Actually, I still know nothing about the car carriers that sail the high seas. The Nichioh Maru is a coastal ship. It steams, well, diesels up and down the Japanese archipelago on its route between Oppama, Kobe and Kyushu. On four decks, the Nichioh Maru has room for 1,380 cars. Yesterday, the ship completed its first day on the job by bringing cars to Oppama. Today, it loads Leafs while I watch.

By comparison, the Panama-flagged Eternal Ace that swallows cars for overseas shipping in the dock next door has room for 5,563 cars. That according to Jane’s merchant ships. If you want to get the inside track on a 5,000+ unit class car carrier, simply multiply this story by three and a half, and then deduct the green.

Did I say green? After building zero emission vehicles like the Leaf, Nissan is tackling the ships that bring them. The Nichioh Maru is not quite zero emission yet, but the ship achieves a 20 percent reduction of fuel used and CO2 produced over conventional ships, I am told today.

The ship does so with an electronically controlled 18,000 hp diesel engine (produced by MAN.) The ship has LED lighting in the ship’s hold and living quarters, and its hull is painted with the latest in low friction coating.

The top of the ship is covered with solar power panels, the first time on a coastal ship in Japan, my handlers say. The solar panels create a hefty 50 kW of power, some of it stored in a battery for when the sun don’t shine. That ship is so green that the fire extinguishing system is foam type, and not CO2. Even when in flames, that ship won’t emit unnecessary CO2.

For the nautical gearheads, the engine is an MAN B&W 8S50ME-C8. That is an eight cylinder, super long stroke, 50 centimeter piston, M-program, electronically controlled, “compact” engine, Mark 8. Glad you asked.

Inside, the ship looks like a big multistory garage. Except that there are tie-downs in the floor. To prevent the ship from rolling too much (with possible ill effects on not tied down cars), the ship can shoot water from port to starboard ballast tanks, and back.

First 40 cars loaded. Only 1,340 more to go.

On the bridge of the Nichioh Maru.

I couldn’t find a steering wheel on the bridge until I found this small thing. The ship appears to steer itself.

It does so assisted by the latest in on-board navigation. Front and stern thrusters obviate tugboats. Just line up with the dock, push a button – dozo!

No messes in this ship’s mess. Everything is neat and tidy, this is a Japanese ship.

And yes, take your shoes off, this is a Japanese ship.

Galley. The crew can dine in style.

A half-empty bottle of sake is quickly removed. I am being assured that its content was offered solely to Shinto deities to bring good luck to the ship.

Captain’s wardroom. More space than in an average Japanese apartment.

An that’s it – tour’s over! While I write this, the Nichioh Maru is already underway to Kobe and Kyushu.

Compact cars have a wide appeal to many customers, even if they’re not the sexiest choices out there. You might be shopping for a commuter car, or something for your college bound teen. Maybe it’s your first car, or a car for your elderly mother who doesn’t want anything “complicated”. Whatever the reason, when you’re shopping in the sub-$20,000 range, it’s not unreasonable to ask whether the “next size up”  is worth the 30 percent premium that often comes with it. With the introduction of the all-new Versa, and the continued production of the venerable Sentra, Nissan has made the conundrum that much harder, with the new Versa continuing the tradition of delivering a large interior for a small price. But does that mean the Sentra is superfluous?

Clad in a sporty red finish, we have the middleweight 2012 Nissan Sentra 2.0S with a base price of $17,990 plus $850 in options, (Bluetooth, keyless go, leather wrapped steering wheel and cargo management in the trunk) and $760 in destination charges landing this competitor just shy of 20-large at $19,870. On the right in blue we have the bantam weight 2012 Versa SV sedan starting at $14,560 plus $520 of options (Bluetooth, iPod interface, map lights vanity mirrors, steering wheel audio controls and floor mats) and the same $760 in destination fees yields a $15,840 MSRP. While it is true you can find a Versa for the $10,990 base price, if you want features the market has come to expect like power windows, power door locks, automatic transmission, and more than two speakers, you have to move up the price ladder. Similarly, the base Sentra for $16,250 comes with a manual and lacks creature comforts the commuter car shopper will want like Bluetooth and a place to plug your iPod in. While our Versa SV tester lacked keyless-go and some price adjustment must be made, the Versa handily wins round 1 with it’s $4,030 smaller MSRP.

Looks are a personal preference, but placed side-by-side, the older design language of the Sentra was immediately obvious. The Versa’s curvaceous new form on the other hand seems less “economy” than the outgoing model and to some, more attractive than the Sentra. Sure, the Versa’s narrow track and tall roofline split my informal polling group between those who found the look strangely proportioned and those that found it strangely cute. Either way that was more emotion than the Sentra managed to evoke.

When shopping for a commuter car, the assumption is you’re going to be spending 30 minutes or more inside the car every day. After all, if you commute is short, why have a dedicated “commuter car?” As such, the feel and creature comforts are more important than styling, and in this fight, the Sentra makes a comeback. The Versa’s interior is designed to be profitable (or at least break even) at its $10,990 base price and it shows. From the lack of a center arm rest up front to the hard plastic trim on the doors, the interior certainly feels less expensive than the Sentra which sports a leather wrapped steering wheel, fabric door trim, a center armrest and plenty of silver plastic trim. While the Versa’s plastics may be low rent, they are no worse than those in the Mazda 2 or the new Chevy Spark and only a notch below the Sentra and Chevy Sonic. If you’re shopping a Versa, do yourself a favor and buy a model with the “sandstone” interior. The resulting two-tone dash makes the interior look far more upmarket than the black-on-black model – check out the gallery in our look at the pre-production model from last July if you don’t believe me. While I found nothing objectionable during my week with the Versa, my one-hour one-way commute did serve to remind me how much I missed having an armrest, a leather wrapped wheel and some cushy fabric on the door. The winner in this round is the Sentra with its higher quality touch points.

While the Sentra’s price buys a more appealing steering wheel and a significantly better headliner (the Versa’s “fabric” is reminiscent of the material GM uses to line trunks), the rest of the cabin materials are no more up-market than the Versa. As a result, the passenger comfort round sees some fierce competition. Rear passengers in the Sentra are treated to a center armrest with integrated cup holders and padded door armrests, but the Versa fights back with nearly four more inches of leg room than the Sentra. As oxymoronic as it may sound, the smallest Nissan still sells on spaciousness. This is a fact I did not fully appreciate until I agreed to take some friends to the airport. The send-off journey in the Sentra was a cramped affair (we are all six-feet tall or over) and the Versa proved more comfortable on the return journey home. The reason is due largely to those 38-inches of rear leg room, not only the most in its class, but more than a Ford Fusion or Honda Accord. It’s worth nothing that the Versa is four-inches narrower than the Sentra, meaning sitting three-abreast in the rear is far from enjoyable. For the young family shopper, the Versa was able to comfortably accommodate two rearward facing child seats and a 6-foot, four-inch tall driver while the Sentra was more of a squeeze. Unless you really need to carry 5 regularly or value armrests over leg room, the Versa wins this round with its rear seat leg room and accommodations for two child seats.

Commuters may not care about cargo capacity that much, but it’s handy to have it when you need it. The young family shopper may find this more important with a need to jam luggage for four in the trunk. On the surface the Sentra’s larger proportions and trunk hinges that don’t impact the cargo area set it up for an easy win, but the plucky Versa manages to best the Sentra by 1.7 cubic feet in the rear. With 14.8 cubic feet available, the Versa’s booty is only 4% smaller than a Dodge Charger’s trunk. Even subtracting the space occupied by the trunk hinges, our “airport shuttling” proved that it was easier to get our friend’s bags in the Versa than the Sentra. If this is your family car, you might not want to take the Versa as the ready winner.  The Sentra’s standard folding rear seats make loading IKEA flat-packs possible in the Sentra. The Versa does offer folding rear seats, but only in the more expensive SL trim. With a bigger trunk in the Versa, but no folding seats, our cargo carrying fight ends in a dead heat.

My journey to and from SFO is a 66-mile one way journey which involves going over a fairly windy 2,000-foot mountain pass. With 800-pounds of human cargo and easily 200lbs of luggage in the trunk, both vehicles had their work cut out for them.The Sentra has a respectably low (for a modern car) 3,000lb curb weight when equipped with Nissan’s CVT.  To shift this weight, the Sentra is equipped with Nissan’s popular 2.0L four-cylinder engine. For Sentra duty, this variable valve timing engine is worth 140HP and 147lb-ft of torque.  The Versa on the other hand weighs 576lbs less than the Sentra. At 2424lbs, the Versa isn’t just light for a four-door sedan, it’s light for our modern era period. The small Nissan is only 300lbs heavier than the microscopic Scion iQ despite having more doors and being four and a half feet longer. The Versa gets an all-new 1.6L mill capable of 109HP and 107lb-ft of twist. This may sound like an unfair fight with the Sentra cranking out 28% more power, but the Versa counters with 24% less weight and a trick two-speed CVT. The new “Xtronic” transmission marries ye-olde CVT with a two-speed planetary gearset giving the Versa’s drivtrain a broader range than the Sentra. This improved range was obvious when trying to maintain highway speeds at an 8-percent grade. While the Sentra has a better power to weight ratio on paper, the revised CVT delivers a sucker-punch, helping the smaller engine reach its optimum range faster and stay there longer. The results are clearly seen in our back-to-back quarter-mile tests. The Sentra ran to 30MPH in 3.35 seconds, 60MPH in 9.09 seconds and finished the quarter-mile in 17.06 seconds at 80MPH. The Versa got a quick start hitting 30MPH in 3.11 seconds. By 60MPH the gap was closing with the Versa essentially neck and neck with the Sentra at 9.04 seconds. Above 60MPH, the two-speed gearset helped the Versa finish the quarter-mile race at 16.97 seconds and 81MPH. (It should be noted this was faster than our pre-production Versa in June by a decent margin due likely to improved tuning of the production drivetrain). If straight line performance is really what you’re after, then neither sedan is likely to get your juices flowing. If you just need to make sure you can get on the freeway without getting out to push, both sedans perform admirably. This fight also ends in a tie.

When the going gets twisty, those interested in performance should cross both sedans off their shopping list. If you want a Nissan compact sedan with decent handling characteristics you should just throw down $20,810 for a Sentra SE-R Spec V and call it a day. If however your primary interest is to not head into the forest at the slightest curve, the Versa with its lower curb weight and 185-width tires delivers a decent balance of road holding and ride characteristics due as much to its weight as its 102.5-inch wheelbase. Contrary to most of the automotive press, I have a peculiar love for the CVT and its passion for letting an engine rev at high RPMs endlessly while climbing a hill. Aside from the novelty, it pays dividends for the consumer in hill climbing performance and fuel economy. The Sentra also performs well and its longer wheelbase does make the ride a hair more composed over washboard pavement. For its overall refinement, the Sentra wins.

Speaking of those elusive MPGs, fuel economy is one of the most important factors for many compact sedan shoppers. If you don’t get twice the MPGs from your commuter car as your SUV or Town Car, why bother? Similarly, if you’re not getting near 40MPG, why not just buy a used Camry? During our 705-miles with the Sentra and 675-miles with the Versa we averaged 31.4MPG and 37.9MPG respectively in similar driving situations. Our numbers are taken from our own fill-up calculations but are fairly close to the car’s trip computer estimates. The interesting take-away for the commuter car shopper is that the Versa’s average fuel economy was far closer to its EPA 2008 highway numbers than the Sentra. If your commute requires a great deal of stop-and-go highway travel, then neither sedan will blow you away and you’d be best served waiting for something like the new Prius C. If however your commute is primarily highway, the Versa wins handily.

While the more expensive Sentra makes several compelling arguments with a few more creature comforts, two more speakers, a much-needed armrest for the driver and a more refined feel, the cost difference of $4000 skews the balance towards the Versa. Adjusting for additional content, the difference lands between $3000 and $3500 depending on which web tool you believe. While adjusted numbers are nice, if you want those basic commuter car features of Bluetooth and multimedia interfaces, then the difference is still about $4000 when it comes time to get that new car loan (less any cash on the hood). I’m not sure if this is a backhanded compliment or not, but the Versa delivers a totally unobjectionable experience at a very compelling price. So if you’re out there shopping Sentra vs Versa, save yourself some cash, get the Versa and take a road trip with the difference.

Nissan provided the cars, insurance and one tank of gas per vehicle for this review.

Specifications as tested

Sentra / Versa

0-30 MPH: 3.35 seconds / 3.11 seconds

0-60 MPH: 9.09 seconds / 9.04 seconds

1/4 mile: 17.06 seconds at 80MPH / 16.97 seconds at 81MPH

A lot of us have never been in a Nissan Leaf. But what about a battery operated Nissan Leaf Nismo race car? Chances are slim: Only eight of them have been (hand) built so far. Yesterday, I was in one of the few.

I was chauffeured around Nissan’s Oppama test track by Tsuigo Matsuda, who also had attempted to scare me in a GT-R. This time, the experience was electro-visceral: The immediate torque of the transmission-less racer slams you into the bucket seats as if a giant fist hits you. There is something else: The lack of roar. The motors emit an infernal high-pitched whine, but it is never loud enough to drown out an intercom-less chat with the driver as he manhandles that car through the turns. You can even hear the gravel being catapulted by the tires into the carbon fiber.

The Leaf Nismo shares the same powertrain and battery as the Leaf. The difference comes from a rigorous diet: The Leaf Nismo has a full carbon fiber monocoque body that reduced the already lithe 1,520 kg of the Leaf down to 925 kg. The weight to power ratio jumps to 11.56 kg / kW. Every Newton meter of torque only needs to propel 3.3 kg.  Those specs were severely degraded by my presence in the passenger seat.

The current racer definitely isn’t suited for the 24 hours of Le Mans. Driven racing style, the battery is depleted in about 30 minutes. Even on a quickcharger, the Leaf Nismo needs another 30 minutes to recharge. Any fantasies of Better Place style battery swapping in the pits are quickly dispelled by comments that changing the battery takes an hour, 30 minutes if two guys work real fast. Any way you do it, be prepared for half hour pitstops.

Also, hot laps make the car run hot. Walking behind the shed, I see the Leaf Nismo on a quickcharger, connected by four humongous hoses. “Wow, that’s cabling for serious amps,” says I.  “Those are airconditioner hoses,” explain the techs. They are used to cool the midship inverter, positioned right behind the seats.

Today, I drove all 530 hp (more or less) of the 3.8-liter twin-turbocharged 24-valve V6 engined Nissan GT-R down their test track in Oppama, not too  far from the U.S. Yokosuka Navy base, home of the 7^th Fleet. In a way, car, neighborhood and situation reminded me of the nuclear weaponry: Have it, but don’t use it. The GT-R  is good for a top speed of 196 mph, but I was repeatedly admonished that Japanese road rules apply.

Which means: Don’t go faster than 100 km/h (62 mph).  There is no Koban (police box) on Nissan’s test track, and a slight push of the pedal easily brought the car to illegal speeds when going into the straightaway, but the banked corner at the end was coned off, and a speed more suited for a school zone was demanded. I quickly longed for the Autobahn.

“It’s not a Veyron – but for the price …” said my chaperone, while I extracted my body from the low-flung RHD car. Indeed, at an MSRP of $89,950 for the U.S. spec model, the car can be an impulse buy – when compared with the $1.5 million Veyron. But you really want to drive this on the Autobahn. Imagine passing Porsches in a Nissan with a wicked smile. Then, imagine the salt flats.

I traded seats with Tsuigo Matsuda, the unassuming and friendly racecar driver who races the Calsonic IMPUL GT-R for a living. Suddenly, the Japanese road rules ceased to exist, and I was glad for the bucket seats that prevented the lateral g-forces from dumping the bulk of my body in Matsuda’s lap. I was longing for the g-suit fighter pilots have, if only to keep my body from getting bruised. He whipped the car through the “suburban course” that was advertised as “rises and falls with a 5 percent gradient through a series of curves that prevent you from seeing ahead” – but Matsuda must not have read the handout.

When we finally came to a stop, the familiar smell of rubber and cooking friction material wafted into the car. The car was surrounded by techs who made sure nobody would touch the smoking Brembo brakes.

Matsuda-san smiled and said: “You enjoy?”

Do you have automotive tastes common among people of a certain age? Not a fan of huge wheels or firm seats? Want something economical? Meet the new 2012 Nissan Versa.

Some small cars are comfortable with their small car-ness. Others, not so well-adjusted, put on airs well above their station. Like more than a few post-war European sedans, the new Versa falls into the latter camp. A high, bulbous front end strives for big car road presence, but tall, narrow proportions blow the charade. In the side profile, a stylishly plunging roof line primarily succeeds in truncating rear headroom, combined as it is with a bulbous nose, barn door bodysides, and (by current standards) tiny 15-inch wheels. When the Chinese knock off the new Versa they might actually improve it.

As long as you don’t look closely or touch anything, the interior of the 2012 Versa almost passes as luxurious, with chrome highlights and the taupe/tan color scheme that’s been a Lexus staple since the first LS 400 rolled off the boat. High-mounted, spongy seats continue the “compact luxury” play. But the hard plastic door-mounted armrests do not—those in a high-end previous generation Versa were far more amenable to elbows. If there’s a design here it’s certainly not a coherent one. The tall, chunky center stack would be more at home in an MPV. In the Versa it locates the audio system controls beyond easy reach. And the climate control area at its base…I haven’t a clue what the designer was thinking. Shame about the impact of the plunging roof line on rear headroom, as there’s substantially more rear legroom than in most competitors.

Compared to the previous-generation Versa (which lives on in hatchback form), the new one is about the same size but, at just over 2,400 pounds, over 300 pounds lighter. The weight loss is welcome, as an uncouth 109-horsepower 1.6-liter engine is no longer just the base engine—it’s the only engine. Paired with a CVT (a five-speed manual is offered only on the base S trim), the 1.6 moves the flyweight car well enough. According to the stopwatch, anyway. Your ears will report all of the side effects that have made CVTs as (un)popular as they are today. Nissan has some passable CVT implementations that don’t inspire thoughts of rubber bands, slipping clutches, and angry lawn care equipment. This isn’t one of them.

The EPA fuel economy ratings of 30 city, 38 highway, while much better than the 2011 1.8SL’s 24/32, don’t quite match the segment’s best. But you’d never know this from the trip computer, which reports over 40 (even 46 for one light-footed fifteen-mile trip) in typical suburban driving. Trip computers can be optimistic, but the gas gauge (Nissan’s traditional orange LCDs) moved less over the course of a day than some move while idling at a traffic light.

The suspension is tuned much like the seats, so there’s copious body roll in turns, limited grip, and considerable bobbling about over poorly maintained roads. No dynamic surprises, though, aside from the modest amounts of understeer and tire squeal (credit the 185/65HR15 Continental ContiProContacts for the latter). Noise levels (when the CVT isn’t doing its thing) are in line with current competitors, so much lower than the bygone B-segment norm.

Clearly, the new Versa was engineered to hit a low price point, and does start at $11,750, $1,455 lower than the 2012 Accent, the second-cheapest car currently offered in the U.S. And the Versa, unlike the Accent, comes standard with conditioned air. Live large with an SL like the car reviewed and the sticker jumps to $16,320. Not so cheap, but over $1,700 less than a 2011 SL with Convenience Package (for the now standard Bluetooth). The 2011 did include about $700 in additional features according to TrueDelta’s Car Price Comparison Tool—some luxuries like keyless ignition, leather-wrapped steering wheel, center armrests, and a passenger-side vanity mirror are no longer available—but this still leaves the 2012 a grand more affordable.

Unfortunately, the price cut only brings the Versa 1.6 SL in line with superior competitors. A Ford Fiesta SE with SYNC and Sport Appearance Packages lists for nearly $1,000 more, but includes over $1,000 in additional features. The story is much the same with the new Hyundai Accent GLS with Comfort and Premium Packages: $900 higher sticker, but over $700 in additional features.

So the new Versa isn’t a value play. Financially, it only makes sense—in base trim—for those who must pay as little as possible for that new car smell. In as-tested SL trim the Versa leads the competition in hardly anything, trails them in many things, and costs about the same. So who’s going to buy it? As noted in the introduction, not everyone is a fan of the latest automotive trends. Those seeking the character of a post-Reuss, pre-Lutz Buick, in a much smaller, more economy-minded package, will find what they’re looking for here.

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

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

The last time we looked at the Nissan Versa, in October of 2010, it was the cheapest car in America at under 10 grand. Unfortunately, the price for such a low sticker was dearer than its four-digit sticker. The lack of modern essentials like air conditioning, anti-lock brakes and automatic transmission were more than just a bummer, as adding them to the Versa made the car less than cheap. For the first redesign of Nissan’s smallest family hauler, the boffins in Japan decided to attack the sedan first for an update, an interesting decision as the sedan only accounts for a supposed 30-35% of all Versa sales on our shores. Surprised? I was, especially since hatchback sales in the US are finally on fire. Nissan graciously invited us to Seattle so we could get down and dirty with the Versa before it arrives on showroom floors in August.

From the outside, the Versa (known as the Nissan Sunny or Nissan Tiida in other markets) looks considerably more grown up than its predecessor. Swoopy lines and the bold trapezoidal “signature” grille could almost be products of Infiniti. Nissan tells us to expect this schnoz to be adapted to all Nissan vehicles eventually. Out back, the trunk is acceptably well executed, prompting a sigh of relief as so many small cars get the rump all wrong. Hatchback lovers shouldn’t expect a new Versa hatchback soon; Nissan was tightlipped about a new hatch meaning we’ll probably see it in 2013, but that’s just a guess.

While some may scoff at hard plastics, the low base price of the Versa has always forgiven the econobox many faults and the new Versa is no different. Interior plastics are no snazzier than they were in the previous version meaning hard plastic dash and door bits are the name of the game. Still, the texture and color of the plastics are far less distracting than some of the alternatives coming out of Detroit regardless or price.

Under the hood beats an all-new 1.6L four-cylinder engine with dual variable valve timing and dual injectors per cylinder, good for 109HP at 6,000 RPM and 107 lb-ft of twist at 4,400 RPM. Fortunately for sedan buyers, the sedan now comes with a CVT instead of ye olde 4-speed auto. The new transmission incorporates the usual cone/belt arrangement and adds a novel twist: a two-speed planetary gearset giving this second-gen CVT a broader range than most 7-speed autos. Thanks to this crossbreed transmission and a slight weight reduction compared to the outgoing model, the loss of 13HP vs the old 1.8L engine goes largely unnoticed, and with EPA numbers on the rise most buyers won’t mind.

Because I had to share my driving time with a colleague from About.com, (and keeping in mind we were driving a pre-production vehicle) my experiences are based on some 80-miles in Seattle on mostly city streets with brief highway runs. Based on this fleeting encounter I’ll leave the majority of driving impressions to a full review. I can however say that the suspension is well sorted and composed even on the broken and under-construction pavement currently plaguing the Pacific Northwest, and the electric power steering is no worse than any of the others on offer in this segment. Acceleration is leisurely in relative terms, but not appreciably slower than vehicles like a Prius or Civic Hybrid. A quick test with our accelerometer resulted in a 0-60 time of 11.65 seconds. Nissan announced 2008 EPA numbers of 30/38/33 (City/Highway/Combined) and we averaged 29-34 MPG during our short time with the vehicle and mostly city driving making the Versa both cheap and frugal.

Safety has been on Nissan’s short list for a while and the Versa is no different, sporting all the safety gizmos mid-size car buyers expect. Side curtain airbags, ABS with electronic brake force distribution, emergency brake assist, and seatbelt pre-tensioners with load limiters are all standard on even the base model. The only item conspicuously absent from the Versa’s safety list is Nissan’s active headrest, pity; it would round out all my favorite acronyms and would be a nice touch on the top-end low cost car.

Speaking of dollars, the Nissan Versa lineup starts with the base Versa S equipped with a 5-speed manual for $10,990 which now includes a radio with CD player (and AUX input) and two speakers (yes, just two) and air conditioning. (We were unable to test drive the manual-equipped sedan so I can’t comment on that model’s specifics). I have this feeling that most buyers will opt for the Versa S, a single step-up from the bottom. The S with CVT will set you back $12,760 but also brings a “high efficiency” alternator and wind deflectors to the party. For $350 more you can get cruise control and two extra speakers, good value in my book. The $14,560 Versa SV model bring power windows and door locks, standard cruise control, upgraded cloth seats, and some shiny chrome bits. $350 extra gets the SV Bluetooth phone connectivity with steering wheel controls, map lights, vanity mirrors and iPod control.

Top-line SL buyers get alloy wheels, fog lights, a split folding rear seat, Bluetooth, the aforementioned shiny bits and some cloth inserts in the door panels. Non-apple lovers will need to buy the SL and cough-up the $700 tech package to get the navigation system with USB interface. In addition the ability to browse tunes on your various USB devices, the 7-Benjamins buys an easy to use navigation system with XM radio and NavTraffic (service fees apply and it’s only available in the SL model). While $700 is a touch steep compared to the $199 Garmin special at your local box store, the look is well integrated with the steering wheel controls and in my book worth the extra dosh. This makes the fully-loaded price of the Nissan Versa some $16,260. Add in a $760 destination fee, subtract some inevitable wiggle room and it may actually possible to get a fully loaded Versa for under $17K plus tax.

On the electronic goody and luxury front, the new Versa attempts to be the best budget value without stepping on Sentra’s toes as the old Versa tended to in higher trims. For buyers this means niceties like the long-awaited center armrest, key-less go, and hidden cubbies for your USB devices are all gone. While I will mourn their loss as a tech-weenie, in their place comes standard air conditioning, anti-lock brakes, improved fuel economy and a new CVT.

Despite a base MSRP increase from $9,990 to $10,990, the Versa is likely to still be the cheapest car in America. Fortunately for the frugal shopper, the base price increase also means less of a penalty box than was checked in 2011 with A/C and anti-lock brakes now standard.

Real competition for the Versa can be seen in the form of the Hyundai Accent GLS when equipped with the manual transmission and air conditioning. So equipped, the Accent will run you $14,195 and the Versa S clocks in at $10,990, a difference of $3,205 which Nissan is quick to point out. On the surface, the Versa looks to deliver exactly what Nissan promises: cheap transportation without being a penalty box. When the Versa goes on sale in August of this year we’ll be sure to update our best & brightest with a full review. Until then, sound off in the comment section below: should buyers get an $11,000 new car with a warranty or something cheap in the certified pre-owned category? Is that the Versa’s real competitor?

Nissan flew me up to Seattle, put me up in a swanky hotel with free flowing drink, and provided the vehicle, insurance and gasoline for this review.

Statistics as tested

0-30: 3.75 seconds

0-60: 11.65 seconds

1/4 Mile: 18.44 seconds @ 76MPH

Back in 2002, on a whim, my father bought the recently re-introduced Nissan 350Z for the simple reason that he loved the way the car looked. He then proceeded to rarely drive it because it was loud, rough, and generally lacking in refinement, and sold it after only a year and a half. I haven’t driven a Z since. Nissan has reportedly worked to smooth over the car’s rough edges, most notably with a redesign for the 2009 model year. So another look seemed in order.

The Z gained some curves with its redesign, rendering it prettier to some eyes, more bulbous to others, and still clearly a Z to all—but it seemed insufficiently changed to re-ignite the car’s sales. Then again, the segment is dormant. Among two-seaters, only the Chevrolet Corvette outsold the Z last year, and not by much (12,624 vs. 10,215). The third-place Miata trailed both by a sizable margin. The tested car’s $3,030 Sport Package includes a limited-slip differential, beautiful 19” RAYS forged alloy wheels, an understated rear spoiler, and a chin spoiler that gives the road noisy kisses when tempted by the slightest dip.

The Z’s interior was inarguably improved by the redesign, with a more upscale appearance and upgraded materials. The center stack, similar to that in the G37, is now upholstered in a very good imitation of leather. It’s so close at hand that the controls on the steering wheel are hardly necessary. But too many interior parts remain a silver-painted plastic that would appear much less out of place in a Versa than in a $40,000 sports car.

The instruments, a perennial Nissan aesthetic weakness, are especially hard on the eyes. Why the compulsion to put rectangular displays within round holes? And to employ orange lighting? Orange is also employed for the perforated leather on the seats and the faux suede on the doors, but it proved quite popular in these locations.

The Z’s driver seat is comfortable, but a little short on lateral support. The Infiniti G37’s power-adjustable bolsters would be welcome here. The view forward from the low seats includes a fair amount of hood.

The view rearward is nearly nonexistent, between the wide C-pillars and mail slot of a rear window. Even with a rearview camera backing out of parking spaces proves a dicey proposition.

The cargo area under the rear part of the hatch is barely tall enough to hold an upright gallon of milk, which can be counted on to slide around all the way home unless restrained by a cargo net (not provided with the tested car).

With the redesign, the 350Z received a bump in its engine’s displacement. At 3.7 liters, the VQ is now quite large for a six. Even without the benefit of direct injection, power output is now 332 horsepower at 7,000 rpm. Not the 400+ available in a Camaro or Mustang, but the Z, tipping the scales at just over 3,200 pounds, is considerably lighter than those cars. So the big six feels plenty muscular even well short of its redline. A NISMO variant adds 18 horses, a firmer suspension, and less subtle body kit, but these mods add to the cars strengths rather than addressing its weaknesses. The latter tend to be subjective—so your opinion of them may well vary. An exhaust that roars loudly at the slightest provocation drowns out any singing by the mechanical bits under the Z’s hood. Without much in the way of character, this roar suggests brute force rather than mechanical sophistication. Which, it turns out, fits the overall character of the car.

The 370Z’s manual transmission’s short-throw shifter and clutch require meaty inputs. Though the former feels satisfyingly solid and precise, smooth upshifts in casual driving require concentration. Yet smooth downshifts couldn’t be easier. Thanks to an innovative rev-matching feature, engine rpm automagically almost instantly increase by the appropriate amount. Unfortunately, the automatic bump in engine speed is accompanied by an immediate exponential increase in exhaust noise. Appropriate during spirited driving. But a bit of a shock until you get used to it, and less welcome when slowing for a stoplight, where you’ll feel the (quite possibly imagined) disapproving stares of everyone around you. The feature can be turned off, but a better solution would be a variable exhaust like those offered in the Corvette and some Porsches.

The 370Z’s steering similarly calls for meaty inputs. Partly as a result, the car continues to feel much larger and heavier than it actually is. Though the steering is quite quick, the Z doesn’t feel agile. Instead, clearly a real man’s car, it must be muscled through curves. This said, there’s less steady state understeer than in the past, and the car feels more balanced. Unless you get on the gas. Like the related Infiniti G37, the Z has a tendency to snap oversteer, especially when fitted with the limited-slip differential. In a quick-and-dirty fix, the stability control is programmed to intervene early with a heavy hand. A better fix would be rear suspension geometry that yields the sort of progressive power oversteer that makes GM’s rear-wheel-drive performance cars a joy to drive.

Road noise remains a Z weakness, with a hum and/or roar emanating from the rear tires on concrete road surfaces. Ride quality, on the other hand, is much improved over the 350Z early in its run. While the suspension is certainly firm, it takes the edge off road imperfections and no longer tortures the car’s occupants. Evenly spaced expansion joints at highway speeds can provoke rhythmic bouncing, but the amplitude is much less (and so much less likely to induce nausea) than before.

The highly-optioned tested 2011 370Z Touring lists for $42,775 after some recent price increases. Without the nav, illuminated door sills, and $580 in high-performance brake pads, (but with the Touring’s standard leather and BOSE audio) it would be $40,055. A similarly equipped 426-horsepower Camaro SS lists for about $3,500 less. Adjusting for feature differences using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool widens the gap to about $4,400. You’ll save even more with a Hyundai Genesis Coupe, which is about $10,500 less before adjusting for feature differences and about $11,500 less afterwards.

And the related G37? About $2,800 more before the feature adjustment, but about $900 LESS afterwards. You’re not paying extra for the premium brand in this case—or even the rear seats. Looking to Germany, only Porsche still offers a two-seat hardtop sports car, and a similarly-equipped Cayman over $30,000 more. A BMW 135i lists for almost exactly the same price as the Z. After adjusting for feature differences, the BMW lists for about $2,500 less.

The Nissan 370Z is much nicer inside and much easier to live with than the 350Z my old man briefly owned. He’d drive this one more and hold onto it longer. But the Z’s still not easy to live with. On a track or an especially challenging road, the Z might prove a delight. On most public roads, though, the car continues to feel muscle-bound and out of its element. Either of Mazda’s sports cars feel much more agile, but are far less powerful. The Germans go about their business with much less noise and much more finesse, but none offer a two-seat coupe for a remotely similar price. Prefer a little more luxury and a lot less noise? Then the related Infiniti G37 Coupe could be the way to go. Or, if you’re willing to trade features and refinement for a lower price, Hyundai’s Genesis Coupe. If, on the other hand, you’ve been seeking the extroverted macho functionality-be-damned flavor of a Camaro, but in a more compact package, then the 370Z definitely delivers.

Nissan provided the test vehicle, insurance, and a tank of gas.

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

Photos courtesy Michael Karesh

Back in 1989 I spent some time blasting along the unpaved roads of the Southwest in a 1988 Toyota Celica All-Trac Turbo. A frequent thought: “What this thing really needs is more ground clearance.” That same year Pontiac displayed a sports car / SUV crossover as a concept. The Stinger was never produced, but it lingered within memories at GM and eventually provided some inspiration for both the Vibe and Aztek. Neither came close to the Stinger. Both lacked the chassis dynamics to fulfill the mission I had in mind.
And so it fell to Nissan to field the first compact crossover with the spirit of a sports car. Is the JUKE worth the two-decade wait?

Inside the JUKE, the distinctive styling continues, with a center console shaped and finished to resemble the fuel tank of a motorcycle. Matching trim can be found on the door-mounted armrests. These bits are available in red; in the silver of the tested car they don’t stand out nearly as much. Another sporty touch: the floating hood over the instruments. Other design elements don’t work as well. Nissan’s odd long-term affection for orange LCDs continues with much of the instrument panel lighting (though thankfully not the main instruments), and the graphics on the center stack’s multi-function display recall the excesses of the mid-1980s. Some of them might prove useful, or at least entertaining—screens include a boost gauge, a far too easily pegged two-dimensional G-meter, and fuel economy logging—but the screen is mounted just barely above the shifter, so far too low to be safely viewed while driving. The patterned light gray low-knap velour upholstery looks out of place inside such a painfully hip vehicle. It also starts looking dirty within seconds of cleaning it. Black and red/black upholstery are also offered—get one of those.

If you have to ask whether you’ll fit inside the JUKE, you can’t. Well, maybe you can. There’s enough legroom and headroom for drivers up to 6-2, maybe 6-3. But room for shoulders and hips is in short supply. The interior is compact to begin with, and the highly styled center console takes up the space some drivers like to place their right knee (I drive with my legs fairly straight, so this didn’t affect me). In back, though I’m only 5-9 my head brushes the headliner and my legs graze the front seatback (when the former is also positioned where I like it). With a tall driver in the front seat, the rear is best reserved for those 5-6 and under. No one in my five-person family is large, though, so we all fit without a hitch.

The JUKE’s front seats feel comfortable in casual driving; I found nothing to complain about in this area. Get jiggy with the JUKE, though, and their lack of lateral support quickly becomes evident. The seat’s bolsters, small to begin with, are spaced too widely for a slender driver. You sit crossover high not far from a relatively upright windshield. Add in the tight interior and the aforementioned high-mounted turn signals, and the view forward is like that in nothing else, and very much in keeping with the extroverted styling. The rear side windows are small, so while the view from the rear seat is open to the front it’s limo-like to the side. The cargo area is also compact—even a MINI Countryman can haul significantly more stuff. Still, I was able to squeeze in a mountain bike after removing its front wheel and folding the second row (the front seats had to be moved forward a bit to let the rear headrests by).

The JUKE’s consistency of character continues with the driving experience. A turbocharged and direct-injected 1.6-liter four-cylinder engine doesn’t put out much power below 3,500 rpm, but with the manual transmission responds quickly and rockets the 2,828-pound JUKE forward once past that mark, feeling like it’s kicking out well over the stated 188 horsepower. This engine is smooth and loves to rev, letting loose a loud sport bike-like “wreeeeeeee” as it does so. Turbo lag isn’t evident, just a lack of power at low rpm. This engine deserves a second home in a Miata-like sports car.

In addition to the six-speed manual, a CVT which can mimic a manually-shiftable six-speed automatic is also offered. The CVT blunts the engine’s pep considerably. The manual is much more fun, even if the lever’s action isn’t the slickest.

Fuel economy is quite good—as long as you don’t make heavy use of the turbo. The trip computer reported high 20s in both casual driving around town and on the highway (with a cruising speed of in the 70s). So the EPA ratings of 27/32 seem about right. Hypermiling the JUKE in the suburbs I managed 33.3. Doing the opposite I observed high teens.

Front-wheel-drive rocketships have well-known limitations, and the JUKE could serve as a poster child for the lot. Accelerate hard in a straight line, and the car pulls one way then the other—yes, it’s torque steer. Get on the gas in the mid-turn, and the inside front wheel far too easily loses traction. Traverse even the smallest bump or uneven expansion joint within said turn and all those horses are churning air. The obvious solution (aside from a better-designed suspension): all-wheel-drive. The available system even includes torque vectoring, to enable a little throttle-induced oversteer. But there’s a problem: all-wheel-drive is only offered with the CVT. Nissan should also offer it with the manual, perhaps even make it standard with the turbocharged engine. For those not into performance driving, and so not in need of more traction, a lesser engine would serve well enough. For those who want to replicate the responses of a weaker engine, “Eco” mode is a button tap away.

The JUKE also handles like it looks, with quick steering via a small diameter wheel and a willingness to turn. Dipping into the throttle tightens the car’s line. The small crossover is endearingly frisky when you’re in the mood to play, effectively melding the character of a compact crossover with that of a sports car. Put in the simplest terms, it’s a lot of fun, the sort of fun all small cars should be but fewer and fewer actually are.

This said, steering feel could be better. Hitting the “Sport” button in the center console (which must be done anew each time the car is started) firms up the steering, most noticeably at highway speeds, but it never communicates much of what’s going on at the contact patches. Between this and a suspension that feels a little jumpy, confidence wasn’t inspired. I never quite felt one with the car. The MINI Countryman, though less overtly sporty, does better here.

To replicate my time in the Celica, I visited my favorite local unpaved road in the JUKE. This also served to reveal how the chassis behaves as the tires’ limits are reached at much lower speeds than on pavement. With the JUKE this road revealed a tendency for the rear end to go light and drift wide in turns even while lightly accelerating. Though not too difficult to catch with a touch of opposite lock, this tendency to oversteer even without lifting off the throttle is uncommon among current cars and a bit of a shock the first time it occurred. While not too many people will be JUKING dirt roads, wet and snowy roads are another matter. The standard stability control has its work cut out for it with enthusiastic but inexperienced drivers.

The JUKE rides like the tallish, short wheelbase, firmly sprung car it is. And because Nissan’s suspension engineers haven’t yet figured out how to combine a smooth ride with sporty handling. To their credit, unlike the sportiest Nissans the JUKE doesn’t ride harshly. It just reacts a little sharply to road imperfections and feels jiggly on all but the smoothest surfaces. But it does feel solid, and body motions are well-controlled. On the highway, there’s a moderate amount of noise from the exhaust, air, and road surface. While still much quieter than the subcompacts of decades past (and my Mazda Protege5), by current standards the JUKE borders on noisy. If you’re sensitive to a jiggly, noisy ride, the JUKE will likely start to annoy once you’re done with hooning and ready to cruise.

If you want a performance-oriented compact crossover, you typically have two choices in North America: the JUKE or the MINI Countryman. With its storied European pedigree, a similarly-equipped MINI will set you back $5,310 more than the JUKE SV’s $21,640 base price. (The difference was close to six large earlier, but Nissan has raised prices a couple of times—for a total bump of $620.) Adjust for the MINI’s additional features using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool and the Nissan’s advantage remains nearly $4,000. Just beware the gunmetal wheels on the tested car: they’ll set you back nearly an extra grand.

Ultimately, the JUKE is at least as much sports car as crossover. It’s highly styled and—a rarity these days—drives even sportier than it looks. It reeks personality. The flipside: the JUKE’s not terribly practical or even easy to live with. But we have no shortage of practical, dull-to-drive crossovers, if that’s what you’re looking for. Nissan itself will gladly sell you a cube or a Rogue. If, instead, you’ve been seeking a sports car with a little extra ground clearance, the JUKE is one of two choices, and the least expensive by a substantial margin. Just beware of torque steer (until Nissan sees the light and offers AWD with the manual) and of the rear end’s tricks on slippery surfaces.

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

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

The previous day’s usage had left me in a pickle. With the 12 miles left and only nine-and-a-half hours charging time at 120V. Of course if I constantly had to remind myself, if I had a 240V charging station at home this would be a non-issue as the Leaf would have been completely full. However, my situation as it was, the Leaf was perhaps a hair over 40% charged when I left for work with the range indicator displaying 59 miles, hopefully enough for my 57 mile drive.

Since I needed all the juice I could get to make it to Burlingame I decided to forgo the pre-heating and let the Leaf charge to the very last second. Fortunately this morning was a hair warmer than the day previous being a brisk 40 degrees. Unfortunately the temperatures and humidity conspired to fog the windscreen. Without sufficient power to make it to work and use the defogger, I chose to defog the old-fashioned way: windows open.

Thankfully the climb up to the summit of the Santa Cruz Mountains was gradual in comparison to the re-charging trip down the other side. Once back on flat land the car indicated a range of 52 miles and I only had 40 miles ahead of me. Right as I was patting myself on the back, US-101 ground to a total and complete halt. We’ve all been there before right? You forget your purse or wallet, your car is running on fumes and that is the exact moment when you encounter heavy traffic. Much like a hybrid however, if you drive the car gently in the stop-and-go traffic the battery usage turns out to be relatively low. Of course if you are buying your leaf in California or a few other states, you would qualify for carpool access stickers making waiting in traffic a much rarer event. Since my car was not so equipped, I inched along the bay for 45 minutes traveling a whopping 5 miles in that time. Once traffic started flowing freely the car announced I may not have enough power to reach my destination. True to form, three miles before my exit the range indicator went from “3 miles” to “- – - ,“ indicating a depleted battery.

Trip distance: 57.1

Average speed: 32.4 mph

Travel Time: 1:45bad traffic

Average miles/kWh: 6.8

Range Left: 0

Temp: 40-48 degrees

Since Nissan needed to pick the Leaf up, I ponce again connected my trans-sidewalk charging cable and checked the display for a charge time: 31 hours to full. Ouch. I find I need to keep reminding myself that had I access to a 240V charging station at home, the battery would be more than half full on my arrival. Since the press fleet doesn’t come with some funky dryer-plug hacked charger (sort of a shame really) the emergency trickle charge cable was our only option. And there is the problem I see with some of the TV news bites I have seen about the Leaf; which I am sure will be re-ignited once the rumored Top Gear episode featuring the Leaf hit the airwaves: The 31 hour charge time is not likely to be an issue for buyers as most people seem to buy the home charging station.

Currently the Leaf is only available as a hatch back in two trim lines SL and SV. In reality there is little difference between the two trims as both receive 16-inch alloy wheels, LED headlamps keyless entry and keyless go, power windows, cruise control, Bluetooth, navigation system with CD player, six speakers and iPod/USB integration. The SL model adds a spoiler solar panel (yes it seems as useless ad it sounds), automatic headlamps, fog lamps, a rearview camera, a cargo cover and the option to purchase the $700 CHAdeMO DC quick-charge port. Our SL tester was a pre-production model so it did not itemize the CHAdeMO port on the Monroney sticker; as a result the price as tested was $33,720 before rebates. As I live in California, after the $7,500 federal and $5,000 state rebates, the Leaf drops to a commuter car appropriate sticker of $21,220.

As I indicated before, weight constraints are largely due to the lack of window shattering stereo performance. Still, the system is adequate for most listeners. USB/iPod integration is about average for the segment allowing full control of your Apple device and playlist/artist/album browsing while on the road. Sadly like most Japanese vehicles sold on our shores, the Nav system is not operable when in motion and like other Nissan products this means you have to completely stop in order to enter a destination as the voice commands do not extend to destination entry. This is something of an odd choice for Nissan to make since you can easily spend far more time distracted by searching for that ZZ Top album than entering the address of that charging station you are looking for.

Compared to the Chevy Volt, the Leaf is $12,000 cheaper (after rebates) and qualifies for carpool lane usage over here on the left coast. Arguably the Volt is a car without the sort of lifestyle compromises that must be made if you used tour Leaf as a daily driver, but on the other hand, you could buy a Nissan Versa with that $12,000 and have two cars for the price of one Volt. Until the Ford Focus Electric surfaces later this year, the Leaf has little competition. [Correction: due to an amended Senate Bill in California the Volt and other plug-in hybrids will be allowed HOV lane access. Thanks to our readers that pointed this out. ]

How green is the Leaf? That depends on how you look at it. Although in terms of volume the US is the world’s largest producer of electricity from geothermal, solar and wind resources, these only account for 11 percent of the total electric production in the US (US Energy Information Administration 2010). As energy demand continues to rise in America the percentage of our power that comes from renewable resources has actually dropped rather than increased since the 1960s. Since 70% of all the electricity produced in the US contributes to global warming, you might almost say that any electric car driven in this country is half-powered by coal. Unless you’ve invested in solar panels, driving a Leaf could be said to be burning coal in a square state to feel green in California. I am told that despite the decidedly un-green power mixture in the USA, total greenhouse emissions from the Leaf (when you consider the power generation) are still lower than just about any car on the road today.

After three days of self-induced anxiety it was time for Nissan to collect the Leaf. As the battery powered commuter car was driven away slowly and replaced by its antithesis (a Mercedes CL550) I was forced to reflect on the previous 62 hours. Bottom line, the Leaf is a commuter car. This term has never been so appropriately applied to a single model before. While some may buy a Prius or Fiesta to commute, they are still multi-purpose vehicles while the Leaf has a more singular focus. Just like you would not expect a 2-door sports coupé to be all things to everyone, neither can we expect a short range full electric vehicle to be everyone’s cup of tea.

ABC News Polls indicated in 2005 that the average American’s commute is 16 miles. Let’s say we don’t believe that and use 30 miles as a number. In a hot climate like Arizona, a Leaf would essentially make it to and from work without issue even when driving it like a normal car. That in itself is the function. It’s not made for long commutes (although with an 8 hour day and 240V charging at each end, even an 80 mile commute would be possible.) If you can set your anxiety aside, have a 240V home charger or live near a planned 480V quick charge station and are looking for a commuter car, the Leaf makes more sense than any number of $21K cars especially when you consider the California carpool sticker. Before you jump on the Leaf pile, check with your tax guy as there may be some tax liabilities in regards to the rebates.

Nissan provided the vehicle and insurance for this review.

Checkout the other instalments of our Leaf trilogy:
2011 Nissan Lead: Day One
2011 Nissan Lead: Day Two

Our second day with the Leaf gave us a chance to really dive into the charging realities of driving an electric vehicle. Most of us are used to filling up our car when the tank is empty or well on the way to empty. If you are shopping for an electric car, throw this mentality out with the oil changes. Think of your car like a 1990s cell phone: plug it in often if you want to be able to use it later.

If you are considering buying a Leaf, you’ll need to buy a 240V charging station unless you can manage to drive under about 45 miles a day and spend a full 12-hours charging at home. The cost of the 240V home charging station is about $2,200 including “average installation costs.” Fortunately our tax dollars are hard at work, so Leaf buyers qualify for a 50% tax credit on the charger installation and Nissan is kind enough to roll the installation into your Leaf’s financing. If you live in an apartment, condo, or some other place where you don’t have the ability to install a dedicated charging station, you may want to campaign with your landlord or homeowner’s association to get charging stations installed before you jump on the bandwagon.

As I got home late the night before I was only able to charge the Leaf for 8-hours. As soon as I awoke I whipped out the iPhone to monitor the Leaf’s charge remotely. The car indicated it had gained 31-miles worth of charge overnight. Since I don’t have a garage out here in the woods, the low nighttime temperatures of 39-degrees made our 120V charging rate a bit slower than I had observed the day prior. To help conserve power on my commute I used the iPhone app to turn on the heater in the Leaf and get things warm before I got underway.

Since the Leaf contains no engine and the battery and motor generate relatively little heat, Nissan employs a 5kW resistive heating element instead of a heat pump like GM’s EV1. The decision to not use a more efficient heat pump probably lies in cost as Nissan would have had to include a resistive heating element anyway for buyers in northern climates where temperatures drop well below freezing. Fortunately this heater can be run directly off the power coming from the charger so that you can start heating the car before you get in, thereby extending your range. Nissan informs us that the heater consumes approximately 1,500-watts when running in this mode regardless of whether it is plugged into a 120V (Level 1) or 240V (Level 2) charger.

Once underway it was obvious I had some tough decisions to make. My preferred freeway (I-280) to work goes thru hill and dale and is more roller-coaster than highway; this constant hill climbing has an adverse effect on range so I opted for the flat route along the bay. Having successfully lasted 20 hours without becoming stranded, my range anxiety was starting to wane, but only slightly through no fault of the Leaf. The problem was that I could not charge the car completely the night before. If I had a 240V charger in my driveway, 8 hours would have given me 120+ miles based on the way I had driven the Leaf up to that point. My local Nissan dealer informs me that essentially every Leaf they have sold has gone out the door with the 240V charger, so it would seem this is not an issue for most buyers. Let me say this now, the Leaf is not for everyone. If you live somewhere that you can’t charge it at home, or at work, buy something else.

I drove to work using ECO mode to conserve power which the Leaf primarily does through dialing back on the heater performance, dulling the accelerator pedal input and cranking up regenerative braking when you lift off the accelerator pedal. The effect is different than I had expected, but it was not as obtrusive to me as some reviews would make it seem and it improves range by a supposed 10%. I had initially thought I would drive to work sans-heater but 8-miles into my journey I realized my jacket was not in the car and I decided being warm for a while was worth the risk. As I rolled into Burlingame, it became obvious that my moderate use of the heater had taken a toll on battery life as the car indicated only 32 miles left.

Trip distance: 53.6

Average speed: 47.9

Travel Time: 40 min

Average miles/kWh: 5.8

Range Left:  32

Temp: 42-53 degrees

Once at work, the charging cable came out again for another day of across-the-sidewalk-charging. Anyone know what the fine for that is in California? Let us know in the comment section.

Today everyone at work had figured out that I was the one driving the odd little car with the extension cord coming out its nose. I was anticipating that my co-workers would be intrigued, want to look it over, play with the knobs, and in general treat it like the release of a trendy new Apple product. I was wrong. Actually, the vitriol was kind of surprising, and perhaps indicated a hurdle that manufacturers will need to overcome before EVs gain widespread adoption. The most common complaint among passengers was “what if I needed to stop somewhere after work” and secondarily “what if I decided to take a road trip on the way home.” I suppose they are valid points for some, but if your daily commute is 30-miles, and you had a 240V charger at home, you could run all manner of errands on your way home without issue. And really, who actually decides to take a road-trip on the spur of the moment on your way home from work on a Wednesday afternoon? If you do, correct us in the comment section.

Out on the highway the Leaf drives like any other economical mid-size sedan. The steering is fairly lifeless and handling is unspectacular due entirely to the low-rolling resistance tires essential for long range. The suspension is tuned for a moderate ride, neither floaty, nor stiff and the chassis remains composed over a variety of road surfaces from gravel to pot-holed-asphalt. The relatively high curb weight (for an efficient vehicle) of 3,400lbs no doubt aids in the Leaf feeling more substantial than you would assume. The low positioning of the battery in the car makes moderate corner carving possible, but it is unlikely that most drivers will treat their Leaf in this fashion. Eco hoons however will be strangely amused that the eco tires allow for a decent amount of front-wheel-peel on their way to an observed 17.7-second (77MPH) quarter mile.

Range anxiety had by this point turned into “charge anxiety.”  At noon a quick check of the battery via the CarWings iPhone app showed I had a range of 42 miles. Since my 53-mile trip home consumes 68-miles worth of electrons due to the climb up the hill, it was looking like I’d be stuck at work for a long while, so I started hunting for the often touted free charging stations.

If you’re lucky enough to live around a 440-volt “Quick Charge” or “CHAdeMO station, then the Leaf will charge from essentially empty to around 80-percent (56-102 miles depending on your driving style) in 30 minutes. Unfortunately when I used all the online charging station tools at my disposal, I was able to find only 539 CHAdeMO charging stations in the world, 532 of which are in Japan and none in California at the moment. I am told however that there are quick charge stations being planned. Currently the quick-charge port is only available as a ($700) special-order option on the Leaf SL.

With a federal tax credit for companies to install charging stations for use by employees and customers of 50% of the installation cost up to $2,000 per charging station along with other state and local benefits and utility rebates, expect to see stations cropping up at a workplace near you. Since this was not an option, I decided to lunch in South San Francisco where I found a free charging station. This turned out to be a dubious exercise because although the 240V (Level 2) charger charges faster, the 11 mile round trip cancelled out the faster charge leaving me back at square one. However, it did prove to me that if your destinations have level 2 chargers, then you’ll be no worse off for your errand running.

Trip distance: 11.1

Average speed: 24.3

Travel Time: 23min

Average miles/kWh: 4.9

Range Left:  42 (1:10 of 240V charging)

Temp: 55 degrees

Worried about making it home, I again resorted to a public 240V charging station, this time I sensibly chose one that was only a 1 mile detour off the way home. After almost two hours of hanging out in Cost Plus and watching DVDs on my laptop in the back seat of the car, the ChargePoint kiosk showed a 4kW charge had been transferred to my battery. Driving the Leaf gently this meant an additional range of 20 miles. The cost: $156 of shopping at Cost Plus, $1 parking fee, $0 for the electricity.

About those costs: at the moment electric cars are something of a novelty, and with political pressure to do “something green” many municipalities and businesses provide free charging meaning if you were willing to play your cards right, you might only rarely pay for electricity. Even at California’s high electricity rates a quick scan of my bill shows that the 260 miles we put on the leaf over 3 days cost $8.52 of which I only bore $3.20 of (54kWh total). Put in perspective, at 4.50 a gallon for regular, a Prius would have cost me $26 for the same three days. If I were able to commute daily in the Leaf I estimate my yearly energy costs would reach $886 per year of which I could manage to only pay half if my employer picked up part of the tab. The Prius would consume $2704 and I’d be hard pressed to find a free gasoline pump while I shop. Because the EPA is insane and feels the need to give the Leaf an MPG number, its 106 city, 92 highway and 99 combined. Should that mean anything to you? Nope.

As I pulled out of the parking garage I realized that my two hours of free charging would now mean I would have to use my headlamps on my way home for at least part of the journey. It also meant that instead of spending an extra two hours at work charging at 120V I should have hopped down to the free 240V station earlier to suck off the public teat. Since I had carpooled to work, I had a slight detour to pick up my fairly unhappy carpool mate who was not all that amused with my “I had to charge” excuse. With the car showing 70 miles to empty, I was concerned because my gentle driving habits had caused the car to believe a less-than-half-full battery could propel me farther than half the Leaf’s quoted range. Ginger driving and climate control off were the order of the evening.

As I crested the top of Highway 17, the Leaf estimated our range at 5 miles. This was pucker time. 5-miles of level driving remained before we could pick up some charge on the down-hill run. As we rounded the corner onto Old San Jose Rd the Leaf announced the battery was “very low.” As the last 6 miles of my journey involved loosing 1,000ft of elevation the battery had recovered to a 12-mile range by the time I hit the gravel road and cruised home parking-lamp-only. Thankfully my arrival home was early enough to book a solid 9 hours of charging if I could convince my boss to let me arrive late the next day. Had this been my Leaf I would have let it lick its wounded battery in peace for 24 hours and driven another car, but since Nissan wanted their car back the next day I just had to wait until it would make it back to Nissan’s fleet company.

Trip distance: 59.9mi

Average speed: 32.6 mph

Travel Time: 1:50

Average miles/kWh: 4.9

Range Left:  12

Temp: 65-52 degrees

Nissan provided the vehicle and insurance for this review.

Checkout the other instalments of our Leaf trilogy:
2011 Nissan Lead: Day One
2011 Nissan Lead: Day Three

When I was a kid I was told that by the time I was 30 we would all be piloting nuclear powered flying cars. Reality, of course, has dictated that gasoline is still the most cost effective way of delivering what the average person considers a “normal driving experience.” In an attempt to change not just how we “fuel” a car, but the very way a car is integrated into our lives, Nissan has released the first volume produced electric car in North America. Yea, yea I know about the GM EV1, Toyota Rav4 EV and the Ford experiments, but let’s be real, Nissan has already sold more Leafs (Nissan tells me the plural is not Leaves) in the first few tsunami-effected months of this year than GM sold during the two years of EV1 production. How did they do it? We borrowed a white Leaf for just under three days to find out why 20,000 have already pre-ordered one of these pure-electric cars.

The first thing you need to learn about an electric car is the term “range anxiety.”  First used to describe the 60-mile optimistic range of the EV1, it is something of a real concern with any vehicle that takes several hours to “refuel.” Before badgering Nissan ad nauseam to test the Leaf, my own research indicated that the 90-120 mile range should be sufficient for my 53-mile one-way commute assuming I was able to charge the car at both ends.

When the Leaf was delivered to me bright and early Tuesday morning, I have to admit that range anxiety was already setting in. I had prepared that morning by bringing with me two 50-foot and one 100-foot extension cords just in case (never mind that the car was only about 40 feet from an electrical outlet.) I spent my evening the day before researching charging stations only to find very few on my long trek home. I had already been warned that since a “portable” 240-volt charging station is not officially available (although plenty of forum guys have hacked one together successfully, only the 120V “Emergency” trickle charging cord is provided to the press. Knowing that using this cable would result in long charge times, I plugged the car in the second it arrived.

Of course since I work in an industrial area built in the 1960s when the only electric cars were either in The Jetsons or on the golf course, street parking is the name of the game. This meant I had to resort to running the cord out my office window, across the lawn, over the sidewalk and into the street to charge my parallel-parked Leaf. The beep indicated something was underway and I waited for something magic to happen (I’m not really sure what I expected). It didn’t. It was just an ordinary car refilling very slowly with its fuel of choice: electrons. Once plugged in –and trying very hard not to think of how many laws I was breaking by having a tripwire across the sidewalk– I took out the iPhone 4 that Nissan loaned us to see how the CarWings app works in person. One quick check revealed a range of 108 miles and a charging time of 3 hours on 120V to full.

Normally I take a press car out for an immediate spin, at least around the block to pair my phone to the Bluetooth, see where the iPod goes, check out any whiz-bang features and generally acquaint myself with the car. The Leaf was different however. My irrational fears made me believe that even opening the door would leave me without enough power to make it home, so I decided to wait until lunchtime to go run an errand at Lowe’s. Running a lunch-time errand has never given me chills before, but my 12-mile round trip to Lowes filled me with “range anxiety” as I could only have imagined.

Trying to calm my racing heart as I accelerated to 65MPH in about four-minutes (saving juice) I decided to explore the interior. The Leaf doesn’t come across as being “built to a price” like some of the interior plastics and hard seats I found in the Chevy Volt during a quick spin in November. Instead, the Leaf can be best described as “built to a weight.” That weight savings explains certain features that you would normally expect in a $35,000 car that are missing in the Leaf such as leather seats, lumbar support, squishy dashboard bits, dual zone climate control, or an up-level bazillion-speaker sound system. Fortunately for my six-foot frame, the driver’s seat is surprisingly comfortable, even sans lumbar support, and my six-foot-five partner was as comfortable as he is in any mid-size sedan on the market.

Back to that short trip; I arrived at Lowe’s only to find the doo-dad I was looking for was no longer stocked. It was at that moment I realized driving an electric car may take some adjustment to my usual routine. In truth however this adjustment could be made in any car to save gas, but in an electric car the charging time makes “calling ahead” all the more important. On my way back I visited my favorite private road for a bit of 0-60 testing during which the Leaf ran to 60 in a recorded and reasonable 10.2 seconds. (So much for those 7-second tumors floating around the web last year.) My desire to run to 60 from a stand-still thrice consumed 10-miles of conservative driving battery. Discouraged,(but thankful I had remembered to bag my lunch) I bypassed the fast-food joint and cruised slowly back to the office to resume my illegal trans-sidewalk charging.

Trip distance: 11.8

Average speed: 32.2

Travel Time: 0:26

Average Miles/kWh: 4.1

Range Left: 88mi

Outside Temperature: 58

After pugging my Leaf in, I was reminded I had to swing by Almaden for a meeting after work on my way home. This trip would put additional strain on my range because it involved a longer distance (15 additional miles) and more time on Santa Clara county expressways where high-speeds are mixed with frequent stoplights, a bad combo for efficiency. Fortunately the Leaf includes a standard navigation system to help limit your battery-draining wrong turns, however it lacks a feature which I would find handy: a mode to direct you the most efficient way rather than fastest or shortest distance.

After an additional three-hour 120V charge, the CarWings app said I had a range of 105 miles so I un-plugged, packed my extension cords and was off. The balmy weather of the San Francisco peninsula gradually gave way to the warmer valley temperatures of San Jose as I drove south. I’ll be the first to admit that I love my air conditioning, but I reminded myself that my trip home involved crossing a 2,000ft mountain pass in the dark, so I simmered quietly inside the Leaf.

Trip distance: 43 miles

Average speed:35.6mph

Travel Time: 1:25

Average miles/kWh: 6.8

Range Left: 59 miles

Temp: 69

After my meeting (and 3:30 minute 120V charge) I once again unplugged, packed my cords, and hopped in the car to head home. As it was now dark I discovered the other concept that was new to me: reduced range when using the headlamps. As we all know, it takes electricity to light a bulb and although the Leaf’s trendy LED lamps are much more efficient than your average halogen, they still took a slight but noticeable hit on estimated mileage.

One of the big benefits of the Leaf as a commuter car is the fact that it has none of the maintenance costs associated with a regular car. There is no engine oil or transmission fluid to change, there are no spark plugs, no air filter, nothing to tune-up or smog check, no muffler to rust. The only maintenances items according to Nissan are the brake pads, but as the Leaf does a large percentage of the braking task with the electric motor to re-charge the batteries, expect those pads to last many years without issue even in mountainous terrain.

Speaking of that terrain, my last trip of the day took me up a fairly steep 2,000ft mountain pass on my way home. The high torque from the electric motor and single-speed transmission make driving the Leaf in hilly terrain easier than the 106HP and 207 lb-ft of torque would seem to indicate. The way the motor in the Leaf delivers power is quite unlike anything you’ve ever driven before, so my recommendation would be to just take those performance numbers with a grain of salt until there are more pure electric vehicles on the market to compare against. With my first day drawing to a close and the Leaf giving me a 48-mile to empty indication, I plugged it in hoping that 8-hours of 120V charging might at least get me past the half-full mark. Good thing I put that electrical outlet next to our driveway.

Trip distance: 25.2 miles

Average speed: 46.2mph

Travel Time: 40 min

Average miles/kWh: 4

Range Left: 48 miles

Temp: 58

Nissan provided the vehicle, insurance and one “tank of gas” for this review.

Checkout the other instalments of our Leaf trilogy:
2011 Nissan Lead: Day Two
2011 Nissan Lead: Day Three

If you want to become a leading player in a segment (say, minivans), you have a choice: Either do what everyone else is doing, only better, or do something entirely different, and hope that car buyers see the result as better. With the Mississippi-made 2004 Quest, Nissan attacked America’s minivan market using the latter strategy. The styling was bizarre, the suspension tuning was sporty, the seats were French-inspired, and the gauges were centrally located. And even after revisions relocated the gauges and improved the initially abysmal reliability, the gambit failed. That particular Quest came to a slightly premature end with the 2009 model year. Now, following a one-year hiatus, Nissan has launched another Quest. This iteration is very different from the 2004, but still manages to be very different from the competition. Prognosis?

The 2004 Nissan Quest was designed with the American market in mind. The 2011 is a rebadged JDM Nissan Elgrand. Either the Japanese domestic market likes big butts, or someone in Nissan’s design staff does, because the new minivan’s styling accentuates el grande backside. There’s a reason the D-pillars aren’t usually blacked out on minivans. Ditto the rarity of high beltlines in the segment. They don’t get much higher than the new Quest’s, and the minivan’s sides appear unusually tall as a result.

Those attracted by the exterior styling (or at least not repulsed by it) will find the segment’s most luxurious cabin inside the new Quest. The instrument panel is conservatively styled in the luxury car idiom, with a wide swath of faux timber beneath a soft-touch upper. The door panels are thickly padded and include freakishly wide armrests that should serve well on long stretches of Interstate.

Sadly, the ergonomics are awful. Thanks to the small windows, the view forward is far less expansive than in the typical minivan. Or even the typical bunker. I raised the soft driver’s seat to partially compensate. Visibility in other directions is similarly restricted by the high beltline. The infotainment system’s touchscreen is a couple inches out of reach and the IP-mounted shifter partially obstructs the HVAC controls. The switch for the driver seat’s power lumbar adjustment avoids discovery by hiding on the seat’s inside rear pedestal, but this isn’t an issue once you know where to find it.

Functional compromise continues in the rear quarters. As is often (but not always) the case with minivans, the second- and third-row seats are low to the floor. Move the second row all the way back and there’s a minimal amount of legroom for adults in the third—even if the official specs suggest otherwise. There’s considerably more passenger room inside a Toyota Sienna and especially inside a Honda Odyssey, both of which also offer an eight-passenger option that the captains-only Nissan does not.

Though it’s been 16 years since Honda introduced the first stowable seat with the Odyssey, the industry continues to struggle with how to handle the seats in a minivan. Nissan’s solution with the new Quest: fold them flat atop the floor, SUV style. This has the advantage of providing a flat floor without removing any seats. But, since the seats do not stow beneath the floorpan as in the Chryslers, the resulting floor is high. This shows up in the cargo volume specs: only 108.4 cubic feet for the Quest vs. 148.5 for the Odyssey. In all fairness, the former figure excludes a large, 11-cube storage compartment beneath the Quest’s rear floor. If you’ve been wanting a trunk inside your minivan, it’s here, and possibly worth the sacrifice in total volume.

This being a large, front-wheel-drive Nissan, the engine is a 3.5-liter V6 (in this application good for 260 horsepower and 240 foot-pounds of torque) and the transmission is a CVT. The V6 is silent at idle but a little gruff when revved. Acceleration, abetted by a CVT with no qualms about taking the engine to the high side of the tach and then holding it there, is well beyond the needs of most minivan drivers. Precise manual control over the CVT, present in some Nissans, is absent here. But hints about your desires can be passed to the CVT via an OD lockout button and an L shifter position.

The revised Dodge Grand Caravan stakes out the firm, tight extreme of the minivan handling spectrum. The new Quest, in sharp contrast to its predecessor, stakes out the other. The Nissan’s steering is unusually light and numb, even by minivan standards, and the pillow-soft suspension tuning permits copious lean in even moderate corners. Heavy understeer as well. There’s not much mechanical control inherent in the chassis, so it should come as no surprise that the electronic stability control intervenes very early and very aggressively. The ride is smooth in the traditional American luxury sedan way, so uneven roads effect some float and bounce. Even a Toyota Sienna is a driving machine in comparison.

The price for all of this JDM goodness? In the cheapest-dealers-will-stock “SV” trim, with floormats: $31,890. This is $150 above the similarly equipped Honda Odyssey EX, and so about $2,500 more than a comparable Dodge Grand Caravan or Toyota Sienna (based on comparisons using TrueDelta’s car price comparison tool). Honda has worked hard to justify the high price of its minivan. Nissan…I’m not sure what they’re thinking.

We’ve been known to bemoan the “domestic market” cars that foreign auto makers don’t deign to offer in the US. “JDM” has a certain cult following here. But the track record with such products, when they are finally imported, is clear. Just consider the Nissans. Second-generation Infiniti Q45? DOA-it never had a chance. First-generation Infiniti M sedan? After some initial enthusiasm—the price was low for an imported luxury sedan with a strong DOHC V8—sales were similarly miniscule. Fourth-generation Nissan Quest? Between the odd styling, poor visibility, tight interior, squishy handling, and high price there’s no reason to expect the outcome to be different this time around.

Brian Evans of Suburban Nissan helpfully provided the vehicle for this review. Brian can be reached at 248-715-2062.

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

Given TTAC’s reputation for lack of restraint when it comes to criticism, I was more than a little surprised to see an invite to the Nissan Murano CrossCabriolet launch in San Diego, California. Especially considering that our initial reaction to images of the world’s first soft-top CUV was

If you’ve ever been to a topless beach, you know the basic problem: you expect a bunch of topless Jags and Maseratis, but what you actually get is this, the Nissan Murano CrossCabriolet. Four thousand pounds of roly-poly crossover blessed with the totally misguided belief that people want to see it with its top off. We’ll keep a corner of our eye on this as the LA Auto Show kicks off… but we’ll be sure to avoid eye contact.

On the other hand, strong initial reactions are exactly what this vehicle is all about. And like Nissan’s last controversial design, the Juke, the Murano CrossCabriolet can not be simply judged based on two-dimensional images. Besides, if even Nissan’s designers are willing to acknowledge that the Murano CC is “the answer to a question nobody asked,” surely there must be some kind of logic to this unexpected arrival. So, with an open mind, I dropped in on the strangest, most unique vehicle to launch in ages, hoping to make some kind of sense of something that, on its surface, has no business even existing.

Parked in front of a hideously expensive beachfront hotel in tony Del Mar, the Murano CC makes its first bid at making sense. The sheer awkwardness of the design’s two-dimensional impression fades considerably in the look-at-me automotive arms race that is Southern California. In an environment where AMGs are more common than base-level Benzes (ironically known as “Newport Nissans” for their sheer ubiquity in these parts), the logic of of a 4,416-lb convertible that looks like nothing else on the road becomes just a little more accessible. In fact, from Nissan’s perspective, any $46k vehicle that will get even a little bit of attention from a SoCal valet parking attendant is a downright value proposition. If it takes a tuned Bentley to draw your eyes away from the CC (see above), well, Nissan’s accomplished something.

But the valet parking test is notoriously skewed towards novelty, so just because the CC grabs eyeballs like Lady Godiva now doesn’t mean it’s a successful design. Which leads to a problem: how do you define successful designs for convertible crossovers? Simply put, there is no precedent for what we’re looking at. Yes, it’s impossibly chunky for a two-door drop-top, but it’s also remarkably clean for a topless conversion. The lack of a roll-bar/cross-brace keeps the design blessedly free of typical ” convertible conversion” cues, and the beltline’s upward slope towards the truncated C-pillar keeps the visual mass rearwards, allowing a snug, nearly straight-across folding roof. Though the proportions are out-of-this-world, there’s actually some real elegance to the CC’s clean lines and graceful top: think of it as an overgrown version of a little French C-segment convertible with moon-buggy ride height, and you’re getting the picture. In fact, the least successful aspect of the design is the Murano’s front clip, which is one of the only elements that actually carries over from the fixed-top CUV.

When you realize that only the front clip and instrument panel are carried over from the standard Murano, another apparent hole in the CC’s logic appears: why isn’t this thing an Infiniti? Nissan explains that the goal of this car isn’t simply to sell a huge number of convertibles: it’s actually intended as a halo for the Murano line. Had the Murano CC been, say, an Infiniti FX50 CC, it would have been bringing polarized eyeballs towards a vehicle line that sells in fairly limited quantities. Instead, Nissan hints that the CC will be marketed alongside the standard Murano in hopes of extending the popularity of a line that Nissan already considers a hit.

But because Nissan also wanted to avoid a quick-and-dirty conversion, the CC has been worked-over enough to give it a nearly-Infiniti feel. As with the exterior design, the only thing keeping this from feeling like an Infiniti is the one element carried over from the Murano, the IP (sticklers will find an awkward C-pillar seam in interior photos of these pre-production soft-tops). Otherwise, new front seats have been fitted to give more visibility from the rear seat, and the interior has been worked over considerably.

The only major option for the CC is a $500 leather interior, with swaths the cabin with quilted leather finished in a languidly curvaceous pattern intended to evoke a luxury yacht. Considering the one-trim-level strategy, the $125k+ annual income target audience for the CC, and the fact that this option works so well with the car’s hedonistic vibe, it’s tough to understand why Nissan bothered to make it optional.

But the best thing about the CC’s interior is the spacious rear seat. At around $46k, the Murano CC may be approximately price-competitive with the BMW 3 Series convertible or Audi A5 ‘vert, but neither of its German rivals will fit a 6-foot 3-inch gentleman (like AutoPacific’s Dave Sullivan) in the backseat with good head and leg room. In fact, only the Mercedes E-Class offers comparable comfort for four-up motoring, again making the Murano CC something of a surprise value.

Of course, there are downsides: ingress and egress can be a bit of a squeeze, and that’s only after you manage to swing open the CC’s giant door (which weighs approximately the same as a Versa) and unclip the front shoulder belt from its leather strap (why no seat-integrated front belts on those unique seats seats?). And like any drop-top rear seat, things get a bit windy back there at speed, especially since Nissan preferred to keep the CC’s lines clean rather than adding any wind mitigation screens or baffles. Luckily the rising beltline keeps rear passengers well-cocooned, and the fresh air is not unpleasantly buffeting (although the rear belts will batter against the seats at speed).

And though the rear seats offer Crossover-like comfort for four people, the Murano loses much of its cargo-carrying utility along with its top. Golf clubs for the foursome will fit back there, but overnight gear for four will be a bit of a squeeze. More luggage fits in with the top up, but you must first re-position a bar in the trunk, and then move it back when you want the top back down. Though it sounds inconvenient, this isn’t a huge hassle because you can’t raise or lower the CC’s top on the go anyway.

So, how does it drive? Well, for the surprising amount of sense the Murano CC makes as a value-poseur-mobile, Murano halo or four-up cabrio, on the road the CC falls apart under the weight of its many contradictions. The 265 HP version of Nissan’s ubiquitous V6 works hard to motivate the nearly-4,500-lb CC, calling on some the distinctly un-luxurious areas of the rev-band with frequency. The continuously-variable transmission helps smooth out what might be an otherwise undignified drivetrain (it’s especially intuitive at low speeds), but there’s no sense of effortless pace or power reserves.

Similarly, the unnecessarily tall ride height and soft suspension limit the CC to relaxed cruising, lest passengers become seasick all over the luxury yacht-inspired interior. Luckily the damping is solid enough to keep the huge weight and soft springs from unsettling the ride in sedate driving, but the overall driving impression from both the chassis and drivetrain is of the huge weight of the vehicle. Add to the weight issues the fact that the CC has you looking down on traffic, and piloting the CC becomes a downright bizarre experience; akin to driving a cross between a power boat and a double-decker bus.

In his fictional piece “The CAFE Continuum,” Jack Baruth posited a world in which CAFE had not been passed and where Americans still rolled around in large, comfortable sedans rather than “light truck” crossovers. In that world, the Murano CC would not exist, as large, softly-sprung convertible sedans would be able to seat four adults with the top down. But in this, the real world, large American convertibles simply don’t exist. Instead we get the Murano CC, which cruises competently, grabs stares, and generally comports itself well with the end-of-life, beachfront community lifestyle. But, as a Nissan rep helpfully pointed out, the Murano CC simply brings the crossover through the sedan’s journey from sedan to coupe to convertible. Perhaps, by pushing crossovers into the final stage of evolution, Nissan is actually helping bring the crossover era to an end. It’s certainly tough to see where they go from here.

Nissan provided transportation, lodging and meals, as well as the vehicles, for this day-and-a-half-long test event.

Because car enthusiasts tend to be more interested in cars themselves than the industry that creates them, critics and commentators tend to praise engineers while vilifying accountants, marketers and the countless other professions required to bring a new car to production. The assumption seems to be that engineers develop great cars which are then cheapened, blandified and otherwise screwed up by everyone else. Obviously this is an oversimplified perspective, but in certain cases it’s downright undeniable. Rarely has it been more true than with the Nissan Juke.

Now I know what you’re thinking: the villain of project Juke was the legally-blind eldritch abomination who styled it. Having read initial reactions to the Juke’s styling (and yes, even fanned the flames a bit), it’s clear that the “design issue” dominates perceptions of Nissan’s B-Segment “crossunder” (or, to use Nissan-approved language, “SportCross”). The good news is that, as is becoming increasingly common for new cars, the design works far better in three dimensions than two.

A weird mix of coupe and crossover, the Juke mashes a number of Nissan design cues into a crazed pastiche: the swollen wheel arches and elongated turn signal lights of the Leaf, the rounded rear hatch of the Infiniti crossovers, the 370Z’s tail lights (with a dash of Volvo C30 mixed in) and the Z-meets-Kia Soul greenhouse actually combine for a look that is utterly distinctive, and not entirely unpleasant.

Only the front end remains truly challenging in person, with Nissan-consistent turn signal lights fighting for attention with the protruding, nostril-like round headlights. A more brand-consistent front end end might have broadened the Juke’s appeal in this country, but on the other hand, anonymity kills in the under-publicized subcompact crossover segment (see: Suzuki SX4). But even forgetting the fact that aesthetics are an obviously subjective matter, it simply wouldn’t be fair to blame the Juke’s designers for ruining the car.

That’s because Nissan’s product-planning and market-research teams had fundamentally hurt the Juke before a single stylist had the chance to touch it. According to Nissan’s reps, the Juke was developed with a very specific market in mind: 18-34 year-old males making $45k+, or as Nissan calls them, “Urban Experience Seekers.” This focus is what allowed the daring exterior design, but more importantly it clearly led the development team to emphasize style over substance on nearly every key decision.

This is most clear in the Juke’s packaging, which scrupulously avoids any hint of practicality. The concealed rear door handles lend the Juke a surprisingly coupe-like look, but they also hint at the rear bench’s coupe-like appointments. Knee and headroom are severely constrained for anyone approaching the six-foot mark, and claustrophobes of any size need not apply. Between the pinched-off greenhouse, and a moonroof (standard starting at the midlevel “SV” trim) that brings the headliner even lower (before terminating a few inches from the rear passenger’s forehead), the Juke’s back seat is a dark, unhappy place. Since the rear seats don’t fold flat, and cargo room under the hatch is limited, the Juke clearly wasn’t developed to be used like a real crossover.

Nor was the Juke designed to make good on its lifted, SUV-inspired pretensions. Nissan didn’t provide any opportunity to test the Juke on anything more extreme than rough tarmac, and the PR reps gently fended off inquiries about the Juke’s capability on rough terrain by emphasizing its mission as a “urban crossover.” And with good reason: the black plastic faux-skidplate on the Juke’s nose might look like it’s designed to improve the approach angle, but in reality it merely conceals (rather than protects) a low-hanging radiator that would be immensely vulnerable in even a rock-strewn dirt road scenario. Moreover, Nissan makes no off-tarmac claims about its torque-vectoring all-wheel-drive system, focusing instead on its “enhanced agility” and ability to reduce understeer in on-road cornering.

With its pretensions of crossover practicality and SUV ability stripped away, the Juke’s remaining identity is as a slightly-practical sports coupe with a high seating position, and on this level it works far better than you could possibly expect. Yes Virginia, under the Juke’s shock-factor styling and layers of what can only be properly described as marketing bullshit, Nissan’s engineers have built a truly remarkable little car.

Starting with the platform that underpins the Nissan Versa (a car that precisely nobody praises for its dynamic abilities), Nissan’s engineers widened the track by a full three inches, and were rewarded with a chunky, chuckable little car that is way more entertaining than it has any right to be. Despite the jacked-up bulk required to keep Urban Experience Seekers from feeling like they’re driving something more than a mere car (in AWD/CVT trim it’s a 3,000 lb B-segment car), body roll is practically nonexistent. Though steering is on the light side by enthusiast standards, it’s still sensitive and precise. Using a small steering wheel from the elevated “command-style” driver’s seat lends the Juke a distinctive feel in enthusiastic driving that’s entertaining in a wholly unserious way. Imagine a cross between a MINI and a Subaru Forester XT, and you’re getting the picture.

But if the Juke’s chassis is merely better than you’d expect, its standard 1.6 liter, direct-injected turbocharged four-cylinder engine is without question the single best reason to ignore all of the Urban Experience Seeker twaddle and drive the peculiar little Nissan. Making 188 hp and 177 lb-ft, this little cracker of an engine fizzes with brio and motivates the Juke with aplomb. Turbo lag is minimal, although it’s enough to slow standing launches noticeably. But in return for that sacrifice, a carefully-driven Juke should easily return the 25/30 MPG it’s rated at in its thirstiest trim. Besides, in-gear acceleration is a far more important real-world attribute, and the Juke happily pushes through all six (manual) gears with an infectious, mechanical, zinging whine. If downsized, direct-injected, turbocharged engines are the future (and they are), the Juke’s feisty mill is cause for optimism.

So too is the Continuously Variable Transmission (CVT), which holds its simulated gears with tenacity (particularly in “Sport” mode), keeping the engine’s delightful boost at a constant state of readiness. Once the enemy of enthusiasm (and in underpowered applications like the Cube, it’s still a burden), the CVT’s electronic brains have been well-refined, and it’s an unobtrusive but intuitive partner in any kind of driving style. Which is a very good thing, considering the AWD system (a $1k upgrade) also requires the rubber-band-box (a $500 option). On the other hand, the AWD’s advantages were hardly noticeable even on rough sections of British Columbian back roads, and its extra weight and elimination of under-floor storage in the cargo area count against it.

Given the Juke’s sporting style, it’s tough to recommend anything other than the front-drive, manual transmission drivetrain. Neither torque steer nor understeer is a serious issue in the Juke, and caning the fizzy little engine through six manual ratios is pure pleasure. Like its off-road pretensions and willful styling, the AWD option seems to exist solely to satisfy the subjective wants of Urban Experience Seekers rather than to actually make the Juke a better car. And given its shortcomings in terms of practicality, the extra storage space in FWD models is likely to be used more often than any AWD advantage. Still, the Juke’s abundant driving character comes through in all of its drivetrain configurations.

Base “S” trim Jukes start at $18,960 (plus $750 destination charge), but are available only with the CVT transmission. Though hardly cheap, these models are quite well-equipped, offering iPod/Bluetooth connectivity, a grip of airbags, stability and traction control and a number of other increasingly-common features.

The mid-level “SV” trim adds all of the really worthwhile features like keyless starting, automatic climate control, moonroof, USB iPod control, moonroof and improved steering wheel and upholstery materials. It also adds Nissan’s I-CON system which integrates climate and dynamic controls into a single unit which switches modes and button functions at the push of a button. Though at first it seems like an Urban Experience-related gimmick, the system works on functional, aesthetic and sensible gee-whiz levels. The “SL” trim adds more luxury touches like heated leather front seats and navigation, but we’d spend our hard-earned on the SV-trim FWD version with manual transmission for $20,260 ($200 less than an AWD “S” model).

The Juke’s interior is perhaps a little disappointing at that price point, with lots of mid-grade black plastic that’s been moderately well-assembled. The I-CON system’s knobs are the biggest quality problem inside, as they feel like they’re barely attached to the unit. The instrument panel itself is finished in a piano-black material that adds some needed quality, although navi-equipped models use a head unit that doesn’t match it, ironically making SL-spec interiors look less well-finished. Other questionable Urban Experience interior features include a gearshift surround finished in high-gloss paint that’s said to be motorcycle inspired (for some unexplained reason) and garish chrome door handles. Otherwise, there’s little to complain about.

On the whole, the Juke reinforces the cult of the automotive engineer as much as it reinforces the widely-held belief that automotive marketers are good at screwing up a good thing. Without the marketers, it’s tempting to believe that Nissan’s engineers would have widened the Versa platform, added the fantastic turbocharged engine, and then decided to simply put a steroidal Versa body on top, creating the king of all B-segment hot hatches. Later they might have even added an spacious, practical mass-market crossover with an AWD option.

Instead, the marketers decided to build a car that could be all things to all hip 18-34 year-old urban males, saddling the Juke with extra weight, reduced practicality and a Lovecraftian front end. That the Juke still ends up being as good as it is, is an enduring testament to Nissan’s engineers.

Nissan flew us to Vancouver BC, put us up for a night in an expensive hotel, and wined and dined us in traditional press launch fashion to make this review possible.

Since we’re talking about what was once billed a four-door sports car, let’s dive right into performance.

Coming from a daily driver down by over a hundred horsepower, the Maxima’s engine is just tremendous. The car launches with a firm shove limited just a touch by traction control, but it’s the range from 25 MPH to 70 that really impresses. Flooring it yields the oddest sensation of controlling the speed of other drivers. Very quickly, they all start to move backwards. There is some torque steer, though nothing I couldn’t handle with a single firm hand.  This car lives for speeds between 70 and 100. It has significant passing urge even at 85, where most sub-250 HP cars I’ve driven require far more planning. Pity then that the highest limit in the U.S. is 5 MPH less.

Road noise at that speed is minimal. Wind noise is more pronounced, and I noticed a subtle whistling from behind me on my rental with thirty-thousand miles. Nissan has heavily damped engine noise from the outside, so most of the aural enjoyment comes with the windows closed. I’d heard that the 3.5L had lost some smoothness at the top end relative to VQs of lesser displacement, but if that’s so, it certainly wasn’t evident with this version. This VQ sounds like it could hold at redline all day without a care. I could stand to hear more of it by half both in and out.

Prior to the Maxima, I’d had no experience with Nissan’s variable CVT transmission in any form. I came away from this one impressed. In Drive mode, it feels like an automatic with no shift points. It has the same creep at slow speeds, and the subtle wheel vibration of a car in gear when stopped. Slow acceleration keeps the engine around 2000 RPM. It otherwise loafs at 1200 RPM, imitating the practiced boredom of a Corvette in high gear.

This yields terrific mileage. Another more moderate driver in the family reported 28 MPG in a mix of highway and around-town cruising.
Wood the gas and the engine will zing to 4500 RPM, slowly rising to near redline as the car accelerates. If you’re aggressive, the system will assume you want to play and will hold 2500 RPM for a few seconds until it thinks you’ve relaxed. The heightened revs persist if you shift into Sport mode by moving the stick to the left gate. Sport can also add predetermined shift points to the CVT, an affectation that does no favors for acceleration. Even so, shifts are very quick. Holding a low gear and letting off the gas slows the car as if restrained by a giant hand. The connection isn’t quite as direct as a true manual, but it’s an interesting gimmick and sharper than any automanual I’ve tried. I personally found Drive so effective that Sport was superfluous. If selecting pseudo-cogs has more appeal to you, order the Maxima SV with paddle shifters. It takes much more concentration to keep the car pointed in the right direction at full tilt when you’ve devoted a hand to the gear lever.

I was uncertain at first what to make of the brakes. The pedal is touchy at the top of the range, and it took me over an hour to consistently stop without lurching. My fifth-gen Malibu is positively wooden by comparison; the pedal pressure in that one is probably three times greater for the same effect. Ultimate braking power is very high, though the ABS engages only when you’re near the stops. I think the car would benefit from a less linear braking curve, with reduced initial bite, but much more rapid deceleration in the bottom half of the travel. It’s too easy to use less than the car’s full braking ability. The ABS action is far more refined and effective than the Malibu’s, though a Porsche Cayenne is smoother still. This is gentle criticism; on the whole, I was pleased with the strength and consistency of the Maxima’s braking performance.
Grip limits were beyond my purview in this test. The base Goodyear RS-As have more than the engine can use. On dry roads, it took full steering lock and the gas to the floor to get any obvious engagement from the traction control system, and that was only for a moment. Disabling Nissan’s VDC stability control (and TC by extension) gave slightly quicker acceleration off the line. Handling was unaffected because I couldn’t make myself drive in a way that would activate VDC. Anyone hooligan enough to be bothered by it should probably leave it on.  

Those accustomed to the hairy-chested steering of a genuine sports car might find the Maxima’s wheel too emasculated for comfort. The leaden heft of a sport-package BMW at slow speeds is nonexistent in this car. It’s no more difficult to maneuver in a parking lot than an old Buick. That persists until about 40 MPH, when the wheel quickly and noticeably firms to a level still a few notches below where I’d like it to be. This weighting lends the Maxima an unnatural eagerness to change direction in slow turns. Handling seems to improve as the lateral forces increase; the real fun is in long, high-speed sweepers that liven the steering and let the car take a set. Highway stability is exemplary. The Maxima never feels as agile or sporty as a G37, but this seems less a chassis limitation than a mental trick. The ample cockpit and vanishing hoodline impart a bigness that encourages methodical driving. Dynamics aside, there are more intimate partners for channeling your inner Andretti on the backroads.

Interior quality seems at least as good, if not better than a cira-2007 Infiniti FX35. It makes the G8′s feel low-rent for reasons obvious even in pictures. My Maxima had leather accents and cloth seats with a vaguely suede-like finish. No lumbar support that I could find, but I was just as fresh after an hour in the seat as I was before. Coming from someone with back issues, this is a major achievement. There’s no shame opting for cloth over leather, if you can stand the fetish it seems to have for lint.

Side bolstering in the front seats is significantly tighter than the G8. Where that seat felt cavernous, this one extends only an inch or two more than I’d like. Bonus points as well for a beltline low enough to rest an arm on the window sill, and a comfortable armrest for the other. The rear seat is suitable for large people. I’m just over six feet, and when I set the driver’s seat to my preference, I still have two inches of knee clearance in the rear and at least one to the headliner.

The Maxima S is well-equipped for a base vehicle. All S models have a sunroof, driver and passenger electronic seat adjustments, a folding rear seat, and an auxiliary stereo input. Much of the value of the Maxima is here; while the SV can be optioned with larger wheels and all manner of gadgets, none of it is essential to enjoying the car. With rear-wheel-drive competition prowling the market in the high thirties, the point of diminishing returns for an enthusiast approaches rapidly.

Pictures do the Maxima’s styling little justice. The exaggerated Coke-bottle shape of its side bulges is much more attractive in person, concealing the car’s mass like a European suit would a sprinter. While it doesn’t inspire the lust of a Mustang or an M3, it does look classy and upscale in a way that an Accord or equivalent can’t match. The gaping maw of this Maxima is a lesser styling faux pas than the whole of Acura’s product line. Neither that, nor the awkward rear detailing is enough to turn me off to the rest of the car. Visibility from the inside suffers from strong A and C pillars, though not so much that I found it an impairment. Vettish front wheel arches add a bit of subtle aggression from the driver’s seat.
Before I was given the choice between a Focus and a Maxima at a rental agency, the latter wasn’t even on my buying radar. It’s since found a permanent home in my driveway. This is partly because of the Maxima’s unique brand positioning. A variety of V6-equipped sedans, including Nissan’s own Altima, can match the premium feel of the Maxima S for a few thousand less. None, however, are quite as fast, stylish, or sporting.
Luxury brands afford incremental improvements in speed and sport, but only after you leap the no-man’s-land between $30,000 and $35,000. The most apt competitor is actually the front-wheel-drive Acura TL, but that car bests the Maxima only with toys; it’s otherwise slower, less attractive, more ponderous, and quite a lot more money. Save for the ugly, the same could be said for the Hyundai Genesis. If you want fun, space, and style for less than thirty large, the Maxima S is one of the only games in town.

Until recently, if you wanted a semi-practical sport coupe for less than $30,000, and pony cars weren’t your thing, you had to get one based on a front-drive sedan. Chevrolet offered the Monte Carlo, Honda offered the Accord Coupe, Toyota offered the Solara, and two years ago Nissan introduced an Altima Coupe. The Nissan was the sportiest of the bunch owing to a dramatically shorter wheelbase and the company’s usual emphasis of handling over ride quality. Then, for the 2010 model year, Hyundai changed the rules of the game by tossing the rear-drive Genesis Coupe into the mix. Given this new addition, the question has to be asked: why would anyone still opt for the Nissan, when the Genesis is the same price?

Both the Altima and the Genesis crib from the G35/G37 Coupe, Nissan more legitimately than Hyundai since it owns Infiniti. The Altima Coupe is quite stylish from the rear quarter, with shades of Bentley in its more complex surfaces and no intentionally odd side window outline. But when viewed from the side or front quarter the car’s front-drive proportions take their toll. There’s simply too much visual mass ahead of the front wheel, which itself is too close to the passenger compartment. The door windows are framed. The 2010 SE’s 18-inch wheels and the tested car’s dark gray paint, with a bluish tinge, do make the best of the shape.

Inside both the Altima and Genesis put the business of driving—and cost—ahead of style and flash. The Genesis has a more flowing center stack, but the Altima makes do with much less faux aluminum trim. Saving the Nissan’s off-black interior from having the ambiance of a coal bin: red leather seats that look so good you wonder why so many companies offer only gray and beige. The women in my life (okay, a wife and a daughter) loved them. Hyundai offers orange-brown leather, which looks more luxurious but less sporty than the Nissan’s red. The 2010 Altima’s soft-touch IP and padded door panels are a definite step up from the shoddy hard plastic interiors of the first-gen V6 models—but then what isn’t? The primary instruments are attractive, designed to provide much of the appearance of those in a Lexus for much less money.

The good stuff inside the car ends here. All of the other readouts—including the new head unit’s LCD–suffer from Nissan’s inexplicable love for orange lighting. The look, feel, and layout of the various buttons and switches continues to lag the leaders by a substantial margin. For example, the trip computer would be much more useful if the buttons for it were on the steering wheel rather than requiring a reach around. And who thought it would look good to place rectangular temperature readouts within the round HVAC knobs? I suspect the bean counters. The seat heaters never get very warm, and the Bose audio system never sounded right no matter what adjustments I tried—one speaker or another always stuck out above the others rather than blending with them.

The front seats don’t feel quite as good as they look. They’re comfortable, but those in the Genesis Coupe are even more comfortable and provide better lateral support—the bolsters are spaced for larger people in the Altima. The view forward is open, while the view rearward is more constricted—which is where the new-for-2010 rearview camera pays off. Typical of a coupe, in back there’s not enough space for the heads or legs of adults. If you need to put adults in the back seat, then Nissan will sell you an Altima sedan. The Altima Coupe similarly gives up much of the sedan’s trunk space—there are only 8.2 cubic feet of it, and the opening is tight. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a smaller trunk in a car with a non-folding roof. Adding insult to injury, Nissan didn’t include a handle inside the lid, so you’ll dirty your fingers closing it.

Without question the V6 engine is the best part of the Altima Coupe. Variants of the VQ V6 have powered various Nissans and Infinitis since 1994, in 3.5-liter form for the past decade. In some applications the enlarged VQ sounds gruff at higher rpm. Not this one. I cannot recall the VQ ever feeling or sounding better than it does in this car. The V6 pulls very strongly from 3,500 rpm on up, and the sound it makes is downright addictive. Hyundai must find a way to make its V6 sound and feel more like this one. Sure, the larger Korean V6 kicks out better numbers, but subjectively it doesn’t come close.

In suburban driving I averaged 17 MPG partly because I could not keep my foot out of the throttle. How much better would it do driven gently? It’d be easier to find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. The 6-speed manual transmission’s shift lever is tall and its throws are on the long side when snicking clunking from gear to gear, but it’s still an easy choice over the CVT for any enthusiast.

Surprisingly, given the 258 pounds-feet the 3.5-liter engine produces, there’s very little torque steer. But before sounding the all clear, try shifting gears during full-throttle acceleration—the front wheels perform such a violent double-hop that I initially wondered if something was wrong with the car’s front suspension. Go easier on the throttle and there’s still a bit of the same unless you slow the shift and feather the clutch engagement. A quick check with owners confirmed that the 6-speed Altima V6 suffers from fairly severe wheel hop. The aftermarket offers a fix in the form of traction rods—not a common mod for a front-wheel-drive car. Another, not recommended fix: the CVT. Never has it been more necessary to eliminate “shift shock.” Did Nissan set up the suspension for the CVT, with the manual an afterthought?

The Altima’s handling is thoroughly predictable, even in snow, with minimal roll and minimal understeer…okay, you know the qualification is coming…for a front-wheel-drive car. This said, the steering doesn’t feel as quick or responsive as that in the Maxima. It’s dull in normal driving, but thankfully becomes communicative in hard turns. The Altima Coupe is one of those cars that feels best when driven aggressively. If the only competition were other front-wheel-drive coupes, it would compare well, if only because competitors with their larger dimensions feel even more like the sedans on which they are based. But the Genesis handles better, if still not remotely like a sports car, thanks to the additional chassis modulation afforded by rear-wheel-drive.

The Altima Coupe’s roll control comes at a high price—over all but the smoothest roads the ride varies between annoyingly jiggly and sadistically harsh. My wife likes to read in the car. She couldn’t read in this one. Even with its optional sport suspension the Genesis rides much better. With a ride this bad, the Altima Coupe should handle like a sports car. It doesn’t. Even if it did this price would be too high. Nissan needs to find a way to calm the suspension down.

And yet…I enjoyed driving the Altima Coupe more than I did the Genesis Coupe. It just feels so much more eager and alive, asking for and rewarding an aggressive driving style. Which makes it all the more a shame that the chassis punishes much more often than it rewards. An outstanding engine can compensate for a lot of minor shortcomings, but not this major one. The 2010 refresh ought to have done more to raise the rest of the car nearer the level of the engine.

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

Michael Karesh owns and operates TrueDelta, an online provider of auto pricing and reliability data.

Driving enthusiasts, given the choice between the Soul and the cube, will opt for…a Honda Fit. So this comparison between Kia’s and Nissan’s boxes-on-wheels assumes different priorities. Which provides the most relaxing refuge from the seriousness of work when commuting to and fro? Short answer: the cube.

Like the Soul, the cube is a riff on the basic box popularized in the U.S. by the original Scion xB. Unlike the Soul, the Nissan’s major lines are either parallel or perpendicular to the pavement. In other words, it’s a box.

And yet, unlike the classic xB, it’s not simply a box. There’s some subtle surfacing in the bodysides. The window openings have rounded corners. Further outside the box: the cube is asymmetrical. There’s a small window in the right side C-pillar, and the pillars around this window are blacked out, but no corresponding window on the left side, where the pillar is body color. This asymmetry is even functional. From the driver’s seat you couldn’t see out such a window on the left side anyway. And with no window, there can be a storage bin inside the left C-pillar.

Yes, many people hate the cube’s exterior. Or find a car that looks like a Toontown escapee both silly and pointless. But this silliness is the point. Some people want a car that doesn’t take itself seriously, and that displays a clear disregard for convention. If you’re going to diverge from mainstream auto design, why stop short of challenging people? The Soul’s design isn’t challenging. The cube’s is.

The Soul’s styling is optimized for 18-inch wheels. The cube’s exterior is far less wheel-centric, so its 16s are plenty large. This one’s all about the box. The tested cube was a krom model, meaning a unique grille with Ford-like faux chrome bars, side skirts, and unique wheels. I’d pass on these bits, as they don’t add much to the appearance of the car, and the side skirts make little sense given the overall mission.

With some notable exceptions, Nissan wasn’t as adventurous with the interior design. The most notable exception: the headliner far above your head is molded to form a series of concentric waves around the dome light. Think Japanese rock garden. A sunroof would interrupt the pattern, which might be why none is offered. The instrument panel similarly includes some very zen circles and curves, and forms a wave when viewed from above. This wave motif continues with the floormats. Very calming.

But why is the cube interior only available in light gray or (in the car I drove) off-black? The VW Beetle, Chrysler PT Cruiser, and (to a lesser extent) Kia Soul all offer vibrant color inside the car. Nissan offers colorful vent surrounds as dealer-installed accessories, but these hardly compensate for the overwhelming colorlessness of the rest of the interior.

The instruments include a weak attempt at whimsy, with blue and white graphics that are too obviously painted on. But why did Nissan’s inexplicable infatuation with orange LED displays have to infect the cube? Not only does the orange trip computer nestled between the tach and speedometer clash with the blue and white graphics, but orange simply isn’t a soothing color. Consult a zen master for better alternatives. Perhaps a cool blue?

The driver can select among 20 colors for the ambient lighting in the footwells and cupholders. This feature would be more compelling if you could change the color of all of the instrument panel readouts to something other than orange. As it is, the carpet doesn’t match the drapes unless you opt for even more orange. One electronic feature the cube could do without: the $100 alarm system that goes off if you attempt to open a locked door. Or breathe on the car. It’s not entertaining.

The problem with striving to be whimsical is that some jokes are bound to fall flat. Case in point: the cube’s optional (and removable) “dash topper.” What’s a dash topper, you ask? Well, it’s a small circle of shag carpet velcroed to the top center of the instrument panel. No doubt the intent was to make being inside the cube more like being inside one’s family room, to give you a little piece of home the moment you leave work. The original concept might have called for covering the entire top of instrument panel with shag carpet, 1970s custom van style. The airbag engineers would have nixed any such concept. Cut a little here, and little there, and you get the small circle in the center. Even in the context of the cube, the car toupee (as I came to call it) seems pointless.

Once past color and the car toupee, the interior gets better. When packaging the cube, Nissan made much different choices than Kia. The cube’s windshield is much more upright than the Soul’s and its instrument panel was designed to take up as little visual space as possible. The downside: unless you have long arms, you’ll have to lean forward to operate the radio. Or use the redundant controls on the steering wheel. Also, the upright windshield yields huge front side windows. Generally a good thing, but the non-extending sun visors cover only the forward half of said windows. So, expect bright sunlight in your eyes if it’s westward ho in the late afternoon.

The upside: from the driver’s seat the cube’s interior feels much more expansive than the Soul’s. No cockpit effect whatsoever. You feel like you’re navigating a small room. The broad seats, similar to those in the Quest minivan, are softer than most these days. Lateral support? What would be the point? Much more missed in their absence: heated seats. Wait for the automatic climate control to do its job, power up the Rockford Fosgate audio, then kick back and enjoy the comfort of home on the way home.

Which brings up the name. The point of such a silly car is to forget about life’s necessities, most notably work. Say “cube,” and the first thing most people will think of is the place they spend their time at work. Few want to be in a cube once they leave work. The name originated in Japan. Does “cube” lack this usage over there?

The cube’s roominess extends to the sliding and reclining back seat, which is mounted high enough off the floor to provide adults with thigh support. My kids loved how well they could see out. Credit the low, unraked beltline.

There’s not much space between the rear seat and the left-hinged tailgate. Enough for groceries, but luggage for four probably isn’t happening. As in the Soul, the front passenger seat does not fold. A pitty, as this feature would be especially useful for long objects given the non-invasive IP and upright windshield. Unlike in the Soul, there’s no hidden storage compartment beneath the cargo floor. While this does provide a deep well, it also means that when the rear seat is folded the cargo floor isn’t remotely flat. Nor can the rear seat be removed or flipped far forward. No magic here.

On the spec sheets, the Soul has a power advantage. Out in the real world, the cube’s 1.8-liter four dramatically outperforms the Soul’s 2.0 even though both vehicles weigh about 2,800 pounds. The cube’s secret weapon: a CVT. This CVT isn’t without its disadvantages—one’s ears often convey the impression that the clutch is slipping. The relationship between engine noise and vehicle speed is decidedly non-linear. And said engine noise is overly buzzy—“buzz box” entered my mind, and stuck there until the phrase (almost) became endearing. But, to give credit where credit is due, the CVT enables the 1.8 to boost the cube to 40 MPH much more effortlessly than it has a right to. There’s no sluggishness off the line or lugging at higher speeds. A responsive six-speed automatic might yield similar performance with a more natural feel—but no competitor offers such a transmission. The Soul’s quick-to-upshift, slow-to-downshift four-speed automatic is decidedly inferior.

Also, recall that you’re not driving a conventional car. In the cube, it seems oddly appropriate to simply prod the pedal and then let the powertrain hoist you up to speed. Too bad you can’t just push a button, as in an elevator. MPG in typical suburban driving came to 25.8.

Handling…how do you want a family room on wheels to handle? Body motions are fairly well controlled, and the door handles remain well off the pavement in hard turns. Agile…not really. And yet more fluid and natural feeling than the Soul, despite vague, overboosted steering that feels directionless on center. Intent on running the Tail of the Dragon? You’re shopping in the wrong class of vehicle.

Given the cube’s mission, ride quality is more important than handling. While the cube’s ride quality is far from luxury class, and can feel a little busy at times, it is smoother and much more forgiving of road imperfections than the Soul’s. You have a much better shot at relaxing during that commute to the cube in Nissan’s cube.

At the cube’s price (still just over twenty grand when loaded up with the krom bits) you expect some shortcomings. And the cube has them. Nissan needs to change the IP lighting, kill the (engine) buzz, tighten up the on-center steering, extend the sun visors, and heat the seats. But even with these shortcomings the cube outpoints the competition in combining an offbeat exterior with an expansive interior and relaxing driving experience. Those that “get it” should get it. The rest of us…well there are plenty of more conventional cars for us.

[Michael Karesh operates TrueDelta, a provider of pricing and reliability data]

The “Z-car” has been with us now for forty years, but let’s be honest: most of those years were fairly disappointing. The original 240Z was a fabulous car that richly deserves its place in history, and the 1990 300ZX Turbo was a singular statement of high-speed style, but the story of the Z is too often a story of bloat, questionable visuals, and dismal V-6 engines. So it was with the 2003 350Z. As with Volkswagen’s New Beetle, adapting show-car style to an oversized platform-variant production model took a horrible aesthetic toll. The interior was dismal and the driving experience was too clearly that of a short-wheelbase G35. A ten-minute test drive six years ago was all I needed to cross the porky Zed off my personal list permanently, and not even the rather stunning-looking Nismo run-out model was sufficient incentive to change my position on the matter.

So now we have a new Z, offering a tidier packaging job and yet more power from the ever-swelling VQ engine. Is it enough? The first impressions are encouraging. The 2003 car had too much Audi TT in the styling, which is another way of saying it had too much Porsche 911 in the styling. This one’s far better, even considering the unfortunate headlamp treatment. It’s smaller, which is always good, and it’s supposedly a bit lighter. Most importantly, it seems to be thoroughly differentiated from its Infiniti cousins. Any G35 owner could sit in a Z and play the old game of “spot the hard points” on the dashboard. That game’s tougher now, and playing it is more pleasant thanks to a higher-quality interior with smaller panel gaps.

Our test vehicle featured a seven-speed automatic transmission operated by column-mounted paddle shifters. This is the Wrong Way To Do It; not only does placing the paddles on the column implicitly encourage the utterly reprehensible practice of shuffle-steering, it makes it impossible to immediately operate the transmission during high-speed driving. Drivers who manage to find the correct paddle will be rewarded with a rev-matched downshift and swift engagement, but there’s simply no compelling reason to choose an automatic Z.

As always, the horses to be found inside a Nissan VQ engine seem to be just a tiny bit smaller than those found elsewhere. Despite a rating of 332 horsepower, this Z will not stay with my much heavier Audi S5 in a straight line. I couldn’t manage to get my Porsche 993 out of storage for this test, but I rather suspect that under most conditions it would run about even with the Z despite having sixty-two fewer theoretical ponies in the corral. Nor is the big-bore VQ engine terribly pleasant to operate; it drones on the freeway and groans under full throttle.

Turning up the stereo to mask the banal thrashing from the firewall doesn’t help matters. This thirty-six-thousand-dollar car can’t match a Ford Focus for sound quality or elegance of Bluetooth/iPod integration. It’s best to shift the transmission into seventh and enjoy the outstanding fuel economy; we averaged nearly thirty mpg over the course of a thousand or so miles. The seats are also decent, with one difficulty. Leaning back against the headrests causes their metal supports to poke out from the seatback. It’s unpleasant for passengers who wish to relax on the road despite the noise and the relatively harsh ride.

A scheduling difficulty meant that there was no chance to track this Z. As a result, we can only guess about the car’s ultimate handling behavior. As a street car it’s pleasant and competent, skittish in the rain but offering decent feedback through the wheel in most circumstances. The quality of feedback and information for the control is sub-Boxster but better than what is found in a base C6 Corvette. In a pinch, this little two-seater can hustle pretty well.

The rest of the Z experience is straight out of the Nissan/Infiniti tool chest, from the bizarre seat adjustment to the unusual steering-wheel audio controls. If you are used to driving these cars, it will seem natural; if you’re a BMW driver, it will frustrate you for a while. The stereo in particular can be difficult to understand without resorting to the owner’s manual. Some commands, particularly those related to the Bluetooth system, can only be engaged through the voice-recognition system. Surely it is possible to do better than this in a new-for-2010 car?

As a single example of the breed, this automatic-transmission, low-option 370Z is a three-star car at best, but very few buyers will take a car like this. The Z formula is much more satisfying as a loaded-up six-speed, or even as a wide-mouthed Nismo Z model. Of course, those cars are priced uncomfortably close to a base Corvette, which simply murders the Nissan on every possible performance benchmark and isn’t really that far off on interior charm and feature count. Don’t forget, too, that the 370Z has already earned a reputation for on-track fragility thanks to inadequate cooling.

Since Z buyers aren’t really Vette buyers, however, this sort of thing won’t matter. Instead of comparing the Z to Chevrolet’s V-8 plastic supercar, they’ll revel in the Nissan’s aesthetic and mechanical superiority to competitors like the Genesis Coupe and Mitsubishi Eclipse. The interior may not be Audi quality, but it beats the old model hands-down. It’s priced fairly and it’s faster than an Evolution in a straight line. If the 370Z fails to touch true greatness, it also fails to truly disappoint.

When I was a small child, I would spend hours sitting in a cardboard box pretending it was a car. Now, I spend hours sitting in a car that pretends it’s a box. As a card carrying cubist, I’m always ready to jump in when a new carton appears. The last time I did that, it was about as traumatic as when my older brother tried to duct tape me inside my favorite cardboard “ride”. I couldn’t get out of the gen2 Scion xB, and my review left no doubts about it. My progeny liked the Kia Soul, but it’s not a real genuine box. But a new package has arrived at the local Nissan dealer named Cube no less. So how does it square up?

First a little history lesson in automotive cubism. This is the third generation of Nissan’s box, although the first one, from 1989, was not terribly distinctive given Japan’s long history of tall-boy wagons. Nevertheless, it beat Toyota’s bB (Scion xB) to the Japanese mobile loft market by a year. But the gen2 Cube, which arrived in 2002, became a cult classic. Jonny Lieberman gave a glowing review of a JDM version here.

As much as I like my xBox, the gen2 Cube is way cuter and more playful. If you’re not too self-conscious to drive a box, it might as well be one with some real character. The gen2 Cube has it by the crate-full: asymmetrical rear hatch and windows, a truly inspired B pillar, and a perfectly charming and characterful front end, with none of that xB underbite.

The gen2 Cube has one big problem, though, that it shares with all brilliant designs: where to go from here with the successor generation. Downhill is pretty much the only option when you’re standing at the peak. Well, at least its design decline isn’t anywhere near as bad as the gen2 xB’s descent to hell.

What exactly did the new Cube’s designers do for inspiration? They sat in a Jacuzzi®. Seriously. And what did they do while soaking? Or, more accurately, what did they pass around? The all too obvious answer is to be found in such aqueous details as the ripples in the headliner emanating from the central dome light (see here). Far out, man.

But their real challenge lay with the exterior. The result is best described as cubism meets Dali. The Cube droops and melts, especially at the ends. And its features are all . . . so exaggerated. I wonder why? But in their enhanced efforts to make the Cube more vivid, they spaced the best one: the blacked out A and C pillars made the prominent body-colored B pillar look like it was supporting the delicate roof by itself. It was the single most prominent and delightful Cube element, along with the asymmetrical rear; but it’s gone, up in smoke.

The result is a serious loss of levity (for the Cube, anyway) and not just in looks alone; the Cube has put on 400 lb. All those munchies are taking their toll. And the hot tubbing was obviously an intramural activity, because the Renault Kangoo be bop seems to have sprung from that same fertile session.

All my carping on stylistic details aside, the Cube design still has a lot going for it, and it will undoubtedly be the replacement vehicle of choice for those businesses that use the gen1 xB as rolling billboards. It’s highly distinctive and eye-catching, to say the least, and 99.9% of Americans will never know what they were missing with its delightful predecessor.

Unlike the current xB, the Cube has stayed true to the cubist ideal: the package is almost a dead-ringer for the gen1 xB in all its dimensions. Curiously, even though it’s a tad larger, the Cube still can’t meet some of the gen1 xB’s interior dimensions (42.6″ front headroom vs. 46.6″), or its luggage space (11.4 cf vs. 17.9 cf). Still, there’s plenty of room for hanging your favorite black light posters.

It’s the distant and near-vertical windshield, perfectly vertical doors, upright seating and gobs of headroom that create an effect that is unique in this day of pseudo-coupe sedans. Like a double-cab truck riding on a small car platform, except even better. There is a unique social aspect to riding in one of these boxes: you’re fairly close together, yet there’s a large amount of “social space”, from the shoulders up. Perfect for conversation or passing large bulky objects around.

Okay, I’ve spent 700 words talking about a box, what it’s like to sit in, and what a nice space it is to share with others. How about the other features of the Cube? Well, it sits on the Versa platform and shares its mechanicals. Translated: reasonably competent all-round: a fairly compliant ride (unlike the gen1 xB); light, yet somewhat better than average steering; safe, predictable handling, although not nearly as sporting as the xB, which lacks those extra 400 lb and has a stiffer suspension. Wind noise begins to intrude fairly early.

Performance is decent, with a (just) sub-ten second 0-60. The CVT is what it is, for better or for worse (worse for me). It works well enough, but stick shift for me, please, especially since it’s a six-speed. The EPA rates it at 28/30. That sure beats driving around in a huge double-cab truck with a perpetually empty bed. A little utility trailer will do the job for those twice-a-year runs to the dump.

The Cube’s interior appointments are as good or better than average. Lots of textured and waaavy plastic, but with padding in the right places it’s much nicer than the current xB. The rear seat passed the 6′4″ Paul Niedermeyer leg room test with flying colors: with the front seat all the way back, my knees were still well-surrounded by free air (the current xB fails). The rear seat also slides, and or course folds to compensate for that little cargo area. At least it’s deep; shopping bags will like snuggling there.

Cube pricing starts at $13,990 decently equipped with all the basics. The S model, which I sampled, starts at $14,690 and includes “premium cloth upholstery and driver’s side arm rest”. So maybe the base model upholstery is a bit Spartan. It’s not like there was one on the lot to check out—C4C has Cubes in tight supply.

I bemoan the fact that a gen2 Cube will forever remain an unattainable cubic ideal for me. But this new Cube will undoubtedly corner a large share of the market for wheeled boxes. It’s practical, efficient, reasonably fun to drive, and almost as much fun to sit in as a Jacuzzi®. Now if they could just get those ripples on the headliner to actually move without having to be under the influence.

While Ford and GM consider building their mid- and full-size cars on a single platform, Toyota and Nissan are already doing it. The Avalon has been based on the Camry platform since its inception and now Nissan is giving us an Altima-based Maxima. The key to pulling this trick off successfully is differentiating the resultant cars visually and dynamically and, preferably, aiming them at different market segments. Did Nissan succeed at this mission, or did they just give us an Altimus Maximus?

Previously the Maxima was Nissan’s largest car. It still is, but it’s nowhere near full-sized. Its wheelbase is the same as the Altima’s; it’s less than an inch longer and actually has less front headroom (thanks to the standard sunroof), legroom and hip room. Its track is a bit wider but overall it casts pretty much the same shadow as its lesser brother.

Fortunately it owes more of its looks to the 370Z and the GT-R than the Altima. The taut lines are creased and folded to perfection and the view from the drivers seat over the sculpted hood and bulging front fenders is almost worth the price of admission alone. The optional spoiler perched on the edge of the rear deck looks a bit out of place but it’s the only thing I could find to bitch about in the looks department

The interior is a mixed bag. The first glance takes you to Infiniti (but not beyond). However, on closer inspection you wonder if a few e-mails got lost between the design and purchasing departments. The seats are upholstered in nice leather with classy contrasting stitching but the dashboard and doors are covered with a rubbery-feeling petrochemical derivative that looks like it should still be on the dinosaur. The electroluminescent instrument cluster could have come from an Lexus while the non-nav readout for the radio and AC controls consists of orange dot-matrix letters and toothpick numbers that brings to mind the Kia Amanti. And the “Metallic Link” (silver basketweave) plastic trim that replaces the “Piano Dot” (black dot matrix) plastic trim doesn’t add anything to the equation.

I found a few loose trim pieces inside and outside. Admittedly, they were small things but still totally inexcusable on a car that’s billed as the brand’s flagship sedan and can cost $40K when fully optioned.

Nissan’s ubiquitous 3.5L VQ V6 resides under the hood, pumping out 290 hp in this application (20 more than in the Altima, but requiring premium fuel to do it). As always, it’s smooth and pulls readily to the rev limiter. As good as it is, you can’t help but wonder what the Maxima would be like with the 328 hp 3.7 from the Infiniti G37. It’ll probably never happen, though because of that pecking order thing.

Why they chose to saddle the Maxima with a CVT escapes me.  Nissan’s is arguably the best CVT in the industry and is great in their mass-market-mobiles. However,  a car with sporting pretenses needs something with real gear ratios (and preferably a third pedal). While you can put the CVT in “manual” mode and shift it with the obligatory paddles, all that does is jump the CVT abruptly between pre-programmed settings. It doesn’t really do much to help the performance and you always feel like there’s something between you and the fun, kind of like hugging Scarlett Johansson while you’re both wearing rainsuits and hockey masks.

Fortunately the transmission doesn’t affect the handling, and oh, can this baby handle. The family connection to the 370Z is readily apparent, even if it is being pulled along by the front wheels instead of pushed by the rear. Nissan’s engineers worked some kind of magic with the front suspension that totally negates torque steer and makes you forget every bad thought you ever had about front-wheel-drive handling. Just point it and it goes, with no fuss, no muss and no plowing.

The down side is that when you’re not channeling Jack Baruth, the ride with the optional sport package ($2300) is a little on the harsh side. OK, it’s a lot on the harsh side, with plenty of road noise to boot. It was so bad I actually visited my local Nissan dealer to drive a Maxima without the sport package and 19-inch high performance summer tires to see if that was the problem. The ride is quieter and much more compliant without the hoonery gear. You give up a little crispness and road feel but it’s a lot more comfortable for daily use. Unless you feel you absolutely have to wring every last g out of every corner you come to, you’d be better off leaving the box next to the sport package unchecked. (And a big thanks to Jeff Lanier at Town Center Nissan for providing a comparison car.)

The Maxima is a great road car. But is it worth $10K or more than the similarly-sized Altima? If you’re just looking for a family car to schlep groceries and the kids, the Maxima isn’t for you. But if you want a reasonably-priced mid-sized sports sedan that handles like it’s on rails it’s worth a look. Just don’t take the name literally.

(Nissan provided the car, gas and insurance for this review.)

Once upon a time, way back in 1959, a company called Datsun imported a funny-looking pickup truck with a small bed and tiny engine, giving birth to the compact pickup market in the US. After a slow start, the market grew, as did the competition. The 70s brought onslaughts from Isuzu, Mazda, Mitsubishi, and even VW. After the dust settled, the small truck market in the US belongs basically to the Toyota Tacoma, Ford Ranger, Chevy/GMC Colorado/Canyon (for now, anyway) and Nissan Frontier—the direct descendant of the Datsun that started it all. Fifty years later, what hath Nissan wrought?

One thing they’ve wrought is a BIG truck. Even though the EPA classifies the Frontier Crew Cab as a small truck, it’s not. It sits on a 125.9″ wheelbase and at 205.5” is 3.5” longer than a 2009 Tahoe. It’s a half foot narrower, though, so don’t even think about squeezing a third person into the park-bench-like rear seat. Stretching to add that second row of seats gives it a bit of a dachshund look when viewed from the side.

The interior is refreshingly simple and there’s no doubt you’re in a truck. The windows, door locks and mirrors are electric, but the seats and steering wheel adjust via knobs and levers. The radio is an average AM/FM unit with CD player but no MP3 connection. Every surface looks and feels durable, as it they should in a utility vehicle. The instrument panel is a  jigsaw puzzle, though. I counted sixteen different plastic parts wedged together to span the space between the doors below the windshield. And that didn’t include the parts in the instrument cluster or the various black plugs that proclaim there were options you didn’t opt for.

The front seats offer little in the way of lateral support. As you’re not likely to be autocrossing the thing, just sit back and relax. The chairs are just fine for the run to the big box store or a trip to the lake with the Jet-Ski. The back seats are a different matter. The seatback is vertical and the bottom is horizontal and close to the floor.

There’s no way I’d ever consider subjecting someone I love to the torture of sitting back there. Why spend the extra money for a crew cab pickup with a cab too small for your crew? Using the extra space for cargo doesn’t work too well either. The seat backs fold down, but they have a huge gap at the rear where small objects disappear. The seat bottoms fold up but that space is eaten up by oddly-shaped shallow cargo bins.

Face it: the only real reason to buy a pickup truck is the cargo box out back. While some “small” crew cab trucks give you all of four feet for your stuff, the Frontier has a six-footer. And, yes, when it comes to pickup truck beds, size matters. You can fit big-boy-sized toys in this one with the tailgate shut and actually use it to haul the kind of stuff you’d pick up at the home improvement store. The tailgate shuts with a satisfying “chunk” that sounds better than the doors in the average car.

Our test truck came with “SE Value Truck Package” which included a sliding bed divider. It slides in tracks on either side of the bed but when it’s in the front- or rearmost position it eats up at least six inches of the bed’s length. It carries a sticker that proclaims “WARNING This is not designed as a cargo retention device.” If that’s the case, I don’t really understand what its purpose is.

The Frontier’s 4-liter V6 churns out 261 HP and 281 lb·ft of torque. I didn’t try towing anything, but it felt like there would be more than enough oomph to handle boats or utility trailers. The five-speed automatic transmission shifts smoothly and unobtrusively. The ride and handling are, well, truck-like. Even with the long wheelbase, the ride is a bit stiff over broken pavement. On the highway, though, it’s no worse than many economy cars.

The fuel economy is terrible; even a 5.3L V8-equipped Tahoe is more fuel efficient. The Heavy Chevy is rated at 15/21. The V6-equipped Frontier only manages 15/20. You don’t buy a truck for the fuel economy, but this kind of mileage from a “small” truck is ludicrous.

The Nissan Frontier comes as either an extended cab or crew cab version (the standard cab is no longer offered). Our tester stickered $25,805— a reasonable price for a crew cab pickup. As a truck, it does just fine. As a passenger car, the back seat and fuel mileage conspire to drive home the point that it IS a truck. And that’s just as it should be.

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

Let me take you down, ’cause I’m going to . . . GT-R Fields. Almost nothing is real, whether you’re talking about the ridiculous Nürburgring-centric engi-marketing, the programmed-to-self-destruct transmissions, or the amazing shrinking customer warranties. Still, there’s nothing to get hung up about (so to speak). The entire concept behind the GT-R—building a car that more or less steers itself for people who can’t drive for shit, live in downtown Tokyo, or both—is stranger than any LSD trip John Lennon could have possibly imagined.

But if a stock GT-R is a strange machine, the Switzer Performance P800 GT-R, with seven hundred and seven horsepower at the wheels and a 10.8-second quarter-mile time, is plain deranged. Tym Switzer, recently notorious in Porsche-tuning circles for his nine-second “Sledgehammer” 997 Turbo, claims his tuned GT-R is “driveability-oriented.” He has dyno charts to prove it, AND the P800 runs on 93-octane pump gas.

Last week, your humble reviewer was invited to attend a “shakedown” for a privately-owned P800 at the BeaveRun road course near Pittsburgh. I know BeaveRun reasonably well, but I’d never run it in the wet— and it was more than wet by the time our test session started.

To warm up a bit, I drove my Audi S5 around the course for a few laps. The track was slick in some places and just plain Teflon in others. With ASR turned off, the Audi, which has nothing like 707 wheel horsepower, cheerfully and dramatically oversteered from each exit. Not good, and not good for our chances of testing the P800. Surely Switzer wouldn’t put a notoriously temper-prone journo behind the wheel of a 700-plus horsepower customer car in the wet, right?

Before I could even have that discussion, the rain stopped . . . and it started to snow. Fluffy little flakes covered the Nissan’s catfish nose and blanketed the visor of my Impact! Air Draft Carbon helmet. The owner was nonchalant about it: “Go ahead and drive it. Try not to bring it back on the wrecker.” So there we go: the most powerful car I’d ever driven, on a narrow, elevation-change-intense track, in the snow.

As the Jalopniks trained their HD cameras in my direction, I found that I could give the roided-up Nissan full-throttle in a straight line. This is a big deal. After all, a 600hp Viper can’t accept full throttle at any speed below 100 mph in the dry without spinning wheels, and this bitch is freight-training ahead with slush on the track.

The front section of BeaveRun is a typical Alan Wilson corner combination with a concrete curb at the critical midsection. I hit the concrete at full chat . . . and nothing happens. The car still steers. The power is, apparently, routed somewhere else. Maybe to a rubber band attached to the nose, because we exit with no drama and barely a smidgen of oversteer. Time for the uphill right-hander. Press the brakes which have very little backchatter in ABS mode, dial the steering, floor it up and over the crest of Turn Seven.

Time for full throttle. The P800 holds the line with no drama and we arrive at the back hairpin with a ton of momentum. At the exit, I yield to temptation and flat fucking floor it. The world goes sideways, I dial in a twist of correction, and we’re Tokyo Driftin’ to the front straight. Nissan’s done the stupid thing and fixed the paddles to the steering column. (Shuffle-steerers of the world, unite! Your time is at hand!)

So I let the car run free a second to straighten out and use full power. Click. Click. One hundred and thirty miles per hour. Plus. In the snow. Easy as pie. In the same space of time it took the Audi to hit 110. Hit the ABS for Turn One and do it all over again.

The snow and sleet bring visibility to a minimum, but we’re alone on a track I can drive from memory now. Faster. Hit the curb harder. More power, earlier. It’s never too early. The GT-R has a disturbing sense of power distribution. It’s in control. Not you. By the seventh lap I realize that I’m starting to risk my passenger’s safety in a search for excitement, so I bring the car in to the pits.

Therein lies the problem with the Nissan GT-R. It’s not exciting enough, not even in “R mode,” not even with 800 horsepower. I never for a moment doubted Switzer’s claims about that power (under twenty grand). The P800 pulls like a porn star at a bachelorette party. But there’s no drama. For me, that makes it a pointless car, because there’s no challenge for the driver beyond basic competence. I’ll take a Viper over this Voltron G35 every day and twice on Sundays. But for the people who really, really want a GT-R, trust me: this is the one to have.

[ Switzer Performance provided the vehicle reviewed, insurance, track time and gas.]

A call on Sunday to a lawyer’s office (mine) normally carries with it a tale of woe and unwanted police involvement. This time was different. A journalist neighbor called and asked if I wanted to drive the Nissan GT-R that had just been dropped in his driveway. The Skyline has been an unobtanium special for the last 15 or so years. I recall seeing one at International Rally New York, and even that battered right hand drive special attracted a crowd. So, with full knowledge of what was on offer, I ventured forth.

I was surprised to find the GTR’s headlights were only xenon on the low beam. Otherwise the exterior and styling was spot-on: butch without being too boy-racer, save for the hideous spoiler. The car conveyed a sense of authority, regardless of the mechanicals or the silly wing on the back.

The GT-R’s interior is not very impressive. The inside is midline Japanese sedan, with full electronics and decent bucket seats. The ergonomics are spot on; the knob for seat adjustment is intuitive and the padded steering wheel is perfectly positioned for max track attack. There are back seats, but only in the sense of “back.” Still, obviously, the GT-R is all about the driving…

Some cars are rapiers, others a broadsword. The GT-R is a battleax. The GT-R rides hard, like a track ready Viper. There’s a switchable suspension, with “normal” and “comfort.” Translation: “track” and “smooth streets only.” The Nissan’s four wheel-drive system works to put all the power to the ground… sort like a lightning bolt. The turboed engine has minimal lag, so unlike a big eight, there isn’t huge torque upon tip-in. But as soon as the manumatic hooks up and boost appears, nearasdammit five hundred horsepower makes itself known.

This thing is fast. Not fast like your “chipped” turbo car. Not fast like a jet taking off. Fast like a liter-class superbike. Highway on ramps are slingshots. The go-deal is like Star Trek’s transporter, only a lot faster. You imagine your spot on the road, and ZAP! You’re there. A ride like this can seriously scare civilians, if only as you recede away from them.

Unlike many cars, the four wheel-drive system in the GT-R does not dampen the fun.  With the huge resources on tap, it makes the car civilized. Often “fun to drive” is really just fighting the chassis, but not here. This is so well sorted that “tuner car” cannot be spoken anywhere near the driveline without insulting a legion of Nissan engineers.

To wit: my trip was slightly dinged by the fact the car was on summer tires, the temperature was near freezing, and the roads were wet in places. The GT-R’s four wheel drive system was given more of a workout than a probable garage queen has any right to surmount. Even in this worst case scenario, the GT-R’s engineering integrity reigned supreme. Within the limits imposed by the outside world, this car’s capability was far beyond anything even a skilled driver could/should fully exploit on a public road. 

Changing roads to a little traveled twisty near a reservoir, I put the man-u-matic into manual, making sure I had plenty of boost on tap. The car tracked predictably, up until the low (frozen tire) limits of adhesion. The traction control system stepped in a femtosecond after the car reached its limits of adhesion. Between 25 and 60 mph, the GT-R was heavy, with a more Germanic feel than a Japanese one. Still, it managed to be ‘tossable’ despite the weight, with excellent feedback through the wheel, something missing from many all wheel-drive cars.

 The GT-R’s transmission and driveline had a steady whine, and the front airdam was adventurous (read low) for a production car. The GT-R’s rumbling exhaust note projects the same uber-tuner car feel. Of course, the Nissan’s sonic signature is entirely in keeping with the car’s character. As the Brits would say, the GT-R is a hard man: a take-no-prisoners extreme machine that’s fully capable of leaving high-priced exotica for dead. As advertised. 

As a daily driver or a long-distance cruiser, no. you’d be much happier in one of Nissan’s less expensive alternatives.  You have to wonder if sporting drivers would be better off with a no-compromise track car AND a more luxurious whip, or a Porsche, rather than the GT-R. 

I know: great landing, wrong carport. The market for the Nissan GT-R knows what they are getting. The noise, the hard ride, the lack of interior space. All part of the experience. Think of the GT-R as a Japanese Viper without the death. Or a Z06 Corvette without the price tag or (dare I say it) pedigree.  

Nissan’s decision to make this a limited production halo car is completely correct. The cognescenti will swoon, the dealers will tack on “additional profit” sticker and everyone will be happy. It’s Unobtanium, unlike a Porsche GT3 or AMG Black Series. Any flaws simply don’t matter.

When Nissan introduced the Murano as a 2003 model, the styling raised more than a few eyebrows. In 2008, Nissan embarked on a Quest to redesign the machine as a less visually “intriguing” CUV. They tried to thread to proverbial needle: keep the Murano instantly recognizable while updating every body panel and adding one of the most bizarre snouts available on any automobile at any price. As the pimply-faced high school geek cum dot-com billionaire proved, looks can be deceiving. Does the same hold true for the “It Came from Outer Space (or France)” Murano S?

Nissan sells the Muranos in three flavors. Our all wheel-drive tester was the base model S with the extra cost floor mats, splash guards and the “Convenience Group.” The package has nothing to do with built-in diaper disposals. It’s all about the privacy glass (Michael Phelps need apply), a security system, cargo cover and roof rails. If you want true convenience—Bluetooth, backup monitor, auto-dimming mirrors, power or heated seats, or navigation system—you have to ante up for the SL or LE trim levels.

The Murano S’ fuzzy cloth seats generate enough static electricity to power a Game Boy for two days, but they’re comfortable enough, in a Frasier’s dad’s chair kinda way. Wisely, Nissan chose not to stick a third row of seats in the wayback. Instead, you get generous passenger room and expandable cargo space, via levers on either side of the bay that fold the rear seatbacks. Medieval recreationists note: the Murano’s spring-loaded seats flip forward with a vengeance. The rest of us need to make sure that small children, pets and laptop computers are safely stowed in their proper position before pulling that little silver lever.

From the (manually adjustable) driver’s seat, the Murano S’ instrument panel is a study in contrasts. No matter where you position the tilting and telescoping steering wheel, Nissan’s ”Fine Vision electroluminescent gauges” are clearly, not to say indelibly, visible. On the other hand, the Murano’s radio and HVAC controls are scattered randomly up and down the center stack; the designers having deemed symmetry more important than ergomics. The IP’s capped with a seven inch monitor displaying the radio and temperature settings; a constant reminder that you were too cheap to spring for the nav system/backup camera.

Starting the Murano S offers drivers a direct link to 1942. Back then, you inserted the ignition key, turned it, then stepped on the floor-mounted starter button. In the Murano S, you insert the key fob into a spring-loaded slot in the dash making sure you insert it far enough so it doesn’t puke the key back onto the floor. Then you reach six inches to the left and press a button which starts the car (but only if you have your foot on the brake pedal). It’s an overwrought feature that, as my better half put it, screams “gimmick.”

Once you complete the starting sequence, Nissan’s excellent 3.5-liter VQ engine fires up, producing 265 hp @ 6,000 rpm. Its 248 lb·ft of torque comes on at a much more reasonable 4,400 rpm. It’s all funneled through what has to be the world’s best continuously-variable transmission. Unlike the CVTs from other manufacturers (*cough* Audi *cough*), there’s no “rubber band” effect; the Nissan unit always seems to know the proper gear ratio for a given situation.

The Murano excels at its remit: hauling four or five people and their stuff. On the highway, the S’ quiet ride and the comfortable seats make for relaxed travel. Power is more than adequate for passing. Equally important, the Murano S will cruise for hours with ease, eating up the miles at extralegal speeds.

When the road gets twisty there’s no confusing the Murano with an FX35. At all. On any level. When pushed, the Murano S pushes back. The “station-wagon-on-stilts” profile means the usual high center of gravity, with the usual tippy over but it won’t will it driving dynamics. The Murano S’ 18-inch all-season tires let you know they’re are as aversive to lateral Gs as the carvings on Stone Mountain. Although the CUV’s brakes are surprisingly powerful and modulatable (?), it’s best to slow down, enjoy the scenery and save your Juan Manuel Fangio aspirations for another day and another car.

In fact, you could say that the Murano is the Toyota Corolla of CUVs: notable for the fact that there’s nothing particularly notable about it, in both the good and bad sense of the word. But in a world where truck sales are notable by their absence, the absence of the Murano from the list of the walking dead is notable. In other words, the Nissan Murano is a good enough CUV for good enough moms and their 2.5 children. Sure, there are more exciting machines. But Murano drivers couldn’t care less. Who am I to argue the point?