1981 Volkswagen Rabbit LS Test: Ich Bin Ein Amerikaner

From the February 1981 issue of Car and Driver.

On April 10, 1978, America’s first Rabbit rolled off the assembly line in Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania. It had a few features that earmarked it as an American-made bunny, but by and large it was a clone of the Teutonic original. For 1981 this is no longer true. The Rabbit has received its first over­haul since its introduction six years ago. The powertrain has been changed in both specification and temperament, the exterior sheetmetal freshened, the bumpers redesigned, and both the in­strument panel and the seats are hot off the drawing boards.

Back in the Beetle days, Volkswagen could easily have subsisted for 10 years on a redesign list that long. But today, stagnation is not allowed. The domes­tics are meeting Volkswagen head on in the econobox fight, and the Japanese are systematically acquiring a reputation for technical excellence, quality, and sportiness that used to be a German ex­clusive. Volkswagen recognizes the need to push ahead or perish, and for 1981 it has taken positive action in the survival direction.

Fuel economy is an area where the competition is particularly fierce. Al­though the diesel Rabbits enjoy an un­paralleled reputation as fuel misers, the gasoline versions haven’t made EPA headlines for years. Several Japanese cars (including almost every Rabbit­-class subcompact sedan) and some do­mestics have cracked the 30-mpg barri­er, something that Volkswagen has yet to accomplish with any of its gasoline offerings. The powertrain changes for 1981 are intended to improve Volks­wagen’s standing on this score.

This translates into a larger, 1.7-liter engine and K-Jetronic fuel injection with feedback for all Rabbits. The addi­tional displacement (achieved through a longer stroke), along with valve-timing changes, has been used to increase torque. Flat-out power is down by two horsepower. The horsepower and torque peaking speeds are lower, by 500 and 200 rpm respectively, but the real improvement is concentrated between 1000 and 2000 rpm. The high-speed band was not totally neglected, for the 6700-rpm redline is retained and the engine is admirably smooth at these ro­tational speeds, but there really isn’t much power to be found there.

With this torquey, wide-power-band engine, Volkswagen had plenty of flexi­bility to play with transmission gear ra­tios. The result is called the 3 + E gearbox, which is last year’s transmission now fitted with ratios wide enough to span the Cumberland Gap. The first three gears cover 90 percent of the range that four did last year. Fourth, or E (for efficiency), is a very tall over­drive—0.70:1 to be exact. Last year’s fourth gear was 0.97, and in the five-­speed, fifth was only 0.76. All with the same 3.89:1 final-drive ratio that carries over into 1981. This gearing yields 23.9 mph per 1000 rpm, extremely tall for what was once called a little buzzbox. (Another handy road-test term bites the dust.) The idea, of course, is to keep en­gine speed low and load high, thereby minimizing internal friction and pump­ing losses. These effects more than can­cel the loss of efficiency from the bigger engine and raise the EPA fuel economy from 24 to 28 mpg.

Overgeared cars are usually gutless, but the Rabbit is an exception, at least during socially acceptable driving. First gear is unaltered from last year and, with the torquier engine, allows the car to hop off the line like a scared bunny. The engine pulls well at low speed, so the wide ratios don’t cripple your pace, and third is a great around-town gear. On the highway, fourth is basically a speed-holding mode, resulting in sedate and silent cruising with only 2500 rpm on the tach at 60 mph.

Back-road burning is another matter entirely. Although the zero-to-60 time of 11.6 seconds compares favorably with that of the five-speed Rabbit we tested last year (11.2 seconds), it doesn’t tell the whole story. The strong first gear launches the car well, but afterward engine speed drops into a can­yon with each shift and crawls ever so slowly back up the power band. The zero-to-eighty time shows this: the older car beats the new one by over four sec­onds. The 91-mph top speed, attainable only in third gear, drives home the point that for fast driving, a four-speed Rabbit is really a three-speed. Shift points marked on the speedometer don’t help either, for they correspond to random rpm well below the redline.

Fortunately, the five-speed option still exists. Its ratios are also wider than last year’s, but the total spread is about the same as the new four-speed’s and the extra gear makes all the difference. With this transmission and a tachome­ter, the low-end torque and high rev­ving capability of the new engine come together in a symbiosis that is unsur­passed in econoboxes.

The EPA rating of the five-speed is 3 mpg lower than the four-speed’s, since the four-speed does a better job of “beating” the EPA’s driving cycle, but we wonder if this will hold up on the street. With the four-speed there is a tendency to stay in third to keep passing options open, a despicable act that cuts heavily into fuel savings. We made ev­ery effort to resist this temptation and recorded 27 real-world mpg.

Compared with the heavy powertrain changes, the rest of the Rabbit altera­tions for 1981 are largely cosmetic. A switch from steel to aluminum in the bumpers has pared about 29 pounds from each car. The front fenders are new, incorporating wraparound parking lights, which eliminate the protruding, eyesore side-marker lights introduced when U.S. production began. The grille is also new, along with larger taillights that now extend further toward the cen­ter of the car, almost embracing the li­cense plate.

Inside, the dashboard and instrument panel have been redesigned. The new shape is quite handsome, but there is some ersatz stitching molded into the plastic that is really a bit much. At least Volkswagen did back off from the all­-encompassing color coordination that dominated its first American attempt at interior decoration. But the fake-wood appliqué on the instrument panel and the general interior material selection lean more toward early Kmart than toward Danish modern.

Much of this is due to the domestic manufacture of the car. Most of the ma­terials and components that we admire in European cars are simply unavailable in America. The remote-control mirror knob is an example. The Jetta (Europe­an-built) uses a beefy, black, mush­room-like control; the Rabbit has a ball­-ended chrome stick just like a Ford’s or a Chevy’s. Volkswagen of America would have to pay a premium for the European part while reducing the local content of the car, both undesirable from their viewpoint.

We can’t blame the faults of the rede­signed seats solely on American sourc­ing, however, because others with the same constraints have done better. The comfort of the seats is not bad, but even parent-takes-kiddies-to-kindergarten driving will reveal a dearth of lateral support. The seat cushion lacks a bucket shape, the seatback is totally flat, and the covering feels like the latest Teflon variant. The problem is compounded by the passive-restraint system standard on all LS Rabbits. One can get used to this arrangement very quickly, especially since the new dashboard includes a re­vised knee bar that is far less obtrusive than the previous design. But the pas­sive system doesn’t provide any lateral restraint since there’s neither a lap belt nor tension in the upper-torso belt to tie you down.

Which is too bad, because the Rabbit scoots around corners quite well. On a drive through the vicious switchbacks and up- and downhill sweepers of West Virginia coal country, it showed its cot­tontail to all comers. The brakes with­stood repeated brutal use, and the suspension sloughed off everything from gravel roads to rutted railway crossings. The basic structure is as solid as ever, and the ride is firmly controlled but still very comfortable. The chassis is capable enough to underline the sporting short­comings of the seats and the transmis­sion.

The middle-of-the-road bias in these components, along with the interior fin­ish, represents a concerted effort by Volkswagen of America to tailor the Rabbit to its guess at American tastes and driving conditions. Which is a strange way for this company to do business, in view of past approaches. The Rabbit’s success was based on Volkswagen’s anticipation of future eco­nomic forces at a time when its competi­tors were merely reacting to them. Now the roads are full of Rabbit look-alikes. Modern domestic subcompacts are pop­ping up, and the Japanese are starting to talk about American assembly.

As VW abdicates its role as leader to defend itself against this head-to-head competition, there is a risk to consider. The domestics, on their home ground, can still outgun Volkswagen economi­cally. The Japanese have unity of labor, industry, and government, as well as an established reputation for quality and a steadily increasing technical excellence. So what we have here is an automotive world war. The Maginot Line tactic of meeting the competition head to head with an Americanized Rabbit may not win the fight. What Volkswagen really needs is a new blitzkrieg, another quan­tum leap over convention, like the origi­nal Rabbit in 1975.

Counterpoints

When it first came to America six years ago, VW’s better-Beetle was a noisy, fru­gal-but-efficient box. Parts fell off left and right, which permanently frosted lots of folks, but Volkswagen saw the error of its ways soon enough to fine-tune the Rabbit with finesse. Then came the move to America—baby-blue turn-signal levers and all. Gradually the guys in Warren, Michigan, did get it together, and I must say I like the latest edition from Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania. It feels solid and the trim fits well, even though the simu-stitching is a bit too schmaltzy for my taste. At least the control stalks are now a restful shade of matte black. In­stead of high-rev vitality, the engine now bristles with brute torque. The Bonneville gearbox doesn’t bother me much, but I’d still opt for the five-speed. I am distressed about the fact that you no longer get bucket seats in a Rabbit; our test car’s seats could only be described as individual benches, so cloth upholstery is a must. All of which makes the new Rab­bit a mixed bag of good and bad, albeit more Americanized. No doubt it will send Japanese designers—and maybe a few Detroit ones as well—back to the drawing boards once again. —Don Sherman

The Rabbit has just about lost its German accent. What especially endeared the old­er, German-built version to me was its lovely European character. It was the BMW of the econobox set, taut and full of vitality. Its interior was neat and business­like. Germans like their cars that way, and so do I.

But now that the Rabbit is a naturalized citizen, it’s changed. The fine minds that run VW of America must have reckoned that Americans want something a little more familiar. So they let the Rabbit go soft around the middle. You no longer feel its kinship with the Scirocco.

I get into this car now and don’t even know I’m sitting in a Rabbit. The wood-­paneled dash looks like something out of a Malibu. The pseudo-padded steering wheel is pure Caddy. The front seats are park-bench flat. The high-economy gear­ing saps the engine’s verve for a lousy 3-mpg improvement. And the ride motions are now flaccid, just like “median American” buyers would expect them to be. Personally, I don’t think any of this is a change for the better. So long, old friend. —Rich Ceppos

Volkswagen of America does not have a fanny fetish—much to the detriment of your fanny. Spend a few minutes in a Rabbit and you’ll find out. The seats are vinyl-coated catastrophes. They provide nothing except a platform to keep your butt off the floor and a back to keep you from falling into the trunk. Don’t feel around for lateral support; there isn’t any unless you count the door. And how good can the passive restraints be when they won’t even help hold you in place for nor­mal driving? Volkswagen’s bread-and­-butter seats (which bear no resemblance to the terrific sport seats that can be de­livered in Sciroccos and Rabbit convertibles) have never been as good as the Rabbits themselves. The Ford Escort has far superior seating, front and back. And then there’s the Mazda 626, with some of the best seats ever plunked into a little car. However . . . the American Rabbit, for all its icky color coordination and Amerithink luxury touches, has become a good car under the skin again. It gave up some early ground in its Pennsylvania transition, but now it seems much tighter and much more the cheery handling de­mon it was in German form. Which is good, good, really good. —Larry Griffin

Source: Reviews - aranddriver.com