Back in the day, the Jeep Wrangler was only for serious off-roaders. Posers might visit, but assaulted by the SUV’s sluggish acceleration, clumsy handling, rough noisy ride, and spartan hose-out interior they weren’t likely to stay long (or return after leaving). But Chrysler has worked steadily to eliminate these downsides and render the Wrangler fit for everyday use. Back in 2007 the Wrangler grew in size and became available in extended wheelbase four-door Unlimited form. Last year its interior was substantially upgraded. And this year the unloved 202-horsepower 3.8-liter “minivan” V6 has been replaced by a 285-horsepower DOHC 3.6-liter “Pentastar” V6. Meanwhile the chassis has been tweaked repeatedly to improve on-road ride and handling. So, with all of these improvements, is the 2012 Wrangler Unlimited as suitable as any other SUV for running the kids to school and then dropping by CostCo?

The Germans aren’t uniquely capable of tastefully refining an iconic shape redesign after redesign, decade after decade. The current Wrangler isn’t a cartoonish “retro” reinterpretation of a classic vehicle from the distant past. Like a Porsche 911, it’s a special purpose iconic vehicle that has undergone an uninterrupted evolution over the years. Chrysler has made many mistakes, but messing up the Wrangler’s styling isn’t one of them. Unchanged since the 2007 redesign, the exterior retains an unmistakable resemblance to the original Jeep. Form relentlessly follows function. The Sahara’s chunky five-spoke 18-inch alloys, though up two inches from the base Wrangler’s wheels, remain well short of over the top. Unlike with some supposed off-road vehicles, you’ll find no mere rim protectors here. There’s no “DUB Edition.” Given the 2007’s increased width, the four-door actually has better proportions than the two-door. The Jeep might not be a beauty, but no one with any appreciation for design (as opposed to “styling”) can fail to find it attractive.

The revised interior is nicer yet still suited to the Wrangler’s intended use. Though heated leather seats and automatic climate control are now available, you’ll still find no luxury car cabin inside a Wrangler, nor should you. After all, it’s still possible to remove not only the roof but the doors, and even to fold the windshield. Functionality is the clear priority. The various buttons and knobs are large, close at hand, and logically laid out. Interior storage is plentiful. Though the upright windshield can block traffic signals, the view from the cushy, thick, high-mounted driver’s seat is otherwise commanding. You’re clearly piloting no ordinary vehicle. The main ergonomic slip: there’s no good place to rest your left foot. The rear seat is similarly high and cushy, but comfort suffers from a bottom cushion that stops mid-thigh. With the four-door legroom is sufficient for the average adult to sit behind the average adult. With the rear seat in place, the Wrangler can hold 46 cubic feet of stuff. Fold the seat and you can squeeze in another 36 cubes. Both figures are competitive with mid-size crossovers.

Does the addition of 83 horsepower transform the Wrangler from slug to rocket ship? Though I half expected it to, even aided by a fifth ratio in the automatic transmission the new mill effects no such transformation. Instead, while the 2007-2011 Wrangler felt painfully slow over 40 miles-per-hour, the 2012 feels…adequate. Though sixty arrives in about eight seconds if you plant your right foot to the floor, the Wrangler doesn’t feel even that quick. Despite its 6,400 rpm horsepower peak and 4,800 rpm torque peak, the engine doesn’t ask to be revved, with some audible strain if and when the throttle is opened more than halfway. But then neither does the engine, despite its DOHC configuration and these lofty on-paper peaks, feel peaky or out of place in the Wrangler, where low-end torque has always been the priority. The new engine seems happiest in casual suburban driving, where shifts occur around 2,700 rpm. It likely feels more energetic when hitched to the six-speed manual transmission, which provides a direct mechanical connection and includes much shorter initial gearing. [Update: the optional lower final drive ratios would also help. The tested Wrangler had the standard 3.21 axles.] For even more thrust, some aftermarket firms will swap in a HEMI, and a boosted V6 should also be a possibility—all it takes is money. But would a shockingly quick Jeep even make sense?

Given the chassis, no. The latest Wrangler does ride much better than those from decades past, especially in not-as-trail-friendly 116-inch-wheelbase Unlimited form. And it even has better-controlled rear body motions than a Land Rover LR4 or Toyota’s conventional SUVs. But compared to just about any other similarly-dimensioned vehicle, the Jeep’s on-road handling, though also much improved, remains sluggish and clumsy. At 4,294 pounds, the Wrangler isn’t terribly massive, but it drives about a quarter-ton heavier than it actually is. On the road, the Jeep’s steering feels loose on-center, its body rolls considerably (if in a well-controlled, predictable manner), and its all-terrain tires readily lapse into a mushy slide. On the plus side, in 2WD (required on pavement, as the 4WD system is part-time) the Wrangler can easily be steered with the throttle. Noise levels are lower than in pre-2007 Wranglers, but at highway speeds there’s still wind rush over the header. EPA ratings of 16 city, 20 highway further suggest that the Jeep wasn’t designed to cheat the wind. Instead, it remains optimized for off-road driving, with on-road behavior a second priority.

With many bespoke bits, the Jeep Wrangler isn’t going to be cheap. A four-door Sport starts at $26,345. But opt for the plusher Sahara with an automatic transmission and body-color hard top, as with the tested vehicle, and you’re looking at a $34,585 sticker even without options like heated leather seats, automatic climate control, Bluetooth, and nav. TrueDelta’s Car Price Comparison Tool suggests that a similarly-equipped Toyota FJ Cruiser is only couple hundred dollars less at MSRP but about $1,500 less when comparing dealer invoices. Price isn’t likely to be the deciding factor between these two.

Given the list of improvements to the Jeep Wrangler over the past few years, culminating in the new V6 this year, some people might be expecting a vehicle that can go toe-to-toe with the latest crossovers in the daily commute, then tackle the Rubicon on the weekends. This isn’t quite the case. Though no longer a penalty box liable to trip over its own feet while failing to get out of its own way, the Wrangler continues to drive like…a Jeep. The latest iteration of this real thing might require less severe day-to-day hardship from the off-road enthusiasts it’s designed for, but it continues to require sacrifices nonetheless. It’s not thrillingly quick. It’s not remotely athletic through curves. It’s somewhat (down from tremendously) noisy and thirsty on the highway. Rear seat room and comfort are merely sufficient. Which, frankly, is very much the way a Wrangler should be. Any closer to being suitable for everyday life, and its essential authenticity would be lost. The world needs at least few cars that to their core aren’t meant for the daily grind, and that consequently drive differently from everything else. For those willing to compromise off-road prowess for on-road comfort and capability, perhaps because they’re never going to venture off the road, Jeep offers the Grand Cherokee.

Vehicle provided by Michael Williams at Southfield Jeep in Southfield, MI (248) 354-2950.

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

In something of an ironic twist for an off-road brand, Jeep has had trouble figuring out which path to take lately. Jeep was late to the soft-roader party last decade, and got off to an “interesting” start when a focus group (allegedly) indicated the need for a Patriot to appeal to men and a Compass for the ladies. Most companies would have simply picked one, but the temptation to attract female shoppers to an overtly masculine brand proved too strong and Jeep decided to make both. The result is a product line that offers two similarly-priced and similarly-capable vehicles. This might have been a passable set of circumstances, had the Compass not been saddled with both a cartoonish exterior and interior plastics that even Rubbermaid would have rejected. Instead, the Compass became a symbol of how lost the go-anywhere brand had become. But after a Fiat-led makeover, an updated 2011 Compass is making a bid to rescue Jeep’s small CUV reputation… is it up to the task?

In a testament to what a hot mess the original Compass was, several Chrysler employees freely admit the “Lady Patriot” was a verruca that should have been sliced off the corporate heel back in 2007. And Chrysler has been trying hard to make a silk purse out of the plastic ear ever since. After only two years on sale, the Compass received a discount nip/tuck which did nothing for sales, which slid to 11,739 in 2009, a paltry 30% of 2007 sales (Patriot volume has remained somewhat stable). To stem the tide, the Compass received yet another much-needed update for 2011. If this timing seems odd to you, you are not alone. Two facelifts in just over four years is unusual enough for a domestic brand, but the all-new Compass is widely expected to debut in only 2 years giving this ‘lift a short life expectancy as well. Is it worth it? Check back this time next year.

The exterior re-design takes the Compass from an unholy union of a Wranger and Dodge Caliber to an 8/10ths scale Grand Cherokee. Although striking, the resemblance to the Grand Cherokee makes perfect sense as the new GC is by far Chrysler’s hottest product in terms of sales and media success. Possibly proving that some of the JGC’s halo might just rub off on the slowest-selling Jeep, the Grand Cherokee’s mini-me received unexpected styling praises from my usual Friday lunch group. Out back are some new LED tail lamps marking about the only change to the exterior, apart from the rhinoplasty. Unfortunately this means the side profile of the Compass still looks un-Jeep-like and the vertical rear door handles remain an awkward form of ingress. But taken as a whole the Compass is no longer a car you need to hide from your friends and neighbors.

While the interior still lags behind the snazzy new Kia Sportage, it is finally up to par with the American and Japanese competition in terms of materials and fit-and-finish. Interior changes wrought in 2011 are: new seating surfaces with improved padding, tweaked plastics, new armrests, the new corporate tiller, new infotainment options and some new switch gear. The new steering wheel ditches the rubbery plastic feel of the 2010 model and dispenses with the silly cruise control stalk in favor of easy-to-use wheel-mounted controls. Like other Chrysler products, the radio controls remain on the back of the steering wheel where you can’t see them. This arrangement takes some getting used to but ends up being practical, ensuring your eyes are on the road while fiddling with your tunes. While the dash design still has the feel of an economy car (because it borrows heavily from the Dodge Caliber), the parts of the car that you actually touch are finally (and honestly) a notch above the Ford Escape, my personal benchmark for comparison. I might even say the revised interior is a touch better than the 2011 Escape overall, but that’s just my opinion.

When it comes to gadgets, it is obvious the budget for renovation was small. Conspicuously absent on our $26,570 (as equipped) Compass Latitude 4×4 tester were a Bluetooth speaker phone and Apple iPod/iPhone interface. Call me picky, but I tend to expect a car with a sticker this high to give me Bluetooth and some Apple-love. Our “Latitude” tester is the mid-line trim between the Sport and Limited models so it seems doubly odd that these are not standard features on an “up-level” trim. Neither were these niceties included in the $2,300 “customer preferred” package our tester came with, which includes: A/C, power mirrors, power windows, height adjustable seats, power locks, keyless entry, heated front seats, a 110V inverter, and leather wrapped steering wheel with audio controls. Our tester also wore the $650 “convenience package” which included: an alarm, front side airbags, trip computer, garage door opener and an auto-dimming rearview mirror with microphone. (The irony of a microphone without Bluetooth was not lost on us). Buyers need to either pony up $375 or step up to the Limited (base price of $24,295) in order to get some Bluetooth phone-love.

The base radio and speaker equipment are adequate for people who need basic entertainment; for others, stepping up to the “Media center 430” gets you a 6.5-inch touch screen and the ability to browse and play your tunes off USB flash drives. Fortunately we had no problem playing iTunes AAC files on the head unit. A further bump up to the 430N model (only available in the Limited) gets you the same head unit with a Garmin designed navigation system on the 6.5-inch screen. Moving up the option list to the more expensive head units does nothing to the stock speakers however, so if you are looking for a bit more boom, a Boston Acoustics speaker system is also available. The navigation system is easy to use but lacks the voice command ability for destination entry that Ford’s SYNC systems offer. Buyers should beware that in order to get the integrated flip-down “tailgate boombox” pushed heavily on Jeep’s web page, one has to opt for the steep $1,295 “sun and sound” package which includes a moonroof and those Boston Acoustics speakers I mentioned. Despite the gadget options being somewhat limited, package costs can add up rapidly with the fully-loaded Compass limited ringing in at $31,150 (just a whisker away from a Grand Cherokee Laredo) so shop wisely.

In addition to the interior tweaks, the 2011 Compass comes fitted with new springs, new dampers with rebound springs (similar to the ones on the new Grand Cherokee) and anti-sway bars that are 10% stiffer than last year’s model. These few changes have made noticeable improvements in the Compass’ on and off road manners especially on curvy mountain roads and rough gravel where the old model would pitch and roll like a boat on the bay. Unfortunately the stock 215 width tires are a step behind the 235 rubbers worn by the Escape and Sportage and the difference in grip is readily apparent.

For 2011, the Compass can finally be had with the “Trail Rated Freedom-Drive II” AWD option (formerly only available on the Patriot). Like the regular AWD system, the FDII uses a wet clutch pack to connect and disconnect the rear differential as opposed to a true center differential. The clutch pack “slips” to allow the front and rear to turn at different rates, de-couples completely at highway speed to improve fuel economy and can offer a certain degree of “locking” when needed. The FDII system uses a modified CVT tweaked to deliver an imitation low range, the ability to force the clutch pack to lock for an approximate 50/50 maximum power split, and an extra inch of ground clearance. I say imitation because at 19:1 vs 14:1 (for the regular CVT) the effective “low range” is far from the low compared to the automatic transmission equipped Wrangler (32:1) and Liberty (25:1).

Low-range shortcomings aside, the Patriot and Compass are the only soft-road CUVs that even offer this feature… that has to count for something. On the other hand, I had the Compass during a freak hail/snow storm in May, and the lever seemed to make little difference on the road as the fully-automatic system connects or disconnects the rear at-will and the front and rear diffs don’t lock anyway. There is no annoying binding during parking lot maneuvers with the system in lock mode, which does make parking on ice a fairly drama-free event if you tires are up to the task. Side-to-side power splitting depends on the brakes to slow the spinning wheel, as the front and rear diffs are open units, and unless you are trying to do some serious off-roading, the automatic systems do their job just fine. Of course, if you were intending to do serious off-roading, you probably bought a Wrangler and you don’t need to worry about the little lever anyway. While Jeep labels the Compass as “Trail Rated,” they are a bit cagey about the specific metrics that must be met in order to attain the badge. If you’ve taken your Patriot or Compass on the Rubicon trail, let us know how it went in the comment section below.

The renovation budget being what it must have been, no improvements have been made in the engine department. Both the 2.0 and 2.4-liter engines can still be fairly described as gutless and unrefined. Power numbers remain unchanged at 158HP and 141 lb-ft for the 2-liter and 172HP and 165 lb-ft for the 2.4-liter engine. As the engines have only to motivate a little over 3,000 lbs, the math looks good on paper but is less satisfying in person due to the torque coming on quite late and quitting early. Since some shoppers may be interested in the manual transmission (available on the Sport trim FWD and AWD), they should be aware that the ratios of 3.37, 2.16, 1.41, 1.03 and .72 just don’t seem to jive well with this engine line up. The Nissan sourced CVT should allow the down-sized engine to reach (and stay at) its high and peaky power band quickly (like the Nissan Versa) but it doesn’t. Acceleration from a stop takes some time because the transmission starts varying the ratios early meaning the engine doesn’t arrive at its peak power RPM for some time.

Perhaps this is designed to make the event a little more pleasant on the ears as the 2.4L engine is not the smoothest 4-cylinder I have ever tested. For reasons best left in Michigan, engineers decided the Compass needed some fake gear ratios and an auto-stick. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the auto stick in my Eagle Vision TSi, but it is odd mated to a CVT. While you can select “gears” with the shifter, the ratios seem fairly arbitrary and useless. Nissan’s “L” range in their CVT vehicles provides far more consistent engine braking for hill descending than the forced “fixed” ratios the Compass employs. The Compass delivers MPG numbers of 21/27 in FWD trim, 21/26 in AWD trim (as tested) and 20/23 when equipped with the low-range CVT. These numbers essentially match the heavier Ford Escape and fall short of the South Korean competition. It should be noted that the Kia Sportage turbo delivers almost 100 more ponies for essentially the same mileage (at the cost of lower ground clearance). Over a 700-mile week we averaged a fairly acceptable 22MPG in mixed driving.

The Compass is a fairly compact SUV for American roads being slightly shorter than the Sportage and Escape and more than a full-foot shorter than the Equinox. Despite the proportions however, interior space easily matches the Equinox, CR-V and Sportage in most critical dimensions except for cargo capacity. Behind the rear hatch the 22.7 cu-ft capacity falls short of the 26.1 on offer in the Sportage, 31 cu-ft from the Escape and 35 from the CR-V. Some of this difference in cargo capacity is explained by the larger back seat in the Compass, which delivers more legroom for adult sized people. With the rear seats folded, the cargo room expands to a useable 67 cu-ft, more than enough for most small SUV shoppers and not far off the competition in the same folded position. If you routinely carry passengers in the rear, the smaller cargo area is an easy tradeoff for the four inches of additional legroom out back.

New clothes are not cheap and the Compass’ new look is no exception and perhaps it’s biggest sales challenge. The 2011 Compass gets a $4,000 price hike compared to the outgoing 2010 model, admittedly some of this increase is due to the increased levels of standard equipment vs the outgoing model but also means the Patriot is now some $3,300 cheaper. For a car that barely sells more than some luxury imports, raising the price seems a strange move to me. On the other hand, Chrysler’s turning a profit again, so who am I to judge?

With the Compass’ new looks and Patriot matching off-road ability, Jeep hopes the Compass will achieve at least the sales success the Patriot has. The only problem I foresee after a week with the baby Jeep is convincing shoppers to take that second look at the Jeep dealer. If the marketing mavens in Auburn Hills are unable to convince new shoppers to stop by, the Compass may just end up taking half of the Patriot’s small market share. If that were to happen it would be a pity since the Compass is finally worth a second look.

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

0-30: 3.64 seconds
0-60: 9.3 seconds
1/4 Mile: 17 seconds @ 83 MPH

Not a fan of our Facebook page? Too bad. For our facebook peeps, here’s what you wanted to know: Jason: the towing capacity is 2,000lbs which is fairly small but no worse than the competition. Darren: Jeep finally figured that out themselves. Kristian: Day two wasn’t hard, it has seriously become a very middle-of-the-road vehicle. Nick: While I’m sure it would be easy, I didn’t encounter a task where getting it stuck would not have also gotten a “real” Jeep stuck. Next time I need to try an off-road park. CoolLikeMe: Yes to everything. Jim: the Sam Houston Tollway is about 1800 miles from where I am.

Behold the mighty off-road prowess of the Grand Cherokee SRT-8! Yes, my ratty-looking lawn is about as far off-road as most JGCs ever go. The 2011 Grand Cherokee even offers a couple of optimized drivetrain-and-suspension setups for those people who, as the nice Jeep PR man said during the introduction, “only go off-road… in their minds.”

The autojourno business is an odd one. Your not-so-humble author was one of the first people to have the chance to drive the 2011 JGC anywhere, and also very possibly the last journo on the planet to obtain a 2010 Grand Cherokee as a press vehicle. I’d like to think that, at the moment I achieved 88 miles per hour in the 2011 truck, I went back in time and successfully snagged a 2010 as a loaner.

There’s no SRT-8 in the 2011 lineup, although I strongly suspect there will be one debuting later on in the year, so if you want the combination of big-cube HEMI and Brembo brakes in your SUV, this is your only choice for now. The question is: with the demonstrated excellence of the new model, is there any reason at all to choose a 2010?

If you’ve just stepped out of the 2011 Jeep Grand Cherokee, stepping into the 2010 will shock you. The ergonomics are all wrong — at least, they are for me at 6’2″, 225lbs, and a 48 Long suit size — and the steering wheel seems to sit in one’s lap. The rear seat is cramped, as was the case in all Grand Cherokees prior to the new model, and the general state of trim quality seems a bit low for a $49,000 vehicle (as tested). I compared this back-to-back with my Ford Flex Limited and Audi S5; the Jeep comes in a distant third for interior ambiance. The dashboard and center stack, in particular, aren’t up to the standards of the class.

The instrument panel itself has a few nice surprises. It’s well-trimmed, with convincing chrome rings and two high-resolution two-line LCD displays. One of those displays can be configured on-the-fly to record g-force in four directions and time to distance for braking and acceleration. Set the display for 0-60, apply the brake, use the throttle to strain the big HEMI against the four big red Brembo brakes to the tune of 2200rpm or so, and release the brake when the light turns green. Instant no-hassle 5.0-second 0-60, with passengers, just about perfect, every time. If that sounds slow by magazine standards, don’t be fooled. Most exotic cars struggle to break five seconds to sixty in the real world, on dirty roads, with a slight curve or hill thrown in. The SRT-8 is extremely quick.

I find the first-to-second shift performed by the Mercedes-sourced WA580 transmission particularly charming. There’s a very brief ignition cutout during the shift, which happens with almost DSG speed, and when the ignition switches back on there’s a wonderful “brap” as the motor re-fires as the new, lower rev level. It’s pretty much the same thing you get with a PDK-equipped Porsche or a Nissan GT-R.

Both of those cars, by the way, will need to stay on their toes around the SRT-8. A normally-aspirated 911 won’t keep up with this truck from a slow roll, and the Grand Cherokee is capable of stealing a car length or two on a GT-R until the turbos really wake up. The 6.1-liter V8 may drink fuel at a rate that seems astonishing by modern standards — I recorded 15.5 average on the freeway and 10-11 during my two-lane commute, about which more in a moment — but it does the business in a straight line.

My current daily commute takes me about 108 miles from my front door to the garage at Switzer Performance. About thirty-five miles of that happens on Ohio two-lanes in “Amish country”. The roads are marked 55 and 65, but the traffic commonly crawls at 35 to 50, slowed down by tanker trucks struggling on hills and the desperate, rural poor in death-rattling old Cavaliers, trying to make it to work or their crystal-meth lab. In these situations, every possible pass has to be made, every time, no exceptions, no waiting. The difference between making every pass and waiting behind traffic is, literally, ninety minutes of commuting time every day.

Not every car is perfectly suited for this. My Boxster S is absolutely lousy, since I can’t see around the pickup trucks and it requires snagging second gear to step out with alacrity from behind the traffic. My S5 is better, since it has torque. A GT-R is better still, since it requires less space. Best of all is the Grand Cherokee SRT-8. The infamous “high and mighty” view, toned-down a touch by the low suspension, allows me to see the pass. The HEMI allows me to make the pass, and the Brembos allow me a solid haul-down back into the traffic line if I can’t snag everybody in one run. No, the Brembos probably aren’t enough for track work, since this truck weighs 5300 pounds, but for wiping off fifty or sixty miles per hour in a single press, they are spectacular.

The only fly in this back-road ointment is, regrettably, the SRT-8′s solid rear axle. Not all SRA cars are terrifying on rough roads — see “Ford Mustang, post-2005″ for an example of one that’s more than okay — but the Jeep’s weight, size, and rollover point combine to obtain one’s full attention when hitting potholes, pavement waves, or uneven patching. At full speed, the back end will step out, and the stability control seems to have little to say about it. After a few all-hands-on-deck episodes, I learned to be very careful about applying full throttle on broken pavement. The new SRT-8, when it arrives, won’t suffer from that problem.

Let’s tally up the pros and cons of buying a 2010 SRT-8. Pros: you can buy one now. You can get a hell of a deal. They retain their value in the used market and are likely to do so. It’s fast. It’s comfy enough for front-seaters. Cons: the new one is better in every single way, it will probably have more power, and your children/parents/other rear-seat denizens will thank you profusely.

Speaking personally, I’d wait for the 2011. If you want a truck now, then the SRT-8 makes a solid case for itself. You won’t go faster for less money in a truck, and you won’t really go much faster for two or three times the price. The mechanicals are well-proven, and you won’t have a hard time selling it. I wouldn’t blame you for pulling the trigger today, but don’t blame me when you see that the next one is far, far better, okay?

Several years ago, I paid heed to my inner child and attended Iron Maiden’s “Aces (Very) High Tour”. During one of the breaks, singer Bruce Dickinson said, “I don’t know what’s going on. We’re still making records, and I think they’re pretty good. But nobody on the radio wants to play them. They don’t play that kind of music now. Even if people want to hear it.” Intrigued by his comment, I bought the new Maiden record. He’s right. It’s pretty good, even if the music industry has moved on. It’s also a completely standard, formulaic effort that sounds exactly like every Iron Maiden record after their final burst of creativity, “Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son.”

What if… the new Iron Maiden record had been a double album, with the first disc being an absolutely perfect distillation of every previous record, and the second one being ten jazz standards, all performed to the highest standard of musicianship? Would anybody buy it, or would they still line up for the latest MP3s from the Silversun Pickups? That’s the 2011 Jeep Grand Cherokee in a nutshell. It’s staggeringly competent off-road, but it’s also an absurdly composed, quiet, and comfortable freeway cruiser. Are you interested, or would you rather have a GMC Acadia?

I’m an absolutely lousy off-road driver. When I’m on my own, I get stuck at least half the time. I require constant hand-holding from spotters and I barely understand the basic concepts involved in clearly obstacles. In other words, I’m the off-road equivalent of the average journalist on-road. The Grand Cherokee, however, was perfectly willing to do all the work for me on a rather technical and difficult sand course at Hollister Hills in NorCal. The new Selec-Terrain rotary controller mimics Land Rover’s “Terrain Response”, and it’s teamed with a first-for-Jeep “Quadra-Lift” air suspension. It can lift the “JGC” to eleven inches off the ground or drop it for passenger loading.

There are two off-road-oriented AWD systems available. Quadra-Trac II has an intelligent center diff and a brake-operated traction control system all the way ’round. Quadra-Drive II adds an electronically-controlled LSD in the rear. Both variants feature a hill descent control that also works in reverse to permit a safe back-out from over-enthusiastic climbing attempts. Using a V-6 powered, Quadra-Lift-and-Quadra-Drive-II Grand Cherokee Overland, I was simply unable to get myself stuck. Even the most rookie moves, like stopping just short of the breakover point on a sand-covered rock, couldn’t faze the Jeep. Applying any amount of throttle simply “tells” the Grand Cherokee to find the wheel with traction and gently feed it through until the obstacle is cleared. It’s the next best thing to the off-road ideal of triple locking diffs… hell, it might be better for those of us who are clueless about how to maintain traction.

You get the idea. Although this is the first Grand Cherokee to have IRS all the way ’round, the off-road ability has been manifestly improved by the additional ground clearance and the available intelligent drive systems. The notion of off-road supremacy is a core part of the Jeep “brand fundamentals”, and it’s present and accounted for here. In the real world, however, these trucks rarely leave the tarmac, and that is why Jeep and Land Rover are not the leading volume nameplates in this segment. Real-world buyers want real-world usability, and that’s where the Grand Cherokee has fallen far behind the car-based competition.

Chrysler’s chosen to address this deficiency in the most aggressive way possible. The new JGC still looks like a Grand Cherokee, but the visual similarity hides larger rear doors, four desperately-needed inches of rear-seat room, and a class-competitive interior package. Interior materials are of similar quality to what you’d find in a Flex, and if the uConnect isn’t even close to SYNC in terms of usability and eye appeal, the Jeep has an Audi-style multicolor display between the tach and speedometer that can be very addicting to use. Active Cruise Control is available and it works better than it does in the competition, permitting a closer gap and “falsing” less often on two-lane roads.

The new Pentastar V-6 is the engine the Grand Cherokee has needed for eighteen years. It’s an oversquare engine, revs with alacrity, and returns 23mpg in RWD variants. It has more than enough power off-road and on fast roads. The only reason to choose the cylinder-deactivating HEMI would be to bump the tow rating from 5000 to 7400 pounds; the Pentastar is that good.

Nor does the chassis let the motor down. It’s possible to have your JGC completely optimized for on-road use; in addition to the RWD model, there’s a no-low-gear, no-touch AWD system available. Either can be had with 20″ wheels and reasonably sticky rubber. The 17″ and 18″-wheeled off-road variants, however, can still hustle on-road. It’s possible to easily double posted corner speeds and tuck into the triple digits between turns on twisty two-lanes. I’ve been on BMWCCA “fast road drives” where this JGC would have been twenty miles ahead by lunchtime. Don’t expect a Chevy Traverse or RX350 to come close to the Grand Cherokee on a twisty road.

If you have a Land Rover LR4 and an Acura MDX in your garage, and you don’t require a third row of seats, you can send them both to the auction and replace them with this Grand Cherokee. It’s that good. There’s just one little issue: this is no longer the vehicle the market seems to want. It’s the perfect Iron Maiden album, delivered a decade too late. The market has clearly indicated its preference for car-based crossovers. The original Grand Cherokee debuted into a market full of truck-framed, molasses-slow, cramped and unwieldy entries. This one arrives in a market where a Camry-platform variant is king. It won’t meet the needs, perceived or actual, of the average buyer. I’d love to own one, but what do I know? I’m still listening to Iron Maiden.

“It’s a Jeep thing; you wouldn’t understand”. This was the vaguely condescending response I got when I queried my then-girlfriend and current wife about why in the world she would choose such an unrefined and slow mode of transportation. Surely, you can understand my point of view. I mean, the Jeep Wrangler is the ultimate, absolute antithesis of everything performance-related in the automotive world. Well, that is true so long as we are talking about road-going performance. Some, like my wife, get more excited about the prospect of slogging through mud and muck than teeter-tottering on the bare naked edge of control around a downhill decreasing-radius corner. And, for those who get their jollies in the dirt, the Wrangler Rubicon is the ultimate starting point for a true performance vehicle.

The Wrangler Unlimited’s exterior style remains true to its stack ’em high and send ’em overseas cubist pedigree. Overall, it looks a lot like the original two-door version stretched to house a backseat and a little more cargo space. And there you have it. In fact, Jeep’s engineers extended the standard model’s wheelbase 20.6 inches to make such accommodations.

My tester came in a shade of dark green straight out of a Vietnam-war flick, complete with jungle-ready mud tires. Among other off-road equipment, it was fitted with locking front and rear differential, rock rails, skid plates and a 4.10 rear axle ratio. With its suspension and the aforementioned tires, the Wrangler’s looked every inch the OEM monster truck.

Considering the Chrysler’s current cabin quality, my expectations for the Wrangler’s interior fell somewhere between Yugo and Ford Tempo. Obviously, leather and other high-zoot convenience features aren’t de rigeur for any vehicle designed for the great outdoors. So I wasn’t surprised to encounter stain resistant cloth seating and lots of plastic and rubber. But the plastic was brittle, nasty and poorly fitted. The rubber looked like it had a half life half as long as the Jeep’s. The Wrangler Unlimited illustrates the difference between spartan and disposable.

The Unlimited’s instrumentation is straightforward and glove-friendly. Navigation is touch-screen and electronic in nature, so mud-bogging with the top down is probably not a great idea. Semi-city slicker that I am, I was delighted to find that the Jeep Wrangler Unlimited’s sound-deadening materials do a halfway decent job sealing out the outside world—a tall order considering its tires and removable hard top.

While driving my tester, I couldn’t escape the thought that I’ve now come full circle in terms of Jeep power trains. I’ve driven everything from a 1980s CJ to a 1997 TJ to this four-door Rubicon tester. During this journey, I’ve sampled everything from the utterly gutless 2.5-liter inline four-cylinder (which was crippled even further by enormous mud tires) to the 4.0-liter inline six, the 4.2-liter inline six, and finally this year’s 3.8-liter V6.

There is no doubt in my mind that this most recent engine is the best in terms of power and refinement. Of course, put this engine in a family sedan and you’ll get a decidedly different take on its virtues. Drive through the city and you’ll find the mill’s acceleration adequate and its fuel consumption disconcerting.

Now, if you are a Jeep die-hard, you are going to find this part of my review downright unforgivable. I didn’t get a chance to take the Rubicon off-road. Single digit temperatures and scheduling made a trip to the trails impossible. However, I’ve logged plenty of time in Wranglers off-road, so I know just how good they are. With its ground clearance, 4WD system and suspension, the current generation Wrangler can handle its business in the dirt. Frankly, it’s the asphalt jungle where Wranglers have historically fallen short. Way short. Besides, admit it, you spend far more time on the street anyway.

The Unlimited Rubicon is a better handling Wrangler than the two-door versions of yesteryear. I realize that this is a little like being the best player on the Pittsburgh Pirates roster. But driving the Rubicon on city streets I was able to keep all my teeth in my head, which is a win as far as I’m concerned. However, it must be said that the Wrangler Unlimited’s off-road roots generate plenty of slack in the steering wheel and a tendency to walk the road.

According to the spin doctors at Chrysler, the Wrangler Unlimited is generally purchased by married men with kids and an upper-middle-class income. ChryCo’s demographic profile makes sense to me. The Warngler Unlimited is the perfect vehicle for the outdoor enthusiast who needs extra space for camping gear and kiddos but doesn’t need it for daily driving duties. However, if you live in the city and you really just like the off-road look, do yourself a favor, go get a Columbia fleece jacket and a Toyota Corolla. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.

The Compass looks a fright. I have no idea of the designer’s remit. I assume it was something along the lines of “shrink a Cherokee, clad it like a Pontiac (clad it like it’s hot, clad it like its hot) and throw in some Audi Quattro cues. And cover up that rear window with some duct tape until we can call the supplier.” The result puts the patsy in pastiche.

The Compass’ interior is brought to you by ChryCo’s one-size-fits-all parts bin, assembled by workers who couldn’t care less if they were paid not to (as if). That said, I’m a big fan of minimalism– even it owes its existence to the kind of corporate cost-cutting that would fill Santa’s sack with coal. To my mind a Jeep– especially a cheap Jeep– has no business being fussy. Unfortunately, the design’s simplicity is assembled using the latest advances in paper-mâché plastics. The fake rivets on the fake aluminum piece on top of the almost dash-mounted autobox knob tells you all you need to know about that.

Once underway, the Compass’ central locking system emits an almighty KA-CHUNK. Having almost ripped off the graunching door on the way in (29k on the odometer), it was a reassuringly solid sound– that quickly revealed itself as something more sinister. I was trapped inside a cacophony of cheap. Incessant tire roar eliminated any idea that Jeep had traded off-road expertise for refinement. Turning onto a country road, the bouncing and jouncing suspension issued a series of muffled reports that sounded like a distant Civil War reenactment, and felt like a drug store shiatsu pad.

Our William C. Montgomery complained that the Compass’ 2.4-liter 172hp four-cylinder “world engine” didn’t have enough grunt to motivate the porky Jeeplet. My CVT-equipped model seemed fast enough for government work. If you use it to deliver mail in a gated suburb, you’re good to go. Despite the salesman’s implications, I felt no compulsion whatsoever to drive the Compass like I stole it. As the French would say (after a Gallic shrug) ca marche. And driving the Compass slowly brings you closer to optimal comfort (i.e. parked). If the Compass was a fuel-efficient vehicle, I’d cut it some slack. Jeep claims the non-Trail Rated four-seater’s 23/27 EPA numbers make it best in class. What class would that be? Detention?

Buying a Jeep for on-road handling is like downloading porn to savor the cinematography. That said, the Compass doesn’t roll excessively through the corners. If you’re pushing the vehicle beyond its safe, predictable limits, one way or another, you’re headed to the emergency room. On the other hand, the Compass’ four-wheel disc brakes are the exact opposite of my brother’s first wife: aggressive – passive. After a ferocious initial bite, they’re worryingly squidgy and vague. If a car is only as good as its brakes, d-i-v-o-r-c-e.

OK, off-road. Are you kidding? No? Setting aside Mike’s formidable size and the lingering scent of eau de desperation… no problem. Up, down and around. Bit of mud, some rocks. Fine. Obviously, we’re not talking about “real” off-roading. Just messing around in some fields and dirt tracks like you would with an old Toyota Corolla. Flooring it when you’re in danger of bogging down. Laughing like Hell if you are.

And here’s where fans of the Jeep brand get their rock-crawling knickers in a twist. A “real” Jeep is supposed to leap tall boundings in a single build. Goldly Bo where no Derrick has gone before. Brand zealot that I am, I couldn’t agree more. But I can agree less. The real problem with the Compass: it’s a thoroughly miserable car: noisy, slow, uncomfortable, inefficient and cheaply made, with A pillars large enough to support the colossus of roads.

I have no idea why anyone would choose a Compass over any number of similarly-priced new or used cars, SUVs or CUVs. Anyone doesn’t. When faced with a Compass, even Jeep snobs don”t lose their bearings. In fact, you’d have to have lost your marbles to buy one.

The new Liberty's reworked front-end reflects the Jeep engineers' aesthetic angst. The YJ model Wranglers were roundly criticized for square headlights. So Jeep fitted a round peg into a squared-off hole. It's not a terrible solution– until you consider the Liberty's 70'-style bumper treatment. Although removable for off-road work, the bulbous bumper gives the vehicle a silly-ass milk mustache (at least in white).  

Otherwise, the Liberty’s sheetmetal offers an ironic return to unrelenting angularity (the curvaceous last gen Liberty replaced the sharp-edged Cherokee). Like its Dodge platform partner, the new Liberty boasts clean, Range Rover-esque creases. Still, denied the Nitro's more aggressive blingery, the result is deeply, profoundly generic. Nine vehicles, one look; not good. 

The KK is 2.2-inches longer and .6-inches wider than before, transforming the Liberty into a Commander mini-me. [NB: that’s not a compliment.] Despite blessing the rear seats with an additional 1.5” leg room, ingressing and egressing passengers must still perform a Beatles tribute (twist and shout). And according to Jeep’s published specs, the KK's cargo capacity is 4.8-cu.ft. smaller than the outgoing model's.

Nothing says cost-cutting construction quite like hard, cheap plastic– and this sucker brought a megaphone. The Liberty’s dash could be scrubbed with a wire brush without offense. On the plus side, Liberty soldiers on with an excellent sound system, the window controls are back where God intended (on the doors) and sun and wind worshipers will love the [optional] Sky Slider Roof.

The “all new” Liberty contains the same thirsty but dependable 3.7-liter V6 that's graced every non-four cylinder Liberty since its 2001 debut. Ye Olde SOHC is to its competitors’ powerplants what wool is to cashmere. Luckily, the configuration's abundant torque (235 ft.-lbs. @ 4000 rpm) eliminates the need to constantly prove the point. The six' workman-like manners also ensure that the trucklet will not shy away from DIY or the great outdoors (tow rating: 5000 lbs.).

In 2003, rollover lawsuits were all the rage. Jeep responded by chopping the Liberty’s ground clearance by an inch and stiffening the suspension. The resulting ride quality made an arthritic camel seem like a more comfortable option, especially at walking speeds. Hit a bump at 10mph in the old Liberty and rear seat passengers launched heavenwards. On the positive side, the old Liberty cornered with surprising poise for a porky truck standing nearly six-feet tall.

This stiff-legged problem has been well and truly sorted. The new Liberty’s independent front suspension (upper and lower “A” arms, coil springs, low-pressure gas shocks, stabilizer bar) and five-link rear (live axle, upper and lower trailing arms, track bar, coil springs, stabilizer bar, low-pressure gas shocks) make it float over broken surfaces with all the aplomb of Luke Skywalker’s speeder. If you’re looking for a Jeep that feels nothing like a Jeep, this is the non-Jeep Jeep to have. And yet…

Jeep's engineers sacrificed driver control. The Liberty’s over-boosted rack and pinion steering lacks any on-center feel; it tracks back and forth on the highway like an OCD bloodhound. You’d have to pay a professional boxer millions to take the kind of dive the Liberty executes when you stomp on the brakes. And any abrupt handling maneuver is followed by rebounding tremors. The Liberty’s sloppy handling dynamics are only bested (or should I say worsted) by the dreadful Chevy Trailblazer.

I've got one thing to say about the Liberty's off-road prowess: Wrangler. There's no question that the Liberty's trick Hill Descent Control (look Ma, no feet!) and Brake Assist (we don't need no stinking locking differential) git 'er done, leaving "real" cute utes mired in the mud or scrabbling for purchase. But anyone with serious off-road aspirations would be nuts not to stump up the extra $4k or so for the phenomenally capable, visually similar four-door Wrangler. Must choose: magic carpet ride or off-road acumen. 

Aye, there's the rub. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of a genuine 4X4, or take comfort in a sea of cute utes, and by opposing them, make a lifestyle statement. Actually, chances are the cute uters won't bite. So who will prize Liberty above all? Hey, don't look at me.

This low-key approach to the diesel propulsion extends to the vehicle itself. The only physical indication that my tester didn’t snack on Regular Unleaded: the subtle 3.0L Diesel badge on the Overland’s lower right tailgate. Otherwise, the oil burning Grand Cherokee looks the same as its gas-powered equivalent— which is, of course, no bad thing.

The tweaked fourth gen Grand Cherokee (codename WK) remains a potent design. The front end combines Jeep’s near-trademark seven-slotted grill with a hood cut back around the headlights the way a woman’s brow stretches back from her eyes after a facelift. In the keepin’-it-real category, a high crotched rear-end to enable departure from steep angled grades.

The Overland, named after the Indiana-born automaker of the same name, is Jeep’s highest spec Grand Cherokee (short of the bonkers SRT8). Externally, it’s differentiated from its more plebian siblings by tasteful platinum accents. Taken as a whole, the Cherokee still looks tight and right, ready to take you out of sight.

Inside, the Overland gets Jeep’s white glove treatment. The seats are adorned with two-tone leather and embossed by an Overland logo. Burled vavona wood frames the radio console, gearshift selector, side doors and the top third of the leather wrapped steering wheel. Sadly, every other dashboard surface is plied with the same low rent molded plastics that afflict every other Chrysler product.

Toys abound. The dual-zone climate control uses a Predator-style infra-red sensor to measure front seat passengers’ body temperature. Rain sensitive wipers deal with moisture issues, while Mafiosi will appreciate a remote start function that works from 300 feet. The Overland’s standard-fit Boston Acoustics audio system is loud enough to ward off wildlife from twice that distance. And speaking of noise…

Kick over the Grand Cherokee Overland’s [optional] 3.0-liter common rail diesel and the engine sounds like… a diesel. That said, it sounds like my neighbor’s truck a quarter of a mile away. And by the time you accelerate to 35 mph, the oil burner is inaudible over the air conditioning fan– on low. A diesel digression…

Although the Jeep’s V6 diesel is NOT a BlueTec, it is foundational to Mercedes’ diesel emissions treatment system. That process injects an additive called AdBlue into the engine’s exhaust, which reacts with nitrogen oxides. Nitrogen and water emissions then pass through an SCR-Kat catalytic converter to trap particulates. Should Mercedes agree to supply engines to Jeep subsequent to the Chrysler amputation, BlueTec might be in Grand Cherokee’s future in a year or two.

Meanwhile, the Overland’s turbo diesel provides the kind of low down grunt that sends off-road junkies into spasms of delight. We’re talking 379 ft.-lbs. of torque all the way from 1600rpm to 2800rpm. Though the mill only produced 215hp, the massive low rev torque pushes you down the highway like the invisible hand of god when you give it the gas, eh, diesel. Jump on the accelerator from a standstill and the traction control struggles spastically to keep the P245/65R17 Goodyear Fortera’s from shredding.

But all is not rosy with the new diesel. The Overland’s pogo stick suspension is so mushy I’m convinced Jeep invited Dodge engineers to tune it.  The super-soft springy suspension is atypical of any other late model Grand Cherokees I’ve ever driven. Equally out of character: the Overland’s heavy, numb steering, which makes piloting the vehicle through traffic as much fun as hefting a garbage truck through a slalom course.

Last week, driving my family over the high plains of New Mexico across northern Arizona and into southern Utah, I stopped every 340 miles to refuel my V6 Liberty’s 20.5-gallon fuel tank. With its 22-gallon fuel tank, the Grand Cherokee diesel can cruise more than 450 highway miles per fill-up (estimated 20/25mpg). Road trip pit stops are more about emptying bladders than wallets.

So are SUV driving Americans ready to accept diesel power? We’ll find out, but it won’t be the Overland that wins the hearts of the driving public. The CRD option adds $2,010 to the Overland’s price tag, raising the price of admission to the oil burning club to a total of $42,285 (as tested). Never mind noise, smell or rattle, premium pricing and sloppy handling makes the Overland a glow plug non-starter.

Visually, the $15k (FWD) Patriot succeeds where its mechanical doppelganger, the Compass, fails. The Patriot actually looks like a Jeep. Its grille is more upright and the hood smartly folds over the seven slots and round headlights. Beneath the bumpers, the Patriot’s body work tapers back, facilitating off road-friendly approach and departure angles.

Muscular fenders frame the trademark Jeep trapezoidal wheel wells in the Grand Cherokee fashion– as opposed to the Compass’ fat Elvis fender work. The Patriot’s upright greenhouse follows the same rectangular proportions as the Commander, which itself is an homage to the Cherokee. Wrangleresque it ain’t, but the Patriot’s Mom was clearly playing in the Jeep gene pool.

Serious Jeepers aren’t picky about interior aesthetics. Dirt lovin’ Wrangler and Liberty owners have been known to strip their rigs’ interior carpeting and spray pickup truck bed liner over the bare metal. These fearless depreciators will appreciate the Patriot's interior’s Rubbermaid chic.

Sure it has carpeting, available leather seats, a leather wrapped steering wheel and splashes of trendy faux aluminum, but every other surface and compartment is constructed from textured molded plastic. No matter how dusty and foul the Patriot’s cabin gets plugging mud, crawling over rocks and slithering through sand, cleanliness is only a damp rag away; it’s like wiping down a baby’s high chair.

Of course, the pairing of this highly washable interior with a vehicle designed to appeal to off-road-crazed Jeep owners is strictly coincidental. Chrysler uses this same nasty cheap plastic in nearly every car they make, including the identically appointed Jeep Compass. Furthermore, the most dedicated (and filthiest) off-road enthusiasts will stick with Wranglers. The Patriot will be competing for acceptance in urban and suburban environs, where drivers expect more refinement.

On the positive side, the seating position is excellent, especially for taller drivers. Drivers trading in their gas sucking Jeep Liberty will appreciate the Patriot’s generous leg room and reclining rear seats.

When it comes to driving, the Patriot takes a back seat to its fraternal twin, the Compass, whose ride and handling are already on the wrong side of unacceptable. Although only 1.5" taller and 33lbs heavier, the Patriot is much more sensitive to all non-linear motions, thanks to its four-wheel independent suspension. The dynamics are strictly Olde Worlde; the Patriot leans and flops its way down a winding road like a wounded Hessian. 

The Compass’ excellent brakes are… AWOL. The Patriot’s stop pedal engages its four-wheel disks very slowly indeed, and resents driver input. Nonetheless, the long legged suspension eagerly dispatches bumps and gobbles up highway carbuncles, hinting at the Patriot's off-road potential.

Unfortunately, these sisters-under-the-skin share their most vital greasy bits: their drivetrains. Both vehicles come incomplete with an atonal 2.4-liter 16-valve four-cylinder Dual Variable Valve Timing World Engine, attached to a buzz-inducing (and not in the caffeinated sense of the word) Continuously Variable Transmission (CVT).

The 172hp mill motivates the Patriot to 60mph in… yawn… stretch… ah, who cares? You’ll get up to freeway speeds, you know, eventually. And yet this engine is Patriot’s raison d'être. In 4×2 trim, the EPA prognosticators promise 24/27mpg. It’s a [theoretically] stratospheric achievement. You know, for a Jeep.

Early four-pot 4Runners, Monteros, Pathfinders and Cherokees conquered hill and dale with aplomb. Though capable in the bush, these lightweight vehicles were gutless tin cans compared to their robust descendants. Their modern incarnations now tilt the scales well in excess of two tons. By contrast, the Patriot is an SUV lightweight: 3,326lbs. in full regalia. And it’s still a pig.

For off-roader drivers, Jeep reinforced the Patriot’s underlying Mitsubishi GA platform with an ultra-high-strength steel cross-car beam above the rear axle. Optional Trail Rated models ($25k and up) get the Freedom-Drive II drive train system (utilizing the CVT at a 19:1 ratio for steep ascents and descents), downhill braking control mode, an engine oil cooler, extra ground clearance and skid plates. Packaged with the Patriot’s Jeepish looks, these features give the ute the cred that the Compass lacks.

Not that Jeep cares. On the official website, under “Capabilities,” the copy talks about the Patriot’s “smooth, agile and responsive handling… on mountain switchbacks and [during] evasive maneuvers” and, I swear, “parallel parking… made easy.” If Jeep is aiming the Patriot at the CR-V, RAV4 and Escape, they’re in big trouble. With its Playmobil interior, gutless engine and questionable handling, the Patriot is far better off road than on.

Like the venerable Porsche 911, each new gen Wrangler is an evolution of an ideal automotive form. Even the lay-person understands that the “new” Wrangler is a direct descendant of the military transport Americans have loved since Patton was slapping soldiers. Also like Germany’s ass-engined coupe, each successive Wrangler is getting better and better looking, without compromising tradition.

The Wrangler’s doors and tailgate are still simple slabs of metal held in place by exposed hinges. The rest of the body panels are still excuses upon which to hang over-sized fenders. Only the seven slot grill has changed in any appreciable way; it’s raked slightly backwards to lower the drag coefficient from school house to church. The new Wrangler’s design continues to be a triumph of function dictating form. It’s a much-needed, much-appreciated distillation of Jeep brand DNA.

The Jeep’s interior is surprisingly comfortable, cozy even. While hardcore mud pluggers will condemn this 4X4’s newfound civility as a brand-betrayal, who wants to sit on cheap patio furniture while resting their elbow on cold tin? Anyway, the radio head unit is straight out of the horrifying Sebring, though it actually works in this lower-rent application. The door pulls, window/door switches and column stalks are all appropriately bulky and solid.

For the first time, the Wrangler’s windows and locks are electric. And yet you can still pull the doors off. The windshield still folds down, too. Even cooler, you can unfasten the T-top panels from the driver’s seat and simply chuck them in the back. However… while we didn’t wrestle with the Wrangler’s soft-top, a brief flip through the owner’s manual revealed a picture of a rubber mallet. Uh-oh.

Jeeps of old were road-going torture chambers; inflicting psychological damage on their drivers with ungodly amounts of noise, vibration and harshness. The 2007 update is quiet (enough), sort of soft riding and about as harsh as a Fisher Price product. Granted, getting the Rubicon to go much faster than 70mph is a waste of time and gas (count on 16.5mpg). But like Jeeps of old, driving this relic delivers an elemental exhilaration which no other vehicles can provide. I’m frankly shocked at how much fun the Wrangler is to wrangle around town. Despite the high chair seating arrangement, you are essentially hooning about in one of the shortest wheel-based rear-drivers on the market, complete with tail-out powerslides.

Of course, this little Jeep is defined by what it can do when the blacktop ends and the rock hopping begins. A friend and I took the Wrangler to the Azusa Canyon OHV park and beat it mercilessly over 150 acres of dirt, mud, fallen trees, sand, rocks and streams. Due to it’s proximity to Hollywood (and the camera equipment found therein), many of the SUV commercials you TIVO past are filmed at this park. No poseurs need apply; you’re forced to ford a foot-deep stream right at the entrance. Nothing we found– save for one 45-degree soggy sand dune– slowed the Jeep down.

Every other vehicle in the park was customized to some degree. Over-sized tires, lifts, trick suspension and so on. Our Wrangler was bone stock. Yet we were able to traverse obstacles that the other vehicles couldn’t surmount. The Wrangler’s modern, technology laden suspension (i.e. greater wheel-articulation) was like a laptop amongst abacuses. The most shocking discrepancy: a jacked-up, diamond plated CJ could simply not get traction on a hill that we had easily ascended. The elder Jeep only spun its tire. The owner climbed down, lit a cigarette and told me he had a four-door Wrangler on order. As he should. This new Wrangler is simply peerless (for the price) in the rough. 

Like a leaky British roadster, a BMW 3-series, a 911 and (hopefully) a bright red Ferrari, the Jeep Wrangler is more than an automotive icon. It’s a stepping stone along the path to pistonhead nirvana. A rite of passage, if you will. The new Wrangler in Rubicon trim is more civilized on-road and better than ever off. Sure there are faster, more economical and more practical SUVs for sale today, but they all share a common flaw – I don’t want one.

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

Necessity dictated the design of the general purpose military vehicle in 1941. With its windshield folded down and wheels removed, large numbers of Jeeps could be stacked onto and into transport ships. Tradition demands– and receives– respect for these styling cues. Even so, the Wrangler has evolved. Every corner, once sharp as the pant crease of an Army Class-A uniform, is subtly rounded. The grille that has stood at starched upright attention for more than sixty years is gently swept back. The windscreen still folds forward, but now it’s hinged in the middle to accommodate its new slightly curved shape. Aerodynamic it’s not. But for a Wrangler, the new model is positively sleek.

The top is as stubborn as ever. When I asked the Chrysler rep to take down the “Easy Folding Soft Top,” I initiated a 10-minute wrestling match between man and machine. The machine won. Despite unbuckling hasps, releasing latches and unzipping Velcro, the origami-impaired rep couldn't get the damn thing down. While I’m reasonable confident that a properly trained, well-practiced owner could eventually remove the canvas lid, the transformation shouldn’t be attempted impulsively at, say, a stoplight. In fact, I reckon the optional three-piece modular “Freedom Top” was named for its ability to liberate owners from said task.

Meanwhile, the new Wrangler (codenamed JK) has sprouted an extra pair of doors. Despite its additonal length, the outgoing Unlimited two-door required a contortionist’s skill to access the back. With rear portals, back seat egress is downright civilized– which is a bit like marveling at how easy it’s become to swing open The Gates of Hell. Not to put too fine a point on it, Jeep’s second row accommodations are rear passenger purgatory, bereft of comfort or room in any direction. And that’s when you’re standing still. Flail about the countryside at speed and your companions will emerge bruised, battered and bitching.

I drove the ’07 Wrangler Unlimited back-to-back with an outgoing ’06 two-door model. The advancements are profound. The front seats are far more comfortable and offer something remarkably akin to lateral support. Also new for ’07: optional power windows and locks for the [still] removable doors. The power window controls are now located in the center of the dashboard just below the stereo. The rest of the spartan dash gets a Chrysler parts-bin makeover; a vast improvement for Jeep, but nothing special in and of itself.

Jeep’s streamlining and improved chassis insulation deliver a much quieter (if not quiet) ride. Wrangler owners have come to expect rigs that porpoise down the highway, skitter through corners and labor to a stop. Thanks to the new Unlimited's added width and wheelbase, its dynamics are far more refined than its ancestors’. Through quick slalom-like maneuvering, the body continues to dance the Tango after the orquesta típica stops playing. But it recovers quickly. You can navigate city traffic with greater confidence, to the point where the Unlimited is a plausible daily driver.

Wrangler drivers can kiss their beloved 4.0-liter in-line six goodbye; the venerable I6 couldn’t meet federal emissions standards. All ’07 Wranglers are now blessed with Chrysler’s 3.8-liter V6, good for 215hp and 245ft-lbs torque. While its genesis might not inspire much joy in Mudtown (Dodge Caravan and Chrysler Town & Country?), the pushrod powerplant is simple enough to take the requisite beating and gives Wrangler improved torque at higher revs; it can get out of its own way when asked. Zero to sixty? Top speed? About as important to Wrangler lovers as a Porsche Cayenne's towing capacity to its target audience.

I’ve yet to take the new Wrangler Unlimited off-road, but junketed journalists report that the model is the genuine article; including tales of a Jeep rolled, righted, repaired and restored to service. Experience suggests that the new model’s extra length won’t help it in up-and-over situations, but learning your 4X4's limitations is all part of the fun.

Ironically enough, Jeep is about to experience the “fun” of learning its brand limitations. Making the Wrangler more urban-friendly while maintaining its die-hard demeanor was the right thing to do. Turning its back on its heritage was not. Is the new old-style Jeep good enough to protect the brand's rep from their silly soft-roaders? Yes, but only just. Which tells you just how good the Wrangler Unlimited is, and just how bad those CUV's really are. 

The Compass is not the Jeep brand’s first non-Trail Rated product by any means (any 4X2 won’t do), but it’s become the most notorious. In an attempt to imbue the suburban schlepper with some brand faithful (if faux) off-street cred, the Compass’ designers maintained the classic Jeep proportions and gave it the usual brand cues: bug eyes, Iron Man mouth, seven-nostril nose and trapezoidal wheel arches. It just doesn’t work. The Compass’ triangular D-pillar kink strikes the most discordant note in a distinctly off-key, Far Eastern melody.

The Compass’ interior consists of DCX’ all-too-familiar homage to rectangles, punctuated by the occasional round dial or gauge. A gaping maw violently interrupts the passenger side dashboard, luring a mess of unsightly and unsecured schmutz which no right-minded off-roader would allow. It’s a workmanlike (though not workingmanlike) cabin, rescued from complete vapidity by two-tone leather seat and an [optional] MP3-compatible nine-speaker Boston Acoustics sound system that pumps-out major tuneage.  

Equally strange, the Compass’ rear seats signal the vehicle’s inability to carry three adults in lateral comfort by leaving the two-tone design off the middle pew. A brace of rear passengers can recline– or you can forget the whole thing, fold the seats flat and stow the requisite mountain bikes, surfboards, golden retriever and other lifestyle gear. Oh, and the Compass’ rear cargo light is a detachable flashlight whose loss is your local Jeep dealer’s parts department’s endless gain.

The Compass’ 2.4-liter powerplant comes courtesy of the Global Engine Manufacturing Alliance (GEMA). This partnership of DaimlerChrysler, Hyundai and Mitsubishi has produced a so-called “World Engine.” Regrettably, this east-meets-west design– a Hyundai-designed block topped by a Mercedes-Benz-derived head — fails to deliver a first-rate competitor.

Though thrifty (estimated EPA economy 24/27 mpg), the transverse-mounted, 172hp DOHC 16-valve four-cylinder engine is completely intimidated by the Compass’ 3,153 pound curb weight (front wheel-drive model). Peak horsepower and torque arrive at 6000 and 4400 rpm respectively. Translation: a Compass driver must whip the snot out of the engine to liberate anything even remotely resembling hustle. Drop the hammer and the Compass moseys to 60mph in nine point five seconds. It takes an additional twenty three seconds to increase that velocity by 40mph. By then you’re bored witless and more or less finished.

The Compass’ Continuously Variable Transaxle (CVT) utilizes six preset gear ratios to simulate toothed cogs. During normal driving, the driver can manually input a “gear” by toggling the shift knob. Under hard acceleration, the computer controlled CVT jumps abruptly to a lower gear ratio, simulating a downshift. Under full throttle, the engine climbs to 6000 revs. And there it stays, while the Compass [slowly] accelerates. Now how much would you pay? The CVT costs $1150 and saps three mpg from maximum fuel efficiency. The Compass' standard five-speed manual gearbox is the better [non] option, but one suspects the Not Ready for Prime Time CVT will get the lion’s share of the business– and brickbats.

Never mind the TV ads. The Compass is far too tall, heavy and slow to offer sporty handling, or even the idea of sporty handling. If you have enough patience (and road) to attain speeds sufficient to generate lateral G’s, the Compass’ body motions are generally well controlled by its four-wheel independent suspension. The four-wheel discs haul the baby Jeep down from speed with admirable alacrity. The ride quality is acceptable: a cut above Jeep Liberty harshness, but not quite up to Grand Cherokee standards.

As far as off-roading is concerned, this Jeep doesn’t jeep. The Compass’ 8.1” ground clearance is competitive for a crossover ‘Ute. But a 20-degree approach angle will keep the Compass on the pavement or well maintained dirt roads. Even with the optional Freedom Drive I pack– a single-speed, electronically controlled all-wheel-drive system– the Rubicon would eat the Compass for breakfast.

And? The Jeep Compass will find plenty of budget-minded consumers looking to buy a piece of the Jeep mystique for peanuts (under $16k base); buyers who’d no more drive the Rubicon than raft down the Zambezi. Sure, Jeep will sell loads of Compasses, but at what price? In the long term, this is exactly the kind of half-hearted down market brand extension that dragged Mercedes’ image into the gutter.

The model replacing Jeep's venerable Cherokee exchanges the Cherokee's near-perfect two-box design for something that looks like a VW Bug after a visit to Barry Bonds' doctor. Macho dignity is upheld (literally) by the Renegade's seven slot grill and its over-sized, over-compensating wheel arches– attached by marble-sized bolts as garish as diamond teeth. Rock rails and fog lights (disguised to look like KC lamps) reinforce the strong man aesthetic. That said, as I admired the Renegade on my drive, a desperate homemaker walked up and commented, 'That's cute.' Yes, well, the Liberty's UniFrame construction makes it stiffer, lighter and more crashworthy than the body-on-frame construction used by truck-based competitors. So it's still as tough as nails (the metal kind).

Inside, Mr. Macho's gone all schizo. The cabin boasts three types of fake carbon fiber, phony grip-tape, fake leather and at least two other non-related textures — all of which feel like feel like the mats found under Taco Bell's sinks. The driving position gives this Jeep's name a distinctly ironic edge. Restricted seat travel pretzels anyone over 5'10', while limited vertical motion turns the Liberty's front chairs into reverse ballet teachers (you have to slouch to see out). There's no dead pedal for your left foot or resting place for your left arm. Five miles from git-go and an average-sized adult will feel ninety-years-old.

The Renegade's instrument binnacle highlights the fact that Jeep is aiming the Liberty at drivers who'd no more exploit its full off-road capabilities than take up BASE jumping. Slide the transfer case in 4W-High and a yellow light illuminates. Turn off the electronic stability program and an orange light appears. Flip on the fogs, and it's one, two, three; green light! Turn off the overdrive and another orange light materializes. Call me ergonomically obsessive, but when a dashboard looks like a Lite-Brite, something had better be amiss. Renegade my toches.

If straight line speed is the question, a Bruno Magli loafer in Enzo's mouth in the answer. America's sports car? Assigning a numerical value to the interval between standstill and 60mph for is like trying to keep track of the federal deficit. In the pursuit of fuel-efficiency, the Liberty's antiquated four-speed (a six-speed is available) up-shifts at 2500 rpm. While she'll cruise all day at 80mph with under three grand on the clock, a prodded Renegade doesn't so much kick down as kick up a fuss. The 3.7-liter mill might pull 5000lbs., but there are faster tree slugs. Handling at the limit? Tackling the twisties? Freshly-laid asphalt is no match for the Liberty's short wheelbase, high center of gravity and heft. Above 60mph, you'll swear you're strapped onto a malfunctioning washing machine.

Thankfully, the Liberty is still a Jeep. Slow down, rest your arm on the window sill and the world starts to look abuser friendly. Thanks to 40 days and nights of torrential rain, I had ample opportunity to mix it up in the gunk. On a waterlogged hillside construction site, I switched into 4-Low and… sank the Liberty to its doors in mud. I turned the wheel to lock, goosed the throttle and sat in amazement as the Liberty dug its way out of the bog. Again and again, the Jeep's suspension geometry's massive articulation never let me down. The burly soundtrack also rocked– which is a bit like admiring Taylor Rain for her fashion sense, but there you go.

The new Jeep Liberty Renegade is the real deal: a genuine mud-plugger with, um, limited on-road acumen. Despite the SUV feeding frenzy of the last decade or so, only the Renegade's Wrangler stable mate and Nissan's pricier Xterra can claim this level of off-road authenticity. Saturn Vue? Toyota Rav4? Ford Escape? Land Rover Freelander? BMW X3? Posers. No low gears means no sale for consumers who buy their SUVs for their intended purpose– or the bragging rights derived there from. On broken, mangled or mushy paths, roads where no Italian vehicle would dare tread, the Jeep Liberty Renegade is an F430 at the Nürburgring. The Liberty may be a bit woosy and disjointed around the edges, but it's still a Jeep. 'Nuff said.

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

Before I tear the Commander a new tailpipe, I want to point out that Jeep's largest ever SUV is as a far more civilized beast than the rough-and-ready Cherokees of yore. Sure it looks exactly like the rough-and-ready Cherokees of yore: a remorselessly rectilinear shape with all the aerodynamic efficiency of a breeze block. And yes, it sucks gas with the same gay (but butch) abandon as its four-by-forbearers. And the Commander boasts all the steering feel of its predecessors (i.e. none). But the big Jeep is a thoroughly modern motor that carries five passengers in safety and comfort, regardless of weather (ex tornados) or terrain (ex precipices). It's those two remaining passengers that are the bitch.

Well, if they weren't bitches when you put them in, they will be when they get out. After five minutes in the Commander's tippy-up "theater-style" rear seats, full-sized adults will wish they weren't. Thanks to a foot well that's shallower than the British Royal family's gene pool, even polypeptide deficient three-year-olds sitting in the way back run the risk of giving themselves a pair of shiners with their knees (try explaining THAT to social services). The Commander's third row is like the Porsche 911 Turbo's cupholders: you may be glad they're there, but you'd be foolish to use them. And yet you do.

And pay the price at the pump. Bopping around town, the Commander's mileage readout never posted numbers capable of challenging our two-year-old's numeracy skills. Although I have no moral/political/environmental/social qualms about driving a vehicle that gets single digit mileage, I can't abide a gas hog that doesn't offer suitable compensation. The Lincoln Navigator may burn fuel less efficiently than an Icelandic fishing trawler, but at least it's NFL-linebacker compatible transportation. Not to belabor the point [much], the Commander couldn't schlep a Pee Wee soccer team's midfield without seriously compromising their ability to walk– never mind run.

While a Navi is suffused with bling, the Commander's interior makes a Calvinist church look like a Chuck E. Cheese pizzeria. Saying that, the Jeep's soft-touch plastics offer yet more proof that DCX has mastered the art of fabricating and fitting world class polymers. But the cabin's unrelentingly dark coloration and generic Chrysler design make it seem small and bleak. The Brink's truck-sized front windscreen does nothing to relieve the interior's claustrophobia, and much to increase it. And what's with the dashboard's fake Allen holes? If they were meant to be reassuring in a Tool Time manly sort of way perhaps Jeep should have resisted the urge to emboss fake Allen holes onto the ersatz chrome adorning its steering wheel and shift knob.

There's only one other possible justification for the Commander's prodigious thirst: speed. Our 5273-pound tester holstered a 4.7-liter V8, good for 235hp at 4500rpm. As those numbers suggest, the Commander's official zero to sixty stat is decidedly leisurely: 10.2 seconds. On the positive side, the V8 torques a good game; the Commander tips in with genuine conviction and feels a lot faster than it is– especially when kickdown rouses the powerplant from its default torpor. As the Hemi engine option trims a couple of seconds from the Commander's erstwhile sprint times and cuts consumption by "up to" 20%, it's hard to understand why anyone wouldn't saddle-up those 95 extra ponies.

Money. Yes, well, our tester cost $37k without sat nav or a cargo net (the trunk floor doubles as a launch pad). That's a lot of wedge for a cramped vehicle sans spizzarkle und Hemi. We would be remiss for not pointing out that many of the Jeep Commander's inherent shortcomings are directly related to the big, heavy, clunky gubbins that enable its superior off-road abilities. There, that's done. Now, can someone please tell me why Jeep didn't make a better job of this?

No one expects a Jeep– any Jeep– to drink like a Prius or coddle like a minivan. But surely the guardians of the legendary brand know that a nostalgic shape needn't be accompanied by nostalgic mileage and packaging. Heads-up guys: it's time to go back to the future.

Ah, the Rubicon. Also known as the McKinney-Rubicon Springs Road, the unpaved trail runs 12 miles through California's rugged High Sierra Mountains. On the official off-roaders' difficulty scale of one to 10, the boulder-strewn, gully-infested Rubicon rates a 24. (As one veteran mud plugger puts it, the only part of a vehicle that's not likely to break on the Con is the radiator cap.) To qualify as "trail rated", a Jeep product must have enough traction, ground clearance, maneuverability, articulation and water fording to tackle the Rubicon.

Well, maybe not the Rubicon. In fact, the Con would turn a stock Grand Cherokee into scrap sooner than you could say 'I TOLD you we needed bigger tires and a LOT more ground clearance'. Even so, Jeep's trail-rating criteria guarantees that the Cherokee is a seriously capable off-roader.

Yes, but who needs a trail-rated SUV to pick-up the kids from school or brave the supermarket parking lot? Well, um, no one. And while Chrysler PR reports that more Grand Cherokee owners go off-road than drivers of the SUV's "primary competitors" (20% vs. 11% for the Chevy Trailblazer and 7% for the Ford Explorer), there's no getting around the fact the vast majority of Grand Cherokee tires will spend their working life kissing tarmac. You know it. Jeep knows it. And that's why they want you to believe that they've civilized the Grand Cherokee.

As long as you avoid the whole handling issue, it's hard to argue the point. For one thing, the new Grand Cherokee's cabin is as comfortable as the interior of a properly appointed sedan. The upmarket Grand Cherokee Limited combines sturdy, supportive leather with tasteful wood and high-grade plastics. Well-fed adults will still find the rear perches a bit cramped, but at least the legroom no longer threatens deep vein thrombosis. And when you're not head banging to the Boston Acoustics sound system, the Grand Cherokee's build quality provides a suitably hushed atmosphere for intelligent conversation.

Like how the Grand Cherokee's exterior betrays Jeep's desire to join the automotive mainstream. The "box on stilts" look that used to embody and project the Grand Cherokee's utility has been discreetly softened. The new shape is longer, lower and wider, with a steeply raked (not to say rakish) windscreen. The brand's new face– rounded headlights and housings and a deep chin spoiler– exemplifies the move away from Jeep's Army surplus design heritage, towards a more modern, Orvis-like sensibility.

What's more, the Grand Cherokee has an entirely refined powerplant– in a Boeing turbofan kinda way. In fact, the 330-horse, 5.7-liter lump lurking in the engine bay makes the new Limited the scramjet of mid-priced SUV's. OK, zero to sixty in 6.59 seconds isn't exactly sub-orbital. Still, unlike its classmates, the Grand Cherokee can get out of its own way– fast. It leaps off the line so quickly you can feel the rear 17's squirming for traction. At higher speeds, the Hemi-powered Limited loses much of its accelerative aggression, but maintains its ability to cruise without complaint.

Until you come to a corner. Just how bad is the Grand Cherokee's on-road handling? After all, Jeep's engineers have given the new model an independent front suspension, five-link rear suspension, rack and pinion steering, grippy all-season rubber and, should all that fail, ABS and ESP. Let's put it this way: if you drive to live, the Grand Cherokee's bouncy ride and skittish handling aren't dire enough to distract you from your lite rock radio. If, however, you live to drive, perhaps sir or madam would like to consider another, more laterally gifted member of the DCX family?

That is, unless, you're an enthusiast who likes to journey into the great American outback. Then it's yee flipping hah! I caned the Grand Cherokee at my local off-road course and had myself a peak experience. With Quadra Drive II, Jeep's latest four-wheel-drive system, it was point and scoot. Blasting over hill and dale, I discovered that the Jeep Grand Cherokee is to rocks and inclines what a Porsche 911 is to tight corners.

However dubious the Grand Cherokee's on-road manners, you gotta respect its off-road prowess, and Jeep's decision not to abandon their trail rated roots. If the new Grand Cherokee is still better on back roads than paved ones, so be it. There are plenty of SUVs that are mediocre on both. As Roman General Julius Caesar said when leading his troops across the original Rubicon river, 'alea iacta est'. The die is cast.