1983 Audi 5000 Turbo Diesel Tested: Just Add Snails

From the October 1982 issue of Car and Driver.

Truths about the new Audi 5000S Turbo Diesel are a lot like children: they’re everywhere you turn, but they’re mostly underfoot. Feel free to take this literally. Everywhere you need to turn the steering wheel, the 5000S Turbo Diesel artfully crafts its way into the cor­ners, and you know you have found truth in engineering. And every time you take a healthy poke at the old fuel pedal, you know you have discovered why it is reasonably nice to have a turbocharger underfoot in your diesel.

Still, all in motoring life, as else­where, is a compromise. Our question is, Where does the compromise end for a diesel and the life begin? We know that the nor­mally aspirated, gas-propelled versions of Audi’s 5000 are tingly enough to qualify as Testers’ Choice, and the 5000 Turbo, sweet nutcracker that it is, can be put right at the top of the Marital Aid, Heavy Breathing category—but can Audi’s heretofore semi-lethargic diesel be resuscitated with a turbo? Its one real normally aspirated attribute has been its ability to deliver econobox-like fuel economy in a much roomier and more refined package than smaller con­tainers can provide, but Audi’s oil burn­er to date has had all the titillation po­tential of dead batteries.

That in itself was enough to bring it at last (and notably long after the gaso­line-engined 5000) to Ferdinand Piech’s attention, never mind the fact that he thinks turbochargers can be successfully applied to anything down to and includ­ing Hula-Hoops and Roto-Rooters. As Audi’s most entrepreneurial idea man, Piech has brought us first the gas-com­busted 5000 Turbo and then the dash­ing, four-wheel-drive, kompressorized Quattro. Welcome to Act III.

Alas, no getting around it, the 5000 Turbo Diesel is not fast, nor is it even quick. After a day at the test track, the best results we could get were a 0-to-60-mph time of 15.9 seconds, a quarter­-mile elapsed time of 20.4 seconds at 68 mph, and a level-ground maximum ve­locity of 92 mph. So you’re not writing home for a down payment yet, right?

Have just a little patience. It eventual­ly pays off with this car. It’s a little like life with the children we mentioned back in the beginning: when you come to understand just what you’ve got un­derfoot, you get a lot more out of it. When you watch children grow up, over the years turning from free-form little rug rats into real and clever little peo­ple, you realize it’s worth the wait. And that’s just the way it is when you ask Audi’s diesel turbo to gather itself up for a launch from a standing start into the rest of its life. At first not much hap­pens, then there’s some activity, then all at once it barrels right on off, proud as punch. After you understand the fun that lies beyond the crossover point, you can arrange your motoring so the sweet side of that speed curve is usually at hand.

Also fun is the Turbo Diesel’s almost total abhorrence of fuel stops, given its 19.8-gallon fuel tank, 28 mpg through the confines of the EPA’s prototypical city, and 24 mpg in C/D‘s own hard­-charging environment. Audi has intro­duced an interesting way to improve the Turbo Diesel’s around-town mpg re­sults: its floor-mounted, T-bar shifter includes a position marked “E,” which allows the engine to freewheel when you lift off the accelerator pedal, thus reducing fuel-consuming drag on the engine at idle or when decelerating around town. Of course, selecting “E” rather than “D” for country use might also be expected to yield some gains in economy, but they would normally be proportionately less since steady-state cruising conditions are more prevalent on the open road. Moreover, the sensa­tion of having no engine braking when you release the accelerator pedal is ini­tially a bit disconcerting in traffic or at higher speeds on back roads.

In the “E” mode, the transmission disengages a forward-gear clutch in the transmission when it senses major de­celeration. Then a distracting lurch ac­companies re-engagement when you step back into the accelerator. In all shift positions other than “E,” the transmission works as you would expect any automatic to work.

Even beyond “E,” though, this auto­matic transaxle likes to let you know it’s around. Full-throttle upshifts are a touch muscular, and equally firm kick­downs are prone to somewhat vague de­lays. Our biggest suggestion to Audi is to take a look at what General Motors is doing with it automatics in its front­-wheel-drive, V-6 diesel A-cars. We re­cently tested an Oldsmobile Ciera (C/D, August 1983) that was a prime example of the pleasant mating of automatic transmission and diesel engine, its 4.3-liter, nor­mally aspirated powerplant tuned for high torque at low rpm and a relatively flat curve from there up, while the transmission was a three-speed unit with a torque converter designed to al­low the engine to rev very quickly to its maximum-torque rpm, and then to lock up in fully mechanical direct drive after shifting into third gear, effectively creat­ing a fourth-speed ratio and extremely long-legged cruising. Efficient and com­pletely undistracting in use, the system allowed the roomier and equally heavy Ciera to out-accelerate Audi’s Turbo Diesel while matching its EPA city rating.

Not to say that the Audi doesn’t outdo the Olds in several other areas, par­ticularly in construction quality and even more dramatically in simply having under its skin quite a refined chassis. This wonderful quality of the Audi is a tangible thing. It is obvious in the car’s every major control, in its subjective feel, and in its almost unearthly abilities to boost your over-the-road confidence substantially, without ever indicating that this accomplishment is any big deal. The Audi 5000 chassis is about as well sorted as any we’ve ever encoun­tered in a sedan, better able to deal with the physical pleasures and disasters of today’s roads than anything else we’ve had in a good long while. The steering is light but full of good wishes and fine detail. The suspension is receptive to anything you have in mind or the road holds in store. Despite a fair amount of body roll, the suspension never goes wishy-washy at trying moments, and the directional stability is placid testimony to zero-offset steering geometry and proper suspension design and develop­ment. This chassis holds no nasty sur­prises for its driver (though less spongy brakes would be nice), and it sets stan­dards others could well strive for.

Would that the seats were as good as the mechanicals. They are massive and firmly padded and adjustable nine ways (literally) to Sunday, but their lower cushions are short and they lack some­thing several of the rudest Japanese se­dans offer without a second thought: lumbar-support adjustments. A number of your C/D drivers stepped out of the Audi singing its behavioral praises but aching from stem to stern and casting colorful aspersions upon the black-­leather thrones. The optional power sunroof loomed into available head­room, grumbled towering testers, but more diminutive drivers (well, say, six feet or under) spoke of the expansive hole in the roof and how nice its air and sunshine were. The windows and mir­rors are also power units, and the back seat is blessed (if you can call it that) with two cigarette lighters, one in each door alongside small courtesy and read­ing lights. These lights failed to func­tion in our test car, as did the main inte­rior light unless its switch was flipped to the well-known, battery-draining, on-­no-matter-what position.

The cruise-control switches on a steering-column stalk are hidden by a spoke of the wheel and are somewhat difficult to use. Moreover, the control unit itself has a tough time coming to grips with long uphill grades, steep or otherwise, and exhibits a certain absent­mindedness in eventually misplacing about 2 mph if your selected speed is moderately above the national limit, even when the terrain is level. And if you ask the Turbo Diesel for consistent hotfooting in speedometer-peg territo­ry, the request must come directly from your foot.

Audi’s air-conditioning, heating, and vent systems are very strong and their controls are simple (if garishly splashed with blue and red), and the dash-wide array of vents allows great precision of adjustment. While the heater is plenty hot, the space for back-seat feet is less so. Audi has for some reason chosen to breed power seats whose component­-occupied underbellies hang almost to the floor, effectively taking an important chunk out of what is otherwise a very commodious rear cabin, offering space for three abreast and full shoulder har­nesses for the two outboard passengers. Those in the back seat of our test car were more likely to spot a few aesthetic oversights such as the door frames and seat tracks in body-color white, which clashed strongly with the black interior trim. Some A-pillar trim was mis­aligned, but the rest of the interior (with the major exception of a depressing plastic headliner) was neat and attrac­tive, an aesthetically okay locale for tak­ing the tunes with Audi’s Panasonic auto-reverse, electronic AM/FM/cas­sette multifeature stereo, which seems to produce better sound in the 5000 body enclosure than it does in the Quattro.

Just don’t race any Quattros. And save all your competitions for downhill cuts and thrusts, back-hill boondog­gling, and clever nippings through town. If that puts too tight a limit on your fun, bypass the Turbo Diesel and go directly to the rousingly energetic, gasoline-burning 5000 Turbo. That’s a car you can put to quick use anywhere, not just downhill, and you’ll never, ever forget that the truth about it lies almost entirely underfoot.

Counterpoints

Audi is one of the long-ball hitters in the automotive marketplace. It’s been swinging for the fences ever since Ferdinand Piech joined the team. With few exceptions, every Audi of recent memory has been ex­ceptional: the Quattro, the Coupe, the 5000 Turbo, even the 4000 are all solid shots into the center-field bleachers.

This time, I’m afraid, mighty Casey has struck out. The 5000 Tur­bo Diesel fails not only to advance the art, but also to even measure up to the better cars in the diesel class. It struggles away from stoplights when the air conditioner is on. Ugh. A mid-priced, normally aspirated Olds Cutlass Ciera is far more sprightly around town. The Mercedes Turbo Diesel proves you need not suffer with the lethargy.

If the notion of a 5000 Turbo Die­sel tickles you, I suggest checking back in a year or so, after this car has been through the inevitable refine­ment process. You see, that’s the other thing about Audi. Like all champions, it doesn’t make the same mistake for long. —Rich Ceppos

The Audi 5000 is a nice, contempo­rary car for rich, young professionals with a need for a back seat. It’s a great touring car (though the ride is a tad on the soft side), its cabin is luxurious, and its styling is among the most modern in the luxury-sedan class. But a diesel-engined 5000, tur­bocharged or otherwise, is not for me, thanks.

Turbocharging may help to over­come the 5000’s diesel slows in the midrange, but around town the car is a real slug. I was also surprised to find that this Audi makes enough noise to wake the dead. To add to all that irritation, Audi adds an “E” gear, which drops the engine revs to idle when the accelerator isn’t being depressed. But instead of subtly kick­ing back in with the throttle, the en­gine sags, then goes, when you hit the gas. The “E” gear may be a good idea and may help fuel economy, but the execution is poor. I hated it.

If you’re sure you must own a diesel, then turbocharge it. And if you have $20,000 to make the experience less painful, wait for the Volvo 760 Turbo Diesel. —Jean Lindamood

An Audi 5000 can’t be bad. I’ll admit that. But I don’t understand this deal about turbo-dieseling. Every time I punch the equation into my calcula­tor, the microchips melt.

First you pay extra for a diesel en­gine. This is to make the car more economical, right? All you have to do is drive 80,000 miles to break even. Then you pay more for a turbocharg­er. That’s to make the car less slow than an ordinary diesel—but it can also make it less economical. In re­turn for all this extra dough, you get a car that’s still pretty slow and only pretty economical.

This kind of double-talk puts tur­bo-diesels in the same category as dash-mounted earthquake detectors, as far as I’m concerned. In short, they’re gimmicks. And the Audi’s “E” gear, which seems designed solely to trick the EPA’s chassis dyno into delivering inflated fuel-economy numbers, heightens my skepticism about this car.

Some might say that every diesel deserves a turbo, especially when the base smoker is as slow as an Audi 5000 Diesel. But if you’re still going to get a slow car, why pay more? —Michael Jordan

Source: Reviews - aranddriver.com