3.5-liter and competitive in terms of both performance and refinement with the V6s in the Highlander and Sorento. GM’s 3.0-liter feels weak and sounds strained in comparison. Especially when prodded with a heavy right foot, the Chrysler automatic’s shifts have an unusual, firm feel—sporty perhaps, but less refined than the engine. The optional all-wheel-drive effectively blunts torque steer.

Fuel economy as reported by the EPA is a little better than last year, 16/24 vs. 15/23, but the city figure still lags the most efficient competitors. The trip computer confirmed the EPA ratings in real-world driving. Willing to sacrifice performance and/or all-wheel-drive for a couple additional MPG? A 173-horsepower 2.4-liter four-cylinder engine remains standard in the base trim level. It’s good for 19/26, well below the 22/32 of the Equinox and 2012 Sorento.

The Journey’s chassis tweaks aren’t substantial. In turns, lean is moderate and body motions are fairly well controlled, but the revised steering is too light and lacks feel, especially on center. For the first 90 degrees, the wheel doesn’t load up at all. The Kumho Solus tires further indicate that sporty handling wasn’t a priority. Chrysler should let the people who tuned the minivan’s chassis have a go at the Journey.

So, if you’ve been looking for the domestic auto industry’s answer to the Audi Q5, this isn’t it. Not that most crossover buyers will mind. Instead, they’ll find a vehicle that is easy to drive and that rides very smoothly and quietly, with a cushier character than the Chevrolet and Kia. The Dodge doesn’t only look more expensive. It also feels more expensive.

The 2011 Journey Lux with all-wheel-drive, third row, sunroof, and nav lists for $36,685, about $3,000 more than the 2010. Roughly $500 of this increase pays for additional features like keyless ignition, Bluetooth, and the four-way power lumbar, according to TrueDelta’s car pricing tool. The rest covers the engine and interior material upgrades. A GM executive once told me that if only the bean counters would let him spend $300 more on interior materials he could charge $3,000 more for the car. Now we have a test. Does the resulting price seem steep? A Chevrolet Equinox LTZ is very close in price to a two-row Journey Lux after a small adjustment for feature differences. A similarly-equipped Toyota Highlander Limited lists for another $3,000 more. Then, of course, there are the Koreans. A Kia Sorento EX V6 with these features lists for nearly $2,000 less. But the Kia has a more truck-like driving position and doesn’t ride as smoothly.

Previously, the Dodge Journey had little to recommend it aside from a relatively low price. Its tight, cheaply outfitted interior did put it at a severe disadvantage. Now, the interior isn’t any roomier, but it is much nicer, even the best in the segment. The new V6 is similarly a match for the segment’s best. Between these two improvements, the Dodge Journey’s higher but still competitive price seems justified. The Dodge Journey’s now deserves a serious look by crossover buyers who don’t need a lot of interior room. Chrysler’s people clearly took the company’s recent brush with death seriously, and in this case accomplished a surprising amount, especially considering the time and money they had to do it.

Dodge provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gas for this review.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of car reliability and pricing information.

So I’m driving a $69,000 Cadillac CTS-V, and it makes me wonder—if you can only spend half as much, how much performance do you sacrifice? And if you can spend twice as much, how much can you gain? Today, the first question. If you’re seeking a V8-powered, rear-wheel-drive sedan, but have a budget in the mid-30s, the 2011 Dodge Charger R/T is your only option.

For 2011, Dodge has excised the aggressive chunkiness from the Charger’s exterior, substituting smoothly flowing curves. Scallops in the hood and bodysides provide a link to the classic 1968-70 car. The sedan’s face remains suitably menacing, with a large, protruding crosshairs grille. This face notwithstanding, the new Charger is prettier, and less distinctive. Though the 199.9×75.0×58.4-inch exterior dimensions remain about the same, the new car looks longer, with too much visual mass for $995 of bright red paint. The no-extra-charge metallic gray of the tested car much better suits the big body. Even so attired, the Charger lacks upscale aspirations—that’s the related Chrysler 300’s territory. Instead, the Charger’s achieved intent is “four-door muscle car.”

The same is the case inside the new Charger: more flowing lines, limited luxury. The silver patterned trim plate that spans two-thirds of the instrument panel has a retro vibe, though the materials and workmanship here and elsewhere in the interior are mostly up to 2011 standards. Some switches continue to look and feel cheap, and some elements lack finesse. For example, why is the hood over the instruments a couple inches thick? The entire instrument panel could be much more compact with no loss in functionality. The graphics on the 8.4” touchscreen are unusually large, good for usability but not so good for a refined appearance. The best part of the interior: the attractively styled, comfortably upholstered door panels. The most disappointing: the $3,000 Road & Track package no longer includes the aggressively bolstered seats from the SRT8. Instead, synthetic suede center panels have been added to the Charger’s minimally bolstered, less enticing standard seats.

The windshield has been laid back a few degrees, and the windows have been enlarged about 15 percent, so the view from the driver’s seat is considerably less gangsta than before. Given the size of the instrument panel, though, drivers under 6-2 will still want to raise the seat, and even then will feel like they’re wearing a car that’s a couple sizes too large. On the other hand, those who shop at the “big and tall” store might find the XXL interior they’ve been looking for. Room is similarly plentiful in the comfortably high back seat. Perhaps because of its encapsulated conventional hinges, the trunk isn’t as roomy as before (15.4 vs. 16.2 cubic feet). Some midsize sedans have more space for cargo. A split folding rear seat remains standard.

The Charger R/T’s standard 5.7-liter V8 kicks out 370 horsepower at an easily accessible 5,250 rpm, and sounds good while doing so. Torque: 395 foot-pounds at 4,200 rpm. A far cry from the CTS-V’s 556 horsepower, but still about 100 more than in the typical V6-powered midsize sedan. Even though the curb weight is up over 200 pounds, to 4,253, this is a quick car, with a zero-to-sixty in the low fives. Impediments to visceral thrills lie elsewhere. Effective soundproofing reduces the sensation of acceleration and responses to the throttle lack immediacy. The ancient Mercedes-Benz five-speed automatic deserves much of the blame for the latter. A new eight-speed automatic, available with the V6 at the start of the 2012 model year and with the V8 at some point in the future, should improve responsiveness and acceleration. A six-speed manual would provide an even more direct, responsive connection, but this option is restricted to the related Challenger coupe.

The Charger’s chassis similarly feels distant and slow to respond. The Road & Track Package didn’t only lose the SRT’s seats this year. It also lost SRT-like suspension tuning. In standard Charger R/T tune the steering feels light and numb. In sharp contrast to the CTS-V and the late, lamented Pontiac G8, where progressive oversteer can be dialed in almost intuitively, with the Charger it’s necessary to dig deep into the throttle to affect the attitude of the chassis. Though lean in turns is moderate, the Charger always feels every bit as large and heavy as it is. Easy to control, certainly, and far from the floaty land yachts of yore, but a satisfying tight connection between man and machine proves elusive. A $400 Super Track Pak, which includes firmer suspension tuning, should help, but how much? Unless this package makes a huge difference, the Charger simply isn’t in the same league as the CTS-V dynamically. Instead, it’s a modern embodiment of the classic large American sedan, complete with a (mostly) smooth, quiet ride. More controlled and capable, but the spirit remains the same.

Ultimately, the Charger R/T isn’t remotely a half-price substitute for a CTS-V. Compared to the Cadillac, the Dodge feels large, soft, lethargic, and disconnected. Whatever was done to make the revised Grand Caravan ride and handle so well needs to be done here, and hopefully will be done for the upcoming SRT. As is, I didn’t much enjoy driving the big sedan. Nevertheless, the Charger does fill a gaping hole in the market. In every way save trunk space it’s a superior substitute for Ford’s Panthers, now in their final months of production. With ample V8 power, predictable handling, a quiet ride, and a roomy interior, the Charger should fill the Crown Vic’s shoes quite nicely. Watch your speed, or you’ll see a big crosshair grille (further enhanced with flashing lights) in your rearview mirror often.

Bryan Galczynski of Suburban Chrysler/Dodge/Jeep in Novi, MI, provided the car. Bryan can be reached at 248-427-7767.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of automotive reliability and pricing data

When Jack Baruth reviewed the 2011 Town & Country his praise for the minivan’s handling was so effusive that I wondered what sort of Kool-Aid Chrysler served at the launch event. Were mind-altering substances involved? To find out, I requested one of the new minivans for a week.

Some background: Chrysler substantially revised nearly every car and truck it sells for the 2011 model year, something which no manufacturer has attempted in decades. This in itself displayed a surprising amount of energy and ambition. FIAT will get the credit, but truth be told new parts cannot be tooled up overnight so these changes must have been underway before Sergio arrived on the scene. Cerberus, much maligned, is actually due the credit. How much could possibly have been done with Chrysler’s cut-to-the-bone staff stretched so thin and with the company bankrupt?

Given the limited budget and even more limited time, the Grand Caravan’s sheetmetal didn’t change. There’s the new Dodge grille and some nifty “ring of fire” LED tail lights, but the boxy—even for a minivan—exterior they attempt to dress up remains the same. I never could shake the feeling that I was driving a cargo van.

The interior was thoroughly redone. The new instrument panel upper remains hard plastic, but it’s now a single piece and doesn’t look shoddy the way the old one did. The door panels, which you’re much more likely to touch, are soft. The tested van was a $29,660 special, cleverly packaged to include key functional options (power doors, review camera, Bluetooth, multi-functional console, roof rails) for a sticker with a leading two. So no leather (or even seat adjustments beyond fore-aft and recline), though the cloth is much nicer than last year’s stain-resistant textiles. It further helps that blah gray has been exiled in favor of a high contrast black / gray combination. Even with the improvements the interior doesn’t seem as upscale as that in the new Honda Odyssey. One reason: Chrysler has done such a good job of designing for usability that the center stack looks plain. The center stack in the Honda isn’t as easy to reach or operate, but it looks more exciting. While functionality should matter more to buyers, will it actually matter more?

Even compared to that in other minivans the seating position in the Grand Caravan is high and upright. At this price point the seat height isn’t adjustable, not even manually. I wouldn’t want to raise it, but I might want to lower it. Visibility is outstanding, and confidence behind the wheel is inspired. But, in another test of how much functionality truly matters, it’s also harder to forget that you’re driving a minivan.

The cloth seats provide good lateral support, but lower back support is lacking and is not adjustable. Moving to the second row, the “stow-n-go” seats have been enlarged but they remain lower to the floor and less comfortable than the second rows in key competitors. They’re not bad, but wouldn’t be the best place for an adult to spend a few hours. Kids? No problem. Third-row comfort is more competitive, partly thanks to an aggressively angled seat cushion. There’s enough room for adults in all three rows, but the Sienna and especially the Odyssey are roomier. The official stats indicate a huge difference. While the Grand Caravan has 36.5 and 32.7 inches of legroom in its second and third rows, respectively, the Odyssey has 40.9 and 42.4. Such stats can be gamed, and these do appear to exaggerate the real-world difference between the two vans, but it is there.

The Grand Caravan has a clear advantage in cargo hauling versatility. Both the second and third rows stow completely beneath a low floor. In the Odyssey and Sienna the second-row seats must be removed to get a flat floor. The seats in the new Nissan Quest fold to form a flat floor, but on top of rather than beneath the floorpan, SUV style. As a result there’s much less space between the floor and ceiling. When the Dodge’s seats aren’t stowed there’s a deep well behind the third row and two large covered storage compartments ahead of the second row. In the past I’ve fit two large 17-inch laptops in their storage bags in one of these compartments. Up in the front seat there’s plenty of storage space in the bi-level removable center console, a pair of glove compartments, and the center stack. If you cannot tuck all of your stuff into the storage areas of this van, you’re schlepping too much stuff.

As part of its sweeping 2011 model year revisions, Chrysler installed an all-new V6 in its midsize sedans, large sedans, and SUVs in addition to the minivans. The “Pentastar” engine will get direct injection, FIAT’s “MultiAir” intake system, and even turbocharging in future iterations. Even without any of these technologies the 3.6-liter V6 is good for 283 horsepower at 6,400 rpm and 260 pound-feet of torque at 4,400 rpm. Both figures are the highest in the minivan class. Pair them with a six-speed automatic with short initial gearing, and the new Grand Caravan accelerates briskly. If it’s not the quickest minivan ever, it’s close.

Dip deep into the throttle and torque steer enters the picture—not a surprise given the amount of torque being channeled through the front wheels. Subjectively, the new V6 sounds and feels better when revved than any other minivan powerplant with the possible exception of the Toyota Sienna’s. The V6s from Ford and Nissan are considerably less refined. While the 3.6 really comes on strong (and then rushes for the redline) over 4,000 rpm, acceleration also feels effortless at much lower rpm in casual driving. By following everyone else in developing a contemporary V6 Chrysler could learn from everyone else, and seems to have done so.

The six-speed automatic transmission is a placeholder until Chrysler starts receiving a new nine-speed from ZF. The box is calibrated pretty well for full-throttle acceleration, with quick, firm shifts in this mode, but oddly slurs shifts in more casual driving. Hit the “econ” button on the center console and the transmission rushes to get into top gear. Unlike in other minivans you can manually select a specific gear. There are no paddles, but a gearshift just to the right of the steering wheel is the next best thing. Downshifts can be summoned without removing a hand from the wheel. Perhaps all automatic shifters should be positioned this way? A conventional column shifter isn’t nearly as handy.

Manually downshifting a minivan—what’s the point? Well, last year there wasn’t much of one, except perhaps in the mountains. The 2010 Town & Country I rented for a 1,500-mile trip last Thanksgiving bounced, floated, and generally felt ponderous and clumsy. Especially given this starting point, the handling of the 2011 is remarkable. The revised minivan has precise, firm, perfectly weighted steering and tightly controlled body motions. In comparison, other minivans, including the Odyssey, feel soft, and even sloppy. (Ditto the Ford Taurus X I recently purchased.) In a marked change from last year, the 2011 Grand Caravan feels smaller and lighter than it actually is. I found myself taking turns at speed for the joy of it—something I’ve never done in a minivan before. Bear in mind that this was in the “Mainstreet” trim level shod with 235/60R16 Kumho treads. There’s a sport-suspended R/T on the way, but the base suspension handles so well I have a hard time imagining how the R/T could handle better.

Instead, I fear that the R/T’s tuning will harm the ride. As it is, despite (or perhaps because of?) its aggressively damped suspension tuning the 2011 Grand Caravan also rides extraordinarily well. Pockmarked roads that have bedeviled most of the cars I’ve tested failed to faze this minivan. No pitch, no head toss, just level cruising regardless of the road surface. Impacts are heard, but not felt. A Sienna or Odyssey seems quieter and more luxurious, and so more like a luxury car, but they aren’t nearly this composed. Frankly, hardly anything is.

As mentioned earlier, the new Grand Caravan with key functional options lists for just under $30,000. You simply cannot get a Honda Odyssey with three power doors and a rearview monitor for anything close, as Honda forces you to step up to the leather-and-sunroof-equipped EX-L for these features. Compare the Mainstreet with power doors to the Odyssey EX, and you’ll find that the Dodge lists for a substantial $3,825 less. The Honda does include some additional features, such as a power driver seat and automatic climate control. But adjust for these (easily done using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool) and the Dodge’s price advantage remains over $3,000. Toyota is a little more flexible—you can get a Sienna LE with dual power sliding doors and a rearview monitor, but for a power tailgate you need to step up to the SE or XLE. A Sienna LE with Preferred and Convenience Packages lists for only a few hundred more than a comparable Dodge, and if you compare invoices (which often more accurately reflect transaction prices) the Toyota is even about $900 less.

So, the Grand Caravan remains nothing special to look at. And other minivans are more comfortable. But the Dodge and its Chrysler counterpart lead the field in versatility and—with the recent changes—in performance and handling as well. How did Chrysler manage this, starting with a very basic suspension design (MacPherson struts up front, beam in the back) that did nothing especially well? Perhaps they cribbed some of the tweaks VW made for the Routan? If they’ve done the same with the rest of the line—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—there could even be hope for the Chrysler Sebring 200. Driving the revised minivan shifted my opinion of Chrysler all the way from “What’s the point of keeping them around?” to “Time to take the fork out.” Seemingly “done” a year ago, it’s now clear that a thoroughly revitalized Chrysler is just getting started.

Dodge provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gas for this review.

Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, an online source of automotive pricing and reliability data.

I knew Mercedes GL.
Mercedes GL was almost a friend of mine.
And you, Dodge Durango, are no Mercedes GL.
Thank God.

It’s true. I signed a lease on a new GL320 Bluetec a year and a half ago, backing out when the dealer “discovered” that they’d “mis-written” the options on the truck and that the payment would be $150 a month higher as a result. I’ve driven the GL a fair amount. It’s a solid-feeling but rather charmless vehicle that barely makes a case for itself as a $499-a-month race-car tow rig.

Several of my compatriots in the press have noticed that — OMG! — the new Durango shares some basic platform engineering with the GL, and that — whoa! — it’s about the same size. It must be the GL to the Grand Cherokee’s ML! One intrepid fellow even claimed that his finely-calibrated posterior even detected extremely similar suspension motions during a test drive of the Durango R/T.

Hogwash. I happened to drive the same example R/T, which was a last-minute addition to the model lineup driven, one suspects, by Ralph Gilles’ desire to have a bitchin’ tow rig of his own. It may share a common genetic background with the Mercedes GL, but I remind the reader that Jessica and Ashlee Simpson are also related. In this case, the HEMI-powered Durango is the spotlight-stealing, voluptuous blonde while the clunky, cheap-feeling, deliberately ponderous GL is lip-syncing on Saturday Night Live while making an odd kicking motion.

In a resurgent seven-passenger SUV marketplace, the Durango poses an interesting question, namely: Can a longitudinal-engined truck compete effectively against transverse-engined cars? The Ford Flex is fundamentally a Taurus wagon, while the Traverse is a car design buffed and bloated up to two-and-a-half-ton size. Against those competitors, the previous Durango fell short in four major areas: third-row space, ride quality, fuel economy, and interior quality.

A switch to independent rear suspension addresses the first two problems, giving the Durango usable rear room and ride quality that, if not quite up to Flex standards, is competitive with the GM Lambdas. Fuel economy is no longer a problem: the new Pentastar V-6 outpowers GM and Ford while delivering 16/23 for RWD trucks and 16/22 for AWD. (The Flex and Traverse both score 17/24 for FWD, with the Traverse AWD at 16/23 and the Flex AWD at 16/22.) The five-speed transmission is short a gear to the competition but one might argue that the payoff in long-term durability is worth it.

The interior is best summed-up in a single detail: the USB port for attaching iPods and the like to the very solid stereo system is located in the armrest, and it is backlit by fiber optics so it can be easily found at night. The same obsessive attention to quality and customer satisfaction is evident throughout the Durango. The metal trim is real; the plastic trim is superb; the leather is clearly the product of bovine suffering instead of polyvinyl processing. With this generation of interior design, Chrysler has leapt from the remedial class to the National Honor Society. No excuses are necessary.

If only the same could be said for the uConnect system, which continues to resemble a Chinese knockoff of SYNC. There are four different “media centers” available, but none of them are as good as what the Flex had last year, and they are miles behind the myFordTouch system that is arriving with the new Explorer. On the positive side, the new instrument-panel display is both informative and easy to look at.

Dodge hopes that the Pentastar V-6 will be the volume engine in this vehicle; in order for the Durango to have long-term success in the market, it can’t exist in customer perception as a big, heavy, HEMI-powered monster. That didn’t stop your humble reviewer from stomping my feet and holding my breath until I was given the sole “R/T HEMI RWD” for my 106-mile test drive. With tickets in hand for a blues show that evening and the prospect of some fascinating companionship, I was thoroughly motivated to hustle back to the hotel.

I’ve sung the on-road praises of the 2011 Jeep Grand Cherokee before. The Durango is longer and heavier, but in R/T form it’s also far more road-biased. The result is a very quick truck indeed. I used to drive a six-speed Cayenne GTS on a semi-daily basis, and although the Durango doesn’t have quite that level of pace, it’s just as willing to hustle down a curving road. In the modern context, curb weights in the 4700-pound range no longer seem outrageous, and the HEMI gives the R/T a better power-to-weight ratio than an ’86 Corvette.

If the Grand Cherokee relies on off-road prowess to stand out from the SUV crowd, the Durango depends on towing. A 7400-pound capacity for RWD V-8 models is significantly ahead of the competition, but even the AWD V-6 can pull five thousand pounds, and it’s likely to do it better than any transverse-engined crossover. Dodge doesn’t have a direct competitor to the Tahoe, but most buyers will find that the Durango can tow just as well while offering a more pleasant, manageable daily drive.

Trim levels range from the under-$30,000 “Express” through the most-people-will-pick “Crew” and top out with R/T and “Citadel”. For “Citadel”, read “Denali with a side of Aspen”. If you’re planning on buying a Pilot, Highlander, or Traverse, the Durango offers additional capability at virtually no penalty in efficiency or space. Most Durango buyers would actually be better-served with a minivan or mid-sized sedan, but until the day that every comrade in the union is issued a Harvest Beige Toyota Prius, some folks are going to exercise their freedom to choose an SUV.

Once again, Chrysler has delivered a vehicle that competes on both tangible and intangible qualities. As long as the consumer frogs continue to boil slowly in the gasoline-price pan, Durangos should fly off the lots. It’s no Mercedes GL, and that’s a good thing, since it costs less, looks better, and is very probably better-built. Nor is it a “crossover”, CUV, or cute-ute. It’s simply a real SUV, priced realistically, that happens to be real(ly) good.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The fellow from the Jim Russell School at Infineon couldn’t hear me screaming through my helmet and the rolled-up windows of my blue-and-white Challenger “392″, but surely he saw me gesturing. Let me out first! In the last ten-minute session, I lapped all the other journalists at least once and some of them twice! Let me out FIRST!

Smiling and making a “calm down” motion at me, the Russell instructor waved the other 392 out, this one piloted by one of the usual potbelly-avec-cheap shoes barfly journalists. And then he ostentatiously counted off fifteen or so seconds. You see? I’m gapping you out! But it didn’t matter. Four turns later, I was attached to the back bumper of that other car, where I would remain for three laps while the journosaur in question steadfastly ignored, in order of occurrence, flashing lights, honking, a black flag from two different stations, and another Russell instructor screaming and waving his arms from the pit wall. By the time I decided to break the rules and blast past this jerkoff without a point-by, I had one lap left in which to test the car.

Are you ready for the one-lap review of the 2011 Challenger?

The conventional wisdom tells us that the current Challenger is a disappointment in racetrack or “fast road” situations. While that is true for some models, it doesn’t hold true for the SRT-8. It’s not an idiot-proof track rat along the lines of a Miata or Focus SVT, but if you are willing to manage your brake and tire heat it can be a very rapid way to get around a road course. The primary complaints I had with the 6.1-liter SRT-8 were a certain reluctance to turn into slow corners and a surprising lack of push from the HEMI in the middle of the rev range.

For 2011, Dodge has swapped out the shock absorbers, retuned the suspension bushings, and added negative camber at all four corners. The result is a car which feels considerably more eager to enter slow hairpins, such as the final turn of Infineon Raceway’s “NASCAR” configuration. I continue to believe that this is a platform which is best experienced in the longer wheelbase; the Charger R/T models on hand were easier to throw around Infineon’s massive elevation changes and deliberately unsettling Esses. Still, there’s noticeable improvement to be had in the 2011 model.

On the motivational side of things, Dodge has bumped the HEMI out to 6.4L — 392 cubic inches — and it now turns out 470 horsepower and 470 lb-ft of torque. The torque peak is at 4200rpm, which is still a little high for a traditional musclecar, but the new model never feels short of breath. Most importantly, the new “392″ is never in danger from the hated and feared Camaro SS in a straight line. You’ll need a new Shelby GT500 to mount a serious challenge, since both cars are capable of running low twelves in the quarter-mile. My offhand impression after driving both cars is that the Shelby is still faster but that the Mopar entry continues to bring a little more character to the table in terms of engine sound and responsiveness.

1,492 “Inaugural Edition” Challenger 392s will be made available, with both the Tremec six-speed and the Mercedes-Benz WA-class transmission. There are a few color choices and some rather unfortunate-looking interior details. The white-leather seats were literally too bright for my Android phone to photograph correctly in the Nor-Cal sun.

Drivers who choose the big HEMI have at least one more pleasant surprise in store: this year, the MDS cylinder-deactivation system is included for extra freeway fuel economy. If ever this was a V-8 which was capable of pushing a car along with half the cylinders on welfare, this is the one, but anything other than flat-road cruise control will call all the spark plugs back into action.

The rest of the car is the Challenger you know and either love or hate: tall-body retro styling, imperfect ergonomics, bathtub visibility for most drivers, a street presence exceeding that of the competition. Chrysler expected the Challenger to be a quick-selling novelty which would quickly fade in the market place — think Plymouth Prowler — but sales have risen steadily in the past two years. Don’t look for the new 6.4 liter model to reverse that trend.

The other new engine in the lineup is the well-received Pentastar V-6, previously discussed on these pages. Although there was one V-6 Challenger available at Infineon, complete with automatic transmission, our hosts somehow found themselves unable to get me any track time in that particular vehicle. It may be that my announced intention to “shove that V-6 up the bleeding ass of every lame-sauce, color-rag rolling chicane out there in the HEMI cars” gave them some reason for mild concern. Instead, I was sent out in another Charger R/T, which I proceeded to shove up the bleeding ass of every color-rag rolling chicane out there, only with a greater closing speed. I’ll have a review on that car for you tomorrow, dear readers.

I cannot justify the purchase of a Challenger 392 on any rational grounds. The Shelby GT500 is cheaper and faster, and the additional size and weight of the big Dodge don’t pay off anywhere except on the boulevard. This is no domestic M3 killer, nor is it a particularly comfortable way to travel. The revised Charger even manages to trump it a bit in the desirability stakes, with its fabulous new interior and characterful new sheetmetal.

Regardless of the above, the Inaugural Edition will still sell out in a big hurry, and the Challenger will continue to sell in record quantities. It’s a satisfying car to own, it looks good, and it’s finally fast enough to back up the promise made by those good looks. It’s that rarest of things in the modern environment: a man’s car. Testosterone-challenged fossils like my journosaur pals can’t drive it correctly and won’t do it justice, but some of you may find it absolutely irresistible. Just make sure you get in line first at the local trackday, okay?

Trucks are a hot commodity in America. According to a few pickup truck forums, if you’re not some leftist tree hugger, then you either have a pickup truck or want a pickup truck. Truth be told, every time I bought a new car, I secretly wanted a pickup truck: a huge red one-ton diesel pickup truck. So when the US Government Dodge said one would be available for a week, I jumped at the opportunity. Not one week later and occupying four parking spots was that boyhood Tonka-truck dream: an extended bed, dually-equipped 2010 Dodge Ram 2500 SLT Crew Cab 4X4 (seriously, could that name be any longer?), but is the boyhood dream shattered by adult realities?

Before we jump right into the meat of the review, let’s start with a reality check. I’m not a contractor, construction worker, rancher, or vehicle transporter, nor am I the owner of a ginormous fifth-wheel RV. I am building my own home singlehandedly however (ok, so there are two sets of hands involved), but even still the biggest payload I ask of a truck is a pallet of concrete weighing in at 3360lbs, which I can put in the bed of the non-dually Ram 3500. Since I don’t own a truck however, I just toss the pallet in my trailer and tow it with my Volvo wagon. So that begs the question, who needs a truck this big? Not too many people really, but if you need it, it’d better be good.

The first thing that strikes you about the 3500 is its size. This is an imposing vehicle from every angle. Our tester measured in at just under 22 feet long, 8 feet wide and tipped the scales at 7,743lbs. This baby is BIG. Really BIG. Ever wonder why 3500 drivers are camping out in the left lane? As I soon discovered, there is a reason: these things are huge and not terribly nimble, so you need to choose a lane where you only have to worry about traffic on one side and don’t have entering/exiting traffic to deal with. Parking? Yet again, an education for me: why do drivers of big trucks park like pricks taking up multiple spaces? Because you have to in order to ensure that you will be able to get the thing out of the parking lot later.

On the outside, the Ram dually has finally gotten the respect it deserves. It’s no longer a 3500 truck with some bulging fiberglass fender extensions bolted on. The dually has its own rear sheet metal, and parked next to a Ford or Chevy one ton truck, the exterior lines work for me. Sadly the same cannot be said of the interior. While I would say that the interior is good for Chrysler standards, and not really that far below the competition in style, the materials choices leave something to be desired. In a vehicle intended for the working crowd, the acre of metallic-effect plastic trim is an idea that only works in a focus group. In reality, with less than 5,000 miles on the clock (all driven by the press who I can guarantee you never had tools rolling around the interior), the fake metallic surfaces were already showing significant wear. I’m not sure I want to know what this interior looks like after 100,000 miles.

The rest of the driving experience with the 3500 is the same mixed bag. The interior of this beast is quiet, and I don’t mean quiet by truck standards, I mean quiet by any standard. Sadly even the standard engine, the 6.7L Cummins diesel is eerily quiet. I miss the loud Ram pickup trucks of the past. What kid playing with their Tonka doesn’t make noises? The ride is hard, but then that’s to be expected with a payload capacity sufficient to haul a Range Rover in the bed. When you hammer the throttle, you get what feels like decent acceleration from the 350HP, 650 lb-ft of torque engine, but when the clock is finished the 60MPH run took over 12.2 seconds every time. Of course it also ran a similar time with quite literally a ton of bricks in the bed. 12.2 would be quite respectable if Ford’s new monstrous diesel V8 didn’t propel the 2011 F-350 to 60 in a rumored 9 seconds.

Let’s talk fuel economy, or lack thereof. In our 860 miles of testing, mostly highway miles with little traffic, we averaged 14.2MPG. Not stellar, but again, expected and not out of the ordinary for this segment. Speaking of engines, the Cummins diesel boasts a 350,000 mile time-between-overhaul rating which is 100K more than the Chevy or Ford, but I wonder how many people ever keep their truck to 250,000 miles let alone 350,000? If you have, let us know in the comment section below. Dodge tells us that 79% of Ram heavy duty trucks sold in 2008 were diesels and more recently the number approached 87% which explains why Dodge dropped the gasoline engine for 2010.

The thing about the Ram 3500 is that it kept charming me in unexpected ways. The up-level audio system is excellent, almost good enough for me to overlook the uConnect radio/nav system that has to be hands down the worst I have used in a long, long time. Seriously, there were better after market head units in the 1990s, what gives?

The real fly in Chrysler’s truck ointment is the Ram’s tow rating. Allpar.com claims that the 2011 models will be class competitive with a tow rating of 22,000lbs, but the 2010 Ram Dodge loaned us was only rated at 17,600lbs. Sure, over 8.5 tons sounds like a huge tow rating, but compared to the F350 which tops out at 22,600lbs, or the F450 that bumps the tow rating to 24,400lbs, 8.5 tons seems like weak sauce. Let’s hope Dodge gets their tow on for 2011. Reality checks are always important, so I have to temper towing capacities with the fact that few people will ever tow would be a conventional hitch trailer which would top out well within the tow capacity of the Dodge. Of far more use is the payload rating where unfortunately the Dodge still falls short with a 5130lb capacity to the Ford’s 6360. S

As my week with the Ram drew to a close, I realized that I would actually miss my boyhood fantasy truck. The big-rig style Jake brake had earned a special place in my heart on my daily commute, as had the fact that the Ram meets 2010.5 emissions requirements without urea injection. Dodge chose to use the more expensive NOx scrubbers instead of some expensive pee injection system like other makers. It should be noted that chassis cab versions of the Ram trucks do use urea injection instead of the NOx scrubbers as a cost reducing measure.

Our tester was $55,000 as equipped, and there’s the final rub, a similarly equipped F350 rings in a hair cheaper and brings more hauling cred to the party. If you’re just going to buy a truck on looks, your boyhood dream, or you want to tow your non-fifth wheel trailer, then the Dodge is competitive, otherwise you should just drive right past the Ram dealer. At the end of the day Chrysler’s financial condition is likely to blame for the tune the Ram 3500 plays and unless they take their engine and chassis back to the drawing board, Dodge will need to get used to being the handsome brute at the back of the pack.

Dodge provided the vehicle, insurance and one tank of gas for this review.

One of the strangest phenomena of the revived retro muscle car wars is the renewed emphasis on V6 performance. Once derided as “Secretary Specials,” the V6 versions of the Ford Mustang and Chevy Camaro now make upwards of 300 horsepower, while earning EPA highway ratings that surpass the 30 MPG mark. But if these latter-day pony cars herald a new era of performance and practicality, the V6-powered Dodge Challenger is as retro as its 1970-again styling.

The Challenger has always been the third wheel in the pony car wars: a little too heavy, a little too big, and a little too late to the game. Sure, the maddest of the mad versions were fire-breathing beasts, but the Challenger never wormed its way into the American psyche the way the lither, more sporty Camaro and Mustang did. And with all three nameplates back in showrooms, the old relationship remains the same: the 6.1 liter SRT-8 Challenger may give up nothing to its perennial rivals, but the volume SE version comes up well short of the competition.

Of course, what the modern Challenger might lack in emotional capital, it more than makes up for in sheer retro, street-level appeal. Even without Hemi badges, the Challenger looks big, mean and slick, by far the most retro of the modern pony car designs, and to this reviewer’s eyes, the most clean and pleasing as well. And it doesn’t just look good, it looks right. It’s a long car, but it’s got a vertical heft to it that balances the design. And with its classic lines and proportions executed in thick modern body panels, the Challenger looks as much like an expensive toy model grown to street size as anything else.

From outside the Challenger’s deceptively large cabin, it seems like nothing could break the spell cast by the car’s sheer presence. At least until the driver sticks the Challenger’s plastic key fob into the appropriate receptacle and turns it, kicking the old 3.5 liter SOHC V6 to life with all the drama of a Grand Caravan. At this point, the observer of this unremarkable process is likely to come down with a bad case of cognitive dissonance: the eyes tell you to expect the lumpy loping of big V8, but all the ears hear are, well, almost nothing.  With a stab of the throttle, the muted tickover rises to a tremulous drone. With enough motivation, the engine eventually manages to sound blustery, but it’s never in danger of making a sound that’s in the least bit purposeful.

Nor, given the performance numbers, should it. With a mere 250 horsepower and 250 lb-ft of torque on tap, it’s a good 50 ponies and about 25 lb-ft short of its V6 adversaries. And with 3,720 lbs of retro coupe to carry around, the old V6 has its work cut out for it. Luckily, the five-speed automatic is well-calibrated for the task, flattering the Challenger’s weak on-paper numbers with easy-to-use real-world performance. First gear is short enough to give the Challenger just enough pop from the traffic lights to keep it from being a complete embarrassment, but it’s also long enough to keep things from becoming a thrash-fest. Just don’t expect those rear tires to emit even the softest chirrup, unless you’re turning from a stop on a horrendously-paved road. While treating the gas pedal like it’s a particularly resilient cockroach.

In fact, if you’re even remotely interested in performance or fun, look elsewhere. Though the steering is only slightly overboosted, the Challenger’s weight makes it a clumsy dancer, and without the brute force needed to manhandle its softly-sprung chassis, you quickly settle into cruising mode. On suburban side streets, it glides sedately and uses its power well. On the freeway, it accelerates acceptably before running out of useable puff at relatively low (although still illegal) speeds. A sideways bump on the transmission’s autostick drops the Mopar back into its powerband more rapidly than pedalwork alone, but there’s still a palpable pause as your order makes its way to the engine room. Long, sweeping turns at higher speeds are as close as the Challenger gets to a driving thrill, but with so much weight, and so little steering feel, it’s got one of the fastest boredom-to-fear times in the business.

What we have then, in the Challenger SE, is a big, retro cruiser. It’s quiet and refined at freeway speeds, and it’s got enough power to keep up with the rest of the commuters. And shockingly for a Chrysler product, the interior is even a fairly inoffensive place to spend time. Though it lacks the retro flair promised by its exterior and competitors alike, its a clean design with simple functionality and relatively high-quality components… for a Chrysler. We could nitpick a few plastics choices, the lack of mirrors on the sun visors and more, but as stripped, sub-$25k Chrysler Group products go, it’s a revelation. Only the large, cheap and nasty steering wheel is truly offensive.

Unlike the more musclebound V6 pony car competition, the Challenger offers real-world rear seating. Wedge five people (including three six-footers) into a Camaro or Mustang, and after 45 minutes at least three of them will need either a chiropractor, a relationship counselor, or both. Thanks to the Challenger’s lengthy LX underpinnings, the same five people will make the same trip in relative luxury. In fact, the only professional assistance a passenger might need is seasonal affective disorder therapy: spacious though it may be, the rear seat is still a lightless bunker, with little visibility anywhere.

And though poor visibility as a result of bold styling is a nearly universal problem affecting nearly every car on the market, in this case it creates a special disadvantage. After all, this particular Challenger was a rental, and the SE’s lack of performance credentials vis-a-vis its rivals seems to doom this model to heavy rental-fleet service. The problem is that, having arrived at one’s destination and made the questionable decision to splash out for a “fancy” rental, the last thing one wants to find out is that famous landmarks are only barely visible out of the Challenger’s gun-slit windows. Want to see more than the bottom third of the Washington monument as you drive by? Be prepared to hang half your body out the window. Want the kids to enjoy a memorable back-seat tour of their nation’s capitol? Rent the Mustang convertible instead.

So, if this Challenger fails as a performance car, a musclebound cruiser and a rental, what is it good for? How about a better-looking Solara or Accord Coupe? From the cabin it’s not that hard to forget that it’s rear-drive, or related to anything with a Hemi, but from the outside it’s pure retro confection. You just won’t be getting the efficiency or reliability of the Japanese snooze-coupes. But when Chrysler’s new “Pentastar” V6 comes out, it should offer close enough to 300 horsepower to make it feel a little less like an afterthought to the Camaro and Mustang… at least on paper. In the meantime, unless you can’t live without its looks but can’t afford a Hemi, look elsewhere.

For a moment, turn away from the uncertain prospects of Chrysler’s Fiat-directed future and consider the subject of this review as nothing other than one entry in the popular five-door hatchback segment of the North American compact car market.

That’s what I had to do, anyway, in order to rationalize driving and writing about a vehicle that a lot of folks would justifiably consider to be a loser car from a loser car company. The question is, is it really?

Regardless of whether or not the 2010 Dodge Caliber SXT is a loser, one thing’s for sure: it’s a goner, as a Fiat-sourced replacement will be phased in somewhere within Chrysler’s multi-brand lineup over the next five years. That doesn’t matter to the compact hatchback customer who’s looking for cheap-but-new (and ostensibly dependable) wheels today, though. Fortunately, the Italian corporate shot-callers decided to make Dodge’s current contender in this market a little more tolerable by giving it a new interior for 2010, something the dealer source I spoke with said was the result of a $500 per car endowment from Fiat that tasked Chrysler with improving the vehicle without raising its price.

Alleged interior improvements notwithstanding, the exterior remains the visual equivalent of what a Star Trek-type transporter might yield if it malfunctioned and disastrously reassembled the molecules of a car, a truck, and a small crossover in one, horrible mutant of glass, steel, and plastic. The Ram-tough grille treatment looks just as out of place on a frugal compact as it did when the Caliber first appeared, and the panel seams where the sides of the car meet the roof are still covered with cheap, gray (“pre-faded black”?) plastic strips that look just as contrived as the over-sized comic-book-looking head- and taillight elements.

Happily, things improve inside, as Fiat’s stop-gap money appears very well spent. Borrowing most – if not every – premium interior cliché from the last ten years, Chrysler engineers have thankfully imbued the cabin with niceties such as chrome-ringed gauges, a decent steering wheel, and better upholstery throughout. Soft-enough-touch materials abound, and the new console houses a touch-screen entertainment center with decent ergonomics and features that are at least class-competitive. (My favorite: one touch rippage of all songs from a CD onto the internal 30-gig hard drive.) There’s also a (parked-mode only) DVD player. All this audio-hippery would be cooler if audio phasing was better, but overall, the system doesn’t sound bad.

The “not bad” theme continues as you contemplate the interior’s functionality. Given the comparative popularity of small sedans in the compact market today, it’s a fair bet that most hatchback buyers are looking for enhanced utility. Here the Caliber really delivers, with a fold-down (and reclining) rear seat that reaches near-flat status, a plastic-backed flip-forward front passenger’s seat, and headroom that’s every bit as ample as Jessica Simpson’s [insert favorite body part here]. Far and away, though, the Caliber’s most noticeable bit of interior redemption is it’s rear cargo area. Flash-covered plastic panels that looked like shipping-duty refugees have given way to much better looking, thicker equivalents, and the flimsy floor panel covering the temporary spare has been ditched in favor of a substanital mouse-fir-covered, multi-piece unit that, according to the manufacturer, can hold up to 250 pounds.

But don’t put 250 pounds back there (or much more than that, anyway), because an already-taxed 158-horsepower 2.0-liter four banger will only seem less impressive as you urge it forward. Even though throttle response is pretty good, you’ll quickly realize that there’s just not much there, other than maybe a disturbing resemblance to early Saturn fours in the (lack-of) smoothness department. If not for a very capable CVT that dutifly keeps this thrashy sewing machine within easy driving distance of its torque peak, the engine’s NVH alone would be a good reason not to buy this car. At one point, I lifted the hood while the engine was running. Closing my eyes, I was instantly transported to a 1970’s office building where I was surrounded by a typing pool filled with fast-fingered secretaries pounding away at their IBM Selectrics. Somewhere (probably at a race track) there are louder fuel injectors, but I’ve haven’t heard them.

What I have heard are comments from lots of regular Caliber rental customers involving driving dynamics that don’t do diddly to dissuade derrogatory discourse. And I see why. Ever serve on a team or work group that couldn’t agree on anything? Just pretend that Congress was responsible for the Caliber’s chassis setup and you’ll fully comprehend the way the car rides and drives.

Let’s start with the least-offensive part: The steering – though a little light – seemed decently responsive but had a real “artificial” feel that I would associate with some of the lesser-quality electric power steering systems I’ve encountered. Except that the Caliber’s system is hydraulic. Oh well, at least the ratio seemed well-chosen.

But the really horrible part of the Caliber’s driving dynamics involves the complete disharmony between the springs/dampers (extraordinarily mushy) and the 17-inch tires (bone-jarringly stiff). The rock-ribbed construction and hard, brittle compound of the ill-chosen rubber neither gripped nor glided, yet I was able to count no less than three Town Car-worthy up-and-down motions after a hitting a medium-sized pothole at 45 MPH thanks (or no thanks) to the big-car-from-the-Sixties suspension tune.

At this point, I turned on the radio (to drown out the road noise produced by the awful tires). But even the shrill tones of Lady Gaga were no match for the sound I made when I nearly rear-ended a Bimmer in traffic after expecting that the Caliber’s brakes might actually perform like those fitted to other modern automobiles. The vague ineffectiveness of this car’s binders is simply inexcusable. Ever driven a vehicle equipped with high-performance, high-heat range brake pads early in the morning when they’re cold and require excessive pedal effort and increased stopping distance? If so, you’ll have a good idea of what to expect from this mass-market, garden-variety little Dodge hatchback on a daily basis. In other words,the Caliber’s brakes are bad…almost scary bad.

But is the whole car bad?

I remember Dan Rather once saying, during the Monica Lewinsky scandal, that he didn’t believe Bill Clinton was a liar, because, “I think you can be an honest person and lie about any number of things.”

Debate that statement all you want, but I can’t help but apply similar logic to the Caliber: I believe a car can have a number of serious flaws but still be a decent car. Sure, the cons outweigh the pros by a ton here, and yes, the Caliber is a dying model from a seemingly dying brand built by a company with a still-uncertain future. But for the right customer – one who only has $17,320 (as my moon-roofed tester stickered for after three grand worth of incentives)…and who needs a dependable, new hatchback – I think the Caliber might be…certainly not the best choice…but at least a decent one.

One thing’s certain, though: Chrysler derived the maximum bang for their meager upgrade buck by investing in a nicer interior for this wayward little hatchback. If gradual product improvements as effective as this one become consistent year after year throughout the company’s entire product line, maybe Chrysler’s future won’t look so bleak after all.

Puerto Vallarta is a lovely vacation spot for fans of beauty and tranquility mixed with unique Pistonhead sightseeing opportunities. Take the Chrysler K-car: a stateside rarity, but not an uncommon vehicle in a country known for taking our tired, neglected automobiles, giving them a new lease on life. But I never saw a Dodge Caliber or Neon on the roads of Puerto Vallarta. Ever. While Iacocca’s turnaround machine never died in Mexico, the rest of Chrysler’s small car lineup drifted away. For good reason? Cue the Dodge Boyz’ rebadged Hyundai Accent: the Dodge Attitude.

But a Hyundai Accent is still the stuff of rental car fantasy, even in Puerto Vallarta. The Dodge Attitude is a tourista’s bottom rung rental, not a cheap and cheerful car for the masses. Then again, this Mopar doesn’t look cheap. Down Mexico Way, the Accent’s (sorry, Attitude’s) modern but inoffensive design isn’t lost in a sea of me-too subcompacts with typical Asian styling cues, it looks borderline flashy against the sea of, um, vintage American iron and Euro-subtle Volkswagons. Maybe calling it the “Attitude” wasn’t such a bad idea.

Or not: my tester wore Hyundai-branded wheel covers, and page seven of the (downloadable) brochure from Dodge of Mexico’s website has the same unacceptable sin. Other than that, the blatant re-badge is acceptable: especially since no (non-SRT) Chrysler product ever had an interior this good. If a Honda Civic is small car fillet mignon and a Dodge Caliber is tripe, the Attitude is day-old chorizo: tight panel gaps, borderline elegant textures in a sea of brittle polymers. Even worse, there’s no contrasting trim on the center stack to break up the monotony. The seats have more than adequate cushioning, far superior to any gen-u-wine Chrysler that’s even remotely close to this price point. 

In the Attitude’s cabin, everything’s in its right place. Switchgear is intuitive and the buttonage moves smoother than the wet dream of a Chrysler Sebring. There’s enough room for four Americans, and the doors and folding rear seats close with a reassuring solidity I never expected from a car this cheap. The trunk is large enough for several carry-on bags, perfect for my traveling companions and our 24-hour sightseeing excursion.

Perhaps I can see myself commuting in this Dodge. And not completely hating it. The GLS-trimmed Dodge Attitude is a perfectly acceptable sedan, even when the airy greenhouse didn’t afford views of the Mexican Riviera. Luckily, they did.

And driving the Attitude in such a lovely setting masks it’s dynamic deficiencies. The standard tachometer revs quite smoothly to redline, with far less four-banger thrash than a Dodge Avenger. And there’s more than enough power (110hp) to safely pass (your neighbors’ former) Rangers or stay right behind that rich Hombre in his Bora. The Attitude even pulls strong on the highway with the A/C blasting, though that’s close to a speeding ticket and the obligatory Police bribe.

Downtown Puerto Vallarta has twisty, tight cobblestone roads: something the Dodge Attitude handles with little to no complaint with 14” wheels under WOT conditions. Get out of town and the Korean Dodge is out of place: more speed translates into duller steering responses, pronounced understeer and an occasional harsh in-corner kickback from it’s solid rear axle on bumpy roads. Which is perfectly acceptable for an economy car, but the “Attitude” of a Mazda 3 is distinctly lacking. Which meant my time spent on the Attitude wasted my precious remaining moments in a tropical paradise.

But just to make sure, I grabbed the keys to a Hyundai Accent in the cold and dreary climate of an American winter. Behold, the Dodge Attitude is more than acceptable for our roads and drab scenery too. This little Mopar is cheap, comes with a bass friendly six-cone stereo, is fun to thrash at the limit and has plenty of airbags if you screw the pooch.

Then I found myself behind the wheel of America’s “favorite” rental car special, the Chrysler Sebring. Aside from the extra space, better audio acoustics and ride improving bulk (in the finest Detroit tradition) the Dodge Attitude from my vacation was a far superior vehicle. Compared to the Sebring, the little Dodge doesn’t vibrate to pieces at idle, has a far less offensive interior, corners like a Corvette and sits like a Ferrari. No, really.

Back to Mexico: Ford and GM’s storefront and on-road product mix is strong, though neither has the presence of Volkswagen. Chrysler doesn’t even hit the radar, and re-badging Hyundais won’t change much. While the Dodge Attitude is a good car, it’s more proof that there’s no happy ending for Chrysler. If (when?) the “new” Chrysler runs out of taxpayer funded steam and files for Chapter 7, expect Hyundai to pick up an excellent distribution network in Mexico for Pennies on the Peso.

Smart consumers know there are plenty of ways to save money on one’s chosen hobby while preserving enjoyment and/or utility. A Gibson Les Paul Studio is very nearly as good a guitar as a Les Paul Standard, and it costs half as much. The Allen-Edmonds MacNeil uses the same Horween shell cordovan as the Alden Long Wing and can often be had for up to a hundred dollars less. The Omega Speedmaster does everything a Rolex Daytona does except create the false impression that one has won an iconic American race. With that said, here’s eight thousand dollars that you would be a fool to “save”: the price gap between the Dodge Challenger R/T Classic and the Challenger SRT-8.

It’s a chalk-and-cheese situation. The SRT-8 is a take-no-prisoners street superstar that acquits itself reasonably well on a road course. The R/T Classic has even more street appeal, at a lower price. But it completely sacrifices even a smidgen of fast-road or racetrack ability. It doesn’t go, not like it should. It doesn’t turn. And it sure as hell doesn’t stop. If you don’t care about any of that stuff, feel free to buy one. If you do, read on.

I took the Challenger to Summit Point’s “Main” road course for a two-day teaching engagement. It’s common for me to use my street car to demonstrate certain aspects of racetrack driving to my students, often with three passengers in the vehicle. I’ve used many different cars for this purpose, from my brace of Volkswagen Phaetons to a borrowed Mitsubishi Evolution. But the Challenger was the first one I’ve tried where the basic dynamic package simply is not up to the task of taking people around a racetrack.

Start with the brakes—because you won’t stop with them. Two laps is one too many for the feeble binders. Blame the fantastic-looking twenty-inch Torq-Thrust-style wheels. They’re simply too big and heavy to be effectively dealt with by cheap sliding-caliper stoppers. The supplied Eagle RS-A tires are simply the worst modern tires I’ve ever driven on a racetrack. That’s astounding, given the fact that Goodyear makes some of the best max-performance street rubber money can buy.

The Dodge Challenger’s R/T Track Pack Classic’s suspension appears to combine stiff swaybars and soft springs in the classic Herb Adams style. Th result: persistent, unshakable understeer in all situations. The Challenger’s 376-horsepower HEMI quickly heat-soaks during fast laps. It’s very hard to get this car sideways; I was unable to break the rear tires loose, even when I applied considerable lateral load to the old girl’s chassis. I say this having long ago mastered the art of putting the old Mercedes W140 S-Klasse doorhandle-to-oncoming-traffic. [Ed: metaphorically speaking.]

I was so disappointed in the R/T’s track ability that I borrowed a 19911.6-liter Miata on Falken Azenis tires and staged a two-car race with a fellow NASA instructor and Time Trial competitor. Could the Challenger pass the Miata in a series of six single-lap “battles”? The Internet’s conventional wisdom: the little Mazda would handily hold off the fat, slouchy Dodge. In the real world, I murdered the Miata. I blasted by the Elan-like roadster every time in the straight between Turns Three and Four, before trail-braking and grinding the sidewalls all the way down the entrance to Four.

So don’t get it twisted. The Dodge Challenger’s R/T Track Pack Classic is still pretty quick in absolute terms. But it requires the patience of Job to steer around a road course without burning the brakes or overheating the tires. It’s work. This kind of thing is supposed to be fun. Off the track, however, the fun returns in spades.

The R/T “gets mad house on the boulevard” according to more than one spectator; it’s probably one of the easiest ways to become a local celebrity in any small town. Seated behind that long hood, with your friends lounging in the spacious interior, listening to the more-than-decent sound system, pistol-gripping the six-speed transmission through solid-sounding shifts . . . it’s a wonderful, thoroughly vintage, thoroughly American experience. On the track, the R/T is easy prey for a BMW 335i, but on Main Street the Bimmer might as well be invisible in the Challenger’s presence.

The new 2010 Ford Mustang is a better product than this big Mopar in every possible way. The new Chevrolet Camaro isn’t bad either. But neither of those smaller ponycars can match the Challenger as a boulevard cruiser. In this application, the big barge’s ungainliness isn’t a problem, the motor is responsive enough, and the wicked four-headlight face looks like a million bucks. My long trip back from Summit Point to Ohio was thoroughly relaxing. When I arrived in the early morning, the pretty girl at Tim Horton’s wanted to know all about the car. “I love it!” she squealed. “Trust me,” I replied, “you’d love the SRT-8 more.” So would you.

TTAC’s Best and Brightest don’t need proof that Chrysler dealers are in a world of hurt. Still, seeing their misery displayed on a LED sign by the side of the road rubs salt into the wound. 76% off 2009 Dodge Ram Trucks! And this was before Chrysler filed for Chapter 11, from a dealer that dodge the ChryCo dealer cull bullet. Fine print? Lots. Slime-filled sales tactics aside, it’s only a matter of time before the real liquidation sales arrive. If so, is Dodge’s most basic of workhorses worth a look?

Behold the grille of your dreams. The Ram’s signature schnoz gives brand-neutral truckers a bad case of Dodge Fever, but work trucks never had it this good. Even the base model has snazzy chrome crosshairs. And a slick face: italicized lighting pods are the starting point for the fender’s flowing brow. Much like the slant-intensive fascia of a 1979 Chevy Monte Carlo, the Ram 1500 is a delightful mix of fast lines and baroque bulges. Even in the least appealing combination of matte black bumpers, regular cab, stubby wheelbase and a short bed, the ST-trimmed Ram looks suitably stout. In fact, the 2009 Dodge Ram 1500 is the most aerodynamic truck on the market; the acres of black trim on both Chevy’s blocky schnoz and Ford’s shovel nosed snout simply cannot touch it.

Too bad the stark interior is untouchable, even by (admittedly low) work truck standards. While functionality and durability is paramount, the competition does this without feeling like a penalty box. Take the Dodge’s dash. Please. Ford accomplishes Le Corbusier classicism via Toby Keith’s straight talk. GM and Toyota do the organic look of an entry-level passenger car. The Ram’s dash may be the brand’s high water mark, but even the door panels are the Chrysler Sebring of truck interiors: dull to the eyes and cheap in your hands.

And the business end of the beast isn’t especially noteworthy. The Ram’s short bed lacks tailgate torsion assists, or optional stepladders to reach in, over and around the Ram’s unbelievably tall beltline. In fairness, this complaint is indicative of the general trend of heavier and taller pickups. But this macho factor must meet its maker as modern consumer tastes look for function, form and fuel economy.

But that’s not to say that the working class, zero option Ram is a bad place to kill some time: the spacious tan and black vinyl trimmed seats are leather-like in look and feel, thanks to their snazzy contract stitching. The CD player projects lows and highs with reasonable clarity thanks to six well-endowed speakers.

Probably the nicest feature: a shifter-mounted rocker switch, which quickly lets the driver hold any gear with minimal fuss. And that’s more important when you consider the Ram ST’s standard powertrain: a 210hp, 3.7L V6 with a hollow 235 lb·ft of torque and a rev-challenged four-speed automatic. With two people and an unladen bed, the V6 equipped Ram can merge on freeways and get out of its own way. But just barely.

Obviously the Ram 1500 is not the truck for hauling “mulch” of anything. But things improve in other dynamic tests. Handling is tight enough for government work, with not-quite-scary body roll and modest grip. The prodigious disc brakes stop with just enough nose drive to remind its occupants that hoonage equals a short trip to HR and a lengthy lecture about corporate responsibility.

Much like the other fully-boxed, hydroformed pickup frames on the market, the Ram 1500 feels like it can outlast memories of the parent company from whence it came. Which leads to the best trait of the base by name (and nature) Ram 1500: the supple and luxurious ride. The flow is never choppy and the rear suspension rarely loses its composure, even with the standard wheelbase and zero cargo in the bed. Credit where credit is due: conservatively tuned rear coil springs are a genuine class advantage. The Ram doesn’t ride like a Cadillac. It rides like a real Cadillac from the days of button-tufted seats.

Too bad trucks are bought on the strengths of a leaf spring: low cost of ownership and maximum durability. Be it on the showroom floor or in a depreciated heap on Craigslist, a work truck is just that. Refinement freaks look elsewhere.

After a few minutes in the Ram 1500 ST, I understood why the competition never mentions Dodge in television, radio and print media advertisements in The Lone Star State. GM and Ford are still the boys to beat, and Toyota is the new Dodge. Combined with the V6′s mediocre fuel economy and Dodge’s chronic third (fourth?) place in the sales race, the new Ram is barking up the wrong tree. In the short term, liquidation pricing makes the Ram a winner. But will the post-Cerberus remnants of Chrysler find any value in the Dodge Ram? For the sake of our tax dollars, they’d better.

Let us drive then, you and I, while the morning is spread out against the sky like a crash victim autopsied upon a table. Let us drive, up winding rain-slicked streets, the chattering traction control and sideways exits in too-narrow lanes . . . All apologies to T.S. Eliot, but what you are about to read can only be characterized as “The Love Song of a Supercharged Viper.” I was a fan of the 500-horsepower new-generation SRT-10 when it arrived in 2003, fell in love with the variable-cam 600-horsepower variant in 2008, and was utterly smitten by the final Viper ACR when I drove it at Chrysler’s proving grounds last year. With this 750-horsepower, ACR-inspired droptop, however, PRI has created the fastest rental car available in the United States, and that means it is interesting.

What’s it like to drive a car with this kind of power? Let’s look at the average freeway on-ramp: it’s a little less than a quarter-mile long. You and I both make a rolling left turn onto the ramp at about 20mph. You’re in a BMW 328i, not a bad little car. I’m in this supercharged Viper. We both floor it. If you give it your all, you will be driving at about a hundred miles per hour when it’s time to merge. Better hit the brakes, friend.

Meanwhile, I will have cleared one hundred and sixty miles per hour by the time I swing to the left and enter the freeway. I’m six seconds down the road from you, and by the time you merge in after me I am knocking on the door of 186 miles per hour, already nearly a half-mile away. In moments, I will be out of your visual range on most American Interstates. On what Jethro Tull called “a machine-born six lanes” this Viper bends time and space in a way only the Suzuki Hayabusa and similar motorcycles can.

Too bad I don’t have a freeway. Instead, I’m lowering myself into the Viper’s seat by the side of a wet mountain road. PRI’s equipped the car with RaceLogic traction control to operate the StopTech brakes. I check to see that it’s set to “Wet” instead of “Off”. Even on dry pavement, this snake will spin its Michelin Pilot Sport PS2s at 100+; on slick roads, each corner exit produces an opportunity for a humiliating accident.

Much has been written about the Viper’s size, its plainly awful cockpit, the bizarre relationship of its controls. It’s all true, and it all fades away in the first few miles. I’m light on the throttle, rarely using more than half its travel as we climb a long, twisty road full of blind corners marked “25mph” or lower. The infamous V-10 “UPS truck” exhaust note is a dull roar as I short-shift again and again, tentative on the brakes, careful through the midcorner, bending the long nose in and avoiding the road imperfections which can shake the car off-line in a heartbeat.

Up, up we climb, and then I see that a dry line is starting to appear. At the next corner I wait, brushing the StopTechs lightly before touching the clipping point to the inside of the turn and then simply pinning the throttle to the floor. The response is instantaneous, brutal, far beyond what any motorcycle can deliver. The V-10 barks and I am pressed backwards with a force normally reserved for braking maneuvers. Now there’s a harsh series of kicks in the back as the RaceLogic boots me up the long straight, cutting and releasing power in staccato bursts quite unlike any factory-tamed traction control, accompanied by the drumbeat shriek of the V-10 running around the tach at a speed seemingly beyond real-world physics.

Shift to third. The traction control is now a discreet series of knocks against my spine. Fourth. The trees a blur beside me, eyes wide, fully focused, light fingers on the wheel as the nose darts left and right with every bump. Now there’s a turn and I engage the ABS with a single solid shove, shedding over a hundred miles per hour of velocity and fighting the overactive tail which shimmies in rhythm with the calipers’ action. Look, turn, release the wheel to fight the slide, point, exit. And do it again, and again, and again.

We live in an age of bicycle helmets for children, twelve-airbag family sedans, initiatives against childhood bullying, and Antioch College’s guides for consensual sex. If you like that stuff, you’ll hate this car. This Viper is unrestricted power and untrammeled speed, unrepentant American bad-assed masculinity. It could kill you in a heartbeat, but I tell you this: it is a straight shot of heroin to the veins, a sledgehammer to the forehead, and I love it as I have never loved another street car.

[Performance Rentals Inc. provided the vehicle reviewed, insurance and a tank of gas.]

The hand held radio crackled, “Pace car, flag’s on the white RX-7. Get in front of him.” I was at the first ever 24 Hours of LeMons race to be held in Kershaw, South Carolina. I was behind the wheel of a Vitamin C Dodge Challenger SRT8 with a 6.1-liter Hemi good for 425 hp. We were using it to pace the race. My job was to get in front of a 1981 Mazda RX-7 running under yellow. No problem. 370 cubic inches of American muscle against a wretched 26-year-old rotary? I was about to be the Godzilla to his Japan. Hell, I’d even light it up a bit– give the crowd something to cheer about. Yeah right. I could barely get in front of the Mazda, let alone woo the teeming masses.

Grossly obese and saddled with perhaps the worst automatic transmission in recent memory, the piggish SRT8 struggled to get in front of a $500 beater. Sadly (for the Dodge) the road wasn’t perfectly straight and the acceleration featured more bog than a swamp. Forget about smoking the tires; I could barely keep the beast from sailing off into the mud. I was stunned; horrified, too. Really? This is the car everyone was making such a fuss over? Long story short, the emperor was quite naked. And fat.

Look at the numbers for a moment. You have the aforementioned 425 horses along with 420 lb-ft of twist. Huge power, on paper. Yet a 0 – 60 time of just 5.4 seconds. And a price tag of $41,045. Compare this to the Ford Bullitt, which stickers for $10k less, produces “only” 315 hp/325 torques yet can hit 60 mph in 5 seconds flat. I know (trust me, I know) that there’s more to a car than it’s zero times. But these are straight up muscle cars. There’s not really much more! I just told you what happened when you turn the wheel (numbest steering ever). One more number to chew: 4,170 pounds. No, really — that’s what this blob weighs.

I won’t even mention the Chrysler-grade interior. Instead, let’s talk exterior. Or rather, the part of the Challenger that causes so many people to be so forgiving of the car’s multiple weak (and fat) spots. Not me. I’m just not into fraud, and the Challenger — even gussied up in SRT8 trim — is a phony. A fake. It looks like the car Kowalski ran flat out from Denver to (almost) San Francisco. But it isn’t, by any stretch.

First of all, unlike the real Challenger which was smaller than the Charger, this imposter is just as big as its stable mates. Making the appeal akin to those who bought PT Cruisers because they looked like old hot rods. Ridiculous, by all accounts. There’s been some grumbling that the new for 2009 six-speed manual redeems the SRT8. I guess I’ll have to see for myself, but I’m neither holding my breath or, frankly, even thinking about it. For the record, two stars.

For our first week on the Big Island, I made a reservation with Thrifty for the “wild car” option. My teenage son’s imagination ran wild; I harbored dread. The outcome fulfilled both of our expectations: he imagined our Charger to be a snorting, bitchin’ beast. I didn’t. Despite my relief at having escaped the Sebring bullet.

Our “wild car” was anything but. The 190hp 2.7-liter V6 and four-speed automatic was completely overwhelmed by the Charger’s 4,000lbs of pretense. Rarely has a car suffered from such a profound personality disorder: all show and no go. Under the hood of this vehicular version of “The Hulk”: the same sort of crude engine and spastic transmission as my former 1992 Grand Caravan. But nothing to show for all the noise and fuss.

Whereas the minivan and the Charger have the same horsepower-to-weight ratio, the 3.3-liter Caravan had a much better torque-to-weight ratio. It felt a lot quicker than the Charger, and didn’t need to grab two gears on every downshift.

It’s utterly inconceivable that Chrysler would build a 2.7 equipped Charger– let alone that anyone would actually buy one. Apparently rental companies are the obvious exception. Chrysler’s torquey 3.8 pushrod V6 would have been a much better choice for an entry/rental-level Charger, and undoubtedly cheaper to build than the DOHC 2.7.

The stalactite-hard, all-black cave of an interior and the gun-slit windows soon had me wishing I had scored a PT Cruiser. After all, we were here for the sight-seeing, not spelunking. The jail-cell windowed back seat is undoubtedly perfect for a police cruiser, right down to the already-broken kiddie-door lock that had my family banging on the window at every stop for release from the Charger’s clutches.

On the slow and narrow island roads populated with the locals’ Toyota 4×4 pickups and Corollas, the beamy Charger felt as out of place (and welcome) as Captain Cook’s three-masted brig, The Endeavor. Only at the big resort parking lots did the Charger feel at home, among the other Chrysler rental jetsam that had washed upon the islands.

The Charger is emblematic of everything that went wrong at Chrysler. Sure, a HEMI Charger RT is a trifling amusement. But a V6 Charger is essentially useless as a practical every-day car. I desperately searched for some remnant of the DNA that made the W-124 Benz such a perfect sedan, but to no avail. The Charger merely is a pathetic mutation, a gutless Frankenstein.

Since rental rates on the small island of Kauai were three times higher than on the Big Island, a web search led me to Island Rentals. The tiny operation’s motto is “don’t look like a tourist.” I was more than ready for that. Our serendipitous ride for $28/day (cash or check only): a somewhat clapped-out 1993 Camry V6 with 174k miles. The radio was MIA, and one door panel was attached with dry-wall screws. We were definitely going to fit in with the locals.

The Camry instantly impressed us with its laid-back island personality. The ride was as smooth as a well-made Mai Tai, the seats as comfy and relaxing as a hammock, and the silky engine inaudible over the warm breezes and crashing surf. But the 185hp 3.0-liter V6 was deceptively quick; the svelte 2900lb. Camry could easily have run rings around the (non) Charger.

The exquisite refinement of the Toyota’s engine and transmission, the brick-shithouse solidity of the aged and abused body structure, and the quality of the interior materials (no hard plastics) were still enhancing the reputation for this particular generation of Camry as the “Lexus of mid-size cars.” No wonder they’re such sought-after used cars, and still earning their keep as rentals on distant tropical islands.

And where will our rental V6 Charger be in fifteen years? On the ash heap of history, along with the (once proud) company that made it. To pawn off this larger-than-life sized Hot Wheels toy with a feeble old K-car drive train and a taxi-cab interior on today’s hotly-contested mid-large sized sedan market is (was?) utter suicide.

Exploring Hawaii was an exquisite escape from winter’s dismal grip and the relentless rattling of The Big 2.8′s begging bowls. But unless you’re among the few remaining naked hippie cave dwellers in remote Waipi’o Valley, the truth about cars is inescapable.

But there’s never a good time for ugly. While the previous Dakota wore a face so contrived and misaligned it passed muster in a Grand Theft Auto III landscape, the re-skinned 2008 model looks right at home in…Grand Theft Auto IV. The freshened face has the right amount of parallel lines and refined treatments, but its face is generic, inoffensive and forgettable.

And without serious styling up front, the rest of the Dakota’s form lacks presence. Yes, the “new” Dakota sports the same half-baked fender bulges that, much like plate tectonics gone awry, extend to the front doors’ midsection. The rear form fails for the same reason, sweeps so broad of beam only work on Monte Carlos of yore. No matter the trim level, there’s less “macho” in this rig than its full-size competition.

Then again, Dodge’s sales brochure promotes the mighty Dak to younger guys with Mountain Dew-esque hobbies. Oh dear. Sure, the base ST version isn’t for the latte-minded, iPod intensive, extreme sports fans in all of us, but adding those (precious few) options does nothing for higher-minded appeal. With typical Detroit irony, the market-inappropriate interior is awash in the type of brittle and crude plastics that bring about lust to a workingman’s heart. Maybe Dodge is courting those “lifestyle” buyers after falling off the rock wall and spending a week in the cold, unyielding walls of the local ICU.

No, really. There isn’t a shred of soft touch polymer to be found: even the cloth-covered seats are firmer than expected. From the lack of a standard tilt wheel, a tone-deaf CD/MP3 player and an airline worthy, chair-mounted armrest (in lieu of a real console), there’s no love for the base model. On the plus side, four active Dakoteers have adequate wiggle room in the crew cab. There’s even a pair of (optional) Stow-N-Go milk crates below the rear bench for carrying…something.

Be it people or cargo, the V6-propelled, 4500lb Dakota isn’t the choice of the aficionado. Or anyone else, for good reason: with a meager 235lb-ft of torque and a wheezing 210 horses underfoot, an unladen Dakota barely motivates itself. Slow is not the word; the Dodge simply can’t get out of its own way. Even with the 6-speed manual’s remarkably close ratios and accurate (but notchy) throws, the 3.7L Dodge is no match for its 4.0L competition from foreign shores, never mind the positively ancient Ford Ranger.

Add optional 4WD into the mix and the proof meets pudding: locking the Dak into 4-low proves that gearing alone cannot a truck make. Even with the mandatory autobox, the 4.7L V8 is the only logical choice.

Luckily, going slow isn’t so bad. The fully boxed and hydroformed frame stays planted in corners, with less body flex than the Toyota Tacoma. There’s enough grip to stay out of the ditch, though the numb and lifeless steering is not Man’s best friend. But the Dakota’s well-sorted rear leaf springs were a pleasant surprise, keeping stable and tracking confidently on most any road, paved or not.

If and when the Dakota reaches cruising velocity, its occupants are rewarded for their labor with a smooth and compliant ride. Even when unloaded, body motions are kept in check and the cabin is almost car-like in its quiet demeanor. And when flight turns to fright, the Dakota’s strong disc/drum brakes yank the mid-size truck to a halt with passion: especially when pushing the envelope unleashes the terrifying howl of rear-wheel only ABS intervention. Sure, Dodge offers an all-corner alternative as an option, but this oversight in the base model is a shot of guarana in an overpriced energy drink.

Speaking of, how does 26 grand for a zero-option truck grab ya? Not only do other quasi-large trucks offer more bang for less coin, the Dakota treads in dangerous water: the four portal, full size trucks offer more utility, power and style for a minor bump in monthly payments. And forget about bonus points for fuel economy: the overworked throttle sucks gas like the big dogs.

Even with discounts and mid-size benefits, there’s nothing to love about the once appealing nature of the Dodge Dakota. Smaller trucks do everything the Dakota’s customer demands, but with more power, style and value. And with the Dodge Ram on shaky ground, expect the cash-strapped Cerberus to flip the less appealing Dakota sooner than later.

[CarMax provided the vehicle reviewed, insurance and a tank of gas.]

On paper both whips offer equal measures of performance potential and utilitarian appeal. Both are motivated by force fed four-pots spinning the front wheels. Each has five doors, seating for four and a German tranny. In the flesh though, the sums of those parts aren’t even close.

Sitting on a 19” set of five-star hoops, hood agape and all hunkered down, the Dodge Caliber SRT-4 is about as subtle as a herpes outbreak. And boy is she a looker! At just the right angle, in just the right light the Dodge Caliber SRT-4 could be confused with any of Cambiano’s coach-built dream cars. Of course that lighting is none, and the angle is from behind a wall. Think Denis Farina, not Pininfarina.

I’m almost certain that during design instead of clay modelers, Kimbo Slice got the nod and went to work with only his fists. The SRT team simply lumped discarded wads back on, dug out some scoops and threw it back in the easy bake. The result: an overly hormonal bumpy box of pubescent perturbation.

In comparison, the HHR SS is deserving of that plastic bowtie it brandishes. When Bob Lutz poached Chrysler’s PT Cruiser producer (Brian Nesbitt), he went back to the well and drew-up another mass market milk-wagon. It’s far from sexy, but the prevalent proboscis of this panelesque-van has panache. Follow the Heritage High Roof’s lines back and a gangsta greenhouse awaits. Add a set of fender linked running boards and Tommy-gun toting rum runners would be right at home.

Aside from some faux chicken wire up front and bright red Brembo binders behind eighteens, the SS (Super Sleeper?) walks as softly as its stable mates, with nary a hint of its big stick. Quite simply the HHR SS is something old, something new, something borrowed, and my tester was blue.

Open the door of the bad ass Dodge and you’re greeted by a plethora of plastic polymers that are as pleasing to the touch as freshly clipped toenails. While the leather-lined seating boasts bolsters befitting a Viper, trying to find that sweet spot is an exercise in futility. No amount of adjustment in seating or steering wheel will combine to give drivers comfortable command. The sightlines make this wee beast seem huge and steal confidence blind. That said, the unconventional shifter position is spot-on.

The SRT-4’s analog info-tunnels pit the tach center stage, flanked by a 180mph speedo and a double duty fuel and temperature display. A tiny boost gauge sits under the amplitudinous A-pillar, where an air vent should be. Following Dodge’s Playskool design theme, the center stack houses a basic ICE unit and spinning HVAC knobs.

Things begin to spill “outside of the box” on the passenger side where a three-tiered glovebox-fridge-cubby thing eats passenger’s knees under braking. Just don’t leave your Veuve in there overnight, as the chiller is fed by the A/C. No worries, though, as the fold-flat rear quarters can easily house the bar fridge your dorm room needs plus party favors. Better yet; convince some co-eds to head back to the party. Provided they’re under 6’ 2” head and legroom won’t be a deal breaker. They even get fancy backlit flute holders.

On the flipside, what the HHR SS lacks in luminescent thingamajigs it makes up for in simple sublime design. Colour keyed accents; actual component integration and a not-so-Lego look to the plastics create a working class hero. Plasti-chrome rimmed gauges and vents yield some elegance to a mainly utilitarian design. Enthusiasts will frown at the tiny tach’s placement, but giggle at the A-pillar boost gauge. Much like the Dodge, the seating position is Viagra-rific, affording a commanding view of the road ahead. Pedal placement is heel-toe friendly but suffers due to the delivery truck topography.

Verticality abounds in the HHR with a windshield that straight-up-now- tells-you that the original design was more about utility than sport. Emblazoned with about six yards of SS embroidery, the eight-way power performance seats keep you loose, locked and loaded for bouts in the twisty bits or snail-paced commuter carnage. Coupled with a complete lack of right arm relief, autocross enthusiasts’ hands won’t waver from 9 and 3 on the leather lined wheel. That is until you try to leave and realize the door handle is molded from three year old pasta. I’m still not sure I left it in one piece.

Over your shoulder, there’s more than enough room to schlep the kids across state lines for Thanksgiving at grandmas or transport Uncle Phil after three rounds of turkey. Lose the bipedal cargo for favor of supplies, and 55 cubic feet of space abounds for Joe the plumber to carry out house calls. A plastic flat-tastic cargo area makes clean-up a breeze, whether Joe’s been hauling putty or laying pipe.

Thankfully, the pennies saved on the Caliber SRT-4’s looks went into its locomotion. Recovery from the aesthetic affront afforded by the Dodge demands sensual dedication to driving, and so does that engine.

It’s a pity the SRT team ordered a bigger booster instead of a differential. Pin the throttle, find some form of dead pedal and the Caliber SRT-4 lurches forward like a three-headed hell hound. You’ll hit sixty in under six seconds; maybe. While the 285 turbonium fed horses and 260ft/lbs of torque are up to the task, you’ll be too busy fighting the reigns to care about metrics. On dry days, the fully spooled 2.4-liter engine produces such monumental torque steer that arms like Manfred Hoeberl’s are a prerequisite. On wet days, Depends.

Over at the General, the SS squadron went the wiser route. Their diff. makes all the diff. An optional limited-slip setup delegates the equal measures of power and torque (260) on tap and keeps things (slightly more) tame; no-lift upshifting takes care of the rest. That’s right, keep your foot forged to the firewall and curl the corners of your lips as the CPU takes care of launch control, and keeps the 2.0-liter mill in one piece as you run through five Getrag gears. It takes some psychological seasoning but NSFW-me is it fun! Torque steer isn’t gone, but it’s easy like a Sunday morning.

Cornering is just as calm. The HHR SS earned some street-cred by rounding the ring (Nordschleife) during development. It was eight minutes and forty-three seconds well spent. When tackling tight twisties with a head full of steam, it was easy to keep the milquetoast milk-truck balanced and poised. The linear-coiled independent McPherson’s up front and beefed up trailing twister out back keep the HHR planted.

The binders are a little wooden at first, but when the Brembos heat up, late braking beckons. Notch the right ratio with the short-throw shifter, twist the tiller and marvel at how flat this 3282lbs box sits. Around town touring suffers a little from the sport suspension’s stiffness, but not enough to spill your coffee.

The Caliber SRT-4’s maniacal mill may make full throttle getaways messy, but the big blower yields a bountiful midrange. Where the HHR SS felt slow down low, with little to no boost, the SRT-4 plows on. This low rev response comes in handy when trying to tame switchbacks. There’s no doubt Dodge’s Dr. Eng.’s worked much magic on an abhorrent chassis. Slammed as it is, the 3248lbs of heft still feels like it hovers 10’ above the hood scoop.

To get things right, you need to scrub the SRT’s speed before you, you know, try to turn in. In most furious front drivers you get off the throttle and the backend comes around, the same is true here, but aggression can kill. Brake too late or dip in too early and understeer abounds. Get it right and the reward is worth it, as the back end locks in and that midrange grunt pulls you out. Get it wrong and all you’ll get is a loud smoky mess. That and, whatever was in front of you will soon be a part of you. Learner permits need not apply.

The Chevrolet HHR SS is a serious contender. Maximum Bob’s boys delivered the goods with this fast and furious delivery God. Where the Dodge Caliber SRT-4 punishes and rewards, the Chevrolet HHR SS just obeys. The Dodge is ugly, dimwitted, overpowered and underdeveloped.

The Chevy looks better inside and out, is more comfortable and has performance and practicality by the short and curlies. If a true hot-hatch is how you roll, head over to Mazda and get the Mazdaspeed 3. You won’t be disappointed. If getting people and things to places fast is your game, the HHR does it better and faster than anything in its marketplace, including the Mazda.

As I booted the throttle, the big 390 roared and the car surged forward. Beneath me, the weary suspension started doing the twist, but I kept my foot in it until the speedo needle wavered between 110 and 115. It was at that very moment I noticed the song playing on the radio: Molly Hatchet’s “Flirtin’ with Disaster.”

Bottle that moment up, pop the cork and nearly a dozen years later what you have is the decision facing any new truck buyer mulling over the 2009 Dodge Ram 1500. Given Chrysler’s imminent demise uncertain future, the purchase of any Mopar product right now is riskier than a Clinton-era Trojan. Couple this with the fact that it’s an all-new model filled with mostly-new technology and you’ll find yourself with a lot of questions to answer before putting this Dodge in your garage.

One thing that’s not in question, however, is the new Ram’s appearance. Although the two-wheel-drive SLT Quad Cab I sampled could never best the classic short cab proportions of older pickups, it’s a breath of fresh air compared to the frumpy 2008 model. The forward-leaning grille is retro cool and the basic shape is a pleasant progression of the “big rig” design theme Dodge started back in ‘94. Beauty is (slightly) more than skin deep, too, with clever (but dirty-sounding) “RamBox” bed-rail storage bins eliminating the need for external toolboxes.

If evolution is what this truck is all about, the interior needs to keep evolving– at least in the mid-priced SLT model, where every compliment I can muster is unavoidably backhanded. The GM-pilfered rotary knobs for the HVAC and headlamp controls aren’t perfect but they’re definite improvements over the ’08’s shoddy switchgear. The vent registers have gone from abominable to merely bad. The plastic steering wheel feels tolerable, but the intrusive driver’s-side “Oh, shit!” handle will live up to its name every time your elbow hits it during furious, one-handed trailer-backing maneuvers.

And did I mention that the stereo sucks? The stereo sucks. Other than the fairly comfortable but cheaply upholstered cloth seats, the interior leaves a lot to be desired. Oh, but there are more odd-shaped storage cubbies this year. Thanks, original minivan company!

Speaking of minivans, why doesn’t Chrysler build one with a Hemi? The most banal, mediocre vehicle on the planet would surely come alive if that mother was stuffed under the hood. Imagine the throttle response of a big-block gasoline V8 with the colossal off-idle torque of a long-stroke diesel.

Technologically speaking, Chrysler threw everything but the Küche sink at this mighty 5.7-liter mill. The result is 390 horsepower, 407 lb-ft of torque and 19 MPG on the highway. Cylinder deactivation, variable valve timing, and a dual-runner intake make the magic happen, but you’ll never know they’re there (the sudden rush of power at 4,200 rpm might make you suspicious, though).  The optional 3.92:1 rear gear lets you tow 8,800 lbs. while a sub-seven-second zero-to-sixty time completes your conversion (even as the sluggish five-speed automatic whispers doubt).

What you won’t doubt, however, is Chrysler’s all-new, class-exclusive rear coil spring suspension. The butt-assaulting harshness of the old Ram’s leaf spring arrangement is all but gone (Elvis hasn’t left the building yet, but he’s unbuttoned his jump suit and downed some pills). Relatively-precise steering helps you cope with the truck’s immense size and weight, and the chassis feels generally well-sorted (for a pickup)– plow too hard into a corner and the predictably progressive understeer will politely protest. Ride quality is now on par with other full-size half-tons, and brake feel (though not function) is among the best out there.

So essentially, what you have here is a good-looking, comfortable and capable $33,930 truck that you hope will hold together longer than the company that built it. Ergo, buying one is a roll of the dice. What would I do? Let’s just say that I had a blast in Florida during spring break back in ’96.

Many film buffs consider Richard Sarafian’s Vanishing Point an existentialist masterpiece. Kowalski had no real reason for going balls-out to San Francisco– other than the drive itself. Pistonheads argue that Kowalski’s ride, an arctic white 1970 Dodge Challenger, was reason enough. Yes, well, Mopar’s E-body entry to the late sixties ponycar parade was short-lived. Dodge only moved 165k units before ‘The End” flashed-up on the factory floor. With today’s Pentastar losing market share faster than a celebutante shedding clothes at a pool party, the recreated Challenger is carrying a lot more weight these days. So, is there any there there?

Judging by the number of hurdles jumped to secure a test drive, Dodge has a hit on its hands. (At least initially.) If you don’t have a deposit in hand or know someone on the inside, “Shopping ‘Til You Drive” requires expert perfidy and cozenage. With first-born promised, I noticed two things about the new Challenger. First, Chrysler totally aped Dr. Z’s Mercedes key fob design. Second, even in base trim (and an ugly color), the “secretary special” V6 Challenger SXT Challenger looks fat phat. Sitting on 18” alloys, my Deep Water Blue Canada-spec SXT hid the 800 lbs. and six inches thirty-eight years have bestowed upon the Challenger.

Ditching Dodge’s cross-haired corporate countenance for the quad-lamped front end ensures the Challenger eats Mustang’s leftover lunch. Follow the bulged hood back to the husky rear haunches and it’s obvious that this is retro rodding done right. In an effort to keep it real, the designers used the side mirrors from the Carl Cameron original. The only thing missing from the V6’s visuals: a twin pipe exhaust.

Pop the Challenger’s locks, grab the door handle and cue-up memories of [much] earlier German influences. The frame-less glass curtsies upon entry. And that’s when your smile starts to fade.

Where Mr. Mehta’s Challenger SRT8 offered details to delight, entry-level Challenger buyers will be less enthused. The somber slate surrounding me was decidedly dearth. The SXT forgoes the upper models’ faux fiber finish for retrograde polymers. While Pentastar plastics have become softer to the touch, aside from some lighter gray strips on the wheel, the lack of trim left me feeling achromatopsic.

The Challenger’s leather-trimmed tiller is as big as the London Eye. No amount of tilting and telescoping could lower the steering wheel to a comfortable level. The big and round theme continues to the centre stack, where glove-friendly HVAC and radio controls are an arm’s reach away. Tuning-in KOW is easy but, sadly, with only four speakers, heeding any of Super Soul’s warnings isn’t. Fortunately, Dodge found some extra nauga hides for the arm rest, which felt just like baby bear’s bed.  Slide the armrest forward for optimal comfort and tell your company to drink-up or hold their coffee in their lap; their cupholder just got pwned.

The Challenger’s cabin may not have that sense of occasion thing wired, but it makes a reasonably practical daily driver, offering more front shoulder room, rear legroom and trunk space than Ford’s Mustang.

It’s rumored that VP director Sarafian overdubbed the Challenger’s Hemi-related audio with a the roar of a Mustang V8. Today’s Challenger needs the same soundtrackectomy. The 3.5-liter V6 is as quiet as a mouse at idle and just perceptible at full bore. No matter. On the upside, out on the two-lane blacktop, the SXT provides enough grunt (250hp, 250ft/lbs of torque) to tackle on-ramps and left lane passes with ease.

Light-to-light Lotharios will look to the V8 upsell, but the SXT is no fools’ gold. While next day delivery from Denver to San-Fran is out of the question, the electronically-controlled, dual-tuned intake helps this beast feel faster than it should be. To quell torque slip and reduce visits to the pumps, The Dodge Boys mated the Challenger’s cog-challenged [four speed] slushbox to an e-nannied converter clutch. A row-your-own tranny would work wonders for making the most of the Challenger’s on-tap power AND give you something to hold onto, but the autobox gets the job done.

Despite the advantage of a multi-link rear end, corner carvers need not apply. Scrub enough speed with the Challenger’s ABS-equipped four-wheel discs, hand-over-hand that giant wheel, and the Challenger remains cool and confident.  Push it to seven tenths and you’ll be glad for the auto-locking doors. While this pony car’s suspension puts a similarly equipped live-axle Mustang to shame, avoid Belle Isle and head on over to Woodward instead.

The pony car market has been Ford’s field since Sainte-Therese closed the Camaro’s doors. The freshly massaged Mustang is still in testing. GM’s dragging out the release of their new hotness for yet another year. With V6 variants leading the Mustang way, Dodge has a serious Challenger in the SXT. That said, today’s new car market seems headed for a singularity. For anyone looking to pilot a stylish rear wheel-drive ride to the vanishing point, the reborn Challenger is as good as any, and considerably better than most.

Challenger? Just doing my job M'am. Approaching the big beast is a suitably daunting task. The muscle-bound MOPAR hails from the Chrysler LX platform, shot into the limelight by Ralph Gilles and his gangsta-fresh Chrysler 300. While the original Challenger tucked away unnecessary belly fat and sported pencil thin bumpers, the new “LY” platformed Challenger ditches the Hank Aaron School of Muscle, heading straight for Barry Bond’s homerun bustin’ persona. And it works: the Challenger's overtly chunky, hunky proportions still have the requisite long hood and short deck– even if the visual weight below the beltline gives it a staid and static appearance.

But it’s worthy of Mark Rothko’s approval; the rear's squared sheetmetal (finished in our testers HEMI Orange) with black trim, red taillights and singular white backup light are a shot of abstract expressionism in a landscape dominated by Altezza-encrusted bubble butts. Add the chopped roof, power budge hood and a subtle wedge spoiler proudly bearing the SRT8 moniker and it’s done. There’s a new badass in town.

But the boisterous overtones hit the skids with a palate of dark charcoal inside the SRT8’s cabin. Luckily, the interior is decidedly Charger-ish, with enough unique parts and upgraded materials to put the rental car references at bay. To wit: the SRT8’s suede accents and elegantly stitched door trimmings compliment the upgraded seat covers and squish-friendly plastics. The look is right, but the execution is far off the mark of an Accord Coupe. No worries, the bangin’ Kicker Audio and in-dash Navigation sport enough modern technology to advance the muscle car to the current millennia.

What makes the Challenger’s interior truly unique: the old school seating on the rear bench. Folding back cushion notwithstanding, the intimate hindquarters offers space for two adults, albeit cocooning them with a tapered C-pillar and sculptured armrests. It takes us back to a simpler, smaller time when high fructose corn syrup didn’t fill our glasses and mandate an interior’s size and shape.

Not that the Challenger is a trim, toned lightweight. At well over two tons, the two-door Dodge is part buttoned-down autobahn bruiser, part miracle mile cruiser. Broken pavement and choppy roads have no effect on the SRT8’s massive 20” Alcoa forged wheels and conservative spring rates.

You feel its heft in under any cornering load, even if the multi-link suspension keeps the ship sailing a tight course. Roll control is in the house, but there’s no escaping the laws of physics. Thankfully, the days of bias-ply shredding understeer are history, and power on oversteer isn’t far away– with appropriate coaxing. No surprise there, considering the Germanic levels of refinement in its bones, and a big bore HEMI under the bonnet.

All that sounds great. On paper. 

First, this is a limited production, hot-blooded American with an aural, tire-shredding (if largely mythical) legend to preserve. Try and keep that in mind when the Challenger’s overzealous mufflers hush the glorious V8 rumble, while you’re waiting for the massive push of 420lb/ft of torque to hit the pavement. Throttle tip-in is muted and the raucous-looking dual exhaust absolutely begs for Magnaflow’s finest cat-back piping.

To say that the Challenger’s disingenuous tuning is a buzz-kill is like saying the undefeated Pats losing the Super Bowl was a bit of a bummer for Bay Staters.

The Challenger SRT8’s strength lies in its highway strut. If one were to find an abandoned stretch of asphalt and wind-out the 425 horsepower HEMI to its limits, you’d discover a touring car that holds its speed like an S-class Benz, with a touch of wind noise from its frameless door glass. And then brings it all down without drama, thanks to a set of fade-free discs wearing glorious four-pot Brembo stoppers. 

The premium price, mandatory autobox, limited production (for now) and polarizing styling isn’t the recipe for a mainstream success. Nor is the SRT8’s 13/18 mpg call on premium go juice. And? All those who want one will get one, and not give a damn. Why would they? The Challenger SRT8 is an immensely comfortable, powerful and over-the-top stylish vehicle. This is what Chrysler stood for in the past, yet works surprisingly well with today’s definition of Detroit Iron. 

Special thanks to Mr. Tim Beck for the seat time.

The Dodge Boys freshened the Durango for the 2008 model year. The SUV displays Chrysler's new "corporate look," shared with the Journey and Caravan. The snout loses the pronounced grills that towered over the Durango's headlights. Instead, the designers injected a shot of botox into the SUVs eyebrows, giving the Durango a slightly surprised look from the front. Meanwhile, the bumper got a shot of collagen, adding droopy-lipped, Angelina Jolie-wannabe flair.

The rest of the Durango's sheetmetal is androgynous, blending in perfectly with the growing "no there there" sub-developments strewn across the U.S. The only interesting bit comes at the rear, where the Durango's taillights look like a quad-pair of B-1 Bomber afterburners. It's a cool touch on an otherwise completely forgettable exterior.

Grab the oversized chrome door handles, feel them jiggle a bit and yank. The Durango's door pops open like an old can of Pringles, complete with stale sour cream and onion smell. Hard shiny plastic assaults your vision in every direction. The center stack is covered in a shiny "wood" that looks more ersatz than Contact brand shelf paper. The salesman said Chrysler had to use craptastic plastic to keep the costs down, so Chrysler could continue to build the Durango in the U.S. Let me say this about that: they're closing the plant in 2009.

The Durango's chairs are strangely narrow for its target market. The Limited's window sticker claims they're covered in "real leather." Who knew? Thank Lord Xenu for the designers putting micro-fiber suede inserts into the seats to keep the erstwhile cow hide from consuming everything like kudzu.

On the positive side, I discovered several clever and useful details. Flip the cheap second row of seats forward to reveal the cheap-but-useful-for-two-adults third row. The climate control proved extremely powerful, despite the fact that the salesman needed five minutes to figure it out.

The Durango Limited comes with a 335hp, 5.7-liter HEMI engine. Mashing the gas brings to mind the running of the bulls in Pamplona. Thanks to a rubbery suspension, the 4900lbs. truck bucks like an enraged bovine. And then there's the screaming, as the panicked Durango driver saws at an anesthetized helm trying to avoid solid objects.

Still, once you acclimatize yourself to the feather-light helm, interstate merging and two-lane blacktop overtaking are a breeze. The five-speed automatic always seems to find the right ratio, and lets the HEMI power away, with only a hint of road noise and cooling fan roar penetrating the stout door seals.

It would be nice to dismiss the Durango's horrific ride quality as a byproduct of the SUVs' massive towing ability (8500lbs). But I can't. The Durango's heavy-duty shocks and dampers recall the 1970's era Wagoneer; the more recent Chrysler product creaks, groans, and shimmies over nearly everything save smooth Chrysler Proving Ground roads.

Abrupt maneuvers upset the chassis more than Simon Cowell on American Idol. Piloting a Durango in anything other than a straight line, you're always aware of that the vehicle's mass has a mind of its own. That's provided there isn't any aerodynamic disturbance; during crosswinds, the Durango's nose wanders across lanes without much warning.

Sensibly enough (considering America's litigious nature), Dodge built the Durango with full-on safety equipment. All Durangos possess more airbags than a stuntman convention, Electronic Stability Protection (ESP), anti-lock brakes and dual-note electric horns (to remind small cars to get out of the way). The dealer told me ESP senses when the Durango is rolling, and then locks-up a wheel to slam the truck back on the pavement. Film at 11.

Driving the Dodge Durango is enough to drive an American car/truck lover to drink. To see such a mediocre and pitiful product coming from a company that's built some of the most quintessentially American cars breaks my heart and tears at my soul. With a fresher exterior re-freshening, a better interior, some chassis development and a smidgen of steering feel, the Durango could have become a great truck– instead of a dodgy, uninspired, characterless hulk.

Clearly, the beancounters at Chrysler don't have the time, inclination or cash to refine the Durango into a top shelf product. And so it remains the six buck bottle of Cuervo of SUVs.