Car Reviews

From the September 2004 issue of Car and Driver.
The Volvo V50 wagon pictured here replaces the V40 model that was launched in 1999 and is the wagon equivalent of the S40 sedan. Got that?

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This latest iteration of Volvo’s smallest wagon is now available in three trim levels. The naturally aspirated 168-hp front-drive V50 2.4i starts at $26,345, the turbocharged front-drive T5 model ups the base price to $27,945, and the top-of-the-line T5 AWD you see here adds the four-wheel factor to the same turbo motor and starts at $30,795.

The V50 keeps the same basic proportions as the V40. All the wagon’s dimensions are within a few inches of that earlier model’s, but by moving the wheels closer to the corners of the vehicle, Volvo designers have made incremental improvements in interior space, as well as improving the styling and handling.

Volvo hopes to sell at least 6500 V50s a year in the U.S. That may not sound like a lot, but it’s more than four-and-a-half times the number of V40s that were sold in 2003. To put this number into perspective, during 2003 Audi sold slightly fewer than 3800 A4 Avants, and BMW sold just over 1800 3-series wagons.

Maybe the folks at Volvo subscribe to C/D, because they’ve corrected many of our complaints about the V40. The V50 is now available with more power, the Haldex electronically controlled all-wheel drive available on other Volvos, and a previously unavailable manual transmission-the six-speed borrowed from the S60R.
For our evaluation, Volvo supplied us with very nearly our favorite model, the turbocharged T5 with all-wheel drive. The only additional option we’d like is the six-speed manual transmission that won’t be available until early December.
This $34,715 V50 T5 AWD came well loaded, but it did not have a sunroof ($1200) or navigation system ($2120). It was actually an early-production European version and had the optional “keyless drive” system that is becoming popular on many luxury brands. Although it was on the car tested here, keyless drive won’t be available until model-year ’06. Consequently, we didn’t include the estimated cost of that option-about $500-in our specifications panel.

Highs: Quicker than A4 and 325i wagons, all-wheel drive, handsome looks, a manual is on the way.

The 2.5-liter turbocharged engine makes 218 horsepower and 236 pound-feet of torque (48 and 59 more than the V40, respectively). Even with all this power, turbo lag is virtually nonexistent, noticeable only when lightly modulating the throttle from a standstill.
Mash the throttle, however, and the V50 blasts to 60 in 6.9 seconds and passes through the quarter-mile in 15.2 seconds at 93 mph. Our Euro-spec model continued up to an unrestricted 141 mph, although Volvo suggests that it will limit the straight-line fun to 130 mph on U.S.-spec cars.
Gaining nearly 500 pounds in the process of changing names, the V50’s acceleration times are still a huge improvement over the V40’s: 8.3 seconds to 60 and 16.4 seconds at 85 mph in the quarter-mile.
The V50’s straight-line performance is also good enough to walk away from the Audi A4 Avant 3.0 Quattro and the BMW 325xi wagon but not quite enough to run with the new Subaru Impreza WRX-based Saab 9-2X Aero.
The Volvo’s steering is nicely weighted and is combined with a properly chosen ratio that doesn’t demand constant correction on the highway and also doesn’t make the driver turn the wheel too far for cornering. Although the V50 sends 100 percent of its power to the front wheels until slip is detected, torque steer is surprisingly absent.
We had a sneak peek some months back at the V50’s new chassis in Mazda 3 guise, so we weren’t surprised to find it well balanced. It never felt too harsh driving around Michigan’s frustratingly pocked roads, yet it didn’t just lean over and give up when lateral grip began to rise.
Wearing optional 17-inch wheels and W-rated Continental SportContact 2 tires, the V50 pulled an impressive 0.85 g, again bettering the performance of the sporting wagons from Audi and BMW, and only 0.01 g shy of the Saab’s performance.
Registering another significant increase in performance, the standard anti-lock brakes brought the V50 to rest in 163 feet from 70 mph, 28 fewer feet than its predecessor. It outperformed the aforementioned Audi (180 feet), BMW (174 feet), and Saab (171 feet).

Lows: Gained 500 pounds, tight back seat.

Toss this V50 into a four-wheel drift on your favorite off-ramp, and the stability control doesn’t activate while you’re at play. However, if you do something rash, like suddenly get off the throttle in mid-drift, the rear end will start to come around, at which point the stability control steps in and brings you back to reality. This is the kind of strategy we appreciate in stability control. It’s well executed in the new V50, well worth the $695 option price, and very fitting with Volvo’s safety image.
The standard automatic, a five-speed Geartronic, worked well under most conditions, generally choosing the gear we expected and only getting confused a couple of times. For example, execute a wide-open throttle launch, let’s say, and then once you’re up to 40 mph, ease off to maintain that speed. Do that, and the Geartronic will execute two upshifts. After the first, oddly enough, there is a half-second delay during which you get engine braking; this upsets the car–and the driver.
The transmission is outfitted with the typical manumatic control, which we often criticize for overriding the driver when the redline is approached or when slowing to a stop, among other things. However, this system actually lets the driver have significant control. Dying to heat up that transmission? How about a few third-gear launches? Or just cruise at the smooth electronic-throttle-controlled redline in the gear of your choice—it’s up to you.
Inside and out, the V50 really looks terrific. A high priority for this wagon was style, and we think the company has succeeded. The exterior is unmistakably Volvo, benefiting from some familiar design cues. The wagon shape is sufficiently rounded off to make it pleasing to the eye as well as to the air passing over it, registering a 0.32 drag coefficient.

The interior is also easy on the eyes. The dash is simple yet elegant, with two large, easy-to-read gauges. The trick, super-slim, free-floating center stack adds to the stylish look and is very functional. On it there are four large knobs. The two at the top are for the stereo, and the bottom two are for the climate control. Give the top-left knob a large clockwise twist for a sample of the excellent 11-speaker, 445-watt optional sound system that has enough adjustability and volume to satisfy music tastes of young and old alike. Our stereo did develop a bad habit of forgetting our radio presets once in a while, but we feel certain this is a preproduction glitch that will be sorted out before you see V50s at your local dealership by the time you read this.
In the center of the stack is a four-way rocker pad that lets you scroll through various menus. It was easy to use, and we weren’t forced to resort to the owner’s manual. Soon we were tweaking deeply buried preferences, such as independent audio settings for the front and rear speakers and interior and exterior lighting strategies for approaching or departing the V50 with the “keyless drive” fob in our pocket.
The V50 offers the usual desirable flexibility of a wagon that we appreciate. With the rear seats in people-carrying form, the cargo area is good for hauling 27 cubic feet of whatever burdens you; fold those seats down and the number rises to 63 cubes. For comparison, that’s about the same as the A4 Avant (31 and 64 cubic feet) and the 9-2X (28 and 62).
The rear seating area provides midpack room in the segment. The seats are reasonably comfortable for average-size people. This is still a small wagon, however, and if you pack a couple of six-footers back there, they’ll begin whimpering, “Are we there yet?” in short order.
On the other hand, the front seats are typical of a Volvo: extremely adjustable to accommodate nearly any size driver and comfortable on long grinds. Once you’ve found that perfect seating position, the steering wheel can adjust to match, employing its tilting and telescoping features to accommodate drivers who border on the freakishly tall (no one we know).

The Verdict: A sporty small wagon now with enough power, features, and style to truly compete with the Germans.

Volvo says the V50 is targeted at folks with a “large capacity for life.” With the large gain in performance, the handsome looks, and available all-wheel drive, along with a six-speed manual, we think Volvo has a good chance of locating at least 6500 of these people each year.
COUNTERPOINT
Miki, my 62-pound Vizsla, likes the front passenger seat, so my affection for small, sporty station wagons isn’t based on the need to haul a dog crate. By selecting the V50 wagon, you accept a 70-pound weight increase over the S40 sedan in exchange for roughly twice the carrying capacity, without compromising the sedan’s eager performance, quick reflexes, or stylish interior. In fact, from the outside, the wagon shows off Volvo’s flowing lines better than the sedan does. With its sense of great solidity and upmarket demeanor, this V50 should be a strong entry in the burgeoning sporty small-wagon class and is worthy of consideration by even the most avid wagon haters. —Csaba Csere
Based on the charisma-less Mitsubishi Carisma, Volvo’s V40 wagon never felt like a true Volvo. Aside from the throne-like seats, there just wasn’t much that was authentic. I’m happy to report that the V50, based on second-generation Ford Focus architecture, has all the latest Volvo traits—simple and futuristic interior design, a thick-waisted and modern exterior, seats that you wish you had in your office, and a punchy five-cylinder turbo. To this formula Volvo adds a perfectly tuned chassis that conceals road blemishes while providing predictable and spirited handling. The result is the most surprising Swedish export since the sex change. —Tony Quiroga
As a 30-year-old single guy, I usually don’t fantasize about driving wagons. When I play the “what car would I buy if I had to buy one” game, I conjure up images of S2000s and RX-8s—sporty, quick, and fun cars that are relatively affordable. After driving the V50, I began to fantasize about my first Swede since Vendela. Was something wrong with me? The answer was “no.” The V50, too, is sporty, quick, and fun; yet it’s also stylishly handsome and delivers loads of cargo space for fishing rods, ice chests, whatever. Build an all-wheel-drive, manual-tranny T5, Volvo, and the V50 could top Vendela. Oh, wait, Vendela is always on top. —Ron Kiino

Specifications

SPECIFICATIONS
2004 Volvo V50 T5 AWD
VEHICLE TYPE front-engine, 4-wheel-drive, 5-passenger, 5-door wagon
PRICE AS TESTED $34,715
ENGINE TYPE turbocharged and intercooled inline-5, aluminum block and headDisplacement 154 in3, 2521 cm3Power (SAE net) 218 bhp @ 5000 rpmTorque (SAE net) 236 lb-ft @ 1500 rpm
TRANSMISSION 5-speed automatic with manumatic shifting
DIMENSIONSWheelbase: 103.9 inLength: 177.7 inWidth: 69.7 inHeight: 57.2 inCurb weight: 3552 lb
C/D TEST RESULTSZero to 60 mph: 6.9 secZero to 100 mph: 18.5 secStreet start, 5-60 mph: 7.6 secStanding ¼-mile: 15.2 sec @ 93 mphTop speed (drag limited): 141 mphBraking, 70-0 mph @ impending lockup: 163 ftRoadholding, 300-ft-dia skidpad: 0.85 g
C/D FUEL ECONOMYObserved: 20 mpg
EPA FUEL ECONOMYCity/highway: 24/31 mpg

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From the January 2002 issue of Car and Driver.
Some people are just never meant to be rich. Charlie Steen was probably one of them. The Texan’s troubles began almost at the moment the slug of gray rock from his Mi Vida mine pegged the Geiger counter at Buddy Cowger’s gas station in Cisco, Utah.
It was July 18, 1952, a time when Americans believed they would soon be winging to work in uranium-powered saucers and baking meatloaf by the glow of the same fission keeping our enemies at bay. Weary of overpaying for South African uranium, the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission was eager to find a domestic supply. Any miner who tapped a vein on the Colorado Plateau got $10,000 cash, plus $8 for every pound of high-grade ore in it. To sweeten the deal, government geologists combed the plateau and pointed prospectors toward promising sites. If a vein were discovered, the AEC would bulldoze a road through on the taxpayers’ nickel. The AEC’s dangled carrot and Steen’s discovery of the huge Mi Vida lode sparked the biggest mineral rush of the past century. Doctors, accountants, school teachers, and assorted opportunists dropped everything to head for Utah wielding nothing more than an AEC pamphlet on uranium prospecting and a store-bought Geiger counter.

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By 1969, the nation’s uranium stocks were overflowing, but atomic saucers were in short supply. Steen’s fortune had disappeared into bad investments, lawsuits, and tax-fraud indictments, thousands of investors had been bilked with dubious claims, miners were dying of cancer, and the formerly pristine sandstone deserts of Utah were blotched with toxic mine tailings and scribbled with more than 900 miles of crude roads. The White Rim Road, a 100-mile billy-goat path of sand and slickrock built to service uranium dog holes on the 3000-foot-high Island in the Sky mesa about 350 miles west of Denver, is perhaps the best thing to come out of it all. It traces the bleached cliffs of the arrowhead-shaped mesa, overlooking the Colorado and Green rivers as they meander southward in vast gorges every bit as grand as the Grand Canyon. The two rivers converge at the pointy bottom of the mesa and head off for the craggy inlets of Lake Powell.
Jeepers, mountain bikers, and other worshippers of Kokopelli, the flute-tooting Hopi glyph that is the de facto god of desert stuff, have gravitated to the White Rim and the nearby town of Moab in the years since Pres. Lyndon Johnson dedicated Canyonlands National Park on September 12, 1964. Bring just $30 and the Park Service will sell you a permit to ride the White Rim, but come in a “high-clearance four-wheel-drive,” or you’ll be viewing Canyonland’s rocky chasms, skyscraping buttes, and wispy spires shoulder to shoulder with herds of slow-moving retirees at the park’s few paved overlooks. It so happens that the two most respected names in off-roading, Jeep and Land Rover, are launching new small four-wheel-drivers this year. That alone is not unique. What is: Jeep and Land Rover actually build the little utes for forays into the wild toolies, and going places you can’t get to in a BMW M5 is the best reason to buy a sport-utility, in our opinion.
Optioned correctly, the base Jeep Liberty Limited Edition and Land Rover Freelander price out to a wash, although our fully loaded (with no options) $32,220 Freelander HSE cost more than our fully loaded Liberty Limited Edition by $3435. Our plan was to compare the Liberty with the more popularly configured but not available for testing Freelander SE, which has a base price of $28,400 and lacks only the HSE’s power sunroof, the fancier Alpaca Beige leather, a Harman/Kardon stereo with six-CD changer and built-in navigation system, and 17-inch wheels.
All Freelanders, including the cloth-upholstered $25,600 Freelander S and the base leather-upholstered SE, have the same 174-hp, 2.5-liter V-6 mated to a five-speed automatic and viscous-coupled single-speed four-wheel-drive system. Suspension of the unitized body is by sturdy long-travel struts, and a thick aluminum skid plate keeps the engine safe from accidental mineral deposits.
The Jeep Liberty has a beefy cast-iron suspension built for boulder crawling. Our $28,785 Limited Edition was porked up with the $2945 Customer Preferred package, including leather seats, power everything, premium stereo, and the Selec-Trac two-speed four-wheel-drive system with an “auto” setting and low-range gear. Another $700 went for the sunroof, $600 for ABS, $520 for the Off-Road Group (including a limited-slip rear diff, larger tires, various skid plates, tow hooks, and cooling upgrades), $415 for a trunk-mounted CD changer, $390 for supplemental side airbags, $250 for heated seats, $245 for a towing package, and $40 for an engine-block heater. Stripped of nonessential frills (the $2445 Sport Value Group with air conditioning we feel is essential), our Limited’s White Rim badge could be earned with a Liberty Sport for as little as $23,650. Oh, and don’t forget the 30 bucks for the permit.

Second Place: Jeep Liberty Limited Edition
Steen discovered the Mi Vida in an Army-surplus Jeep and would likely find little to fault in the 21st-century model we wheeled onto the plateau.
The front-end styling is straight from the Army manual, and with its cast-iron, independent-front control arms, rigid rear axle, stiff coil springs, and two-speed transfer case, the Liberty is built with such a deep reserve of off-road capability that it’s hard to imagine the typical owner ever tapping it. We didn’t, and we drove up and down the Murphy Hogback, a 1.3-mile cattle trail on the White Rim first cut into the cliffs during World War I by the Murphy brothers.

Highs: Solid-as-granite chassis, nifty cockpit detail, heritage styling.

The Jeep charged along as if it were the reigning stag in the neighborhood. Body flexing was undetectable even as the suspension twisted and strained, the Matterhorn approach and departure angles (38.0 and 32.3 degrees, respectively) kept the ends aloft, and the big Goodyears ripped into the trail like bear claws.
Just 7.8 inches separates the Liberty’s lowest point from the rock, but the taut suspension leverages the truck’s ground clearance better than that of more softly sprung utes, including the Freelander. The transfer case’s 2.72:1 low gear was much appreciated on the long downhill, although the hand-brake-style shifter refused to pass smoothly through the dogleg between neutral and low.
The Liberty’s seats were also voted off the Island. The front-bottom cushions were found too short and lacking in thigh support, the rears were relatively cramped and inhospitable. “My fanny’s aching after only a half-hour,” complained one adventurer.

Lows: 623 more pounds that don’t pull their own weight, unfriendly seats, a head-tossing ride on any surface.

That and the squeeze on footroom due to the transmission tunnel were the biggest gripes about an interior that looks more appropriate to a sports car. Even under the steadily thickening film of red dust, the Limited’s electroplated plastic shimmered elegantly and the trim materials were praised as being of high quality and pleasing to the touch. The huge elliptical door handles were one detail winning particular praise.
The Liberty’s off-road ability comes at the price of comfort, however. Every rock outcropping, slickrock shelf, and vee-shaped wash in the trail pummeled the truck like a small Semtex charge. On the highway the Jeep bounced and shuddered noticeably more than the Freelander with the kind of stiff-legged gambol one equates with an empty pickup.
All the ferrous metal, including the cast-iron engine block, contributes mass that impedes the 4304-pound Liberty’s performance. From 70 mph, the Liberty rolled 209 feet under full braking, 20 more than the Freelander. And with the big 3.7-liter SOHC 12-valve V-6 burning maximum gas, this Liberty needed 10.0 seconds to register 60 mph, just 0.2 second better than the 174-hp–and 623 pounds lighter–Freelander. Our first test of a Liberty Limited ( C/D, August 2001) saw 60 mph flash by in 8.8 seconds, and the discrepancy is explainable only with a guess, such as this later-production example perhaps suffered from a tighter engine.

The Verdict: Fine for folks who commute over the Rubicon, but too rugged for everyone else.

Passing with the Jeep requires forward thinking as the 45RFE four-speed auto pauses for deep breaths before downshifting. The power-to-weight ratio does favor the Liberty over the Freelander, but we’re still disappointed that DaimlerChrysler let the new Jeep’s weight balloon up. The extra pounds don’t pay a dividend anywhere except in off-road athleticism most drivers will never use. Perhaps the Liberty’s designers believed more owners would be like Steen and make their own roads.
2002 Jeep Liberty Limited Edition210-hp V-6, 4-speed automatic, 4304 lbBase/as-tested price: $23,305/$28,785C/D TEST RESULTS60 mph: 10.0 sec1/4 mile: 17.5 @ 81 mphBraking, 70­–0 mph: 209 ftRoadholding, 300-ft-dia skidpad: 0.70 gC/D observed fuel economy: 16 mpg

First Place: Land Rover Freelander HSE
“Looks kinda low,” opined Canyonlands ranger Alyssa Van Schmus as she peered at the Land Rover with professional skepticism. Behind her was the decidedly not-low Dodge Ram four-by-four the government gives her for rescuing tourists and towing out underachieving rental cars.
We had just hobbled down a rock-strewn spur of the White Rim called the Lathrop Trail to flush the granules from between our toes in the latte-colored Colorado River. Van Schmus and helper Roy Vaughan were there, hacking back the tamarisk in 90-degree heat. It’s a leafy shrub from Asia that arrived with settlers at the turn of the past century. Today it lines every inch of the river like overgrown slivers of Vietnamese jungle.

Highs: The better ride over pavement and dirt, better seats, more cachet at the club.

Yes, the Freelander is a Lotus Esprit compared with the Discovery and other Land Rovers. The nose, the lowest part at 7.2 inches, is actually 0.1 inch closer to the planet than a Subaru Outback’s. The 225/55HR-17 Pirelli Scorpions (regular-production models will wear Michelins) leave precious little sidewall for the fancy aluminum rims to hide behind, and the muffler only half-tucked under the rear bumper (see below) seems particularly vulnerable.
But by the time the 10-megawatt moon was rising over our first campsite, it was clear which vehicle the crew preferred to plant their buns in. Obstacles that tossed heads in the Liberty resulted in little more than an audible psst! from the Freelander’s dampers. The pampering ride allowed White Rim pilots to regularly cruise at higher speeds, leaving the Jeep in a roostertail of red dust.

Lows: Cream-puff engine, syrup steering interior trim feels a little cheap.

The Freelander also needs more snap-to from under the hood. Midland Powertrain, a subsidiary of the newly independent MG-Rover group, builds the aluminum 2.5-liter DOHC 24-valve V-6 to make its 174 horsepower and 177 pound-feet of torque as smooth as Cotswold cream. However, throttle response is lazy, and on the highway, the engine struggles to maintain speed going up hills. Downshifts are reluctant unless the five-speed auto is in its sport setting or the driver personally selects a lower gear using the handy manumatic feature. At least there’s the thriftier fuel economy: 19 mpg versus the Liberty’s 16 mpg on our trip.
“Economy” also applies to the dash materials, which some felt were a bit cheap (or “durable,” depending on which logbook page is being consulted), and the omission of armrests is outrageous. Otherwise, the Freelander’s more complicated cockpit mostly worked for us. On paper, the Rover has a much smaller cargo capacity than does the Jeep, but the front seats suspend the body with better technique and the back bench is roomier. The cabin is more conveniently accessed across the lower side sill and through the one-piece rear door, and the rubber mats seem more suited to the off-road lifestyle. Special accolades go to the thick-rimmed steering wheel around which the palms snug comfortably, and to the occasional faint oil odor detected through the air vents without which no British vehicle would be complete.

The Verdict: This little dust bunny finally has our tails wagging over a Land Rover product.

If the canyons of Utah are calling, the Freelander SE is a more prudent pack mule than the pricier HSE with its incomprehensible navigation system. Steen probably would have thought so, too, but then, look what happened to him.
2002 Land Rover Freelander HSE174-hp V-6, 5-speed automatic, 3681 lbBase/as-tested price: $32,220/$32,220C/D TEST RESULTS60 mph: 10.2 sec1/4 mile: 17.8 @ 79 mphBraking, 70­–0 mph: 189 ftRoadholding, 300-ft-dia skidpad: 0.71 gC/D observed fuel economy: 19 mpg
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From the February 2002 issue of Car and Driver.
As mid-cycle product updates go, this one’s a peach. Mercedes slipped a bigger V-8 into the ML430 sport-ute and called it the ML500. This second-quickest Benz ute climbs farther up the performance ladder, closer to the pavement-eating ML55 AMG.

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By increasing the engine’s bore just 0.27 inch, the 24-valve V-8 now displaces 302 cubic inches and has 20 more horsepower (288 at 5600 rpm) and 37 more pound-feet of torque (325 at 2700 rpm) than last year’s 4.3-liter mill. Once spanked at the drag strip by the sportier BMW X5 4.4i, the ML500 now finishes first, scampering to 60 mph in a definitely untrucklike 6.7 seconds, 0.2 second quicker than the Bimmer.
Keep the throttle pinned and let the throaty 90-degree V-8 ratchet through the five-speed automatic transmission, and the big Benz doesn’t stop pulling, further widening the gap with the BMW sport-ute. At 100 mph, the Benz is 1.8 seconds ahead, reaching the century mark in 18.6 seconds.
That amount of zip makes you forget you’re hauling around 4869 pounds. The wide, flat torque curve (peak torque occurs from 2700 to 4250 rpm) provides prompt throttle response, and the tranny makes nearly transparent shifts.
But when you have to turn, it’s back to Physics 101. This powerful specimen is still a truck, and its tires howl and its heavy body lists as it generates 0.75 g of grip. Still, that’s a 0.02-g improvement over that of last year’s model, thanks to the single running-gear change–17-inch wheels and tires replace last year’s 16-inchers. Mercedes, however, didn’t see fit to change the ML’s standard electronic stability program (ESP). When activated, it puts an end to any spin, but putting the dash-mounted ESP switch in the off position disables only the engine cutoff function and leaves the brakes to curtail slides. This Benz avoids even slight slides at all costs, and it’s like having the fun police continually on call.
We doubt many potential ML owners will fret over an aggressive anti-skid system, however. They’ll pay more attention to the revised bodywork and interior.
Both the ML320 and the ML500 have new front and rear bumpers, taillights, clear headlight lenses, and those 17-inch wheels. The changes are subtle but easily identified. Other than badges, the only exterior differences between the ML500 and ML320 are the ML500’s wider tires (275/55VR-17 versus 255/60SR-17) and chrome strips on the ML500’s tailgate and door handles. The ML55 AMG’s exterior is unchanged.
Inside, this ML now has curtain airbags in addition to the front and side airbags, burled-walnut trim around the center console, and rotary climate-control switches. A navigation system is a $1700 option on the ML320 and standard on the two upper-end models. Absent are steering-wheel-mounted radio controls, which would be appreciated because operating the dash-mounted radio and navigation system requires an uncomfortable stretch. The new climate controls, however, look smart and are easy to use.
The rest of the car is standard-issue Benz M-class. You sit high, thronelike, and the hood slopes away dramatically, providing excellent forward visibility. The full-time four-wheel-drive system is always on call, and the electronic traction-control system acts like a limited-slip device. A standard hill-descent system automatically creeps the ML down hills when a dash-mounted button is pressed.
But this Benz is no hard-core off-roader. On road, it feels more sedan than truck, more family hauler than sports car. BMW’s X5 4.4i clearly trumps it in on-road handling (our long-term X5 4.4 towed a race car to the track and was then used for demonstration hot laps there, a feat we wouldn’t enjoy in the softer and duller Benz), but the Mercedes does offer far greater cargo space and optional third-row seating. With just the middle seats up, the Benz has 35 cubic feet of space compared with the X5’s 24. And the ML500 is less expensive–$45,615 to the BMW X5 4.4i’s base price of $50,045.
But wait, the plot thickens. With 288 horsepower, the ML500 outhorses the 2001 X5 4.4 by six. For 2002, BMW added 8 hp, so it has a scant two more than the Benz. With Chevy surrendering the Ford Mustang/Chevy Camaro performance race later this year, could these two V-8 utes be the ones to take their place?

Specifications

SPECIFICATIONS
2002 Mercedes-Benz ML500
VEHICLE TYPE front engine, four-wheel-drive, 5-passenger, 5-door wagon
BASE PRICE $45,615 (base price: $45,615)
ENGINE TYPE SOHC 24-valve V-8, aluminum block and heads, Bosch Motronic ME2.8 engine-control system with port fuel injectionDisplacement: 302 cu in, 4945ccPower (SAE net): 288 bhp @ 5600 rpmTorque (SAE net): 325 lb-ft @ 2700 rpm
TRANSMISSION 5-speed automatic with lockup torque converter
DIMENSIONSWheelbase: 111.0 inLength: 182.6 inCurb weight: 4869 lb
C/D TEST RESULTSZero to 60 mph: 6.7 secZero to 100 mph: 18.6 secStreet start, 5-60 mph: 7.1 secStanding ¼-mile: 15.3 sec @ 92 mphTop speed (drag limited): 135 mphBraking, 70-0 mph 183 ftRoadholding, 300-ft-dia skidpad: 0.75 g
FUEL ECONOMYEPA city driving: 14 mpgC/D observed: 15

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From the January 2003 issue of Car and Driver.
The first time Infiniti glued its Mt. Fuji-peak badge on a two-door was 13 years ago. The M30 was a four-year-old Nissan Leopard, rousted from the home market and hastily decorated with Infiniti tinsel to help fill out the new brand’s product line. Parked in the shadow of the fabulous Q45, the rectangular M30 made it painfully obvious where Nissan spent its product budget for Infiniti.

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If John Adams were alive today, he might say, “One useless man is a disgrace, two are a law firm, and three or more are Nissan’s product-planning department.” The company pretty much fumbled its way through the high times of the past decade, succeeding the M30 and Q45 with a raft of eminently forgettable Infinitis while luxury competitors ate its lunch.
Not so this time.
The G35 coupe is the most appealing article to slide down the Infiniti chute since the original Q. Its hunky body hugs the earth and looks swish enough never to be confused with the four-door G35. It seats its patrons in comfort and supplies steaming performance, thanks to a few potent ingots of aluminum. Under the hood is the big 3.5-liter V-6 making its 280 horsepower, and down in the wheel wells the various control arms and links of the elaborate suspension reach for the pavement.
Nissan’s product planners deserve credit for their moment of inspiration. A few years ago they decided to split the sports-car duties of the company’s sophisticated rear-drive FM chassis, which also underpins the G35 sedan. Whereas the old 300ZX came as both a two-seater and an elongated (and somewhat ungainly-looking) two-plus-two, Nissan decided to split the Z variants between its mainstream and upscale brands.

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Exhibit A is the comparo-winning Nissan 350Z (“Hot Tin Roofs,” December, 2002) that features bucket seats for two on a 104.3-inch wheelbase. Exhibit B is the G35 two-door with slightly softer springs and four seats planted between axles that ride 112.2 inches apart.

Highs: Buffed and buff body, a suspension that eats twisty roads, seats could be a centerfold for American Chiropractor.

Note that this is also the wheelbase of the G35 sedan, a car that distinguished itself in a comparison test in October, 2002, (“Waiting for a Bimmer Beater”) by having the longest wheelbase of the group by more than four inches. In Holland, G35s would be put to work spanning canals.
All that acreage between the wheels should bode ill for the coupe’s handling, especially since the example pictured here, at 3485 pounds, totes 122 more pounds than the recently tested and similarly equipped 350Z Touring from December; and especially considering that the G35 sedan was knocked for nervous oversteer that made turning off the electronic skid control on a public road a certified health threat.
But whether because of the meatier 18-inch rubber that is standard on the six-speed coupe or a relocated center of gravity (or both), the G35 coupe remains unflappably stable and neutrally balanced. Indeed, the coupe turned in a scorching 0.90-g run on the skidpad, the highest number by 0.02 g we have recorded for the entire G35/Z family. The wheel is a precise scalpel and the turn-in aggressive, and the body remains level and composed through the corners.

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At track speeds, the fun fades in the turns not because of tail wagging but owing to progressive front-end scrubbing. As with the Z, the G hits understeer at the border of its performance envelope, but it won’t intrude on your daily enjoyment of the car’s spry footwork unless you view your morning commute as a time trial.
Even if it does, the clear vista forward from behind the wheel makes it easy to bayonet the G35’s snout precisely into corners. The gauges are low and, unlike the Z’s, corralled into a single binnacle that moves with the tilting column. If orange is your favorite color—it isn’t around here—you’ll love the otherwise plain dials.
Rectilinear shapes and machined-metal accents, the industrial mayonnaise of the Z cockpit, are spread on less thickly in the G. Traditional rubber pedal pads, for example, stand in for the Z’s drilled aluminum shoe stops.

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The coupe’s interior is an identical copy of the sedan’s, right down to the arresting mix of buttons. There are big black plastic jobs on the door panels, small metal kernels on the steering wheel, and modern double-size squares on the center column. The seat controls next to your inboard thigh are something else altogether, and the dash mixes up smooth surfaces with ones with elephant-skin texture and ones with polka-dot perforations. Nissan has become the company where no idea goes to waste.
The G’s yards of textured black plastic and the matte silver center stack proclaim “luxury car!” and only whisper “on the cheap.” The door panels are as plain as the plains. The center console substitutes a true armrest with seat-heater buttons. The digital display up top that resembles a mail slot is thin on information. One nice bonus: All G35s get an in-dash, six-disc CD changer plus a tape deck for bookworms.

Lows: Not so nice noise and vibration, interior mixes up its messages.

The G’s seats greet their visitors with hospitality and make friends with all. One editor pronounced them the best thing this side of a Recaro. The forward buckets are big enough to support the lower legs, the seatbacks concave enough to counter sideways gravity in the corners. The pedals, the wheel, and the fungus-shaped shifter sit in close, accessible orbit, the latter being a precise but somewhat imperfect tool in that it gives the forearm a workout with overly heavy detents. Honda’s secret recipe for a perfect shifter remains, well, a secret.
Two adults of female size can fit comfortably into the rear, but headroom is definitely wanting for six-footers. Perhaps more amazingly, two golf bags will squeeze into the G35’s eight-cubic-foot trunk. Don’t believe it? There’s a small placard thoughtfully pasted to the trunk liner to show how it’s done.
The arching chassis brace that annoyingly bisects the Z’s hatchback trunk is present in the G, but because the G is not a hatchback and is 12.6 inches longer than the Z, the brace resides deep in the trunk under the parcel shelf. Z owners will need more than a spatula to fit two golf bags; they’ll need a crowbar.

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The brace contributes to the G’s relative indifference to bumps and frost heaves. Impact energy still finds its way through the taut structure, especially since road-surface changes are being telegraphed nearly verbatim by the robust 45-series Michelin rubber around the wheels. But the cockpit is isolated and the ride compliant enough to polish off the harsh edges.
More vibrations come through the pedals and shifter from the six coffee cans up front. As in all the G- and Z-cars fitted with Nissan’s VQ DOHC 24-valve 3.5-liter V-6, the engine makes trucklike torque at low revs and trucklike sound and vibrations at high revs. The river of sine waves through the cabin and the rasp of the exhaust make going to the redline in the G less intoxicating than in, say, an Acura 3.2CL Type-S or a BMW 330Ci, two alternative selections in the duo-door class with vastly superior sound signatures (“Hobson’s Choice,” July 2002).
In straight performance numbers, the G35 keeps the pace. The G35’s 6.0-second 0-to-60-mph dash and 14.6 quarter-mile are within a 10th or two of the Type-S and 330Ci (and about a half-second down on the Z Track), even if the aural experience is lacking. The G35’s combination of Brembo calipers and 12.8-inch front rotors needs only 157 feet to convert 70 mph of kinetic energy into heat, seven fewer than the 350Z Track and fewer than both of the previously cited coupe competitors.

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Okay, the Acura pulls off its performance with 20 less horsepower and front-wheel drive, but it’s styled to win snooze competitions. The BMW has better moves, lighter controls, and more fluid power delivery, but buyers have to walk at least another eight thousand steps into their bank account for a similarly equipped 330Ci.
Of the FM offshoots we’ve tried so far, none won the near-universal approval enjoyed by the G35 coupe. Perhaps that’s because the G35, positioned as a luxury touring car, seems a more honest sales pitch than the go-for-it 350Z, considering the limits of the engine and chassis. No doubt it has something to do with the fact that few of the G35 sedan’s foibles manifested themselves here.

The Verdict: In some ways a better Z than the Z.

And unlike a few other sedan-based coupes out there, the G35 offers more than just two fewer doors and a boosted price. Infiniti is awakening. Who says 13 is an unlucky number?
Counterpoint
There will come a time during the ownership of a 350Z when one fantasizes about hauling more than a single passenger and enjoying luggage capacity beyond that of a toothbrush and a pair of Speedos. At that point one might wish he or she had opted for the 350’s larger and more elegant brother, the Infiniti G35 coupe. This is one tasty machine, a legitimate two-plus-two with accommodations for a duet of rear-seat travelers and ample trunk space for weekend jaunts. Heavier by 122 pounds and down by seven horsepower against the Z, this is not so much a sports car but rather a captivating grand tourer that ranks with the best in the world. —Brock Yates
This coupe’s low-roof shape, tapering to a high tail, really does it for me, same as the fastback Kellison GT did back when I was sketching cars in study hall. It had a low forehead and gun-slit side windows, perfect for Bonneville or for lurking in any of the small Iowa towns I might drive to. I showed my dad a picture of it once. There was a long pause. Expecting admiration, I leaned forward to hear every nuance. His verdict came down in one word: “Preposterous.” Years later, when “bad” is good and “sick” is extra cool, I think this Infiniti coupe is perfectly preposterous. Make mine black. I’m way behind in my lurking. —Patrick Bedard
I’m starting to see 350Zs roaming the streets of L.A., and the design is not growing on me as I thought it would. Reason enough to buy an Infiniti G35 coupe instead. It’s a great-looking car with a just-about-perfect stance, and it flaunts elegant contours. So it’s 7 hp down on the Z-car; big deal, there’s enough power to have fun with, and the slightly longer wheelbase helps avoid the dreaded freeway hop with which the 350Z is amply endowed. And then there’s the back seat. At six foot five, I contend that only gnomes can sit back there, but the space is great for briefcases and jackets. The final point in the argument? Infiniti dealers. Case closed. —Barry Winfield

Specifications

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