“Hey Brendan,” runs the e-mail from our illustrious ed., Ed, “I was wondering if you wanted to take on the most challenging story I’m currently facing: making the new Honda CR-V interesting.”

Fat chance.

“Don’t get taken in by the free bacon!”

Wait, what now? Free bacon? I’M THERE.

Next thing you know, I’m ensconced in the driver’s seat of Honda’s latest mild tweak total redesign, the 2012 Honda CR-V, rolling through the bleached-out stubble of the South Cali countryside, mentally projecting the headlines from our beloved colleagues, co-bloggists and fellow car-writey-types.

“The New CR-V: Has Honda Lost Its Mojo?”

“2012 CR-V: Honda’s Mojo, Has It Been Lost?”

“Totally Redesigned 2012 CR-V Casts Doubt on Whereabouts of Honda’s Mojo.”

“The Top 10 Cars Owned By Playboy Playmates! Also, CR-V something-something Mojo.”

Here’s the thing: there has been far too much ballyhoo, fooferaw, bluster and blather about Honda’s seeming design slump. It’s not a slump, it’s a strategy. The question is: does it work for the CR-V where it failed with the Civic?

Like the critically-unacclaimed Honda Civic, nearly every piece of sheetmetal on the new CR-V is completely different – but not such that you’d notice. In fact, as our convoy snakes its way through the bleached-out California landscape, I do a double-take as somebody triple-lane-changes out of our line and dives for the off-ramp. Did I miss a turn? Wait, no: it’s just some lunatic in a last-gen CR-V.

On the other hand, the conservatism works. Gone is the slightly frumpy melting ice-cube of the previous gen, which if you squinted a little, looked a bit like the ’11 cute-ute had muffin-top. The strong three-bar corporate grille gives the new CR-V some presence, the faux skid-plate treatment butches things up a bit, and from there on back think current Tribeca. There’s little to inspire, but also little to offend.

Inside, the cockpit should be familiar to anyone who’s sat in an Accord recently. Hard plastic surfaces abound, about which much hay will be made in various publications. However it’s perfectly acceptable, and should wear well except for the occasional bits of silver-painted trim. The between-seat storage bin, captain’s chairs and dash-mounted shifter maintain the modicum of mini-van present in the earlier model but overall, it’s a bit less utilitarian and more car-like.

A multi-angle backup camera is standard across the range, as well as an eco-coaching instrument cluster that goes green around the gills when you drive gently. Also standard: Bluetooth handfree and a USB connector for your audio. If you’ve an iPhone, you can run Pandora through the stereo, if you’ve a Blackberry, the car can read you your SMS messages. There’s now an optional DVD player to soothe rear-seat savages. Just enough tech to stay current.

Product specialists were quick to point out how clever the rear seats were, capable of damped flat-folding action with a single pull from either side, or via levers in the cargo bay. Don’t expect the Hogwarts-grade magic of the Fit’s rear seats, but again: easy-to-use, works well, doesn’t feel like it’s going to break. Honda has also bunged out the old cargo tray in favour of a more standard layout. Dog-owners take note: the cargo floor is very low at 23.6”, perfect for older pooches. The rear doors open a full ninety degrees for maximum kid-wrangling.

I mildly alarm my co-pilot for the launch, internationally acclaimed rockstar and noted loud-walker Blake Z. Rong – Cato to my Clouseau, Turner to my Hooch – as we enter a corner too hot and all-season tires howl in aggrieved indignation. Understeer? Oh sure. There’s less roll than you might expect, and the CR-V is perfectly capable of hustling along these winding country roads, but is there joy to be found in doing so? Not much.

Besides which, flinging the offspring around the cabin with lateral-g is a sure-fire way to end up cleaning vomit out of the headliner. Forget the hooning, focus instead on the comfortable ride (10% more damper stroke) and in-cabin noise levels which are decent until you start requesting revs.

This new CR-V still has a 5-speed transmission, albeit a revised one, and to hear the clucks of disapproval, you might think that’s a mis-step. Why? Because six is one more, innit? Despite the fact that every other manufacturer seems to be suffering from Nigel Tufnel Syndrome, the five-speed box in the CR-V puts out perfectly decent fuel-economy (22/30mpg claimed) and will doubtless give years of trouble-free operation because it doesn’t have a V6 attached to it.

Mind you, show the ’12 CR-V a steep hill and the 2.4L four-cylinder – with all of 5 more horsepower this year – can struggle a bit. Engaging Eco mode feels like you’re suddenly trying to tow the Sea Shepherd around. Twice I noticed a reluctance to kick down even with the accelerator fully depressed, and with gearing taller across the board things can get a bit leisurely.

The 2012 CR-V is pitched as a safe choice. An easy choice. A choice you might make based on sensible price, reasonable fuel economy, a legacy of decent reliability, strong resale value and low operating costs. This new Honda presents all the same arguments that you’d traditionally expect from a Toyota product, and it’s 5-10% better than the best-selling out-going model in every empirically measurable field.

But as I sit in the morning product presentation, listening as the PR folks flesh out the target buyer to the point where we could positively identify her in a police lineup (30s, female, “cool mom”, active lifestyle, enjoys Pina Coladas, getting caught in the rain, etc.) I can’t help but start contrasting this spit-and-polish with Mazda’s recent SKYACTIV show-and-tell. Mazda’s gambling, taking a moon-shot with high-compression engines and a dedication to driving pleasure. Honda’s reacting to current economic instabilities and the public’s cooling ardour for the automobile by circling the wagons. Except they don’t make wagons anymore, so they’re circling the crossovers.

The Q&A was even more telling. Why only five gears in the transmission? A: Our research told us that people weren’t asking for more gears, just better fuel economy. Why those hard plastics? A: Our research showed that people didn’t have a problem with the old interior. What about small-displacement turbocharged engines? A: Our research showed us that people weren’t asking for that.

You know what though? Survey every single ’80s Legend buyer, and nobody’s going to tell you to build an NSX. Survey every DC-chassis Integra owner and nobody’s going to tell you to build the S2000. Survey every ’90s Accord wagon owner, and nobody would tell you to build a small, flexible, Civic-based SUV.

This new CR-V is a fine, sensible appliance; they’re going to sell boatloads of them. Forgive me if I was hoping for something with a little more innovation, a little more invention, a little more cutting-edge.

A little more Honda.

Honda flew us all the way to sunny San Diego, put us up in a fancy hotel, crammed us full of rich food, provided current and previous models of the CR-V and even threw in a free Camelbak. We were also ferried to and from the airport in a high-mile Town Car.

The eight-generation Civic was the most stylish to date. While not everyone was a fan, I personally liked the car’s tight proportions and smooth flowing curves. Still do. At the time I thought the 2006 Civic signaled a new emphasis on innovative yet tasteful design by Honda. The years since have proved me wrong. For the 2012 Civic, Honda has retained similar dimensions (though, reversing a decades-long trend, its wheelbase is 1.2 inches shorter). Some creases and angles have been added to the sedan to make it, in the words of the press release, “the most aerodynamically and aggressively styled models in the model’s history.” The side windows have been scrunched vertically and lengthened horizontally to outwardly express the increased roominess of the interior. The windowlette ahead of the door has shifted to the door itself, leaving a black plastic triangle where it used to be. At the rear edge of the side windows a crudely executed Hofmeister kink has been added. Overall, the new design is busier, less graceful, and simply much less attractive.

Honda claims that the revised interior “delivers more style and convenience than any other vehicle in [the] segment.” Yes, style is highly subjective. The instrument panel remains a bi-level affair, with the tach visible within the small steering wheel rim and the other instruments, including a new five-inch information display (you can upload your own background!), visible above it. This layout was my least favorite aspect of the 2006, and I have yet to warm to it (though some owners have told me they like it). Other car manufacturers used to copy Honda’s innovations. None of them have copied this layout. This might serve as a clue.

One thing I do like: the center stack is now aggressively canted towards the driver, classic BMW style, so you can easily see and reach the audio and HVAC controls. With the odd exception of the audio power switch, the buttons are fairly large. So while I can’t see the touted style, I can see the claimed convenience. But this does not justify the interior’s clunky styling, poor panel fits, and materials that vie with those in the 2011 VW Jetta for worst-in-class honors. The door panels include four different hard plastics. I couldn’t decide which of them is the worst. Probably the pebbly stuff above the armrest. Said armrest is pleasantly cushy, but it elicited a “crunch” when pressed. Even in the uplevel Civic EX the fabric appears chintzy. Honda needs to pay much closer attention to what GM, Ford, and Hyundai have been doing—the interiors of the Cruze, Focus, and (to a lesser but still large extent) Elantra are all far ahead. They might also consider following Chrysler’s lead and banishing light gray from the interior color palette.

Once upon a time the instrument panels in Hondas were compact and shockingly low. The rest of the industry studied its cars to figure out how they’d done it. Well, the bi-level monstrosity in the 2012 Civic is so tall that I had to crank the seat up a few clicks to comfortably see over it. The front seats are better than those in smaller Hondas because the headrests don’t jut quite as far forward. They also provide more lateral support than you’ll ever need given the nature of the car. In back, the cushion is comfortably high off the floor, but (in the sunroof-equipped EX) there’s only enough headroom for those up to 5-10. Both the cushion and floorboard are both nearly flat, to enhance comfort for a center passenger. There’s a little more rear legroom than before, but the seat’s width remains that of a compact sedan.

Even in EX trim the Civic tips the scales at 2,765 pounds, light for a compact sedan these days. The powertrain remains a 1.8-liter four good for 140 horsepower hitched to five-speed automatic (a manual is no longer offered in the EX, a six-speed automatic has yet to arrive). Even if you don’t engage “Eco” mode the powertrain’s responds in a leisurely fashion and performs adequately at best. The transmission upshifts quickly and sometimes seems indecisive. Like that in the Elantra and some other competitors, a “smart” alternator tries to do most of its charging during braking, and de-clutches much of the rest of the time. Partly because of this attempt to boost fuel economy, the brakes feel more than a little like those in a hybrid.

In fact, the entire driving experience is oddly similar to that in a Prius. In another fuel economy-oriented tweak, the steering is now electric assist on all Civics rather than just the Si and Hybrid. The new system feels artificial to the extent it feels like anything at all. Stability control, previously reserved for the EX-L and Si, is now standard across the line. But it should rarely come into play. The new Civic’s handling is predictable, stable, and safe. What it isn’t: fun. There’s quite a bit of lean when the wheel is turned. Even a Prius has a more direct, connected feel. Perhaps this shouldn’t come as a surprise, but even the weakest, most spartan Civics used to be fun cars.

The new Civic usually rides smoothly, but feels a little unsettled over some surfaces and never feels precisely damped the way a Ford Focus or Mazda3 does. At times the rear suspension sounds and feels like it’s bottoming out under minimal duress—even with no one in the back seat. Noise levels are lower than in the past. But even with its enhanced smoothness and quietness, the Civic lacks the premium sound and feel of the Cruze and Focus.

The major payoff of all the thrill-killing tweaks: the EPA ratings are up from 25/36 to 28/39—edging out the Ford Focus’s 28/38 and nearly matching the Hyundai Elantra’s 29/40. (To out-eco the Elantra, a Civic HF with 29/41 ratings is also offered.) To help you achieve these numbers, a pair of thick bars flanking the digital speedometer change color from blue to green when you’re behaving. There’s also a prominently placed instantaneous mpg display. The average fuel economy readout within the new information display is a bit of a bother, though. You must reset the trip odometer to reset it, and to do this you must dig through three menu levels using buttons on the steering wheel, and then dig your way back out. “Keep it simple” this isn’t.

The 2012 Honda Civic EX lists for $21,255, up $100 from the 2011 despite the addition of a few features, including stability control. But even though the 2012 is a better value than the 2011, you can get a superior, better-equipped car for the same or less from a number of other manufacturers. The most aggressively priced: a Hyundai Elantra Limited, with heated leather seats (in both rows!), lists for $20,700. A 2012 Ford Focus SE lists for about the same as the Honda when equipped with sunroof and alloy wheels, but is more fun to drive and feels like a much more expensive car.

Back in the 1970s and 1980s, the Honda Civic was so far ahead of its key competitors in responsiveness, handling, fuel economy, features, and reliability that owners became evangelists for the brand. The 1984 car was a design landmark whose influence continues 28 years later. Through the 1990s and into the 2000s the Civic was so fun to drive that an entire tuning industry sprung up around it.

It’s hard to see how the 2012 car could have inspired any of this passion. It’s a little roomier, and its fuel economy is the best yet for a run-of-the-mill Civic (if not quite best-in-class). But the design is clunky, the materials are cut-rate, and the driving experience is so dreadfully dull that even a Toyota Prius is a blast in comparison. Over the past few years Honda has repeatedly claimed to have remembered what made it great, and to be returning to those roots. While they’re at it, they might want to pay closer attention to what GM, Ford, and Hyundai have been up to. Perhaps this has happened, just not quite soon enough to help the new Civic. If so, we’ll be able to look back on the 2012 model year as a low point, after which the cars got better.

Mike Ulrey at Honda Bloomfield (MI) provided the car. An exceptionally helpful sales consultant, he can be reached at 248-333-3200.

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

Designers hate minivans. Functionality is such a priority that it’s hard to do much beyond a basic box. Which might explain why, in with their latest, Chrysler’s designers have given us a basic box. Honda did much the same with the second-generation and third-generation Odyssey. (Though the latter, with some curves added to the mix, appeared bloated.)

But “clean and simple” isn’t Honda’s thing any more. So the fourth-generation Odyssey’s bodysides are marked (marred?) by a zig-zagging beltline and associated creases. While this origami won’t win any beauty contests—the Toyota Sienna is the most conventionally attractive current member of the segment—Honda’s designers deserve credit for their willingness to try something new. The unusual beltline and recessed area just above the rocker panel combine to make the new van appear much less bulky and sportier than the old one—and unlike any other minivan.

The new Odyssey’s interior is similarly the sportiest in the segment (such things being relative) courtesy of a stylishly raked center stack. But this rake also has a downside: it places the HVAC controls—unusually located above the audio system controls—too far away. Aside from this slip, the center stack controls are better designed than the average Honda’s these days, with large knobs for major functions. There aren’t as many buttons because it’s now necessary to navigate through menus, iDrive style, to perform many secondary functions. The buttons that remain are designed so they can be identified at a glance, with different shapes and only a few in each group. Interior materials are on par with Hondas past, and so better than those in the related Pilot SUV. They also appear less cheap than the oddly textured plastics in the Toyota Sienna.

The driving position is lower and less upright than in the Chrysler minivans, and so more car-like, while still providing much better visibility than in the new Nissan Quest. The shifter is located on the instrument panel, but lower down than on the Chryslers. This isn’t as handy a location for manual shifting, but then (unlike Chrysler and Toyota) Honda hasn’t seen fit to offer manual shifting in the Odyssey. The sporty theme is only skin deep? The seats are fairly firm and will be familiar to anyone who has driven a leather-upholstered Honda before. Not quite luxurious or especially comfortable, but supportive. The center stack and removable center console include a large number of intelligently designed compartments, one of which is chilled by the air conditioning. There’s even a grocery bag holder that folds out from the back of the center console, but it seems unlikely to survive much use.

Honda’s big functional innovation with the new van appears in the second row, where the outer seats can be shifted outward about an inch-and-half. The outward position makes it easier to fit three child seats or three adults. But then why offer the more inward option? Theoretically this provides more room for two occupants, especially if the small (but not as small as before) center seat is removed. But I positioned one seat outward and the other inward, and even moving immediately from one to the other could detect no evident benefit. The outward position does make the center armrest (created by folding the center seat) a bit of a stretch, but this could have been fixed by making the center seat three inches wider. Which would also make the center seat more comfortable. The view forward is less obstructed by the front seats in the outward position. The legrests on the captain’s chairs in the Toyota Sienna are another intriguing innovation that falls a bit short in practice, but between the two Toyota’s has the edge in terms of “will it ever be used?”

Whatever the position of the Odyssey’s second row seats, there’s plenty of room. Plenty in the third row as well. The Odyssey has the distinction of being the only vehicle available with over 40 inches of legroom in every row. The tape measure, while it might exaggerate the size of the difference, doesn’t entirely lie. Honda’s minivan is the roomiest subjectively as well as objectively. On top of this, the rear seats are about as high off the floor as you’ll find in a minivan, and so are better suited for adults than most.

The downside of the large second row seats: unlike the less comfortable captains in the Chryslers, they cannot be stowed beneath the floor. When folded they sit high atop it. Ninety-three cubic feet—nearly as much as the total in the Nissan Quest—will fit behind them. But for especially large cargo the second-row seats must be removed. Have people in both rows? The 38 cubic feet of cargo space behind the third row is about twice as much as in the average large crossover and nearly matches the best-in-class Sienna.

Perhaps still shellshocked by the disastrous four-speed automatic in the second-generation Odyssey, Honda lags the rest of the industry in automatic transmission development. They’ve fixed it, why risk breaking it again? The 2011 Odyssey gets the company’s new six-speed, but only in the top trim levels. The midgrade EX-L soldiers on with the old five-speed. At 247, the 3.5-liter V6’s peak horsepower also significantly lags key competitors. So the Odyssey doesn’t feel as energetic as a Sienna or one of the reinvigorated Chryslers. Then again, how quick does a minivan have to be? The V6 deactivates cylinders while cruising to save fuel. In return for some occasional barely perceptible thrumming, it yields EPA ratings of 18 city and 27 highway. The Touring’s six-speed adds one MPG to each, but even the EX-L’s highway figure is a significant two to three MPG higher than competitors’.

The Odyssey has grown softer with each redesign, and now stakes out the middle ground not far from the Sienna. So the Honda’s steering is light and the chassis tuning is moderately soft. Compared to the Sienna it doesn’t ride quite as smoothly, with some mild jitters, but handles with a little more control and precision. What perhaps matters most: from behind the wheel the Odyssey feels very much like a car, if a large one. This used to quality it as the most driver-oriented minivan, but the 2011 Chryslers have leapfrogged it and then some. The revised “imports from Detroit Canada” have a less car-like driving position but handle much firmer and tighter while also traversing imperfect pavement with more composure.

But does this matter? Honda Odyssey owners have been satisfied with their vans’ ride and handling. Their #1 complaint: road noise. The new Odyssey seems quieter than earlier ones, and might even match the Sienna in this regard. But it remains possible that some road surfaces will inspire the tires to sing.

Honda clearly thinks highly of its new minivan: an Odyssey EX-L like the one tested lists for $35,230. A similarly equipped Chrysler Town & Country lists for $32,995 (while including about $800 in additional features based on TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool. A similarly equipped Toyota Sienna XLE is very close in price to the Chrysler ($32,975) though it only includes about $180 in additional features—and a pricey set of dealer-installed floor mats lists for a an additional $324.

So the Honda costs over $2,000 more than the others. Worth it? Against the Chrysler it’s a matter of priorities. The new Odyssey has higher EPA ratings, sleeker, more distinctive styling (which cuts both ways), and—perhaps most importantly—more comfortable, roomier seats. But the Chrysler performs, handles, and rides significantly better while offering the superior versatility of a second row that stows beneath the floor. So passengers vs. driver + cargo. The Honda is more closely matched against the Sienna, trailing a little in performance but offering a little more room. Styling is harder to call. The Toyota has a more conventionally attractive exterior but an oddly styled, overly plasticky interior. If the prices were close I’d likely opt for the Odyssey. But another $2,000? How much are those extra inches of legroom worth to you?

Mike Ulrey of Honda Bloomfield provided the tested vehicle. Mike can be reached at 248-333-3200.

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

After reading Tal Bronfer’s review of the Euro spec Honda CR-Z, I made arrangements to get a North American model for a week.  The car arrived the same day that Michael Karesh’s second review of the CR-Z ran on TTAC. Instead of a third review, Ed and I discussed doing a comparison with an original CRX and seeing what CRX fans think of the CR-Z. Well, it didn’t work out that way ….

There’s no question that  Honda evokes the two seat coupe from the late 1980s and early 1990s in the CR-Z. I suppose the nomenclature skipped a letter in the sequence, but then who wants to drive a CRY? The similarities extend beyond some distinctive styling cues. The CRX was a sporty and economical car. The CR-Z is supposed to be sporty and green/fuel efficient. Honda marketing pitches the car as a “sport hybrid“. The CRX helped popularize the import tuning scene and the car is still much beloved amongst Honda performance and tuning enthusiasts. Honda is clearly pitching the CR-Z to the tuning market. Honda gave six of the first CR-Zs in North America to Honda tuning shops to see what they could do with them and to please display them at the upcoming SEMA show once they are properly hopped-up.

I started to search for a clean, not-too-modified CRX, preferably a first generation model. I live in the Detroit area, not exactly a hotbed of the ricer tuner scene. But Detroiters are supposed to be gearheads who can appreciate cool cars and there are car enthusiasts of every stripe around here. Looking on Craigslist, there were a few 2nd gen CRXs for sale but most were kind of tired and would pale next to just about any new car. Some were highly modified with things like JDM drivetrain swaps and body kits. One had some mods but was basically stock in terms of the interior. It looked promising and the listing said it was in Troy, only 20 minutes away. I sent the seller an email suggesting that helping me with the comparison and getting his car on a million hit site like TTAC wouldn’t hurt his chances of selling it. I also figured that as a Honda enthusiast he’d get a kick out of a fairly early look at the new CR-Z. I got back an email saying that the car was in Florida, ready to ship for free because another buyer backed out… in other words, a scam.

None of the CRXs on eBaymotors were within a reasonable drive so it was on to Plan B. I went to some Honda fan websites looking for Honda clubs and Honda tuners in the region. Auto Addiction is a speed shop in Rochester Hills that works on all kinds of cars, foreign and domestic. Their business card features a trick Scion xB. In the shop there was a freshly painted yellow AMC Hornet hatchback (w/ a V8) undergoing restoration, along with a rat rod and a chopped Yamaha RD350. Hondas, though, are the true love of shop owners Andy McPherson and Mike Kilgore, and shop personnel own a few CRXs. Andy told me that it was going to be almost impossible to find a CRX in original condition. Their own cars have engine swaps, turbos, roll cages and non-stock interiors.

Andy graciously invited me over to their shop to look at their cars, but I decided that while an actual comparison wasn’t practical I’d still visit them to gauge the reaction to the CR-Z from dedicated Honda fans and tuners, one of the CR-Z’s target markets. When I got to Auto Addictions, Andy and Mike and their employees all circled around the CR-Z like it was a new toy. From the reaction from Honda fans and the general public alike, the styling is an unqualified success.

When I asked the tuners what they thought of the car’s potential, they said that the front end’s geometry, styling and contours were amenable to appearance mods. They suggested blending some of the front end shapes and adding a splitter below. On the inside they liked the seats and how Honda used some parts from their Si models like the steering wheel (which on the CR-Z has blue stitching to match the other blue touches in the interior). They were less impressed with the Tokyo-by-night instrument panel.

As far as the show part of the tuner scene is concerned, Honda seems to have hit the target. The go part is a different story. Though I couldn’t let the Auto Addictions guys drive, it didn’t matter, their opinions about the CR-Z had already been formed.

Andy and Mike know one of the six tuners who received one of those early CR-Zs. There were conditions from Honda. They could not substantially alter the drivetrain, which uses Honda’s 1497cc L15 engine plus an integrated electric motor that provides power and torque assist (and replaces the starter and alternator, allowing for regenerative braking and auto-stop of the ICE). That restriction on drivetrain modifications was probably due to Honda’s knowledge that the first thing that real world tuners would do with the CR-Z would be to drop in a K Series engine from an Accord or Acura. That’s what McPherson and Kilgore said that they’d do. The CR-Z’s drivetrain, with the ICE and electric motor combined, has but 122HP. The least powerful K Series engine has 160HP, and variants go up to 260HP. An additional 40HP, or even better 140HP, would transform the CR-Z from a not so sporty hybrid to a pretty nifty sport coupe. It already has the styling and the handling (albeit with numb steering). I don’t know if a two-seat coupe with legitimate performance creds would outsell the same basic car sold as a sporty car that’s guilt free because it’s a “hybrid”, but I wonder just how many green performance car enthusiasts there are.

The CR-Z has been less than a critical success. Comment threads and fan forums have echoed the critics. The consensus response from the Best & the Brightest to Michael’s and Tal’s reviews has been that the CR-Z is a car with no real purpose. It’s sold as a “sport hybrid” but its performance is neither sporty nor does it get the gas mileage people associate with a hybrid. In terms of both performance and fuel efficiency, the CR-Z’s raisons d’etre, it’s just not superlative.  Maybe that’s why they didn’t call it the CR-Why. The CR-Z is fine around town, even fun if you leave it in sport mode which boosts the electric assist and changes the engine mapping, but the first time an owner tries to do a 60-80 acceleration on the freeway they’ll be disappointed. While the IMA allows you to putter around subdivisions in 5th or even 6th gear at ridiculously low RPM, if you want to head out on the highway you’re going to have to downshift to 4th if you want to get the motor running in a hurry. You might move faster than a hypermiler in a Prius, but you’ll be embarrassed by a variety of genuinely sporty small cars.

Honda obviously thinks that the CR-Z has sufficient performance for their target customers, with potential for more. According to McPherson, Honda of America Racing Team has made a couple of show cars that do explore the performance possibilities of the stock CR-Z IMA setup, using the typical route of modified intake and exhaust components on the ICE. It seems, though, that even though there are tuner mods available for the L15 engine, the best bang for the buck will be a K Series swap. Racerboys (and girls) with Fits and Jazzes replace their L15s with K Series engines, and they’ll do the same with the CR-Z. Even Honda knows that tuners and racers will go the engine-swap route. That’s why they told those six tuners to use stock engines.

There’s also buzz from the aftermarket. The folks at Auto Addiction heard that Hasport, a company that specializes in performance brackets and mounts, was working on K Series motor mounts for the CR-Z. I spoke to Brian Gillespie at Hasport and he verified that they were working on mounts to make a K Series CR-Z a bolt up affair, but that the new mounts, originally scheduled for next month, will have to wait until next year. Gillespie said that Hasport has a good working relationship with Honda and that Honda requested that they wait until after this year’s SEMA show for the introduction.

Gillespie said that Hasport’s K Series mounts will be available by early 2011. As far as the stock drivetrain is concerned, he said that he knows of one company that is already working on a supercharger and that the exhaust setup on the stock CR-Z is ideal for mounting a small turbocharger. He predicted that both those forced induction accessories will be available for the CR-Z within a year. The big question is if Honda will make a tunable ECU available that will allow the use of performance parts on the ICE while still keeping the IMA.

When asked if he thought that the CR-Z would sell, Gillespie at first said no, but then reconsidered and said that he’s heard a “fair amount of buzz” about the car. He agreed that the CR-Z is crying for more power. Other than the engine, it’s a nice small sports coupe, which brings to mind Mrs. Lincoln and plays.

When was the last time you heard of a car company discouraging the sales of aftermarket go-fast parts so they wouldn’t make the stock “performance” car look weak? When a key part of your target market says that the first thing they’d do with the car is swap out the drivetrain, you may have missed the mark.

Why didn’t Honda spec the CR-Z with a bigger motor in the first place? I think that in order to keep the CR-Z credible as a hybrid it had to be able to at least get within hailing distance of 40mpg (around the city I was first getting about 29mpg, but after ~800 miles, including about 500 highway miles, the average went up to a bit more than 38). The concept behind the IMA system is to use a smaller ICE, an electric motor and high gearing to get better fuel economy. Going to a bigger ICE with the IMA might yield better mileage than with the ICE alone, but it wouldn’t get close to 40mpg. It would, though, be more fun to drive.

Going with a smaller engine may have been driven by a need for high MPG figures and credibility as a green car. That decision, though, has fatally compromised the car’s credibility as a sporty car. I believe that Honda should have made the CR-Z with a larger displacement combustion engine. With Honda tagging the CR-Z with the label “sport hybrid”, people already understand that the “sport” part comes at some fuel economy cost and they won’t expect the CR-Z to get Prius level gas mileage. They’re willing to pay that cost if there is indeed some sport involved. By moving the needle too far in the green direction, Honda may have shot themselves in the foot. A CR-Z powered by an IMA equipped K engine would still have been a hybrid with some green cred but it would also have had true performance. Few things are worse than unachieved potential. The CR-Z could have been a contender but Honda sold it out to the green mob.

Once upon a time I wanted a Pontiac Fiero. Then the original Honda CRX awakened me to the joys of driving a small car sideways. It was what the Fiero, similarly pitched as an economical commuter, should have been. In comparison, even the second-generation CRX seemed too large, too refined, and disappointingly dull. Fast forward a quarter century, and the Honda Insight is perhaps the most disappointing car I’ve driven in recent years. So when Honda announced that it would base a new two-seater on the Insight, and call it the CR-Z, I fearfully predicted that it would look like the CRX, but drive like the Insight. And?

The original CRX was not an attractive car. The second-generation was prettier, if blander, and the CR-Z clearly owes most to it. The new car suffers from a surprising amount of front overhang, but otherwise there’s so much style, most notably the curvaceous rear quarters, that few will guess its close relationship with the plain, malproportioned Insight. Interesting details abound—check out the tail lights. Clean styling? Forget it—that’s so 1990.

Inside the story is much the same, with plasti-chrome door pulls, shiny silver cloth upholstery, piano black control pods, and a glowing light show dead ahead. Materials and design are both much better than in the Insight, if no threat to the Germans. This being a “sport hybrid,” there’s a large centrally-located tach—something you won’t find in any Toyota hybrid—flanked by an arsenal of visual driving aids.

As should be clear by now, Honda no longer places function ahead of form. The instruments will overwhelm and/or distract some people. The nav and audio controls on the center stack are beyond reach. Yes, there are redundant audio controls on the steering wheel, but in a well-designed cockpit these would truly be redundant. The control pods do locate large HVAC, mirror, and driving mode buttons close at hand. A large km/h-mph button as well—do some people use it often?

You sit low in the well-bolstered front seat. As in the Insight, the headrest juts too far forward, though in this case I found the seat almost bearable. The relatively upright windshield of the original CRX didn’t even survive the 1988 redesign. Too bad, as a steeply raked windshield distances man from machine. Thanks to the CR-Z’s chest-high tail and ultra-thick rear pillars, some panel vans have better rearward visibility—consult your rabbi for the appropriate prayer before lane changes.

The rudimentary back seat offered overseas was nixed for the U.S. market. Considering the poor excuses for back seats offered in some cars, it must be beyond awful. In its place we get a pair of deep storage wells that can be covered by a folding partition. Cargo volume isn’t generous, maxing out at 25 cubes, but since you can’t see out the back regardless you might as well pack to the ceiling.

The original CRX was forgiven many sins because it was so fun to drive. The faults noted thus far would similarly be forgiven if the new CR-Z were half as fun. Well, long story short, there’s little fun to be had here unless you’re mesmerized by the light show. In “sport mode” the electric motor readily delivers 58 pound-feet of low-end punch. But the 122-horsepower 1.5-liter gasoline engine, bereft of any V-TEC magic, is no joy to rev. The 6,500 rpm redline might be low by Honda standards, but there’s little point in venturing even that high. The shifter feels long of throw and clunky compared to Honda’s best. The best that can be said of the brakes is that they feel almost conventional.

The steering’s notable heft was probably intended to make the CR-Z feel sporty, but instead makes it feel heavy. A 2,654-pound curb weight (EX manual with nav) is fairly low by current standards—the Fit weighs nearly as much—and is admirable for a hybrid. But the CR-Z feels like it tips the scales north of 3,000. Despite quick steering, agility isn’t part of the mix.

On the other hand, aside from the minor pitching unavoidable with a 95.9-inch wheelbase, the CR-Z also rides like a heavier car. Compared to the Insight, it feels smoother, more composed, and less tinny. It doesn’t feel like an assemblage of shortcuts.

Honda might have learned from its Accord Hybrid experience that people expect hybrids to deliver stellar fuel economy. Any performance benefits are secondary. Well, they didn’t learn. The 31 city, 37 highway EPA estimates (with the six-speed manual; 35/39 with the CVT) would be exemplary for a non-hybrid, but are well below those for the similarly powerful Prius. The much heavier and similarly quick Ford Fusion Hybrid sedan nearly matches the CR-Z on the highway and beats it by a wide margin in the city. In my moderately aggressive test drive, which was about 2/3 suburban and 1/3 highway, I observed 28.3 miles-per-gallon. My Mazda Protege5, which weighs a little more, does about the same when driven similarly. With a (much missed) sixth gear the Mazda would probably also match the CR-Z in relaxed driving on the highway.

When a car doesn’t much especially well, it had better be attractively priced. With a base price of $19,950 and as-tested (EX with nav) price of $23,310, the CR-Z is the least expensive hybrid in the U.S. You’ll spend about the same amount for a Honda Civic EX.

The Honda CR-Z doesn’t drive like the Insight, so this part of my prediction proved off-base. But it also drives nothing like the CRX. The hybrid powertrain hurts more than it helps, dulling the driving experience without substantially boosting fuel economy. The lack of a rear seat and abysmal rearward visibility will further harm the car’s prospects. Ultimately, the CR-Z’s best hope is the amount of style it offers for a fairly low price. Dull powertrain, heavy handling, disappointing fuel economy, high style, low price—this does describe one mid-80s two-seater, just not the CRX. How much does Motors Liquidation want for “Fiero?”

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

It’s now way past bedtime, and I’m driving the new Honda CR-Z in one of those neighborhoods you wouldn’t be making your evening stroll in. Heads turn, necks stretch, fingers point. Blacked out windows of blacked out SUVs are rolled down. Everybody on the street seems to approve Honda’s new creation, but no one knows it’s a hybrid.

Context, as you know, is everything. Honda says the CR-Z is a sporty hybrid, and while the world of automotive marketing is often cynical, marketing a hybrid sports car is like attempting to sell water powder. Are we expected to hold our breaths towards the 45th mpg or for the last hairpin? Let’s find out.

The CR-Z is based off the Insight, which isn’t exactly a promising start as far as sportiness is concerned. Honda assures us this wasn’t just a copy-cut-paste job: the wheelbase is 4.5 inches shorter than the bread and butter hybrid, and the car itself is shorter by some 8 inches and also considerably wider and lower.

As with most of Honda’s modern designs, the CR-Z is very much a take it or leave it affair, and yes – compared to the concept the front end looks somewhat toned down. That’s not what matters, though. When you look at the CR-Z, you get the distinct notion that the designers had a clear image of the car they wanted from the get-go: this car simply looks like nothing else on the road. From the raked rear window inspired by the CR-X, to the pointy rear lights and bulges distributed in key areas – you’ll have no trouble finding this car in a Walmart parking lot.

The first thing you notice when you sit down in the CR-Z is how close your behind is to the ground. You sit very low in here. Properly low. Female companions are thus advised to avoid wearing skirts if riding shotgun. There are even more prices to be paid for the wowing exterior design: space. Front passengers will feel pretty intimate (if not claustrophobic), storage spaces are scarce, and my European-spec tester’s rear seats will make even grocery complain about headroom. Fortunately, American car journalists will be spared this rant: US-spec cars will come with the rear bench deleted in favor of extra storage space.

Having said that, when you don’t have to consider the rear passenger’s well-being, front legroom is sufficient for a plus sized adult. The trunk isn’t especially commodious – it’s 8.2 cubic feet in size with the seats in place – and the loading bay is high due to the batteries and full-size spare wheel laying underneath.

In best hybrid fashion, the instrument panel is designed with the ultimate control freak in mind. The 3D mishmash of gauges and indicators boldly hosts the rev counter and digital speedometer in an isolated central tunnel (so your wife can’t peek). The rest of the IP is cluttered with digital gauges: a battery charge meter, a fuel consumption indicator, a gearshift indicator and a bar showing whether the battery is being charged or assists the gas motor – along with the usual array of warning lights and standard gauges. Like with the Insight, the rev counter will light up in blue shades if you’re ruining the environment and lights up in cheery green if the mammals of the rain forest are happy with your driving. The central display will also be growing flowers over time if you keep it up.

Environmentalism aside, I found the entire setup a little overwhelming and distracting, especially at night when the entire car is gleaming with bright blue, red and green lights. Unfortunately, the flashy interior doesn’t manage to conceal the mediocre quality it shares with the Insight, and while all of the surfaces feel like they’ll last long after the last iceberg melts, they’re too cheap for a far of this breed.

See that? That’s a clutch pedal in a hybrid car. They’ve existed before (in the first-generation Insight, and Civic Hybrid), but rarely has as much been made of a manual-transmission option. American consumers will also be able to choose an optional CVT gearbox – but you really shouldn’t. This manual box is a magnificent unit by any measure, with nice, short and slick shifts and a buttery clutch. When you press the third pedal, the engine comes silently into life. Together with a 1.5 four cylinder unit lifted from the Fit, Honda’s IMA hybrid system generates a modest 124 horsepower on a weight figure of 2,568 pounds – not that far off from mother Insight, and all in all, not a very convincing figure.

Initial forward movement is surprisingly swift for the pedestrian near-10 second sprint-to-sixty figure, thanks to the assistance from the electric motor. In fact, the electric engine feels more like a small turbocharger rather than a fuel saver – especially in Sport mode, where the electric spinner provides more torque to the front wheels and throttle response is sharpened. The CR-Z’s engine is a short breather compared to traditional Honda performance motors – redlining at around 6,500 rpm – but there’s been a lot of effort to make it sound the part, so there is a considerable amount of not unpleasant engine noise penetrating the cabin in higher rpms.

The problem lies outside the first two short gears, where the CR-Z runs out of breath. There’s simply not enough midrange grunt to label this car a performance coupe, and under determined driving the battery runs out, rendering the CR-Z a little more than an overweight Fit (pun unintended. Honestly).

And it’s a real shame. No, the CR-Z handles nothing like the CR-X, and it shouldn’t – the CR-X was a different car for a different generation, and expecting the 2010 car to have the 1990 driving dynamics is like expecting to get satnav in a Hyundai Excel. But the truth is that when you get it up to speed, the CR-Z can bring a naughty smile on your face.

While the steering lacks feel, it’s fairly accurate and well-weighted, and due to the low ride height and relatively short suspension travel, body roll is also relatively modest. The CR-Z responds well to steering inputs, and feels agile and capable in the corners. Gather enough speed and leave the throttle, and you’ll even manage to induce some old school back slips. Unfortunately, CR-Z doesn’t manage to shake off the braking syndromes associated with hybrids. Thanks to its variable-pressure pedal, there’s not enough feel from the pedal hampering performance braking. The captain’s and navigator’s seats also don’t provide side bolstering for key areas such as the torso and shoulders.

But these are all small niggles compared to the major design flaw. The CR-Z’s biggest problem is that there is not enough straight-line performance to let you easily discover its positive characteristics, and you can really feel the chassis aching for more power.

So the CR-Z is not really a sporty car. But is it a good hybrid? After an intensive driving session, I averaged about 25 mpg. While this, if I’m blunt, sucks – remember that this was a pedal-to-the-metal drive along some mountainous roads in Sport mode, so the CR-Z shouldn’t have much problems hitting the 31/37 city/highway EPA cycle if can hold off the child in you. That’s not bad for a pretentious sporty coupe, but not really ground breaking as far as hybrids or diesels are concerned. When you’re into economy, you can switch to Eco or Normal modes. Both make the car feel more sluggish thanks to a blunter pedal response and less assistance from the electric motor – you’d be hard pressed (ha!) to switch back into one of these modes after driving in Sport.

Honda’s IMA system is what’s referred to as a mild hybrid, which means the electric motor can’t propel the car on its own. On stops, the gas engine powers down and resumes work when the clutch is engaged. There’s no noticeable shudder as the engine coughs into life, but unfortunately for those living in warm climates – like this humble author – with the engine, gone is the air conditioning compressor until the traffic light turns green.

The CR-Z’s livability is a curious mix of good and bad. On one hand, the ride is impressive both in town and on the freeway, and – dare I say it – even better than the Insight’s. It’s also easy to drive thanks to the smooth gearbox and precise clutch, and refinement is good – you feel like you’re going around 15 mph slower than you actually are.

On the other hand, that raked rear window totally ruins rear visibility (while greatly increasing the sky view), to the extent that even the simplest parking maneuvers require an additional pair of helping hands or a good set of parking sensors, and the low ride height makes entering and exiting the CR-Z a thoroughly inelegant affair. I also hope Honda have a better answer than ‘airbags’ to the complete abundance of grip handles front and back.

Is the Honda CR-Z a sporty coupe? Not really. Is it an exceptionally good hybrid? Afraid not. After driving Honda’s newest hybrid and only real sporty car in its lineup, I returned with more questions than strict answers and criticism.

In many ways, the CR-Z is a disappointment. Aside from its exterior design, it seems to be doing all its tasks halfheartedly, and the resulting feeling is that this car has a lot of unfulfilled potential. Fifty more horses could have made it a true enthusiast’s choice in a segment rarely represented in the US. Ten more MPGs would have made it a just ambassador in the hybrid club.

But in a different sense, the CR-Z is one of those ‘first’ cars, like the first Caravan or the original Grand Cherokee. While Honda surely was not the first to toss ‘hybrid’ and ‘sport’ into the same sentence, they were the first to massively produce and market such a car. It does fall between the chairs, and in many ways is inferior to its more traditional rivals – like the VW Scirocco TDI in Europe – but it represents a future. And if that’s the future of hybrids, color me green with envy.

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

This review courtesy of icar.co.il

It was a gloomy April afternoon when I “won” my first “race”. Hours before, I had stood among a nervous, shuffling group of men as Tommy Byrne, the mercurial, self-destructive, and inhumanly talented Competition Director of the Mid-Ohio Sports Car Course, had explained what we would need to do to survive his “comp school”: Don’t crash the car, make sure you follow the rules, and don’t drive too slowly. Simple as that. I did not know at the time that I would finish the season with a controversial demotion down the podium of the NASA National Championship, and I certainly did not know that not all of the men around me would survive our first year racing together. I just knew that I wanted to win everything I could.

My car for that comp school was #26 in Mid-Ohio’s fleet of five-speed, four-cylinder Acura TSX A-Specs. (Correction: this was a six-speed. I never got it up to sixth. Thanks to hans007) Although I’ve raced other Hondas since, from the Pakistan Express ’89 Civic Si to the Compass 360R Mugen-motored Grand-Am ’08 Civic Coupe, that tough little sedan is burned into my mind. With this week’s announcement that Mid-Ohio has returned its fleet of 2006 TSX A-Specs to Honda, I thought I would take a moment to share my memories of the car with you. It’s depressing to consider, but in many ways that TSX was the last truly good Honda to come to these shores.

Comp School started with lead-follow exercises to make sure we all understood the “basic line” around Mid-Ohio and could maintain an acceptable pace on-track. I chose #26 at random, climbed in, and looked around. The TSX was a product of Honda’s decision to split the Accord’s development for different markets. There would be “wide-body” and “standard-body” variants. The United States received “wide-body” Accords and the Acura TL, which was a wide-body derivative. Japan and Europe received a “narrow-body” car which was more compact all-’round. The split happened in 1998. This is a photo of a narrow-body Accord of the ’98-’02 generation I took in the Bahamas:

It’s easy to see how the TSX was a successor to this car, and indeed, the Acura TSX is fundamentally the Euro Accord with a 205-horsepower “K24A2″ 2.4-liter engine. The interior of the Mid-Ohio School cars was relatively intact, although parts of the dashboard and interior panels were cut out to accommodate the bolt-in rollcage. The selector for the manual transmission was loose, wobbly, and long-throw; I’d arrived for school in my Porsche 993 and was not quite prepared for the will-it-or-won’t-it nature of the TSX’s shifts.

I fell in a few cars behind Bryne and was immediately taken aback by his pace. I thought I was quick around Mid-O, but Byrne knew both the car and the track far better than I did. Eventually most of us managed to come up to speed. Another instructor, American Iron racer Aaron Bambach, picked up the stragglers in his TSX and herded them along.

After a variety of drills and “van-arounds” in which Byrne told us exactly how fast the TSX could handle each corner of the track when approached perfectly, we had a race from a rolling start. I began mid-pack, attacked from the flag, and finished well ahead of everyone else. On its Goodyear F1 GS-D3 tires, the TSX didn’t have much natural understeer and was very responsive to mid-corner corrections. Momentum driving was the name of the game, however, because the KA24 was utterly gutless. Let it fall anywhere beneath 5500rpm and the silver Acuras behind you would flash-zoom into your rearview mirror. I could not believe how slow the TSX was in a straight line. If Byrne wanted to make sure we never candy-assed it into a corner, using these cars was a solid way to discourage said behavior.

The next race was from a standing start, and I went from about eleventh to first in three laps. Bambach had mentioned that “trail braking is mandatory, not optional, for top drivers” and the TSX rewarded it in spades. His suggested entry speed for Turn 1 was 89 miles per hour, and at that speed there was a nervous, dancing energy to the Acura’s balance. For the last lap of the race, I diced with a Spec Miata which had also shown up for school; in the Esses I couldn’t see the Miata’s roof when it was on my right side. No sheetmetal was bent, however, and it was time for the final event.

This time, Bambach placed me at the very back for the rolling start. I moved forward with authority (enough so for one student to complain online afterwards that I had risked his life with a late pass) and found myself in third place. In the rear-view mirror, a TSX appeared, faster and surer than mine. It was Bambach, who had come out of the pit lane for the sole purpose of screwing with me. Over the right-hander in Nine, the TSX drifted the rear wheels all the way down the hill as Bambach’s car mirrored mine in a 100-mph angry ballet. He moved for the inside on Eleven. I shut the door without equivocation. I was starting to love the car… to enjoy it, anyway. These little Hondas took any direction you could give them except for “fast forward”.

The checkered flag flew with me still in third, having held off Bambach. No doubt Aaron wasn’t trying very hard, but I was pleased as punch. At the end of the day, the Acura felt as fresh as it had at the beginning, and over the course of five years and 330,000 miles in service, the fleet did not suffer a single engine failure. Make no mistake: these were high-quality cars in the authentic Honda tradition, and although they felt flimsy to drive, they were clearly built to last a long time.

We’d done it. We had graduated Comp School. Tommy shook our hands and told a few stories from his days as an Indy Lights and Formula One driver. I went home that day an authentic racer, surrounded by men whose spirits were as high as mine.

The TSXes are gone now, returned to American Honda as part of a lend-lease operation that prevents them from falling into the hands of nostalgia suffers such as myself. They were appliances, but they were good ones. Quiet, reliable, friendly around the track. In their place now, there are thirty-seven examples of the new “beaky” TSX. It weighs more than the old car and doesn’t seem to have any more power, so I wouldn’t look to beat my TSX times in it. Still, I’m not sure there’s any better way to start your racing career than with Tommy’s school.

I’m ashamed to say that I did not particularly notice John Engle on that April day. He was one of the quiet men; older, reserved but friendly. He was neither particularly fast nor particularly slow. Four months later, he was involved in an incident on Mid-Ohio’s back straight. The rumor is that he did not survive the helicopter ride. He is gone now, like the fleet of silver Acuras, gone to who knows where, never to return.

What is the purpose of the Crosstour? I asked as I waited for my test car to be readied. Pause. Finally an answer, The Crosstour is now the high-end Accord. It is designed to compete with the Toyota Venza. Ah, I get it: monkey see monkey do. What better way to give the marque a kick in the shorts than to pinch an idea from the market leader. And so they did. Almost. Partly. Sort of.

The most complementary thing that can be said about the Crosstour is that it is an Accord Coupe stretched to accommodate a second pair of doors. Bumper to bumper, it embodies a sportiness that is entirely lacking in the entirely too practical Venza. That’s not to say that the Crosstour is a hardened ‘bahn burner. Or that it isn’t a practical mobile for the modern family. Let’s just say that the car has a little of that magic that made earlier generations of the Accord sedan a good deal more satisfying to drive than your average family car.

My crystal black pearl colored Accord Crosstour EX looks longer, lower and wider than the Venza. In this case, looks are deceiving. While it is almost 8 inches longer, Crosstour is in fact 2.3 inches taller. The proportions are, of course, drastically different. While the Venza is an upright and boxy wagon, the hood of the Crosstour is long and low followed by a steeply raked windshield and, lastly, a big thick bootie. In profile it casts a silhouette that is, dare I say it, not unlike the Porsche Panamera. If for no other reason, you can see the Crosstour’s sporting aspirations in the 12 inch brake rotors glinting between the spokes of the rear wheels. 

The penalties for the sleek exterior proportions are, of course, on the inside. With the rear seats upright, the cargo area is just 25.7 cu.ft. (51.3 cu.ft. with the seats folded). On paper that’s 4.4 cu.ft. smaller than Venza. In reality the difference is greater because much of the added cargo capacity created by the fastback design is an awkward space below the long sloping rear window. However, the space is infinitely more accessible than the pinched and restrictive sedan trunk because the entire rear window lifts up and out of the way.

Honda made the most of the rear space by replacing the spare tire wheel well with a commodious removable storage bin. The spare tire has been relocated up underneath the car in a retractable compartment, the bottom of which is streamlined to help undercarriage aerodynamics.

The dash is elegantly and intuitively laid out with outstanding ergonomics – with the exception of one grotesque flaw. The power outlet, auxiliary audio jack and USB port are located deep under the armrest at the back of the center console.

In a break from past Accord practice, the cabin is spooky quiet. Like a fastidious librarian, the Active Sound Control system utilizes the audio system to detect and shush unwanted noise frequencies before they reach your ears.

Only the sound of the high-strung 3.5 liter V6 engine is allowed to intrude for the entertainment of the driver. In classic Honda fashion, the drive train is tuned to keep the crankshaft whirling like a Dervish on crank, spending much of its time between 3500 and 4500 rpm in pedestrian stop and go traffic driving, about 500-800 rpms higher than the Toyota at any given speed. That means terrific responsiveness because you are almost always driving right in the meat of the engine’s power band. Additionally, the decisive 5-speed transmission tenaciously holds the correct gear when cornering.

To keep the inevitable fuel consumption of all of this revving in check, the engine is equipped with Variable Cylinder Management that deactivates two when cruising or three cylinders while coasting. At an estimated 18/27 mpg, Crosstour is 1 mpg worse than Venza in town but a tick better on the highway.

The ride quality of all of the new Accord models is outstanding, but the Crosstour gets the added benefit of sport tuning. More so than the drive train, these suspension tweaks have restored the trademark liveliness that Accord drivers have come to expect from Honda, but is missing from the lower trim models of the current generation. In sum, the car feels lighter and faster.

If cargo capacity were the only consideration the Toyota Venza would win hands down. However, the Crosstour offers greater-than-sedan utility while delivering superior handling and performance to any Camry, Venza, or current Accord sedan. Across the spectrum of options, the Crosstour cost four to five thousand dollars less than the comparably equipped Venza. When the Accord platform took on its current Giganto dimensions, it seemed that Honda gave up on giving its devotees a spirited driving experience. With the Crosstour the Honda Accord is back.

There are guys at my gym that work out hard, three times a day, chiseling their chests and abs to perfection, compensating for the fact that God didn’t give them High School Musical faces. They are masterpieces of strength, structure – everything other than looks. From now on, I will secretly call them Crosstours.

Honda’s newest addition to their Accord line is not ugly. Don’t let the pile-on from a Facebook crowd that was never in the market for this type of vehicle in the first place confuse you. In person, especially in white or silver, it’s not a half-bad car. Actually, it’s only about 23% bad car. From the grill to start of the rear glass, I like the sheet metal quite a bit. Most of this car is an aggressive take on the Accord. The designers gave up when they got to the rump. Still, at eye-level the car is fine. No lust, no revulsion.

There is a good deal of silliness, though. What I really dislike about the butt of this beast is the compromised utility. To what end the sloping rear end? I don’t get it. The Crosstour is akin to a decent – if unattainable in the US – Accord wagon with a space handicap. If there’s always going to be some of your spouse’s stuff in the back, why not just give us a proper station wagon? The people who want this car want storage room and can obviously deprecate the importance of style. This design provides 25.7 cu-ft. (seats up) and 51.3 cu-ft (seats down.) A more wagonesque design could give you numbers closer to the Toyota Venza (34.4 / 70.1) and, arguably, betters lines.

All of which is doubly disappointing because this is best Accord you can buy – you know, aside from the tragic ending. Crosstours come with Honda’s 271 hp 3.5-liter V6, putting out 254 lb-ft of torque. The engine itself is lovable. The consistent, energetic response is ready throughout the power band. This is, however, a 4,000 lb automobile. You can’t spend time in this car, with this engine, and not wish it would hit the gym.

This six has cylinder-deactivation to bring the gas mileage up to 18/27 mpg city/highway (FWD) and 17/25 mpg (AWD). Which also partially explains the lack of engine choices. In the Accord sedans, the four-cylinder only bests the six by two miles per gallon, so I’ll assume similar results for this configuration. Yes, that means occasionally you’re driving two tons with a three-banger. To Honda’s credit, it’s pretty though to tell.

The Crosstour’s transmission du jour is a five-speed automatic with rev-matching downshifts. On its way up the cogs, the tranny stays well behaved. It tried not to leap up to the next gear before I was ready. On the way down, the rev-matching was quick . . . but almost too quick. Kind of jarring. Like you’re teaching someone else to drive a manual. Of course, by this point I was getting on the thing. Day to day, most Honda owners will be quite content.

The overall feel of the car – in all-wheel drive form – is more comfortable than its sedan siblings. I can’t decide if the added bulk counters the little bumps and holes of the road or Honda actually tuned this more for touring than carving. Probably a little of both. The car’s body roll is present, but way less than you’d expect. The vehicle dynamics are an improvement for the platform. The AWD gives you a slightly better weight distribution and, under load, it evens out the front-wheel drive tug. This is the most fun you can have in an Accord.

Not that any of them were built for fun, per se. The four-wheel-disc antilock brakes are up to the challenge. Firm and predictable. The steering floats a little too much for my taste. The breeziness has a point, though, as the turning circle is just over 40 feet. Above illegal speeds you want a heavier feel. When parallel parking, you want all the help you can get.

Our test car stickered at $37,035. That gives you all the gizmos Honda has to offer, including a navigation system I didn’t bother with. It does not give you Honda’s top shelf, super-all-wheel-drive (SH-AWD). All Crosstours get a simple set up that sends power backwards when it feels like, rather than a four-way distribution system. I got to test the car in the wet and the traction is certainly better the FWD variants. There is no suction cup effect, a la Acura.

You do get an Acura interior. The basic Accord moldings dress up nicely. The extra pieces of leather and wood make the space more inviting. The brushed metal looks better than it feels. Living in a cold climate, I continue to appreciate Honda’s over-sized buttons. Gloves-on ergonomics are more than sufficient.

The trunk area is smart. The side wells intrude some, but the bin in the floor is brilliant. It has handles. You can take the whole thing out and cart stuff around and wash it when you’re done. The lid flips, if you want to keep at least that part of the carpet clean.

The dealer that loaned me a Crosstour had already delivered its first four. Honda devotees bought them sight unseen, without a single turn of the wheel. That probably says more than I did in the previous 11 paragraphs. There is a car-buying public that can get past looks and handicaps to simply accept a car for what it really is . . . Whatever that is. I’m not sold on this whole fat five-door sub genre. Just because BMW does it doesn’t make it right. The Crosstour is good enough to make me wish for a pretty Accord wagon. Yes, I am that shallow.

Eight years ago I was looking at the exact same speedometer in a Honda Helix scooter. No joke. The speedo in the Helix and Insight are absolutely one and the same. Now most of you may not know what a Honda Helix actually is. Fair enough. It’s a very large scooter that can go 70 mph, get 70 mpg, and puts you in a near recliner position when on the road. Honda happily made them for 20 years. The Insight? Well multiply the Helix’ $5000 cost by five and you pretty much get all that and the most fun to drive hybrid on the road today.

Honda decided to make the Insight into what can truly be called a Sport, Utility, Vehicle. The Insight can literally pirouette on a dime and, in normal, non-racing-style driving, it’s extremely flickable. I was able to hit (and feel) every single crevice on the road without fail. Point the wheel. Hear the roar of tires and minimal noise insulation . . . and enjoy the full sensation of an 1850 lb. aluminum bodied masterpiece with a Cd of 0.25 spear its way through the asphalt. I swear that the Insight could have been the perfect template for every sporty car Honda’s made in the last ten years. If only they could have made a profit doing it.

The Insight had some amazing surprises to it beyond the handling. For example, did you know that the Insight could have likely been the best designed car ever for a traveling salesman? As Shakespearean actor Kurt Angle is fond of saying, “It’s true!” If you lift the rear hatch and pull up a chair, you could literally turn the rear of this car into the perfect office.

Picking up items from the hatch doesn’t require any bending at all. None. The space is deceptively large and there’s even a really neat hidden box (à la the Ridgeline) where you can store your more expensive schleppage. I literally handled titles, bills of sale, receipts, and hundreds of other pieces of paper without ever opening the door to my office for the entire week. I just opened the hatch, picked what I needed, and that was it. Absolutely brilliant.

Unfortunately the car has some 1st generation weirdness that I could easily do without. Tires that are a weird size make this car needlessly expensive over the long-term for the “keeper.” So does the tranny fluid that must be made out of liquid gold for the price I was charged. The fact that the Honda dealer managed to under-fill the tranny fluid and overfill the oil made me understand the tendency for enthusiasts to keep far away from the big blue H buildings.

Then there’s absolutely no tint on the windows. In Hotlanta, Georgia! Whoever thought up that wonderful idea should have been made to spend two hours in “time-out” listening to the A/C system at full blast. $35 of tint solved it but this is a common sense quirk that should have never left the factory.

Other than that the car is just beautiful. The prior owner averaged 46 mpg through it’s 145,000 miles. One tint. Four tires inflated to their maximum sidewall pressure, and just keeping up with traffic quickly yielded 52 mpg. A few days later . . . 55 mpg. Then 62 mpg. Finally, a unique 250-mile sojourn without the need for A/C and a slick road yielded 69.6 mpg . . . and that was a combination of highway and stop and go driving. In the words of the next black president of the United States, Ron Simmons, “Damn!”

The Insight also doesn’t really drive small. Unlike the wind-up-and-pray Geo Metro, the Insight has a reasonably wide wheelbase that translates into a comfortable driving experience. Okay, we’re not talking about a Buick here. But I felt far more secure in it than a Miata, Escort, or Corolla of the same vintage. The interior is really a bit like a spacious cockpit where you almost have to lean to get things like the radio, and the quality of the materials is more becoming of a $35,000 car or a $45,000 Chrysler. The noise factor got annoying once you passed the 65 mph barrier but otherwise the Insight is extremely easy to live with.

Now here’s the big question. Is it worth it? For the resourceful enthusiast who rarely has the need for more than two people . . . I would put it on the radar. This is a true enthusiasts car that you can look forward to driving any day that doesn’t involve a hail storm or snow flurry. But if you’re looking for the traditional Toyonda cost effective product or prioritize four seats and quiet . . . don’t even think about it.

Penny pinchers? Get a Corolla. Seriously. You have to really struggle over the long-term to get ahead with the Insight because the battery system and CVT can be God-awfully expensive to replace. But until that happens, and God knows I’m already preparing for it, I’ll be driving the Insight and enjoying flipping Honda’s beautiful bird at the Arab dictatorships and Russian mafia.

From the 1970s to the 1990s, Honda earned a reputation as the most technically innovative and ecologically sensitive Japanese automaker. Honda introduced the first hybrid to the American market. Unfortunately, its rep for green tech leadership took a big hit when the original Insight, an EV1ish tear-drop-shaped two-seater, was totally eclipsed by Toyota’s Prius. Hybrid versions of the Civic and Accord did little to stem Toyota’s PR gains. For 2010, Honda has introduced an all-new Insight hybrid. Does this car have a shot at ending Toyota’s dominance of the green car mindscape?

The success of the Toyota Prius, and relative failure of all other hybrids, suggested that people didn’t want a hybrid that looked like any other car. Honda appears to have learned this lesson—sort of. Although based on the Honda Fit, the new Insight looks like no other Honda. What it does strongly resemble: the 2004-2009 Toyota Prius, only with even more ungainly proportions.

Inside the Insight, the hyper-plastic sci-fi theme of other recent Honda interiors has advanced even deeper into the absurd. If any attempt was made at a clean, cohesive, rational design, it’s not evident. From the bi-level instruments to the bifurcated HVAC controls, a team of acid-tripping designers and bean counters appears to have completely routed the human factors folks. This from the “keep it simple” company. One small win: unlike in Toyota’s hybrids, there’s a tach.

Human bodies come in many different shapes and sizes. So there’s a chance that some people will find the Insight’s front seats comfortable, or at least bearable. This tester couldn’t wait to escape from the prominent, non-adjustable lumbar bulge and head-prodding headrests. Visibility, another traditional Honda strength, is good ahead but awful to the rear.

One more lesson learned from the first round of Insight vs. Prius: hybrid buyers want a back seat. So the new Insight has one. But not much of one; unlike in the Prius, adults barely fit. Cargo room is more competitive.

Like past Honda hybrids, the 2010 Insight employs a much simpler powertrain than Toyota’s HSD. The relatively puny electric motor, while theoretically capable of powering the car at low speeds, rarely does so in typical driving. Instead, it provides a mild assist to the engine-for a total of 98 horsepower—and enables the engine to nap at traffic lights.

While the electric assist makes the Insight feel sufficiently energetic off the line and in casual driving, the more you push, the weaker the engine feels, and the raspier it sounds. (Didn’t Honda used to be known for the most refined small fours?) A contributing factor: the engine/motor is connected to the wheels by a conventional belt-and-pulley CVT (as opposed to the planetary gearset sort employed by Toyota). This CVT typifies the reasons many people hate the entire concept. When pushed, it sounds and feels as if the clutch is slipping. Noise levels increase dramatically; thrust not nearly so much.

I drove the LX. Upgrade to the EX and you get paddle shifters to select from seven simulated “gears.” Someone at Honda clearly has a sense of humor.

The point of the Insight’s otherwise awful powertrain: fuel economy, of course. The EPA’s numbers are 40/43. That’s inferior to a Prius, but perhaps ten MPG better than a Fit. Hit a big green “ECON” button for optimum results. Honda’s chief innovation is an “Eco Assist” feedback system that’ll bring out the hypermiler in your mom (in case the underhood racket isn’t sufficient incentive to tread lightly on the throttle). This driver appears to have passed-the little green tree remained lit despite a few attempts to discover whether the Insight could, if necessary, get out of its own way (yes, barely).

In turns, the Insight leans less and feels less bobbly than the non-Touring second-generation Prius. But that’s a low hurdle. Compared to conventional compacts, handling is average at best. Despite some reports to the contrary, the Insight is not fun to drive in any conventional sense of the words “drive” or “fun.” The price of mere handling parity? When traversing patchy pavement, the underdamped, overly firm rear suspension gets the jitters and incites tin-can reverb in the cargo area.

Honda’s strategy with the Insight: offer a car nearly as good as the Prius for substantially less money. With a $20,570 base price, the Insight lists for a couple grand less than the more stylish, quicker, more economical, and more comfortable 2010 Prius. (Or opt for a leftover 2009, and incentives will considerably narrow the gap.) This is one of those cases where spending a little more money on the “real thing” will get you a lot more car.

Copycat exterior, cheap interior, uncomfortable seats, cacaphonous engine, nervous ride, competes on price . . . the Honda Insight sounds like a Prius knock-off from China. Except it’s from Honda. What happened to the company that gave us the 1984 Civic?

[read Michael Martineck's review of the Honda Insight here]

Less than a generation ago, speed was the name of the game. Hands-on automotive enthusiasts would swap their car’s two-barrel carb for a four, replace the manifold, straighten the exhaust, anything and everything to make their ride go faster (at least in a straight line). Even the mechanically ignorant knew that power equaled status, whether under-hood or at their fingertips (windows!). These days, consumption is no longer a disease—it’s an addiction. Where once we laughed watching my buddy Artie’s ’69 Camaro’s fuel needle fall, the new Honda Insight has a needle showing me how much fuel I’m saving. It’s not a very clever insight, but the Insight is a very clever car.

At first glance, the Insight reveals itself as the Prius’ fraternal twin. The flattering imitation separates the Insight from its dopey looking predecessor, and places the new car squarely on the Toyotagas – electric coattails. The Insight’s shape is pleasing, like a large juicer. It’s just not stirring. The Insight gets a bonus star for being a five-door, the practicality of which seems lost on my native country. It won’t be lost on the Insightful.

Who cares? The car’s raison d’être lies underneath the skin. Thin skin. While the Insight’s not as tinny as I’d expected, a word to the wise: don’t crouch behind the car when the shooting starts. What insulation I saw—looking around the spare tire—felt too light to exist. Of course, it’s all part of the mission: do less with less.

To that end, the Insight comes with a bigger version of the powerplant than the one powering the original, two-seat Insight. Honda’s Integrated Motor Assist (IMA) hybrid system is an 88 horsepower 1.3-liter four-cylinder gas engine with a 13 hp electric sidekick, served by a nickel-metal hydride battery pack. The electric motor powers the Insight up to 30 mph without any help. The engine turns off sometimes (e.g., when you’re looking for a parking spot, obeying the school zone speed limit or stuck at a light), but the engine’s shaft doesn’t cease so it’s not as disconcerting as it sounds.

The IMA’s performance is remarkable not for traditional thrills—the ’83 Civic was more fun to drive—but the ho-humness of the whole thing. The 2010 Honda Insight EX’s power comes on slowly and smoothly like an economy car. It’s not dangerously slow; there’s just no entertainment value. It’s not like you can downshift, spool up and goose the little bastard.

The Insight’s continuously variable transmission bars you from any thrill search. I’m pretty sure they sourced it from a dentist drill supplier. The sound alone dissuades you from hard acceleration. The Formula 1 style “gear-changers” on the EX’s steering wheel don’t help. How could they? It’s a CVT. I’m still trying to figure that part out. Anyway, the gear-changers are like flippers on a runway model. Like paddles on a submarine. I can’t . . . never mind. They’re only on the EX. Pretend they’re decorations.

The Insight’s ride was firm but not harsh and actually kind of tight. Up and down a few ramps I started wondering what the car would be like if we popped off the low rolling resistant tires and put some decent skins on the puppy. The response and roll hinted that the chassis was capable of much more than the rest of the car would ever allow.

Like the brakes for instance: antilock with electronic force distribution. The regenerative system stops the car well enough sending energy back to your batteries where it can do some good. But the system creates an odd drag and crusty feel that, again, dispirits the Transporter within. For regular old driving, though, no one’s going to complain.

Because they’re going to be paying attention to other things. You can see the 2010 Honda Insight EX’s owners paradise by  dashboard lights. A digital speedometer sits center, in a halo, the shade of which tells you whether you’re driving like an Earth-loving angel or the speed-demon you’ve always been. The Insight provides its namesake in the form of graphs and charts you can scroll through to see your average miles per gallon, battery power, time until oil change, life, hit points and number of sparkly gems you’ve picked up on your journey.

It’s not a video game and I don’t mean to reduce the effect which is optimization of your car’s performance, something my buddies and I used to spend a lot of time doing. The measure’s just different. MPG over quarter mile time. An arguably more noble pursuit. Safer, too, the way Honda does it. The colors give you feedback without distraction. Brilliant.

Combined with the Insight’s Eco button—a kind of anti-Nitrous switch that puts the car into super conserve mode—the gauges and lights serve as new substitutes for a gear shift and tons of torque. It helps make you a more controlled, responsive driver . . . in terms of economy. I averaged 37 mpg. I know I can do better. It’s a different game and the Insight is pretty damn good at it. Toyota’s a playa. And, now, so is Honda.

From the outside the new for 2009 Honda Fit looks, erm, bigger. In fairness, the nose is a bit more pinched (a la Civic). So it looks more sporty when coming at you. But from the side? Just bigger. Yeah sure, there’s an extra crease here and a kinked sill there. But the Fit still looks like a cute, shrunken minivan. And that’s OK.

I’m not a fan of what’s inside. Unlike the first Fit– which featured both Acura-grade instrumentation and an earnest, honest feel– this guy is a mess. Some buttons are straight out of the HUMMER catalog: huge, over-sized twisty knobs put in place via a drunken round of pin the tail on the donkey. In other words, me no like. I did enjoy the seemingly endless number of cubby holes found essentially everywhere– like cup holders directly in front of the vents. Smart. Unless you have a cold drink and it’s cold out… At least the “magic seat” still folds flatter than Kansas macadam. Moving on…

When I drove the first Fit back in April of 2006 I was impressed by its power to weight ratio. That Fit only had 109 hp, meaning it didn’t weigh anything. This new Fit weighs exactly 10 kilograms more than the old Fit. That’s 22 pounds to us Yanks, and some of us ate nearly that much on Thanksgiving. Seeing as how the 2009 Fit’s 1.5-liter now makes 118 hp (and two additional pound-foots of torque for a total of 107 lb-ft) I should be even more smitten with the new version. But I’m not. Why? The new Fit drives like a Hummingbird.

As soon as your left foot releases some clutch it’s “BZZZZZZZZ!!!” and torque steer. If there were four or five more torques you’d be smoking the tires at every take off. Try as I might– and I tried– I just couldn’t launch the thing smoothly. How about once you’re up to speed? Well, define speed. Because at 80 mph you’re buzzing along over 4,000 rpm. There’s just never a dull moment, which isn’t what you want in a high-mileage grocery hauler.

Some of you might be thinking that 27/33 doesn’t sound that bad. And you’d be right. I’ve also heard that the paddle-shifted automatic versions of the new Fit aren’t quite so herky-jerky. So here’s the part where I’m supposed to actually recommend a slushbox over a row your own. But a funny thing happened on the way to see my mother.

Mom lives in the nation’s first “master planned community:” Thousand Oaks, CA. This means lots of wide four-lane roads with 55 mph limits and not many stop signs. On one particular stretch I found myself not exactly racing but definitely going at it with a Range Rover. I could bore you to death with details of my heroic exploits, but the moral isn’t that I outran the Landy (of course I did), but rather how impressively the Fit behaved when push came to shove. To reiterate, I was shoving. And that’s what I liked most about the old Fit: mid level performance at an entry level price.

Let’s recap. For a  thousand bucks more than the previous car, Honda will sell you a bigger Fit Sport with more power and a negligible weight penalty. It’s raw butt pain around town as smooth launches are impossible. Due to wind resistance and lack (still) of a sixth gear, it’s no picnic on the freeway either. However, get the 2009 Fit alone on a twisty road and you’re reminded why driving is such rewarding fun.

This morning I rolled out of bed, performed my morning ablutions, downed a bowl of Raisin Bran, dropped my sons off at school and started my stop-and-go commute to work. A never-ending stream of blinking taillights precedes me up and down the interstate through the pre-dawn din. Wannabe comedians inanely chatter and squawk through my radio. Finally my exit arrives: a lightly traveled mile-long arcing two-lane spur that connects interstate to turnpike. In a brief burst of adrenaline energy that widens my bleary eyes, I break away from the gridlock and shoot up the ramp. In third gear I push up to 80 mph as my car confidently hunches down and steers precisely through the sweeping turn. By the time I join the turnpike I coast down and assimilate into the flow of the traffic. These brief thrills make me glad that I opted for a sportier, nimble handling family sedan. But I drive an ’01 Accord. The 2009 Accord LX is no fun at all.

I make this assessment in the context of a four-car comparison, including the Toyota Camry, Mazda Mazda6 Sport, and Nissan Altima 2.5. [NB: domestic comparo to follow.] In these trying times, economy is the word. So I selected economical base model four-door four-banger examples rather than up-optioned V6 variants. In keeping with the family-hauler theme, the only options I insisted on were A/C, power door locks and windows and an automatic transmission, all of which are now standard fare at dealerships.

When it comes to the battle of the bulge, the Accord takes the cake– and eats it. At 194.1” in length and 72.7” in width, the ’09 Accord edges out the new supersized Mazda6 as the biggest of the bunch. This is a distinction that philosophically clashes with Honda’s long standing reputation for minimalist restraint.

Also in conflict: the Accord’s styling. Designers clearly wanted to project solidity and practicality. At the same time, they seemed desperately intent on avoiding pejorative blandness. Throw in a dash of Bavarian me-too-ism and you end up with a bad case of Japanese angst. The new grille takes on the blockier form motif lifted from the new Pilot. Meanwhile, deep but narrow cuts scar the car’s lateral lines.

Yet, the longer I look at the new form, the more it grows on me. Honda fans can take some solace in the fact that the new Accord is much easier on the eyes than arch rival Camry.

A large exterior allows room for a large interior, of which Honda takes full advantage. The Accord gives passengers an extra four cubic feet of space to inhabit. All Accord trim levels get radio controls placed on the steering wheel and an auxiliary audio jack under the center arm rest for your iPod. But the stereo itself fails to impress; it’s the thinnest sounding system amongst this family sedan grouping. It’s a deficit the Accord can ill afford; the Accord does the worst job of our quartet at silencing road noise.

The Accord’s large and easily navigated buttonry arrayed up the dash’s center stack lacks the same qualitative look and feel of prior generation Accords. No, Honda hasn’t fallen to Chrysler levels of cheapness when it comes to component plastics. Not even close. But it’s a disturbing trend.

What looks good on paper doesn’t always translate well in the real world. The Accord LX is a perfect example. Honda claims 177 hp, the most highly horsed sedan of the bunch. A 3,289 lbs., it’s the second-lightest. Yet it drives like it is 500 lbs. heavier than any of the others. Punch the engine at 50 mph and the journey to 80 mph is slow and ponderous. Even the Camry seems to move with greater alacrity. Blame this on the low torque engine, which ties Camry for weakest twist at 161 lb-ft @ 4300 rpms. Peak horsepower doesn’t eek-out until hitting a screaming 6500 rpms.

Unlike the Toyota, however, the Accord manages to keep its composure through high speed cornering. That weighty feeling returns when you stomp on the brakes, though. Hop on the pedal and the rear end bucks upward like a mad brahma. The standard four-wheel disk brakes are much improved over prior LX iterations, but softness still contributes to the illusion of heaviness.

At the end of the day when I drove home I listen to an old Police favorite:

Another working day has ended,
Only the rush hour hell to face,
Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes,
Contestants in a suicidal race,
Daddy grips the wheel and stares alone into the distance…

Any characteristics that the Accord once had that could infuse some excitement into a bleak commute have been engineered away. Comfortable yes. Satisfying no.

Style isn’t one of them. Unlike previous Accords or the current Civic, the newish Accord is solid without being stolid. The four-door achieves this gravitas via a blatant pastiche/rip-off of the Mercedes E-Class and BMW 3-Series sedans. From the Accord’s indented, downwards sloping side swage line, to its wide stance and beefy proportions, it’s quietly— though defiantly— not Japanese. Richtig?

More to the point, the Accord doesn’t look like an economy car. In fact, closing a door is an exercise in cognitive dissonance; everything about the Accord’s exterior leads you to expect a basso profundo Germanic thunk. All of which means that car buyers seeking to protect– or elevate– their position on the status-related automotive food chain can buy the Accord without the slightest tinge of badge-related remorse.

Once inside, the base model’s front seats serve the only reminder that you won’t be spending big bucks down at Fritz’ House of Pain. The LX’s lateral support-challenged, cloth-covered chairs are like a tiny stone in a pair of Cole Haan loafers; the proximity to perfection calls attention to itself. Meanwhile, the Accord’s newly enlarged rear accommodation– and attendant trunk space– is now that of a full-size sedan, for the cost of a couple of mpgs. You tell me: why not?

Because the AC is no longer powerful enough to cool the cavernous cabin quickly and efficiently? Anyway, although the Accord’s plastic fantastic controls and bin lids don’t respond with oil-dampened precision, the interior still manages to feel minimalist rather than miserly. Honda’s allocated resources where it counts. The large, silver-rimmed gauges are a study in muted elegance and ergonomic clarity. Soft touch polymers form the dash and the much-appreciated digital display rabbit hutch. But most importantly of all, the steering wheel.

This writer has long argued that the steering wheel is a car’s single most important design element; it’s the one control that puts you in uninterrupted contact with the machine. The Accord’s wheel is perfection. I’m not speaking of the cheap-feeling radio and cruise control buttons. Nor am I impressed with the helm’s faux aluminum TIE fighter insert. It’s a simple matter of size, diameter and feel. The Accord’s steering wheel instantly and constantly signals this is a car for driving, not mindless wafting.

And here’s where things get a little strange…

The last time I drove a base Accord, the over-boosted steering was as sharp as a crack dealer’s lawyer and twice as annoying. Turn the wheel too quickly and you’d have to turn the wheel too quickly again, guesstimating the car’s immediate and eventual direction. A single ill-timed sneeze could send the sedan into another lane. I found it difficult to believe that Honda would cater to American drivers— long known for their predilection for slow-acting Novocain steering— with a car that required so much vigilance.

Sorted. Not since BMW surrendered its best helm feel props to Porsche in pursuit of [realized] mass appeal has a mainstream motor provided such a wonderfully direct and satisfying steer. I don’t know whether it’s down to a software upgrade for the Variable Gear Ratio (VGR) Power-Assisted Rack-and-Pinion system, or the Dunlop Sport 7000 rubber. But what was a chink in the Accord’s armor has become a major selling point.

Mind you, the LX is no sports sedan. There is neither the power underfoot nor the chassis control needed for genuine hustling. The Accord’s 177 horsepower four-banger is willing enough— save an accelerative dead zone around 35mph— and the chassis is appropriately safety (i.e. understeer) biased. So let’s call it precision wafting. Yes but–

The Accord’s ride quality sucks. As the American-built whip has a double wishbone suspension up front and a multi-link deal out back, I blame the aforementioned cheap ass all-weather shoes for the fact that you feel every bump; whose suppression causes a low frequency concussion throughout the cabin. When I hit a rough stretch of road, I could almost hear David Byrne telling me it’s fa-fa-fa-fa-fa, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa better to run, run away.

How long before Honda addresses this econobox issue and eliminates yet another customer “objection?” Keyboards may already be clicking. Never mind. I doubt the broken pavement spinal assault is a deal breaker for the vast majority of Accord loyalists or defecting intenders. (Clever salesmen will know which roads to avoid.) There are simply too many reasons NOT to not buy it: style, safety, comfort, economy, reliability, depreciation, price, etc. And now one compelling reason why you should.

That's not to say I hated the new Pilot's looks at first glance. The effete minivan-ish look of the first generation CUV needed beefing-up more than an anorexic body-builder. So I was ready for something radical. And boy, did I get it. The new Pilot's grill "features" a thick chrome double-D rotated 90-degrees to the right; an affectation that's more Tranformers than transformative. The Pilot's rear end demonstrates the classic SUV refrigerator-on-wheels look, easily confused with the new Liberty (sans trapezoidal wheel wells). Taken as a whole, the new Pilot is like the big-boned girl that people can't decide whether she's an ugly duckling or the next "it" girl (I'm looking at you Scarlet Johansson).

The Pilot might not have turned out exactly as Honda's chief designer Dave Marek intended, but the look certainly projects greater solidity and presence than it's predecessor. Stylistically, the new Pilot harks back to a simpler time, when real men (and their wives) drove SUVs [kidding-ish]. If you think that the new Toyota Highlander looks like a contemporary example of Japanese design running awry of American taste,  and that futuristic CUV's such as the Ford Edge and Mazda CX-9 look more at home on the cover of a Journey album than rolling around U.S. highways, they you'll find Pilot's masculine simplicity a step in the right direction. If not, not.

The Pilot's inner confines are free from the pseudo-luxury pretenses that afflict nearly every other car on the road. Aside from the cowhide pulled tight over seats and steering wheel, all surfaces are fashioned from easy-to-clean durable plastic.  These are not brittle poor-quality polymers masquerading as chrome or wood, but proud durable materials that know that their primary role is to serve families with messy kids.

The Pilot's front seats are comfortable and supportive enough for non-track trekking. The second and third rows are little more than padded benches that fold flat. Kids are cool, but the Geneva Convention specifically prohibits adults from extended tours of duty. Parents that don't pony-up for the Touring Edition with satellite navigation still avoid smushed tikes and trikes via the Pilot's rearview backup camera, with a display conveniently located in the rear view mirror.

When I tested a Gen One Pilot about two months ago, I was shocked by how poorly it drove and handled. The crossover that once set the standard for SUV-driving dynamics had been thoroughly outclassed by the rest of the industry. Especially notable: the four-wheel independent suspension-equipped, front wheel-drive (FWD) trucklet's tendency to crab-walk its way over bumps. 

The '09 Pilot's handling dynamics now boast contemporary car-like excellence. Soccer moms and suburban dads can now schlep kids to school, fetch groceries and commute to work without wrestling with the tiller. The base Pilot's tendency to torque steer, introduced when Honda deleted all wheel-drive (in pursuit of mpg), hasn't been eliminated. But drivers are now unlikely to push the engine above 4800 rpm, where the twist wreaked havoc with the FWD model's steering. By 5500 rpm, the power steering boosts to counteract the torque, and all steering feedback blacks out.

As you'd expect, Honda told their engineers to preserve the Pilot's performance while squeezing more fuel economy from the package. The '09 Pilot is powered by a new 3.5-Liter 24-Valve SOHC i-VTEC V-6 engine that's good for an adequate (i.e. faint praise) 250hp and 253 lb-ft torque. The minor power increase offsets the new truck's extra 84 lbs. (about two percent more), keeping the horsepower-to-weight ratio nearly identical to the outgoing model. In real world driving, anyone familiar with the old Pilots won't discern any difference.

The powerplant features Honda's improved Variable Cylinder Management system (previously only available on the FWD Pilots). While the resulting 17/22 mpg might make Civic drivers cringe, according to the fine folks at the EPA the system delivers up to seven percent better fuel economy in town and 10 percent on the highway. At the least the bump removes a psychological barrier for re-upping Pilots.

The Honda Pilot may not have hardcore towing or off-road ‘wheeling machine skills, but it can do both in a limited capacity.  It's best to simply think of the Pilot as a slightly larger eight-passenger version of Honda's excellent CR-V. Rock solid. Safe.  Unpretentious. Practical. Reliable. Zen for families that appreciate the finer points of basic transportation.

The original Pilot was a blandly inoffensive box on wheels. The new Pilot sports a bulkier nose, a higher beltline, more Hummeresque side windows (let us not speak ill of the dead) and a chrome butt strip. The formerly cute ute looks much more like a conventional SUV– except for the clunky grille. (Honda designer Dave Marek says the new design will grow on you; so can fungus.)

The same, more massive aesthetic has been applied to the Pilot’s interior. The center stack, the center console, and the door panels all have the chunky forms typical of a conventional full-size SUV.

If this were a Chrysler, we’d be saying that the interior plastics look cheap. Since it’s a Honda, we’ll say they look “affordable.” As in cheap. Surfaces display the sheen you’d expect from budget grade rock-hard polymers, while the instrument panel includes far too many prominently located cut lines. Want something nicer? Honda invites you to pick up an MDX. Alternatively, you could buy a competitor’s product.

Like a conventional SUV, the Pilot’s windshield is downright upright. The instrument panel isn’t minivanishly deep and visibility is excellent. Although the Pilot’s front seats are larger and cushier than those found in smaller Hondas, there’s less lateral support than Hillary Clinton affords Barak Obama. Also on the downside, the Pilot’s shifter has moved to the left side of the center stack. It’s an improvement over the old column shifter, but the cog swapper’s positioning isn’t ideal for anyone who likes to drive.

The new Pilot has all the width of a full-size SUV. In terms of length and wheelbase, both dimensions have increased by about three inches; remaining about ten inches shorter than competitors. Legroom in the second row is up an inch, third row limb accommodation is up nearly two inches. The second row adjusts a few inches fore-and-aft, but adults will want it all the way back.

Humans up to six feet tall can now fit into the Pilot’s third row, with little room to spare. The wayback seats are positioned above the first two rows, providing occupants with a pleasantly unobstructed view forward. But the chairs are still too close to the floor to provide adults with enough thigh support to prevent Restless Leg Syndrome.

The Pilot’s relatively short exterior length also compromises cargo volume. The Honda can carry eight people or their luggage, but not both at the same time. As with the third row, you’ll find more room elsewhere.

Honda’s secured an extra six horses for the Pilot’s 3.5-liter V6, for a total of 250. The i-VTEC system makes the most of what’s there, stumping-up 253 ft. lbs. of torque. Unfortunately, there’s no noticeable difference in performance. Why would there be? The Pilot’s curb weight has increased to 4500 lbs. (with all wheel-drive). To compensate for the heft’s effect on gas consumption, the powerplant now runs on three or four cylinders while cruising. The resulting 16/22 EPA numbers are competitive, but hardly qualify as a unique selling point.

The Pilot’s automatic five-speed gearbox remains. (Most competitors have a sixth ratio, which enables a shorter first gear for stronger acceleration off the line.) The Pilot’s steering feels a bit firmer than before. Thanks to improved suspension tuning, the Pilot no longer leans like a boat through the turns. But the not-so-cute-ute is about as much of a sporting machine as the [only slightly less expensive] Panasonic EP3005 massage chair.

Disappointingly, the Pilot’s new underpinnings don’t deliver markedly improved ride quality or a vast reduction in noise levels. If you’re looking for a bargain-basment alternative to premium-branded products, this ain’t it.

The new Pilot doesn’t change the game the way the original did. There’s not a single area in which it excels, in a field crowded with excellent products. Of course, the same could be said of the old Pilot, of which Honda sold quite a few. Much like the previous model, the new Pilot is a vehicle for those who will only consider a Toyota or Honda, and want something roomier than the Highlander. Honda bunted. The Pilot’s a base hit.

The EX-L coupe is a rolling homage to BMWs 3 through 8, adorned with a small sprinkling of performance cues: chrome door handles (ew), coffee can chromed pipes (huh?) and 18” rims (bow-chicka-bow-wow). And get a load of that teeny little spoiler– no compensating for anything here. In terms of sporting proportions, the EX-L is the automotive definition of cognitive dissonance: a two-door vehicle that stretches farther than a standard four-door. Clearly, this baby has a lot of ass to haul.

On the upside, the EX-L’s bootylicious bounteousness makes the rear seats roomy enough for at least two adults. Unfortunately the back seat is a journey, not a destination; ensconcing oneself in the EX-L’s rearmost chairs is a convoluted and agonizing process. Returning to the positive spin, the Accord's huge trunk compensates for the back seats’ limited access– especially for coupe drivers familiar with the fine art of securing grocery bags with shoulder belts.

The view from behind the EX-L’s wheel is strangely… feminine. Like the Dodge logo and the Subaru Tribeca, the EX-L’s interior offers-up a pistonhead paean to the female reproductive system. From the way the dashboard curves sweep inward like fallopian tubes into the uterus slash radio/climate control unit, to the oversized, top-heavy H on the steering wheel, Freud would have had a heyday.

Yes, well, the outward edges of the dash connected with my knees more than once while I was entering and exiting the vehicle, leading to some decidedly un-Ladylike cursing. (Take it from me, fallopian tubes are not known for their ergonomics.) As for the radio head unit (so to speak), Honda's answer to complaints of overly-complex controls is the engineering equivalent of talking louder. They've made the buttons bigger and the writing larger. It may be easier for fat-fingered folks to grope through the ICE menus, but it's no more intuitive than before– or BMW's iDrive.

Ergonomics be damned. Practical funsters focus on less prosaic matters, like sheer horsepower. Turn the key, fire-up the filly and slip into the bliss that is a well-tuned Honda V6. This mill’s got torque all over and horsepower galore, all mated to yet another blissfully smooth and easy-shifting Honda gearbox. Girth aside, Road and Track’s resident tire shredders mustered a very respectable 5.9 seconds on the zero to 60 sprint– a hair behind most of the competition. The EX-L won’t light your hair on fire, but at this price you’ll shut up and drive. 

The ridiculous pipes provide a terrific aural balance between a savory exhaust note and cruising silence. Punch the gas and you’ll be cackling before you know it. The exhaust's sexy bwaaahhhhh is almost enough to drown out the unholy road noise those 18” tires unleash beneath you. (I had to double-check to make sure some bureaucrat didn’t accidentally ship a car with snow tires to the dirty South.) Charitable drivers should consider the EX-L’s din a not-so-subtle advertisement for Acura.

In a straight line, the EX-L coupe is silken joy. Try to throw this porker around a corner and you’ll get an abrupt reminder of why God invented rear wheel-drive. It’s like talking your inebriated, obese buddy into being the rear part of a two-person horse costume. No matter how hard you try, the EX-L's rear end is sluggish and unwieldy. Eventually you give up and just drag the stupid ass along behind you. 

Honda’s point-and-shoot steering and crisp turn-in are also absent, sacrificed on the altar of a comfortably numb ride. Anyone wanting a manual EX-L is probably more interested in sampling some Si-style driving dynamics than keeping the cups in their holders; failing to tune the EX-L’s suspension to match the coupe’s demeanor one of da meanest things Honda’s done to enthusiasts in quite some time.

The EX-L coupe is a conflicted vehicle. It’s got a powerful engine with a snick-happy transmission mated to an average suspension. It’s got all the appearance of a luxury vehicle, with none of the quiet and little of the luxuriousness. It’s fun to drive, but not REALLY fun.

Yes, the EX-L's a strange offering, given Honda aspirations for the Accord as the nü full-size family sedan. With a sport-tuned suspension, SH-AWD and a few more toys, the EX-L would blow its competitors into the weeds. As it is, the EX-L is… um… I’m sorry. What were we talking about?

The new Honda Accord is 20 inches longer, eight inches wider, four inches taller and 1,000 pounds heavier than the motor my father misidentified. In other words, it’s larger and heavier than the ‘80’s Detroit iron reviled by Honda’s early fans. And yet the Accord has come full circle. After years of increasingly bland styling, the ubiquitous sedan once again begs to be mistaken for a BMW.

Looking at the new Accord from the rear three-quarter perspective, clocking the C-pillar kink and the wrap-around taillights (that continue to the roofline’s down-sweep), it’s a dead ringer for the current BMW 5-Series. From other perspectives, the Honda’s design is less derivative– and less eye-catching. This despite a swage line slicing downwards from the rear and a bit of Bimmeresque flame surfacing. A distinctly un-Honda abundance of front overhang does nothing for the proportions.

Still, overall, mission accomplished. The new Honda Accord looks much more expensive than both its predecessor and its classmates.

Inside, the Accord’s instrument panel sweeps across the cabin like a 5-Series’ dash. Unfortunately, this aesthetic “homage” extends to the Accord’s ergonomics. The new controls are just as complex as any Bimmer’s, with more buttons than a professional seamstress AND a large iDrive-inspired eight-way knob. So much for “We make it simple.”  

The Accord’s front seats are well shaped for both comfort and [a modicum of] lateral support, especially when clad with grippy cloth. Thanks to the supersized external dimensions, the enlarged cabin is roomy enough for four Big and Tall preferred customers. The Accord’s rear seat folds in a single section to expand a class-trailing trunk; unusually intrusive rear strut towers defeat the purpose of a 60/40 split.

The 1982 Accord was motivated by a mere 75 horsepower. For years Honda refused to offer a V6 as a matter of principle. Gen 8 Accord buyers can still opt for a four-cylinder engine, with either 177 horses ( LX) or 190hp (EX). That’s plenty of poke for a family runabout, right? Wrong. Pitted against the upsized Accord’s 3,433-pound curb weight (EX-L with autobox), the four pot must rev its little 16-Valve DOHC i-VTEC® heart out to get the job done. The resulting 21/31 EPA ratings aren’t class-leading.

Enter the new 268-horsepower, 3.5-liter V6. Hello cubes, goodbye revs. Needless to say, the extra displacement works wonders in the oomph department, with minimal torque steer. The six may not deliver neck-snapping thrills or sing a lusty song, but it’s a refined piece that engenders mindless merging and perspiration-free passing.

These powerplants deserve better partners. When hooked up to either engine, the still-five-speed automatics didn’t behave well. They occasionally held a gear too long, or refused to downshift, or bumped when going from gear to gear. Maybe the transmissions needed more miles to adapt to my driving style. Maybe not. Fancy manually shifting the recalcitrant slushbox instead? Buy an Acura.

Though the Accord’s steering feels nicely weighted and precise, the suspension is tuned for touring, not sport. Going around curves, the double wishbones deliver most of the solid, tightly damped and thoroughly composed feel of a BMW– without the Bavarian’s sporting edge. Many competitors offer the option of firmer suspension tuning, but Honda doesn’t believe in options. The Accord’s suspension settings are a deft compromise between comfort and control. They are, nevertheless, a compromise. Enthusiasts will not be well satisfied; everyone else will be.

The Accord’s soft-core suspension settings does have its advantages: banishing the bump-thump busyness that sometimes afflicted the previous Accord on patchy pavement. There’s still more road noise than you’ll find in some Accord alteratives, but it’s much less pronounced than in many past Hondas.

The new Honda Accord is an impressive piece of automotive artistry. It’s well-built, roomy, properly-priced and (with the V6) powerful. It raises Honda’s trademark refinement to a new level, with much of the look and some of the feel of a base BMW 5-Series.

But part of the Accord’s appeal used to lie in Honda’s idiosyncratic insistence on engineering cars that followed the “man maximum, machine minimum” philosophy. The new Accord is large and in charge, but in seeking to provide a 5er for the masses Honda has forsaken much of the formula that earned the model its place in American automotive history.  

The party-in-a-box that Honda named “Element” is seven inches shorter than the CR-V SUV upon which it’s based. As for its sheetmetal, while looking like a cross between a Hummer and an ostraciidae is not in and of itself horrendous, the Elements’ exterior is covered with acres of faux Rubbermaid. The plastic treatment makes the car look like it’s fresh out of a pick-and-pull. No wonder Honda’s started building more elemental (i.e. monochromatic) Elements (for $500 extra).

Unsuspecting Element passengers will attempt to push rubber squares rearward of the rear doors to gain entry. Not so fast, Mr. Bond. Those are not door opening devices. They’re hinges! Yes 007, Honda’s Urban only Activity Vehicle flummoxes aspiring occupants with rear “access panels” (a.k.a. suicide doors). This eccentricity makes egress in tight parking spots more monumental than Elemental. As Sheriff J.W. Pepper might say: back that Rubbermaid ass up boy, or they ain’t getting’ in.

Once you’ve been properly briefed and belted, your senses will tell you why Honda can sell just about anything, from lawn mowers to jet airplanes to a shoebox-on-wheels: build quality. The Element’s supportive seats are worthy of a far more expensive vehicle. In fact, every point of human interaction– air vents, switches and HVAC controls– have a solid feel that exudes quality. It’s a trick invented by Volkswagen, perfected by Honda.

There is a notable exception to the Element’s cavalcade of ergonomic excellence: yet another cheesy single/double-din radio. An optional subwoofer is probably the least satisfying answer to the challenge of listening to acoustic referencing only slightly better than Ye Olde Close N Play. In fact, Honda’s budget ICE machines must be keeping after-market radio shops in business.

Features designed for generations at the end of the alphabet include a textured urethane floor (which the manual warns you not to hose), rear seats that fold into a “bed” (for people 4’3” tall) and a flip down mini-tailgate (for mini-tailgate parties). Blingmeisters will appreciate the Element’s “copper” accents (in SC trim), “root beer” metallic paint and 18 inch wheels. You can also order an Element with Honda’s Real Time™ (as opposed to?) four wheel-drive system.

Honda fits the Element with their ubiquitous 2.4-litre i-VTEC four-cylinder engine, good for 166hp (up 10hp for ‘07) and 161 ft-lbs of twist. Pitted against 3500 lbs., rest to 60 mph takes around nine thoroughly unspectacular seconds. Unfortunately, full throttle stompage yields typical four-banger thrash.  

The Element’s dash-mount stick shift may put out pistonhead noses, but it proves more entertaining than looks, location or rubbery feel would indicate. The five-speed slushbox is more fuel efficient than the manual (22/27 vs. 21/25 mpg) and only marginally less entertaining. The steering and ride are smooth, heavy and vague, and that’s OK. Anyone who wants to throw a 70.4” tall box into turns needs their head/license examined.

Honda claims that “just one glance tells you the Element was built for those who live their own unique way.” Apparently all these unique buyers need to haul large quantities of Styrofoam. With rear seats removed, the Element combines the cargo space of a Ford Transit with the weight handling capacity of a French poodle (675 lbs. max load). The Element will tow 1500 lbs., provided you’re willing to make the already slow vehicle into a four-wheeled glacier.

Young ‘uns descending upon Honda dealers with $20k-ish in hand (or Daddy’s AMEX) will pass right by the Element’s cousin the CR-V. The savvy shoppers amongst them will note that the new CR-V is only slightly more expensive. The extra money buys greater refinement and a fifth seat; better fuel economy, handling, resale value, visibility; and the ability to surmount more than a pebble on the road.

Still, you can’t blame Honda for capitalizing on the fact that common sense is not so common. And it must be said that the Element is an extremely safe vehicle, complete with five-star crash ratings, vehicle stability assist, all the latest braking nannies and airbags plenty. So when the younger set asks older Element drivers what they think about their whip, there is only one possible answer: safe!

The retro echoes are obvious, but let’s be clear about their execution: the new Civic’s tall profile, cab forward silhouette and skaterboi ramp cum windshield is less old school Lamborghini, more "Minivan Jr." Despite Audi-esque tail lights, the four-door’s strange proportions clearly say “I wanna be a hatchback!” About the best that can be said about the design: it's unmistakable from ten feet or ten furlongs away.

Too bad the windows aren't opaque. Honda’s interior decorators invite you to savor their first ever KITT car cabin. This ode to seventies sci-fi chic sports a two story gauge cluster. A digital speedometer sits up top; a Cyclopsian analog tachometer lingers below. The lighting effects aren’t quite Peter Max, but it’s not for lack of trying. All that’s needed is a flashing LED display and testy, effeminate voice to protect you against the “world of criminals who operate above the law.”  

Fortunately, the Civic’s high quality fit and finish create a suitable cavern for A to B’ers determined to enjoy their daily dose of gridlock or weekly jaunt to the local supermarket. The Civic’s cloth doesn't look or feel cheap, even having the foresight to spend quality time on the inviting door panels. True to Honda’s heritage, both major and minor controls are faultlessly, sensuously ergonomic. And there’s plenty of head, leg, shoulder and trunk space for five Civic-minded adults. 

The Civic LX' rear cargo-hole also makes the win list, with decklid operation and load height that's Verne Troyer compliant. But the hood's Dustbuster profile and long arm A-pillar make forward visibility a game of chance on the turnpike or within Wholefoods’ parking lot. Once you get over the front end's lack of visual reinforcement and the video game interfaces, taking a commanding grip on the Civic LX’ slick two-spoke wheel is child's play.

But not in the Atari 2600 kind of way. Honda's funky-fresh wedgemobile handles in a manner more befitting a Gran Turismo endurance race. Most everything from the ghosts of Civics past is present and accounted for: linear steering, powerful brakes, confident handling and reasonably well controlled body motions. The Civic’s 16" wheels encourage fast cornering and deep braking, even if the chassis’ limitations are strictly R&B (reached and breached).

While it’s nice to think that frugal little cars are driven by financially challenged enthusiasts, an automatic transmission is mandatory in this neck of the woods. The Civic's slushbox shifts effortlessly between five well-matched gears. 

That's a good thing. With a 1.8-liter four cylinder mill huffing out 140hp at 6300rpm, the amble from rest to 60mph require more than a couple of cogs and almost nine seconds of the Civic driver’s time. Let’s face it: the Civic LX’ acceleration isn’t exactly the stuff of NOPI folklore. But the mill gets the job done with a vario-cammed powerband that revs freely, with minimal thrash and complaint. More importantly (at least for the target market), the $17k sedan clocks in at 30/40 EPA mpg. 

Granted, the LX-trimmed Civic won't set souls afire with greasy bits worthy of The Temple of VTEC. But the little Honda is a direct hit on the average American’s big car sensibilities. The diminutive sedan serves-up the kind of calm, confident ride and sound isolation normally associated with premium priced luxobarges. And that's what makes this package special: strict attention to dynamic details while catering to the comfort-oriented demands of penny-pinching customers seeking reliable basic transportation.

Yes, but– somehow the Civic’s small car persona got lost in translation. While you gotta love all those airbags and the superlative passive safety, there’s no getting around the fact that the 2750lb Civic is a bigger beast than ever before. Which begs the question: was adding extra heft the right path for a car known for catering to both the entry-level dynamically dense buyer and the performance crazed Import Tuner crowd?

In this age of bigger is better, the current gen Civic bowed to market trends and sold the pistonheads out. Yes, the Civic is still a comforting method of family transport with unique styling and respectable performance. Sure, it’s still a modern day Model A: a blank canvas for street savvy tuners to make a, um, “strong” visual, auditory and performance statement. But the Civic is no longer a sport compact. Forget about the questionable nostalgic styling; this may be the biggest letdown of them all.

Mind you, the Accord’s design is about as exciting as waiting for dark matter to wander by. But for buyers who value stealth over spizzarkle, the Accord has the right angle stuff. The mid-sizer’s creases and curves adds to the model’s unassuming sleekosity; the latest taillight redesign and the rocker panel’s negative area reduce visual heft like a GQ magazine cover artist photochopping Kate Winslet’s stems.

The Accord’s front has a pronounced wedge shape, accentuated by elegant headlamps and a smartly integrated hood cutline. Aside from the discordant chrome moustache on the grille, the Accord is one of the best examples of understated automotive styling this side of an Aston Martin DB9. Of course, unlike David Brown's legacy, driving a Honda Accord is about as likely to get you noticed as wearing a red and white striped shirt at a “Where’s Waldo?” convention. 

The Accord’s interior is equally non-descript, if well-lit, perfectly proportioned and faultlessly featured. Hence the reason Accord virgins invariably exclaim, “Gee it’s big in here!” (rather than using the word “nice”). While The Big 2.5’s defenders are quick to get out their measuring tapes and compare feature counts, to understand the Accord’s allure, they need to feel the love. The sedan’s precisely dampened switches, knobs and levers are more than a pleasant surprise. At this price point, they’re a miracle.

Activating the Accord’s turn signal stalk is like biting into a Lindt chocolate truffle. The glove box and lower dash storage binnacle doors open with all the graceful, elegant motion of a sunflower blooming in a time lapse movie. The Accord’s portal treatments combine rich cloth inserts, classy vinyl and integrated storage nooks, creating a segment high watermark. There’s space aplenty for kids and cargo, with the ideal amount of visibility for pampered back seat passengers.

Certainly the Accord’s plastic flash casting must be as nasty as anything in an Impala. Happy hunting; I didn’t find any. Yet perfection is (as always) elusive: the rear seat needs a higher butt cushion for long distance comfort. And then the Accord’s sensual snickery whispers “Pay no attention to the cost cutting behind that curtain.” And so you don’t. 

The 2.4-liter engine is equally soothing– at least by four-banger standards. Depress the drive-by-wire throttle and the Accord revs both progressively and freely towards max power (166hp @ 5800rpm). The automatic box lacks the latest thing in transmissions (a sixth or seventh gear), but it swaps cogs with sufficient timing and speed (working with continuous variable valve timing) to keep lazy and sporting drivers in whatever torque the mill can muster (160 ft. lbs. @ 4000rpm).

The Accord LX is no neck snapper; it saunters from zero to 60mph in 8.1 seconds, and finishes the quarter mile in 16.6 seconds. At least you don’t pay for such, um, exuberance, at the pump; the ever-optimistic (at least ‘til later this year) feds report that the LX gets 24mpg about town, 34mpg on the open road. But with 3200 pounds in tow, the Accord’s four-cylinder is still the weakest link on the love train.

If and when you build up a head of steam, the LX’ driving dynamics are entirely entertaining. The pride of Marysville preserves any momentum you can carry into a corner and even lets you add more speed after the apex. The steering is nicely weighted, reasonably quick and linear. The stoppers operate better than the cheapie drum brakes (rear) and plastic wheel covers (15”) imply. And when Dr. Jekyll sublimates Mr. Hyde, the Accord gives a wonderfully compliant and isolating ride. 

Strangely, you can’t order your four-pot Accord with stability/traction control, brake assist or electronic brake force distribution. The omission reflects a gaping hole in the Accord lineup: a mid-priced, lower output (circa 200hp) six-cylinder variant that splits the difference between value-priced sensibility and pricey pace. The Accord LX has excellent interior trimmings, big car real estate, pistonhead-approved handling and a comfortable ride, but it needs an effortless engine to match. 

At $20k, the Honda Accord LX suffers against similarly priced, smoother-running V6 competitors from America (Ford Fusion) and South Korea (Hyundai Sonata). A mid-grade engine would keep the middle-class Accord ahead of the pack, while staying true to its understated style. The Ohio-built Japanese sedan would be, quite literally, the best of both worlds.

It’s easy to see why Ma and Pa America have taken to the four-door Honda Civic: it’s easy on the eyes. Well, except for the slightly revised front end, which looks like nothing so much as a Saturn Ion whittled out of a chunk of Vermont cheddar and left to bake in Death Valley. The Si Sedan is further differentiated by the inclusion of the same 17” wheels appearing on the Si Coupe (how economical!), a rear wing (how imaginative!) and some stickers on the rear doors (how economical and imaginative!). Still, better under than over-stated– especially when even the loss-leader generic-cigarette version comes with a sunroof. Oh wait, that’s the windshield.

Comfortalize yourself in the forward chairs– dressed for duty in basic black cloth with red stitching on bolstered cushions– and don’t be surprised if you smile. They’re ass-tastic! You also get Si-specific red instrument lighting and a delicate aluminum shift switch; not much visual jingle for your jangle.  You’re still gazing over a foosball table-sized expanse of dashboard with the dreaded dual-zone instrument panel. With the central tach resembling the first-generation Prelude’s, and a secondary HUD-ish binnacle, this seemingly frivolous design feature actually works– if you can get past the idea of a car that thinks its part of NORAD.

Place an amorous horse in the vicinity of a frisky donkey and a short time later you’ll end up with a mule. Think of the Civic Si four-door as the similarly sired offspring of its stock and modified stablemates. Only the Si sedan’s not sterile at birth. For one thing, you get the Si’s 197-thoroughbred powerplant. The 2.0-liter DOHC four redlines at eight-grand, peak power arrives at 7800 rpm, and max torque (139ft.-lbs.) shows up at 6200 rpm. In other words, Honda’s i-VTEC technology is hard at work, trying like crazy to provide oomph down low and whee up high.

Except it doesn’t. The Si’s mill sounds fine, thanks to a growly though thankfully restrained exhaust. But for a car that weighs only 60 lbs more than its two-door sibling, the Si sedan should run a lot harder than it does. Or at least feel as if it’s running harder than it is. Despite a not-entirely-slow zero to sixty time of 8.4 seconds, the four-door seems distinctly anemic.

Credit the hard workers across the hall in the Dept. of Chassis Magic. The Si loves the twisties like a fat kid loves cake. Honda’s boffins installed a larger front stabilizer bar, tweaked the dampers and dropped in a limited slip dif. It’s all to great effect; the Si sedan retains day-to-day composure which, considering the fact that it’s a performance variant, is a genuine bonus. At the same time, the car combines tenacious grip with superb chassis control, allowing fully-committed drivers a rare opportunity to explore the nexus of high G’s and understeer scrub off. 

The electrically-assisted steering is a delight, if a touch over-boosted, offering tremendous tactility and reassurance. Speaking of which, 11.8-inch ventilated front and 10.2-inch solid rear discs manage braking duties like Scotty Bowman handled the Montreal Canadiens. And if the Honda S2000’s gear change is the best ‘box on the planet (it is), the Si sedan’s is number two. It’s the low-fat Skippy peanut butter of gearboxes: light, smooth, and tasty. 

The main difference between the Si sedan and Si coupe? Nothing much– save the extra portals and a couple of grand (the Si sells for about $20k). In fact, the Si sedan’s practicality is practically inescapable. Keeping the rev needle in the penthouse will cost you at the pump, but not much (23 / 32 mpg). There’s a big ass boot and enough room for four genuine adults. Honda reliability, reasonable resale, and remind me again who can compete at this price point ($21k)? VW GLI? No thanks. Still…

Honda is known for its engines. They’ve given the Si Sedan everything an enthusiast could want but a totally stonking powerplant. At the end of the day, you’re left like a greedy little girl penning a letter to Santa for a corral full of ponies. Will that stop Honda from selling the frugal, fine-handling, sensibly priced Si sedan all day long? Nope. Never mind then.

At first glance, Honda’s cute ute has donned a German suit. Honda’s ditched the boxy shapes and hard angles that defined the CR-V in favor of Bimmeresque curved sheetmetal and an Audi-like rear sloping triangular back window. Dark under-cladding adds pseudo-macho appeal to the Germanic pastiche, while the spare-tireless rear door (which now swings upwards hatchback style) takes it away. Although the Chrysler Aspen has a lock on the worst snout of the year, the CR-V’s squashed dual grills and square plastic warts offer stiff competition. Aside from the nose, the CR-V’s design is a deeply, suitably, fashionably bland.

Fortunately, Honda has resisted the urge to super-size the CR-V. Thanks to the subversion of the aforementioned spare tire, the new model is actually some three inches shorter than its predecessor and, even better, only 70 pounds heavier (despite improved crash protection). The CR-V also sits three-quarters of an inch lower to the ground, eliminating any remaining illusions that Honda’s baby SUV is anything more than a tall hatchback that’s either good or very good in the snow– depending on your tires and whether or not you stump-up the extra grand or so for full-time four-wheel drive.

Enter the CR-V and experience the joys of ergonomic correctness. All the trucklette’s switchgear and controls are intuitive enough for the cognitively challenged, with dials that are more legible than the top line of a DMV eye chart. Washable plastics cover all major surfaces and buttons– except the leather wrapped gear selector, steering wheel and cruise compatible seats. The center stack is a vast improvement over the previous effort (file under faint praise), with the rich-sounding MP3-ready radio finally assuming its rightful place below the air vents.

Despite being butched-up with a touch of chrome, there’s no escaping the minivan/bread van stigma engendered by the gear selector’s dashboard placement. At least passengers can snigger in comfort. While putting three abreast in the back is almost as kinky (and kink inducing) as it sounds, four full-size adults enjoy plenty of head, leg and elbow room. The CR-V’s cargo capacity is more than merely adequate, with a new, removable shelf forming a “trunk.” But the tumble forward rear seats can’t quite get out of the way for serious schlepping. If Honda had found a way to stow them under the floor a la Odyssey, they would have had a killer ap.

The CR-V’s main advantage over a “proper” SUV is fuel efficiency. The front-wheel drive base version gets 23 EPA miles per gallon in the city, 30 on the open, unimpeded road. That’s because the 3389 pound machine is motivated by a normally aspirated 2.4-liter i-VTEC four cylinder engine– a derivative of the Acura RDX’ turbocharged 2.3-liter engine. While the CR-V’s erstwhile powerplant is free from the turbo lag bedeviling its big brother, the CR-V’s engine is also free from turbo boost. Is it slow? In a race between the CR-V and North America, my money’s on continental drift. Zero to sixty takes ten seconds.

The CR-V’s fully independent front strut/rear multilink suspension and quicker turning steering rack are tuned for stop-and-go traffic, strip mall parking lots, speed bumps, grade school drop-off lanes and moderate highway cruising. In other words, the CR-V puts the soft into soft roader. Sure it’s quiet, refined and comfortable; with safe, progressive body lean and seriously capable brakes. But you’d never mistake the CR-V for anything other than a fuel efficient people carrier. 

How exciting is that? Not very. But both Honda and I know that no one in their right mind ever bought a CR-V for its dynamic brilliance. Honda created the cute ute or “crossover” genre because its customers want to sit tall, look butch (in an inoffensive kinda way) and not waste any money at any stage of the ownership arc. Mission accomplished.

The CR-V offers its loyal fan base more of everything they want for not much more money (the CR-V is still hanging out in its twenties). While pistonheads like me might hanker for something with a little more oomph like, say, a V6 RAV4, the truth is Honda's cute ute buyers have their eyes firmly focused on the bottom line. And the bottom line here is that the CR-V is still the best buy bar none.   

Strangely enough, the HCH's exterior isn't dreary. From some angles, you could even call it rakish. While this site has criticized the Civic's severely tilted windscreen, I consider the HCH's near-horizontal glasshouse a welcome bit of drama on an otherwise conventional shape. The details are equally well-judged. In a world of cars with enormous projector beam headlamps, the HCH's eyes are dignified and restrained. And the sedan's rear– complete with its all-important hybrid badge– is as handsome as the Audi sedans it slavishly copies.

The HCH's interior is cutting edge contemporary– provided you set the Way Back machine to 1973. The cabin's [petroleum-based] plastics are well-formed and satisfying to the touch, but their omnipresence soon becomes oppressive. Seat adjustments are few (what happened to the lumbar support?) and our tester's fabric covers reminded me of the great mass velour extinctions of the late Disco Era. The HCH's raked windscreen places so much dash in front of you that only the protruding speedo prevents drivers from developing horizontal vertigo. Although the distance to the window creates an illusion of unlimited space, the HCH's cabin is no larger than a standard small car's.

The HCH's music system plays all manner digital files with faithful reproduction– which is just as well. The sound helps mask the stripped-down car's endless road roar. The navigation system listens attentively, understands your commands intuitively and reacts appropriately. If you need to find the closest Korean restaurant to Topeka, Kansas, it dutifully directs you to drive 1560 miles to Los Angeles for dinner. The one toy we expected to see– some kind of hi-tech Prius-like readout showing battery power regeneration– takes the form of a relatively pedestrian digital display on the left of the gigantic tacho.

Twist the HCH's key and there is little reward, just a quiet hum. Tipping the progress pedal unleashes an initial surge of acceleration– that immediately tails off to a slow canter. Woe to the operator whose accelerative expectations are calibrated to vehicles born during the days of cheap and plentiful fossil fuel. While driving an HCH in traffic, a sextant may prove useful. A call down to the engine room brings varying pitched moaning sounds depending upon how much one's ears can tolerate. Regardless, the rate of acceleration remains fairly constant and completely relaxed.

While the brakes get credit for recharging the HCH's battery pack, pressing the stoppers feels like you've lowered a wooden beam onto the tarmac. Panic stops are. The HCH's slender tires amplify this worrying non-effect in the rain. The Honda hybrid's handling will appeal mostly to those experienced in the two-man bobsled; there's plenty of roll and slippage through the turns. Driving the HCH at highway speeds is also a challenge; any kind of incline drives the CVT transmission crazy. There is simply no way to maintain a constant pace without resorting to cruise control. Even then, the tach ascends to 6000 rpm or more when mounting significant grades.

Of course, no one buys an HCH because they like to drive. They want excellent gas mileage (and the right to solo in California's high occupancy vehicle lanes). In 1400 miles of mixed urban and highway driving, I filled the tank three times. The first time, there were only few miles on the odometer. I didn't expect much in the way of economy and still calculated 43 miles per gallon. With the second tank, I tried harder to conserve fuel. I was rewarded with 47 miles per gallon. By the third tank, I'd lost all interest in economy and just wanted to get the test drive over and done with– and still wound up getting 47 miles per gallon.

The HCH may be the perfect car for fuel misers, but it only offers pistonheads one major advantage: it's so unrewarding to drive fast that you eventually give-up and drive under the speed limit. Of course, when you do that, it's win – win – win. You're helping to save the earth. You're making the safety Nazis happy. And you're protecting your driver's license. Of course, a slowly-driven Honda hybrid also blocks people who love to drive, and drive fast. But don't worry. One way or another, they're doomed. Yes, I've driven the future. It's safe, clean, frugal and tedious.