Tested: 1980 Volkswagen Vanagon L Proves To Be a Worthy Follow Up To the Original Type 2 VW Bus

From the February 1980 issue of Car and Driver.

Hey man. I got a bus, you got a bus, all God’s flower children got a bus.

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The VW microbus was as much a part of the Sixties as long hair, blue jeans, marijuana, and army-surplus jackets. Arlo Guthrie immortalized the micro­bus in “Alice’s Restaurant.” And every­body from acid-headed hippies to fist­-clenching revolutionaries embraced it with a reverence generally reserved for things like Quotations from Chairman Mao and Jimi Hendrix albums.

What could have been a more perfect counterculture conveyance? The bus’s shoebox shape flouted the automotive styles of the day. It was an honest, unpretentious, utterly utilitarian transportation device that laughed in the face of America’s obsessions with speed and ersatz luxury. What vehicle was better suited to the quasi-nomadic lifestyle of the Sixties youth? The microbus and its camper derivative had all the room an unmarried couple could want, and cost hardly anything to run. Traveling was always laid back and easy in a microbus, thanks to a Beetle engine that had about as much power as your average Charger’s heater blower. About all you could do was turn on, tune in, and watch the scenery float lazily by. In the days when you were either on the bus or off the bus, the microbus was groovy.

The Volkswagen bus also happened to be well respected within the Establishment. It was such a good idea that it inspired a whole slew of American imitations in the mid-Sixties. But Volkswagen, realizing that its territory was under siege, dropped the quaint old microbus in 1968—at the zenith of its popularity, no less—and replaced it with a model so soulless and modern-looking that only one protester in ten would have recognized it without its nameplate on. That’s capitalism for you.

Well, as Bob Dylan predicted, the times have a-changed. After the old microbus went away, Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin all but disappeared from the face of the earth (killed by their parents?), the war ended, and Woodward and Bernstein showed a president to the White House door. And most of the Movement’s sympathizers have gradually been absorbed by the Establishment. They have good-paying jobs now, and they’re not nearly as different from their parents as they thought they’d be come the revolution. Yes, the Sixties flower children have grown up. And so has their bus.

The Vanagon is the third-generation VW bus, the second major redesign in the line’s 31-year history. But in its latest incarnation, the VW bus is still very much the kind of vehicle that will appeal to the children of the Sixties—those former longhairs turned successful businessmen—for some of the same old reasons and some important new ones.

For one thing, the Vanagon upholds tradition. It still rolls to the beat of a different drummer, offering an “innovation” not seen anywhere else in the domestic van market: it has its engine in the back (surprise), hung way out behind the rear axle, like 5.5 million VW buses before it. Though reusing the power package looks like an attempt at cost-cutting, VW claims it’s not that at all. In fact, after studying all possible powertrain locations, VW concluded that a rear-mounted engine offered the most advantages for a passenger van. Putting the engine in the tail moves the primary noise source as far as possible from the driver’s ears, opens up front leg space, and provides nearly equal front-to-rear weight distribution. So right away, the Vanagon stands apart from the rest of America’s rolling boxes.

The engine chosen for the job is equally surprising, given VW’s switch to and promotion of water-cooled power­plants. It’s a 2.0-liter version of the familiar air-cooled flat-four that powered every Vee Dub until the Rabbit. Volkswagen claims that it would have preferred to use a Rabbit-derived engine lying on its stomach, but because of the flood of orders for Rabbits, the VW engine foundry simply couldn’t supply enough extra engines for the Vanagon. So that change will have to wait a few years. The Vanagon’s engine is at least an improvement over the old bus’s. The new engine’s cooling-system ductwork is the same as that used on countless Squarebacks; it fits the engine like a glove, lowering the height of the power­plant to about that of an office typewriter—which allowed VW to drop the rear load floor by 8.0 inches.

Important revisions have been made to the suspension system as well. The old bus’s antiquated, transverse-torsion-bar trailing-arm front suspension has been replaced by conventional unequal-length control arms, coil springs, and an anti-roll bar. Those changes, plus a 6.9-inch widening of the track, give the Vanagon a more stable stance and add some badly needed camber change to keep the outside tires more upright when cornering. The rear suspension, which was already fully independent, now uses coil springs instead of torsion bars as the springing medium, and benefits from another 4.5 inches of track.

Draped over the revised chassis is a new suit of clothes, one of the handsomer bodies ever tailored for a van. But style was the least of the reasons for the new skin. The designers made it 3.3 inches wider, dropped the floor by 2.4 inches, and spread the passenger compartment across a wheelbase 2.3 inches longer. The result is a 15-percent increase in the Vanagon’s interior volume, and a 40-percent improvement in rear luggage space.

Inside, the trimmings have been kept simple and tasteful. You can still order a Vanagon that’s rubber-mat-and-no-­headliner Spartan, though all vans have windows and seats for at least seven. Most folks will prefer an L model like our test van—which was trimmed about as well as a mid-line Rabbit—or one of the two pop-top camper versions. Anyone who wants bordello-cloth seats and tacky, ankle-deep shag that runs up the wall is in the wrong place. The Vanagon just isn’t that kind of van.

This modicum of good taste is alone enough to make the Vanagon a class of one. But it distinguishes itself in a host of other ways as well. In fact, there simply isn’t anything else quite like it. Hardly a staffer who ventured out in the Vanagon came back with anything but praise, with the biggest accolade being for the way it drove.

What we have here is the Porsche 911 of vans. The Vanagon goes down the road with a car-like assuredness that’s never existed in vehicles of this type before. Once you get used to being seated a couple of stories above the pavement, you can slice through twisty roads with abandon. Its steering is amply quick, and even has plenty of road feel and a strong sense of center. Bumps, even in the middle of corners, don’t have a prayer of deflecting the Vanagon off course. But like many a German car, it thrums its way across tar strips and surface imperfections.

Of course, the Vanagon is no super­coupe, but it is more encouraging to drive than a bunch of wobbly sedans we can think of. And the mere fact that we’re even talking about driving it aggressively ought to indicate how advanced its road manners are.

As if that weren’t enough. the Vanagon is also a pretty fair Interstate trawler. Locked in at 65 or 70 mph, it marches straight down the highway, surprisingly resistant to wind gusts. And it’s equally at home around town. Though the engine doesn’t offer any excess of power, the transmission’s stump-puller low gear, wide gear spacing, and silken shift linkage help make it seem a lot peppier below the double-nickel than the numbers say it is. And with the motor at the other end of the chassis, buried under the floor and a layer of carpeting, it’s almost inaudible—so a liberal use of revs doesn’t hurt your ears.

Such first-class road manners mean never having to say you’re sorry for owning a vehicle this big. But while the Vanagon is bulky compared with most cars, it’s actually the smallest van sold in America—about as long and tall as the smallest American models, but still a half-foot narrower. Nevertheless, it’s a complete success at its utilitarian mission in life. The inches VW added to the interior give the new bus that Greyhound feeling, and with the engine in the trunk, the front floor is as flat as your foyer. All of the seats—your choice of seven or nine—are firm, comfortable, and chair-high. And wall-to-wall picture windows let in all the sun and scenery you could want.

Thoughtful touches help make the Vanagon’s cabin a model of usefulness. The spare tire, for instance, is stowed outside, in a drop-down, aerodynamic pod under the nose. The center seat slides out in minutes, leaving a cavern large enough for a, well, fondue party. The rear seat back folds flat for an added increment of cargo-carrying versatility. Heater vents in the ceiling conduct hot air back to the hard-to-warm center section. And you can order an optional, gasoline-fired auxiliary heater that provides a blast of hot air the instant you twist the key on cold mornings. We heartily recommend it for colder climes, because the Vanagon’s heater system—fed primarily by the engine-driven cooling fan—is a bit weak, especially at idle.

Aside from that one flaw, though, all is celestial harmony in Volkswagen’s latest edition of the Microbus. The wizards of Wolfsburg have blessed us with an economy-sized people-toter that has its roots deeply embedded in sedan soil. Certainly, there are vans that can carry more, that perform better—and there are even a couple that can better the Vanagon’s 17-mpg fuel-economy rating. But you won’t find another that’s assembled with such obvious care, or that’s nearly so rewarding to drive. The Vanagon costs a helluva lot more than similarly equipped domestic models. but you get what you pay for if driving enjoyment is part of your hauling requirement.

Some things, it’s nice to see, just never change. The VW bus stood apart from the crowd when the children of the Sixties were dropping out, and it’s still a vehicle for the alternative-minded now that they’ve dropped back in. Of course, these days the VW bus’s special attractiveness results from engineering refinement rather than counterculture appeal. But in our studied opinion there’s still only one way to describe it: far out man, really far out.

Counterpoints

By now you should realize that if you want to see the future of cars, trucks, vans, and, for all we know, motorcycles, you need only look to Volkswagen. If VW engineers haven’t already done it, either they’ve got it on the drawing boards or there’s a revolutionary design in their files just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. Finally, it is the right time for somebody to reinvent the utility van, and, you guessed it, VW did it. I choke on the name “Vanagon” a bit, but then I also had trouble with “Dasher” and “Rabbit” at first. Otherwise, I like this new VW just fine. It’s no more fuel-efficient than our vans and, in typical German fashion, it costs almost twice as much as its American-made counterparts, but otherwise it’s a wholly decent piece of work. The Vanagon is the most efficiently packaged box on wheels you can buy. It’s comfortable, highly maneuverable, and fun to drive. It stops better than most cars. While our sample of one doesn’t tell the whole quality story, this biggest, most expensive VW ever seems to be well crafted. You have my permission to consider it the Porsche of utility vans. —Don Sherman

“Colonel Vanagon pointed his nebulizing sonic laser at the intruder from Velox II, moved the selectadeath switch to vaporize and…” I can’t help it. Every time l hear that ridiculous name I lose control. But get past the Vanagon’s name and what you’ve got here is your actual real good little VW bus, er, van. Station wagon? (Good grief, it’s Busanagon.)

What you don’t get is the one thing that would seem to have been so logical in such a serious remake: the Rabbit”s front-wheel-drive set up. But the familiar flat-four whistling away under the back floor is now pushing a much more handsome box with more room inside and handling that’s unique in the species. VW’s little minibus has always made good sense as an efficient, fun-to-drive hauler. The Busanagon is even better.

Uh, oh. Here it comes again. ”Chief Busanagon stepped into the clearing, raised his spear, his eyes locked on the intruder’s…” —Mike Knepper

I’ve been in love with VW microbuses for over twenty years, and this new generation (Vanagon?) seduced me the moment I opened the door. This is the one van available in the U.S. of A. that even half­ seriously tries to cope with Energy Crisis II, and until the Japanese deliver some of their really sweet little midget-submarine models to these shores, VW will have the no-guilt van market all to itself. This is a wonderful piece, friends. I made three 100-mile round trips during a single weekend in this crisply styled orange box and I found myself hankering for cruise control, just because it really wants to settle down at about 70 and motor. Its handling is such that you can’t really tell which end holds the engine, and it goes around corners in a way that’s guaranteed to bring shame to every shag-carpeted and airbrushed sin bin on our roads today—even the ones with the super wide off-brand tires on the back. It is noisy inside, with lots of booming resonance to drown out the radio, but damn me, is it a sweetheart to drive. As Wilt Chamberlain says, “Volkswagen does it, again.” —David E. Davis, Jr.

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Source: Reviews - aranddriver.com