From the September 2005 issue of Car and Driver.
Cheap speed is like free beer or two bonus Presidents’ Days that land on successive Fridays. It’s always, always good. The only way it could be better is if you combined the beer part with, say, King Mswati III’s parade of bare-breasted maidens, held in the King’s honor annually in Swaziland, where we have never tested even one automobile. But the female members of our production team, one voting in this comparo, reminded us that rampant immaturity in grown men is a trait they do not often seek, so we let it slide, opting instead to spend one hour per night devoted exclusively to poop jokes.
This feels like maybe the 23rd installment in our series of cheap-speed comparos, but that’s okay, because we’ve made quite a prosperous little career out of repeating ourselves. For this test, we demanded that each car produce 200-or-more horsepower with a base price not to exceed $25,000. Cheap speed isn’t so cheap these days. We eventually came up with six qualified combatants, which immediately dwindled to five when Volkswagen couldn’t supply a Jetta GLI.
Unfortunately, that’s when the squabbling broke out, fueled mostly by assistant art director Dan Winter, who provoked us into lengthy Other Car negotiations throughout what he calls “Milwaukee Beer Night,” a weekly ritual that Wisconsin native Winter pursues much as Catholics pursue high-stakes bingo. Ever generous, he trotted out his personal premium stock—Schlitz, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and Blatz in cans—and our first order of business wasn’t making a list of potential comparo cars but making a list of really cranky chicks who unfairly dumped us in high school. Copy editor Cora Weber was no help in this matter, concentrating instead on her Blatz and often asking what time it was.
That’s why we got around to talking about cars on some other day, probably at noon or 2 o’clock. First, we summarily excluded any Ford Focus, Hyundai Tiburon, or Mini Cooper on account of not making enough power. The latest Mitsubishi Eclipse GT came close to making the cut, but the only staffer who’d driven the thing told us it was “more like a softly suspended tourer than a racer” and would thus be humiliated. Maybe. But notice that the gentleman didn’t want his name to appear here.
“What about a V-6 Mustang?” blurted Winter, when no one had asked the art department’s opinion on anything. “Twenty grand, 210 horses,” he pointed out. We cursed and laughed, reminding Dan that a heavy rear-drive muscle car was totally at odds with the character of this group. Later, a civilian in Ohio asked, “So where’s your V-6 Mustang?” and we wished we’d included one.
And then someone, possibly Weber, asked, “What about an Audi A3? Less than $500 beyond the price cap and 197 horsepower, which is close enough.” We scoffed and threw pizza crusts, assuring her that the A3 couldn’t possibly keep up. Later, when we looked up its test results, we realized we were wrong, but we’re men and she’s just a girl, so we didn’t say anything, and the Audi wasn’t invited. Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, which usually entails some Schlitz in a paper cup. Then Winter mentioned that a Jeep Wrangler might almost qualify, so we had to hurt him.
And that’s how we wound up with one coupe (the Chevy Cobalt SS Supercharged), one hatchback (the Acura RSX Type-S), one pseudo-coupe with rear half-size suicide doors (the Saturn Ion Red Line), one four-wheel-drive sedan (the Subaru Impreza WRX), and one front-wheel-drive sedan (the Dodge SRT4 ACR). We’re not sure if this sets a record for the most tacked-on initials in comparo history, but it might.
If you’re still reading at this point, direct your letters of outrage to managing editor Steve Spence. The 18th letter to arrive will earn its author a pair of embarrassingly red Ferrari sneakers, size unknown, or $35,000 in cash, whichever Spence feels like mailing that day.
Some bathrobes may have been involved in this comparo. “It was real hot outside,” explained Winter. “Like a steam bath.” It was Winter’s idea that we thus dress appropriately. Which meant we could claim expensive monogrammed terry-cloth robes on C/D‘s expense account. Winter was not even drinking Blatz when he made this suggestion. Schlitz, possibly.
Plus: Three cost-free things that will improve your autocross performance
Fifth Place: Saturn Ion Red Line
For years and years, we’ve tried to love Saturns. Really, we have. But the division’s products continue to lack a pound of passion and an ounce of refinement. The Ion Red Line is Saturn’s most earnest effort to enrapture, starting with a supercharged Ecotec producing 205 horses. Combine that with the $1375 Competition package, and SoCal import tuners suddenly have a reason to stop snickering. Sort of.
There’s plenty here to like. For starters, the Ion Red Line offers the lowest base and as-tested prices in this group. It required a mere 164 feet to stop from 70 mph, with glory due its performance pads and 11.6-inch front rotors. Power delivery was smooth, unlike the on/off whipsawing of the turbocharged cars. There wasn’t a trace of torque steer. The Ion resembles a coupe, but its rear suicide doors proved a godsend for the two (not three) back-seat riders. It was faster than the Chevy Cobalt—with which it shares an engine and platform—in our autocross and emergency-lane-change maneuvers, where it felt extraordinarily well planted. And its Recaro seats accommodated all keisters.
In the end, though, those selling points were drowned in a whirlpool of minor misjudgments. The clutch and the steering were slightly too heavy and leaden, and the shifter was too ropy—beefs leveled at the Cobalt, too. The interior was notable mostly for acres of tacky black plastic, and the dash appeared to have been assembled from 40 pieces. The engine wanted to hang onto revs after we’d lifted, introducing driveline snatch. There was still too much engine thrash above 4000 rpm. Instead of a dead pedal we found only a wad of spongy, squishy carpet. And the optional $390 decklid spoiler wobbled and shimmied like an epileptic hula dancer.
What’s more, no one ever warmed to the column-mounted shift lights, whose warnings glow at 4400 rpm (peak torque), at 5600 rpm (peak horsepower), and finally at 6200 rpm (300 revs shy of the redline). Actually, the idea is good—you can’t help noticing the lights in your peripheral vision, a cool thing during an autocross. But our testers unanimously ached for a large, simple tach instead, a tach not mounted in the middle of the dash, we might add.
We’d like to tell you that C/D’s editors are free of “historical momentum”—a euphemism for prejudices. But, hey, we’re human. (Well, at least four of us.) During this contest, the Ion may have suffered from the kind of pent-up residual animus that voters reserve for politicians who try to appeal to every constituent on every issue. In one corner of Saturn’s parts bin you’ll find a bunch of super-cool Honda engines, and over in another corner are some Euro-sourced Opel chassis, and over in a third is—hey, what’s this?—a rebadged Chevy minivan that the division advertises as “all-new.” And now we’re to think of Saturn as our performance company?
In truth, Saturn has a couple of thoughtful offerings in the pipeline—chief among them the Sky roadster—although there’s reportedly nothing in the pipeline invented by Saturn uniquely for Saturn. For the nonce, the division remains the car company for people too timid to haggle with salesmen, and a mission statement like that must surely mess with Saturnalians’ minds.
2005 Saturn Ion Red Line
205-hp turbocharged inline-four, 5-speed manual, 2962 lb
Base/as-tested price: $19,990/$22,115
C/D TEST RESULTS
60 mph: 6.0 sec
100 mph: 15.6
1/4 mile: 14.6 @ 98 mph
Braking, 70–0 mph: 164 ft
Roadholding, 300-ft-dia skidpad: 0.85 g
C/D observed fuel economy: 21 mpg
Fourth Place: Chevrolet Cobalt SS Supercharged
We began referring to the Cobalt SS as the “Chevrolet Ion Red Line,” which was probably unfair. But neither was it a gross exaggeration. The Chevy and the Saturn share identical aluminum engines; they share the same Recaro seats and Quaife limited-slip differentials; and both at least begin with the same Delta chassis, although tuning differences now differentiate them. The Cobalt, for instance, always felt like the longest and heaviest car in this group (it was neither), especially on the freeway, where its superb tracking and overall solidity made it a long-distance all-star.
But the Cobalt also evinced a few too many of the Saturn’s Delta blues. The steering often felt heavy, artificial, and far less fluid than, say, the Acura’s or Subaru’s. That, combined with the heavy clutch and shifter—whose reverse lock-out ring was as fiddly as a nine-speed electric can opener—lent the car a moribund countenance, especially around town. Like the Saturn, the Cobalt also sported a rickety decklid spoiler that obscured the view of trailing Crown Vics and threatened to fly to pieces every time the trunk was slammed. And apart from its easy-to-read gauges—a huge improvement over the Saturn’s—the interior was as dark as February in Reykjavik, at odds with the car’s putative mission.
All voters remarked on a weird scraping noise that the Cobalt’s Ecotec inline-four—and the Saturn’s, too—emitted under light load and steady throttle. It sounded like a serpentine belt rasping across a tensioner or like pennies vibrating in the bottom of Uncle Morty’s cigar tin.
The long, heavy doors—remember the Camaro’s?—require your full attention in tight parking spaces, but they do make entry to the rear seat easier, a seat that is, by the way, suitable for three. Here’s a case, though, where the Saturn’s suicide clamshell doors might have been worth stealing.
Around our Ohio Hocking-heim loop—home of Grandma Faye’s convenience store and six varieties of vegetarian beef jerky—the Cobalt proved as quick as any car in this group, save the SRT4. But to maintain that pace, it also required more stern-willed shepherding. At its limits, the Cobalt was never unpredictable or snaky. Just, well, raggedy .
Our cobalt Cobalt wasn’t a victor in any of our many voting categories, and a car has to do at least one thing well before it has the remotest shot at fame. Instead, the little Chevy apparently aspires to be everyman’s cheap-speed coupe, lacking the refinement of the Acura, the brute force of the Dodge, or the passion of the Subaru—three models that have generated actual cults.
Nothing notable to hate, nothing notable to love. Apart from maybe Dan Quayle, no one has ever become famous like that.
2005 Chevrolet Cobalt SS Supercharged
205-hp supercharged inline-four, 5-speed manual, 2936 lb
Base/as-tested price: $21,990/$24,580
C/D TEST RESULTS
60 mph: 6.1 sec
100 mph: 15.3
1/4 mile: 14.6 @ 99 mph
Braking, 70–0 mph: 169 ft
Roadholding, 300-ft-dia skidpad: 0.86 g
C/D observed fuel economy: 20 mpg
Third Place: Dodge SRT4 ACR
The Dodge SRT4 ACR—we were asked not to use the Neon designator here, lest readers conjure a wimpy, dental hygienist’s car—represents a kind of descent into acronymic nirvana. SRT stands for Socially Regressive Thinking [ It stands for Street and Racing Technology – Ed.], and ACR stands for Alabama Canine Registry [ It stands for American Club Racing – Ed.]. The $1195 ACR package includes an even firmer suspension—yeah, that’s what it needs—as well as 225/45-16 BFG g-Force T/As instead of the standard 205/50R-17s.
Thus equipped, this smiley-faced Dodge is not so much a bull in a china shop as a tyrannosaur in a maternity ward. Not only does its turbo 2.4-liter four produce 230 horses, but it also churns out 107 more pound-feet of torque than the Acura. No surprise, then, that it bagged the quickest 0-to-60 time (5.6 seconds), the quickest and fastest quarter-mile blast (14.3 seconds at 99 mph), the greatest top speed (150), and the most enviable autocross time. The Dodge was the only car in our quintet to score a perfect 20 points in our coveted powertrain performance ranking.
What’s more, the SRT4 offers intergalactically powerful brakes, shedding 70 mph of velocity in 161 feet—supercar territory. If you’re beginning to think of the SRT4 as more race car than street car, we wouldn’t talk you out of it.
Race cars make a lot of noise. The SRT4 was far and away the noisiest car in this group—at idle, at wide-open throttle, and at a 70-mph cruise. Racing engines don’t have to be smooth. The SRT4’s produces a riot of vibration and is so lumpy at idle that our testers couldn’t write clearly in the logbook.
Race-car seats aren’t designed to be comfy. The SRT4’s hold your legs almost at belt level, as if you’re in a Formula Ford, and the bolsters were apparently designed to clutch onto Steve Kinser. The struts and anti-roll bars groan and gronk. The throttle-return spring is so heavy it could close a screen door. The rear windows are operated via manual cranks. And the spare tire is directional, as if the Dodge guys assume it’s the first thing buyers will discard on the garage floor.
While autocrossing, the Dodge felt right at home but was also the easiest to overdrive, with boost manifesting as early as 2000 rpm. Curb your right-foot enthusiasm, or the SRT4 will smoke its front BFGs out of every corner, even in third gear, plowing wide of your intended line.
This feisty little brute might have placed higher (an SRT4, in fact, won our May 2003 “Serial Thriller” comparo) were it not such a one-trick pony. The Dodge was a perfect marvel on our Ohio handling loop and a perfect nightmare on the drive down—hobbled by the omnipresent lawn-mower exhaust drone, the let’s-get-it- on ride, the rock-hard brake pedal, the torque steer off the line, the dense steering at low speeds, and the onlookers who assume you’re a sociopath looking for a school bus to ram.
Pulse-pounding velocity is dandy, until you want to sip an espresso latte while commuting to work at 6:30 in the sleet. Then all the boy-racer stuff becomes cloying. Still, if there’s pavement in front of your house that needs to be torn up, buy your SRT4 now. This mobile monster disappears in 2006.
2005 Dodge SRT4 ACR
230-hp turbocharged inline-four, 5-speed manual, 2973 lb
Base/as-tested price: $22,390/$24,058
C/D TEST RESULTS
60 mph: 5.6 sec
100 mph: 14.5
1/4 mile: 14.3 @ 99 mph
Braking, 70–0 mph: 161 ft
Roadholding, 300-ft-dia skidpad: 0.86 g
C/D observed fuel economy: 20 mpg
Second Place: Subaru Impreza WRX
It seems as if there’s been a hot Impreza or a WRX in our sign-out fleet about one week of every four since 1995, and the awfulest, rudest example among them would still score an easy nine-point-nine in the smiles-per-mile department. When we think of WRXs, we think of Rex, the cute little Boston terrier who licks and kisses his master but also occasionally bites the FedEx guy’s ankle just for fun. The growl of the 227-hp boxer does nothing to spoil that illusion.
What you notice first about the WRX is that everything feels in the right place—the optional short-throw shifter ($345), the height and angle of the cloth seats, the secondary controls. “It’s the only car here that doesn’t need an adjustable steering column,” noted six-foot-five Dave VanderWerp. What you notice next is that the steering is by far the lightest, most sensitive, most telepathic in this group, the sort of steering you’d expect on, say, a sporty Lexus. And the brake pedal is firm but with considerable travel, clearly announcing the onset of anti-lock.
Outright grip isn’t great—the WRX is fitted with the least racy tires in this bunch—but if you enter a turn too fast, the chassis offers up a charming little four-wheel drift, then scrubs speed reliably and neutrally. That’s not the quickest way around a corner, just the funnest. Because it makes it so hard to get into trouble, the WRX inspires confidence. You drive it fast all the time—nine-tenths in the 7-Eleven parking lot feels about right.
The boxy body still rolls and squirms too much, but that’s likely the upshot of what feels like huge suspension travel, which, in turn, imbues the WRX with the cushiest ride in this group. Even if you didn’t know the WRX’s rally history, you’d know its suspension was designed to work on rough, diabolical byways.
The biggest knock against the WRX is that its 227 horses are so slow to emerge from their turbocharged barn. Glance at little Rex’s rolling-start and top-gear accel times — all the worst by a wide margin. Compared with the Dodge, the Subaru subjectively evinces twice as much turbo lag. You quickly learn to linger in the 4K rev region and to apply power way, way before you exit a turn. Left-foot braking helps a little but not a lot. Despite being the second-most-powerful car in this group, the WRX finished fourth in our autocross, a victim of its weight, family-man tires, and lag. On the sharpest of the autocross turns, we’d almost stop on entry so that full throttle could be applied immediately after turn-in — that’s how much you have to anticipate.
It sounds funny to say this, but of the cars in this group, the WRX felt the most grown-up, the most utilitarian. You sit bolt upright and are surrounded by the clearest view in all directions. The WRX offers the only back seat that comfortably accommodates three adults without jamming their knees into their chins. And four-wheel drive makes the WRX the obvious choice for those who dwell in the solid-precipitation belt.
Rex, boy, go bite the mailman.
2005 Subaru Impreza WRX
227-hp turbocharged flat-four, 5-speed manual, 3117 lb
Base/as-tested price: $25,620/$26,364
C/D TEST RESULTS
60 mph: 6.0 sec
100 mph: 18.0
1/4 mile: 14.6 @ 94 mph
Braking, 70–0 mph: 176 ft
Roadholding, 300-ft-dia skidpad: 0.80 g
C/D observed fuel economy: 20 mpg
First Place: Acura RSX Type-S
Here we go again. That same old comparo conundrum. Our underdog victor offers the worst 0-to-60 time (6.4 seconds), the slowest quarter-mile time (14.9 seconds), the skimpiest back seat, and the most lackluster autocross lap.
Go ahead and write letters. We’re used to it.
It’s not that we’re so into the whole stone-shot-from-a-sling Philistine scene. But what makes this car a Goliath beater is that it’s an 8100-rev-ripping steroidal slot car on weekends and an intellectually sophisticated upscale six-jewel commuter on weekdays. Plus, when your neighbor asks what car you bought, it sounds way cooler to say Acura than Dodge—another reason why Acura’s offerings so firmly hold their resale values.
Acura’s recipe is worth copying. The engineers created the lightest and lowest car in this group, then added the highest-revving engine but with the least vibration, which they then mated to a six-speed box that shifts so fluidly that it’s like working the Tiptronic levers on a Porsche 911. It feels as if the shift linkage, the throttle, and the short-stroke clutch were magically interconnected and giving one another instantaneous instructions and heartfelt advice.
In this quintet, the Acura proved the most neutral in the hills and was the only car whose tail could be rotated with a dash of trail braking, thus avoiding the dreaded plow endemic to everything else in this group. On the skidpad, the RSX beat all comers.
What’s more, its trunk is the largest—okay, so it’s a hatchback, but it’s hard to tell from most angles—and the RSX simply embarrassed the pack with its built-in-Japan fit and finish. The dash is covered in a fetching rubberized grain that resembles expensive fabric, and the standard perforated-leather seats look like those in the tip-of-the-flagpole RL. The tiny, leather-wrapped wheel is just the right thickness and is as gratifying to grasp as a new Rawlings softball. Even the door inserts are swathed in delicate, pale cow skins, lending the cockpit a bright, luxurious feel. Why don’t the rest of the cars in this group offer cockpits as airy and fun? Why don’t they offer decklid spoilers as subtle and tasteful?
The RSX isn’t perfect. The seat cushions are a bit too flat and slippery, encouraging butt migration. The suspension feels as if it offers the least travel, occasionally crashing over Michigan potholes. The engine’s predilection for revs is so serious—note the astounding 4.77:1 final drive—that the drone can be annoying after a couple hours of freeway slogging. There’s still too much wind whirlpooling around the A-pillars. And an RSX driver will be rowing the gears at a rate that would impress even the Andretti family.
Who cares? Around town, the RSX is so agile, so light on its feet, so neatly balanced, so crisp at step-off that we voted it Most Likely to Carve Traffic into Invisibly Thin Slices. Close your eyes, and the RSX Type-S is like driving a Honda S2000. Okay, so maybe you shouldn’t close your eyes too long. Just long enough to sign a check for $24,240.
2005 Acura RSX Type-S
210-hp inline-four, 6-speed manual, 2843 lb
Base/as-tested price: $24,240/$24,240
C/D TEST RESULTS
60 mph: 6.4 sec
100 mph: 16.6
1/4 mile: 14.9 @ 95 mph
Braking, 70–0 mph: 176 ft
Roadholding, 300-ft-dia skidpad: 0.88 g
C/D observed fuel economy: 24 mpg
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