By Roger Boylan

07.29.2009

The 2010 Camaro is an instant classic. It’s fast, affordable by you and me, and comfortable. It’s solidly built, on the chassis of the soon-to-be late lamented Pontiac G8. It’s quiet at speed. It’s one of the best-looking cars on the road. It’s economical; the V6 gets nearly 30 mpg on the highway on regular fuel, so it would make a fine commuter car. And most of all, it’s not boring. Yes: On the basis of a week’s exposure, I proudly proclaim myself a Camaro guy-and I was driving the “base” V6 model. In a word, I loved the damned thing.

“That’ll be the day,” I’d have said, if you’d told me, way back when, that I was a future Camaro fan. I’d always thought the previous iteration of the Camaro was loud and ill-bred, like the boy racers in Woodlawn and Passaic who drove them down Main Street on Saturday nights (regulation pack of smokes tucked into T-shirt sleeve, of course, and hairgel duly lathered on) and the suds-swilling oafs who congregated around them on state fair days and at tailgate parties. Camaros? No thanks, I sneered; not for this member of the urbane urban elite. Well, that’s over. I’m sub-urbane now, decidedy suburban, and a member of no elite; and man enough to admit I was wrong. And more than man enough to whine I WANT ONE. Continue Reading

By Roger Boylan

07.22.2009

Compact SUVs and crossovers don’t set my pulses pounding, but their ubiquity on the roads of America speaks volumes about their popularity. At the heart of this most competitive segment, which alone accounts for 10% of the U.S. automobile market, is the refreshed 2010 Chevrolet Equinox, daring to take on the awesomely successful Toyota RAV4 and Honda CR-V. After spending a week at the wheel of a brand-new Equinox LT2, I would say that it’s time for the Japanese heavyweights to look to their laurels. Chevy has crafted a nearly perfect rival.

Continue Reading

By Roger Boylan

06.10.2009

Only a moron could love this oxymoron, I thought, on first hearing about this vehicle. Cross-breed an Escalade, ultimate gas-guzzling status symbol for the flashy and vulgar, with a Prius, frugal icon of the hairshirted? How ridiculous. But after a week with a champagne-hued Escalade Hybrid I’m disinclined to think of it as ridiculous; unexpected, maybe, or paradoxical, but no more than, say, Winston Churchill in a maroon siren suit. Because, even dressed like a giant baby, Winnie won the war. And this Escalade is an oxymoron that works.

I first learned how good the GM hybrid powerplants are when I tested a Silverado Hybrid, the Escalade’s humble and much more affordable country cousin, with which it shares a BMW/Chrysler/GM/Mercedes-Benz-derived hybrid-powerplant combo. This 332-hp 6.0-liter V-8, with cylinder deactivation (“Active Fuel Management,” in GM-blather) and variable cam timing, makes 367 lb.-ft. of torque, and is hooked up to a 300-volt electrical system that combines the gas engine with a pair of electric motors for a total power tally of 369 hp and 380 lb.-ft. of torque, compared to the regular Escalade’s 403 hp and 417 lb.-ft. respectively.  The Escalade Hybrid’s payload is 1,369 lb., a mere 241 lb. less than the standard model’s, and its towing capacity is 5,800 lb. rather than 7,900 lb., but that’s still potent enough to haul most trailers. The two electric motors are energized by a huge battery, warranted for 8 years or 100,000 miles, sealed in a box under the Escalade’s second row of seats.

The Escalade has a solid-axle rear suspension design, which is why those annoying, if functional, little third-row seats can’t be lowered into the floor but have to be either tumbled forward, with some effort, or with somewhat greater effort physically lugged out and deposited in your garage, there to gather dust and cobwebs for the duration of your love affair with your Escalade, however long that might be. Mine lasted a week, but would have lasted much longer if the thing didn’t cost half as much as my house: MSRP is $73K, which is pretty astronomical, even given the likelihood of hefty discounts and the $2200 hybrid tax break from Uncle Sam. Is it worth it? Not for me, because I don’t have the dough, but if you do, go for it. Teaming up luxury with good fuel economy is a way of indulging yourself with a clear conscience. Continue Reading

By Roger Boylan

05.01.2009

Berlin Stadtschloss in 1920 (original)

“Ostalgie’” is the wry German coinage for “nostalgia for the East”–East Germany, that is, otherwise known as the German Democratic Republic, that odd 40-year experiment in state socialism that ceased to exist in 1990. Why be nostalgic for a depressed little trumped-up dictatorship where you couldn’t get a decent pair of shoes and had to wait two years on average for a one-room apartment? Well, you never had to worry about losing that apartment, once you got it; your job was safe; you were guaranteed an annual vacation, usually at some state-run resort on the Baltic; your health care was free, as was your kids’ education. If you kept your nose clean you could live a reasonably happy, if mediocre, life. Ultimately it didn’t work, of course, and, when they could, people voted with their feet in droves and headed West. But the memory of that failed utopia is a cozy refuge from our current worries. It had its appeal, as a leaky old barn  might during a rainstorm.

Palast der Republik in 1977 (click to enlarge)

This photograph was taken in East Berlin in 1977, in the halcyon days of East Germany, when the Wall stood firm, no tremors of change could be felt, and nothing darkened the socialist horizon. The ultra-chic Commie-modern building in the foreground is the now-demolished, then-new Palast der Republik, home of the Volkskammer (“People’s Chamber”), the East German parliament. In the distance rises the Fernsehturm, the GDR TV tower, which still stands. From the revolving restaurant and viewing platform on top the West could be clearly seen, even examined through a telescope. It was as close as most East Germans would get until 1989. Continue Reading

By Roger Boylan

04.20.2009

Thanks to an invitation from GM communications, I found myself at 7:15 a.m. on the rainy morning of Saturday, April 18th, in the Austin Convention Center, admiring a trio of 2010 Chevrolet Camaros: a yellow LT, a red SS, and a silver LS.

It was a mini-press day organized by GM’s Camaro brigade for the unveiling of their new darling. On the podium was John Fitzpatrick, GM’s marketing manager for the much-touted new Chevy. The crowd he was addressing included members of the fourth estate, curiosity seekers, old Camaro nostalgics, car bloggers, and the usual nut cases dying to swap 0-60 times. Apart from them, the vast Convention Center was empty, except for a few ghostly detailers in the display areas of the competition, applying last-minute buff jobs to their Mustangs and Challengers and shooting nervous glances at the raucous throng in the Chevy zone.

The mere fact of such a crowd having roused itself on a wet weekend morning spoke volumes about the general level of enthusiasm for the car they came to see. Mr. Fitzpatrick acknowledged as much; there would be no new Camaro, he averred, without the enthusiasts. “Build this car,” they said to him; and lo, it was built, and the people came. Over 10,000 advance orders, according to GM, had been placed by the end of 2008. Actual sales began just last week, and the public response has so far been nothing less than phenomenal, especially in light of the parlous economic times. The crowd cheered. Mr.Fitzpatrick applauded them, all those true-blue Camaro devotees. The crowd applauded him back. Good feelings bubbled all around. Coffee and pastries were served. Flashbulbs went off. Then access was allowed to the three show cars, and grown men and women (but mostly men) elbowed one another in their eagerness to get inside one. It was polite elbowing, of course; these were connoisseurs, many of whom had been present at the creation and had owned (and one or two still owned) original ’67-’69 Camaros. Continue Reading

By Roger Boylan

02.26.2009

In Texas, nothing on the road is more imposing yet more anonymous than a big pickup truck. Of course, in such an enormous ranching and farming state, trucks are paramount in practicality and ruggedness; but, as we all know, many of them are simply “lifestyle statements,” especially in college towns such as San Marcos and Austin, where the typical driver with attitude is under 25 with a backward baseball cap and a jacked-up Chevy Silverado or Ford F-150. Some of these vehicles ride 2 to 3 feet above the rest of the traffic, with grill guards, extra-wide tires, and hunting lights, all (or mostly) statements of nothing more than callow machismo. But an imposing sight such a brute undeniably is, especially coming up fast in your rear-view mirror. And yet, there’s an anonymity about even the most thoroughly tricked-out Texas truck, because they’re all over the place–and will continue to be, even in this ailing economy, because Texans just love the things. Well-dressed matrons drive them. Priests and schoolteachers drive them. Even the recently retired President of the United States drives one (a Ford F-250 4×4) at his Crawford ranch, in preference to a car.

Nearly 30% of the state’s vehicle registrations in 2008 were of pickups, most of them products of the ex-Big Three: Ford F-150s, Dodge Rams, and Chevrolet/GMC Silverado/Sierras, with an increasingly large niche for the Toyota Tundra (the Nissan Titan never quite pulled it off). So when my test Chevy Silverado LTZ 4×4 rolled up the driveway, and I swung myself on board, I felt that finally, sixteen years after emigrating from New York, I could pass as a Texan…but nobody would notice.

Beset at first by visions of parking-lot collisions and small creatures being crushed under my 18″ chromed aluminum wheels, I came to enjoy this hulking vehicle and to respect its potential. Of course, mine was the luxury model, the 4×4 Crew Cab at the LTZ trim level, featuring for its (wildly negotiable) $40K sticker price, in no particular order: dual-zone automatic climate control, power moon roof, Bose premium speaker system, XM Sirius satellite radio, rear audio system controls, Bluetooth hookup, color-keyed carpeting and rubberized vinyl floor mats (the latter a reminder that this was, originally, a vehicle destined for the muddy worksites of life, not the Neiman-Marcus parking lot), auto-dimming inside rearview mirror, remote keyless entry, remote vehicle starter system, very comfortable leather buckets (with 10-way power driver and front passenger seat adjusters and 4-way power lumbar control), heated seat cushions and seatbacks, power windows, heated power mirrors, electronic stability control (a very good thing in a vehicle with such a wide weight discrepancy between front and rear), side airbags, head curtain airbags, etc., etc. Continue Reading

By Roger Boylan

12.25.2008

Frequently, the themes of my Web browsing are automotive and historical, and occasionally both themes converge–with World War II Jeeps, for example, a subject of more than passing interest to WWII buffs and Jeep aficionados. (You can count me as both, although the hearty sobriquet “buff” somewhat diminishes the seriousness: “amateur scholar,” perhaps?) Recently I came across this photo of a small herd of Jeeps waiting to move on deeper into Germany in January, 1945. It’s a reminder how crucial these little vehicles were to the Allied victory; after all, the Germans had only the Kübelwagen, which was great on-road, less so off. It had a tendency to run out of breath in the wildernesses of the Alps and the Ardennes while the homely little Jeeps soldiered on and on–to Berlin.

They’re less homely now (most of them, anyway), but they still soldier on. Modern Jeeps run the gamut from the Wrangler, direct descendant of the WWII icon (and reviewed here recently by yours truly) to the lush, luxurious Commander, an old-style thirsty SUV built for the day before yesterday. Along the way we encounter the oddity of the Compass, a Dodge Caliber that thinks it’s a Jeep; the Grand Cherokee, a venerable family hauler now with a common-rail diesel alternative; the Liberty, would-be claimant to the legendary Cherokee’s mantle; and the practical Patriot, the company’s base-model SUV or crossover or whatever you want to call it. I call it sensible. It should be the mainstay of the Jeep brand. Continue Reading

By Roger Boylan

12.16.2008

National Highway 1 spans Switzerland from the French border near Geneva to St. Margrethen on the Austrian border, a distance of some 350 kms (220 mi.). Known in the French-speaking regions as La Route Suisse, the Swiss Road, and as Schweizerstrasse in German-speaking parts, it departs from Bardonnex, in Geneva’s southern suburbs, snakes along the north shore of Lake Geneva to Lausanne and Bern and thence through the heartland of the Bernese Oberland and Aarau and on toward the Austrian Alps and the neo-Ruritanian principality of Liechtenstein.

Along the way the road offers some of the most magnificent views in the world, of vineyards, and lakes, and snow-capped mountains, and ancient castles, as well as some of the most mundane, of precision-machinery factories and fruit canneries and software plants and all the industrial muscle of modern Switzerland.
Continue Reading

By Roger Boylan

12.04.2008

Plato had no room for artists in his ideal republic, but not because he didn’t respect them; on the contrary, he argued that the “sacred fear” inspired by great art could cause too much excitement and passion and ultimately undermine the entire social system. I surmise, therefore, that he would have been firmly opposed to anyone in his republic driving the car I just wrapped up a week with: the ’09 Dodge Charger SRT8, a work of mechanical art quite capable of generating excitement and passion and undermining anybody’s social system. At first sight, this sculpture of power parked in my driveway raised serious doubts in my mind that it and I could ever find a modus vivendi. After all, it’s an in-your-face statement of automotive moxie, a direct descendant of the macho muscle cars of the ’60s driven by televisual hillbillies, mechanical monsters that mostly made a lot of noise and smoked their rear tires during getaways from the moonshine authorities. This, I thought, was hardly my style; my daily driver is a Jaguar S-Type, nimble enough but comparatively discreet. I wondered if I hadn’t made a mistake; was this Charger my nemesis? I was eager to find out, so I stashed the Jag in the garage for the duration and embarked on my routine of weekday commutes and weekend excursions as the middle-aged driver of what appeared to be the quintessential young man’s car. Continue Reading

By Roger Boylan

10.01.2008

The Autostrada del Sole (“Highway of the Sun”), known as the “Autosole,” is the toll expressway that links Milan and Naples via Bologna, Florence, and Rome. In its 760-km. (550-mi.) length, its spectacular engineering, the importance of the cities it links, and the sheer beauty of the country through which it passes, it is one of the world’s great highways.

I first traveled on it in 1957, at age 6, as a passenger in a VW minibus with five women: three Americans and two Brits. One was my mother, and she was usually the one working the VW’s huge, near-horizontal, steering wheel and tree-tall gearshift lever. The other gals were friends of hers. It was a gap year on the Continent for them, and probably one of the most exciting adventures of their lives: a road trip in high summer from Geneva to Naples and back. with no men around to muck things up, just a tolerably weird little boy who kept to himself. For me it was just another perk of being a small Yank abroad. Continue Reading