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The world’s maddest battles usually earn a brief sobriquet: Red vs. Blue, Holyfield-Tyson, Lingerie Bowl. Although the battle we’ll describe today isn’t finished, the clash of HUMMER vs. Any Decent Off-roader – especially HUMMER vs. Jeep – has made so much noise on Autoblog alone that we decided it was time to investigate. Not having a Jeep at our disposal, we pitted an H2 against the Toyota Landcruiser on three trails in the California desert to find out if either of them had any quit – or if they’d keep going but complain about it. Follow the jump for the answer we came up with, and check out the gallery of off-road shenanigans below.
Quite a few folks out there don’t believe that HUMMERs are fully capable off-road vehicles. Most of those who have actually driven HUMMERs off-road believe the opposite is true… and they often get called names because of that. We’ve owned an H2 that saw dirt once, driven the H3 and H3T, ridden shotgun in an H3 Alpha at the Baja 500, and pre-run the first section of the Baja course in an H2 modified with nothing other than bolt-on shocks. We’ve not only seen what HUMMERs can do, we did it. We’re believers.

But just to make sure, we threw the H2 in with a venerable off-roader, the Toyota Landcruiser, on neutral ground. True, the U.S. Landcruiser isn’t sold the same way, nor to the same crowd, it once was. But beneath the running boards and mudflaps and parking radar and leather interior and Lexus-like steering, it’s the same truck that the U.N. still uses to lumber all over Middle-of-Nowhere-stan. That means: it’s still one tough Beverly Hills pastry shop cookie.

This was the brief: two trucks, two days, three trails. To ensure objectivity, our companions were a writer and a photographer from one of the major buff books, both experienced off-roaders and HUMMER-dissers. The photographer, on getting in the HUMMER, said “I can feel my sperm count rising. I think I should go impregnate my wife.”

The point wasn’t to put the trucks to the ultimate test. Besides the fact that there were time and safety limits, having to call Toyota and say “You can pick your truck up in Satan’s Ditch, don’t worry, it’ll be there whenever you get to it…” is not the kind of thing that makes you friends with press fleet coordinators.

The point was to run the trucks over 4WD-required trails and see how they did. Although the Southern California desert offers a range of terrain, since neither truck is made for Rubicon lumbering or tight spaces we were dealing with mostly wide open tracks, albeit ones that offered a huge number of dips, ruts, rocks, sand, tight approach and departure angles, some serious sideways leaning, and a couple of giggle-inducing inclines.

We also ended up dealing with Nightmare Gulch, but we’ll get to that in a moment.

In one corner, we have the Toyota Landcruiser. Its 5.7-liter V8 puts out 381 hp and 401 lb-ft. through a 6-speed automatic. The scarlet steed rides on double wishbones with coil springs and a 43-mm stabilizer bar up front, and a 4-link suspension with coil springs and a 25-mm stabilizer bar out back. The total package comes in at a gross vehicle weight of 7,257 pounds.

The H2 uses a 6.2-liter V8 with 393 hp and 415 lb-ft. running through a 6-speed automatic. It gets an independent front suspension with torsion bars, monotube gas shocks and a 36-mm stabilizer bar up front, while the backside gets a 5-link suspension with self-leveling air springs, monotube gas shocks, and a 32-mm stabilizer bar. Gross vehicle weight: 8,600 pounds.

The first major difference between the trucks were the tires: the H2 came with 315/70 R17 all-terrain rubber. The Landcruiser, luxury boat that it is, came with 285/60 R18 mud-and-snow rated tires. Though it might not look like an equitable challenge, surprisingly, the tires really weren’t a factor.

The other major difference was the Get Out of Trouble mode each truck employed. In fact, the whole thing came down to a battle of two dials: the locking rear diff dial in the H2 and the crawl dial in the Landcruiser. The H2’s central and rear lockers combine to get all the power down on the ground that they can in order to get the truck unstuck. The Landcruiser’s system uses the brakes in a way akin to ABS, but this time they prevent wheelspin, not wheel lock. Instead of feeling the pedal’s dull thud as you do when ABS kicks in, you hear the brakes rapid-fire clamp-and-disengage. It sounds like a giant spring has been given a tremendous whack and is flopping back into position. Or like the truck is about to break in half.

But it works, and it got the Landcruiser out of every tender position we put it in. In fact, you could turn the dial – it has three speed settings – and let the truck do all the work. All you need to do is stay alive. And steer.

The three trails we covered are in the El Paso Mountains of Red Rock State Park: Last Chance Canyon at 10.6 miles with a Difficulty Rating (DR) of 5, Cudahy Camp at 7.2 miles with a DR of 4, and Opal Canyon Road at 6.3 miles with a DR of 5.

The first section of Last Chance Canyon is soft sand and gravel. Neither truck liked it, but if you were judicious with your lines and able to hold your speed, you made good time. If you stopped, you got your first lesson in the two trucks’ different throttle responses. The H2’s throttle has an even, steady progression and a comfortable measure of travel between wheels stopped and wheels turning. You knew when the power was about to be laid down, and there was even enough pedal movement to accurately modulate wheelspin.

The Landcruiser accelerator, in 4W High, was binary – sitting in the sand at a stop, slowly depressing the accelerator would result in churning rubber and flying sand. Nothing in between. That’s apparently the “Road” setting. But put the truck in 4W Low and the throttle response is much more elastic, giving you more control over the power. All you have to do is then remember to put the ‘Cruiser back in 4W High when you’re up to speed again.

That sand also gave us a first test of the ‘Cruiser’s crawl system. Coming around a slow corner, the scarlet pimpernel bogged itself when the back wheels dug into the sand – in 4W High – after traversing some rocks. Coming up behind in the H2, we put the great white hope into 4W Low and took a different line through a run of boulders. Before we figured out what to do with the ‘Cruiser, one of our companions said of the H2, “It really is the off-roader for idiots. You can just point it somewhere and run over things.”

But he didn’t mean it as a compliment. It was then we realized this is simply how it was going to be with the HUMMER. It does everything you want it to, but instead of “capable,” it’s “the off-roader for idiots.”

We put the ‘Cruiser into crawl mode, listened to the rapidfire springing action of the brakes, and what do you know, the truck pulled itself out of the mire. Contrary to how it might sound, the ‘Cruiser doesn’t lurch while this is happening – it’s all quite steady, like riding a horse as it picks its way up a rocky slope. Again, all you have to do is not fall off. It’s electronics vs. mechanicals in this case, and assuming the electrics don’t go fritzing, it’s cheaper, lighter, and less expensive than putting a differential back there to achieve the same effect.

This would be the experience for most of the two days: H2 grunt vs. the Landcruiser softshoe. Because the ‘Cruiser is really sold for road duty, the running boards took a beating on the rocks (sorry, Toyota), and the smaller tires meant traversing ruts and obstacles was an affair requiring constant attention and finesse that we mostly managed to pull off without incident – key word being “mostly” (again, sorry, Toyota). The ‘Cruiser’s approach and departure angles are almost a full ten degrees less than the H2’s. But the ‘Cruiser is still the badass dirt runner that it was created to be.

Proof of such came at one point on Opal Canyon Road, when the trail made a dropoff 90-degree left turn. The H2’s rear right wheel came a fair ways off the ground, but the ‘Cruiser – making the same turn a couple of times, just to make sure – with its solid rear axle and Panhard rod, lifted up only a couple of inches. Although it doesn’t look like it, the travel is immense, and the vehicle is stupendously sure-footed.

On the cliff-like incline facing that descending turn, yet another demonstration occured of how the two vehicles deal with nature. Throw the H2 into 4W Low and listen to the V8 rumble as it clobbers the hill. Throw the ‘Cruiser into crawl and listen to Puccini while pretending you’re Don Quixote atop Rocinante. Everybody wins.

But remember, we did say that this was the experience for most of the two days. We went a gulch too far at the end, winding up in a zig-zagging wash right out of a The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. Only this wasn’t merely ugly, it was hideous, gorgon-like. We would find out later that we were in Nightmare Gulch.

The Gulch is nothing but rocks, was probably carved out by a god made of rocks, and meant as a natural limestone and granite womb that would give birth to new families of rocks every few hours. And the entire thing is coated with sand. It’s like Disneyland. If Disneyland were made of rocks. And coated with sand.

It was the kind of thing we meant to avoid, but since we were there, and the trail’s end was just one sweet mile-and-a-half through the maze, we tried it. And yes, we came face-to-face – or rather, body-panel-to-rock-wall, with the full-sized SUVs’ kryptonite: skinny places.

The H2’s castle-like girth makes it ill equipped for a slot like Nightmare Gulch. But frankly, before you call out the H2, Nightmare Gulch is a place you couldn’t take a lot of vehicles: none of the multi-shocked high-rise 4×4s with NASA light arrays could have made it; any stock crew-cab long bed would have suffered a couple of scrapes at the very least; even the Landcruiser took a beating. Yes, you could take a Wrangler Rubicon with little problem, but only because it’s smaller.

The H2 and the Landcruiser tip-toed through it admirably, both drivers scrupulously following the spotter’s directions. But the rocks would not be mocked, and they certainly weren’t going to allow these leviathans to pass without paying a paint and metal tax.

One slippery turn was our undoing. Coming to a bottleneck formed by the gulch wall and a massive boulder, the left side of the H2 rose up over a couple of boulders half buried in the trail… and then the truck slid into the wall. Try as we might, the sand and gravity said “We’ll take it from here,” and every time we got a bit of clearance the great white whale would slide again when we tried to move it (sorry, HUMMER…).

After a couple of hours of digging and hammering and tow-strap-earthmoving in Mercury-like heat, just a half mile from the trail end, we gave up, backed the truck up off the wall – it wasn’t pretty – and backed both trucks out of the gulch, then turned around and fled for the closest thing to civilization, which was Denny’s.

In this blogger’s version of the debrief after a Moons Over My Hammy, the finding was that the H2 and the Landcruiser will go anywhere you point them. Period. Anyone who says otherwise is, quite simply, incorrect. The only difference is in how they do it. The H2 is a thoroughly mechanical machine that overcomes obstacles with locking diffs and brute force. The Landcruiser substitutes some of that rawness with an electronic aid that will achieve the same end. The only thing we would change on the Landcruiser for off-road work is the steering: it really is Lexus-light, no matter what you’re doing. Unless the wheels were positively stuck, you could always turn the wheel with two fingers. But we would take either truck anywhere.

Well, anywhere they could fit.

Still, the co-drivers would not be swayed. “The H2 is still absurd,” they said, “but it had the right tires, and that’s what this is really all about.” The H2 could not get a fair trial; it had just done everything we wanted it to do, but now it was only because of the tires. We rebutted: Hogwash. The H2 covered every trail and had plenty left over, and that’s what this was really all about.

It was in the parking lot afterward that the smackdown came. We were walking to the H2, about to enjoy the long drive home, when we heard: “The Jeep Rubicon is really the best off-roader out there because it’s got locking front and rear diffs and 33-inch tires.” We turned and said “So does the H3T.”

They looked at your humble Autoblogger like you look at a fish floating oddly at the top of the tank – “Is he dead or just kind of messed up?” Speaking like they wanted me to read their lips in case my primitive brain weren’t developed enough to process their language sounds, they asked, “Are you saying you want to do it?”

“Oh yeah.”

Stay tuned next month for Rubicon vs. H3T on a 7-rated, 23.6 mile monstrosity of a trail. The battle rages.

As we all know, there are supercars, and then… there’s the Lamborghini Murcielago LP640. It has been called old and overweight, it has been called impractical and overpriced, it has been called out for its propensity to make 10-year-old boys lick its windows. When we got word that the LP640 would be stopping by the Autoblog Garage for a weekend, it was our chance to see if the childhood dream was still potent enough to answer adult desires. We’ve driven the Bugatti Veyron, Bentley Continental GT Speed, Porsche GT2, Corvette ZR1, Dodge Viper ACR and even Lambo’s own Gallardo LP560, and they were showstoppers. But when we finally met this Lambo, we had only one thing to say: Great googlymoogly!

We should admit right now that we bring a bit of baggage along with this review, having fallen for this particular filament in the automotive tacklebox back when Jimmy Carter ruled the free world. If you don’t get Lamborghini and the LP640, we understand, and we’re sure there is some other variety of automotive sculpture out there that can center your Ch’i.

However, if you do get the Lamborghini, if its geometries, its girth, its pursuit of speed and the next gas station resonates with you — as it has with us way back to the Countach — then there is nothing further to say. The car is a statement and a tome unto itself.

The theme song for the LP640 should be that old Morris Albert chestnut, “Feelings, nothing more than feelings,” because that’s all this car is about. When you’re standing in front of it — towering over it, rather — it’s got you by the transverse colon, or not at all. The engine noise has been designed to commandeer your auditory canal. Every impression, dent, dip, or divot in the road is registered in your viscera. Drive over so much as a piece of lint and you can guess the material and thread count.

The LP640 isn’t what we would call comfortable. We spent hours at a time in the car and it didn’t bother us, but that’s because we don’t mind driving a race car on the street when that race car is an LP640. But there is no mommy-make-it-stop comfort button. In fact, there’s a Sport button, which we never pressed because we don’t go by the name “Gimp”.

The LP640 isn’t exactly luxurious by the standards of comparable supercars. The doors don’t have much hydraulic assist, so you’ll need to help them get all the way up every single time. The leather and alcantara lined carbon buckets are light on the lining, heavy on the carbon. Whereas the Gallardo’s center console is filled with all sorts of toggles and buttons, the LP640 is frippery-free. The LP640 doesn’t even have the Gallardo’s backup camera, and if there were ever a candidate for a reversing aid, it’s the Murcielago.

Five buttons to the left of the steering wheel are for the lights and to engage Reverse. The climate control — no dual-zone nonsense here — is just a few more buttons. And the lower console has a few controls for utilitarian things like pulling the mirrors in, turning off the traction control, and opening the gas cap. That’s it.

The trunk up front is good for a small, soft-sided bag and a few gnats. The interior of the car has room for an iPhone, a Blackberry, and maybe an envelope. The passenger seat is the largest holdall in the car, known to be good for more than one supermodel at a time… if your name is Bruce Wayne.

The LP640 isn’t exactly pleasant to drive slowly. From one mile per hour up to about 15, the minimally-servoed steering and massive front wheels make it practically like piloting a small U-Haul. The eGear, save for the beautiful and perfectly placed paddles, is regrettable. If you have to make a couple of pull-slowly-into-traffic moves, the clutch responds with “I’ll do it, but I won’t like it.” Heaven forbid you get an extended taste of LA’s rush hour creeping. The eGear shifts in milliseconds, but under duress the time it takes for the clutch to re-engage and get power going again feels like a pause long enough to birth a star.

One thing this car did share with the Gallardo was an optional set of carbon brakes (that’ll be $16,250, thank you!) that took a very steady foot to modulate. Especially when slowing for a light, if a downshift happened to occur while you were trying to find the braking sweet spot, you got to do a dance called The Lurch.

Contrary to appearances, though, those are not complaints. (Except for the eGear, which we’d skip for the proper manual.) If we had the required liquidity, we’d be on the phone to Sant’ Agata right now instead of writing this review. We’re just telling you what to expect when you drive it. To deride it for being loud, firm and a handful at slow speeds is telling your girlfriend, “Hey honey, you know those high-heeled, thigh-high boots? You should stop wearing them because they just don’t make any sense…”

And we would never do that.

And this is why we have no complaints: because when the LP640 is at a standstill or on the trot, it is perfect. We’ll say it again: park the car or get it above 20 mph and you inhabit a land flowing with milk and honey, raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens. And lots of people pointing at you.

When the car is parked, start it up and just listen. Dissect the sound, and way down at the bottom is a muted cacaphony of clacks and whirs and spinning metal. Above that is an insistent drone, not high-pitched, but full-bodied mid-range. And above that and all around is a relentless sucking of air, like a monstrous, depressurized cavity has been opened. The engine sounds like it’s the singularity at the end of a black hole. Or else the car is powered by a nebula.

Even at residential speeds, the Murcielago is marvelous. As long as the roads aren’t war torn, after ten minutes at the con you’re so relaxed you’ve got one hand on the wheel and the other serving up the right CD track. A compliment we can give the eGear is that it will downshift for you (but won’t upshift), and the throttle blips that accompany the descent make slowing down sheer musicality. Another compliment: the paddles are bigger on the Murcielago than the Gallardo, and even though they’re on the column, they are never far away.

That is partly to do with the small steering wheel and partly to do with the relaxed rack ratio, which gives you a turning circle akin to Stonehenge. You can do a 180-degree turn at a stop light, but you should plan on using all available space.

However, you probably aren’t reading this to find out how the LP640 does town duty.

One final compliment we can give the eGear: when it’s time to go, the system doesn’t ask any questions. From standstill, when you let off the brake and smash the gas, the car shoots off so quickly that even though you’re in the car you still ask yourself, “Did you see that?” The 640-hp 6.5L V12 goes from mid-range wail up to about 4,500 RPM, then transmogrifies into a Homerian Siren roaring loud enough to get the attention of passing UFOs.

If you’re on a highway with a 60 mph speed limit, you’re already a shoestring away from breaking the law.

Flip the paddle for second.

eGear unhooks, shifts, bites in again –

The car bucks, your head slams into the headrest, the engine gets so malicious that extraterrestrials in the Sombrero Galaxy are asking each other “Do you hear that noise?”, and you’re accelerating even faster –

Flip the paddle for third.

The power doesn’t stop. The speedo needle is trying to swing around back on itself, but it’s taunting you, because it knows it has more room on the dial than you have road. Unless you have a couple of runways or an Autobahn, you’ll never see sixth gear in anger. You’re already going faster than the passing piston-engined planes above you. Much faster.

And this is what the car was made for. The steering is perfect. Never light, it is always even, and that shallow steering ratio means there are no quick movements needed. Guide it with a confident hand, and it will obey every order.

Uneven road surfaces, changes in camber, none of these fluctuations seem to affect it. The car is so stiff and sits so low to the ground — at such speeds it only wants to stay there — it simply isn’t high enough for there to be sufficient play to dip into anything, to become unsettled. Sweepers are a course in divinity. Yet come to a hard turn, hit the carbon ceramic stoppers and know the feeling of your spine pressing on the seatbelt, crank the wheel around, flip the downshift paddle a few times while you zero in on the apex, back on the gas, and let her scream out of the corner and teleport you to the next horizon.

When cruising in fifth and hit by the urge to drop down to second and take a ride on the Space Shuttle Murcielago, we never once worried that the car would let us down. As long as you’re not on some spit of asphalt custom made for a Lotus Elise, the LP640 is limited only by your knowledge of the road and your knowledge of how to drive it. The car isn’t glued to the road — it is the road, a single amplitude of tarmac flowing between the shoulders. Go with it, and you will go far, my son…

This is why the Lamborghini Murcielago LP640 would be our daily driver. That’s right, every day, even if we had to commute. It’s because this is not just a supercar, it is an argument. And it makes a winning case not just for dreams, not just for exotics, not just for naturally-aspirated engines, and not just for begging for a gig at Autoblog so that Lamborghini will give you an LP640 for the weekend — it is an argument for life.

A 5.2-liter V10 with 560 horsepower, 0-60 mph in 3.7 seconds, a top speed of over 200 mph and one of the most beautiful modern designs to ever come out of Italy. It’s the new Gallardo LP560-4, and Lamborghini wants us to drive it. There are certainly more lucrative ways to make a living than being an automotive journalist, but it’s moments like this that we know we made the right career choice. The best news is that we got to drive the new LP560-4 with about two dozen Lamborghini owners. Lamborghini of Orange County recently opened up a new dealership in Newport Beach, and they invited all of their customers down to see the new showroom and go for a Sunday drive. We tackled some of California’s best back roads in the LP560-4 with other Gallardos, Murcielagos, and even a few Diablos.

Next January’s Detroit Auto Show will mark the 20th anniversary of the Viper’s debut as a concept. Back then, every car in Chrysler’s lineup was still derived from the K-Car. The K-cars saved Chrysler from the jaws of bankruptcy, but an executive named Lutz decided the automaker needed a new halo car to generate some excitement as a new decade dawned. Another old guy named Carroll Shelby was sprucing up Daytonas and Omnis at the time, so they decided to revive an idea from earlier in his career. Together they created a minimalistic two-seater with a humongous engine that became an instant American classic. That basic premise lives on today in the 2008 Dodge Viper SRT-10 with only slightly less minimalism. Read on to find out what it’s like to live with a snake for a week.

Chrysler gave us the keys to a convertible Viper SRT-10 in what is arguably the best color ever applied to the V10 sports car. Snakeskin Green was a new color added for the 2008 model year update and our tester also had the optional painted-on bumper to bumper black stripes. Everyone who laid eyes on it loved the green and it literally shimmered in sunlight. Since we had the convertible instead of the coupe and it wasn’t raining, the first thing to do was drop the top. Aside from having to open the trunk, lowering the top of a Viper is nearly as simple as that of a Miata.

A single latch in the middle of the windshield header releases the roof and it drops down in one smooth motion. Close the the trunk and you’re done. There are no motors or actuators involved, and the top stows and raises without having to press anything down or snap anything in place. It’s very simple, just like everything else about the Viper.

This iteration of the Viper was developed when Chrysler was owned by Daimler, and in many ways it’s the polar opposite of a Mercedes-Benz. While cars like the AMG S63 and the SL550 are both ridiculously fast, they are also enormously complex. Even with all the power they possess, stability control systems tend to sap away their liveliness and, with everything actuated electronically, the cars feel synthetic.

There is nothing synthetic about a Viper. It is one of the loudest, most raucous cars in the world. With the top up, you have to duck down to get in as you step over the wide sill. With the top down, you just step over and fall into the seat. The Corvette ZR1 we recently drove has one serious flaw: its seats. Here the Viper wins hands down. These SRT seats are well bolstered and hold you firmly in position. Unfortunately, the Viper’s packaging means the position of the steering wheel and pedals relative to that amazing seat is slightly less than ideal.

The Viper’s 600-hp 8.4L V10 is set well back in the chassis with its 6-speed gear box directly behind it. That means there’s a wide tunnel that offsets the pedals slightly to the left. The steering wheel, however, is offset slightly to the right of the seat’s center line. None of the offsets are enough to detract from operating the car, but they are noticeable. The Viper was one of the first cars offered with adjustable pedals and they are fortunately retained on the current model. The shift lever, meanwhile, sits directly atop the gearbox and works best with deliberate but not forced manipulation. Like the ZR1, the Viper has a twin disc clutch that provides the necessary torque transmission capacity without requiring excessive force on the clutch pedal.

One of the characteristics we mentioned recently about the Porsche Carrera was how small it felt in comparison to other cars. Precisely the opposite is true of the Viper. The Dodge and Porsche only differ in overall length by 1.3 inches yet the Viper feels huge in comparison. Its hood stretches way out in front while the Porsche seems to disappear around you. The feeling of driving these two sports cars couldn’t be more different.


Besides smoke, the Viper also generates a lot of heat. The massive hood vents that were added for 2008 are definitely functional. You can see heat waves emanating from the engine compartment while sitting at a red light. When a redesigned Viper debuted in 2003, Dodge reverted back to side exhausts like on the early cars. Along with those came a large warning sticker on the rear of the door openings that cautions occupants to take care when exiting so as not to burn their legs on the hot sill.

Fortunately, the huge Michelin Pilot Sport tires provide grip commensurate with their size. Compared to the new Pilot Sport 2s on the ZR1, the Viper tires don’t break away quite as progressively, but they are still fairly manageable. Even without fancy stuff like magneto-rheological shocks or active steering, the Viper’s suspension is remarkably well sorted. The chassis feels stiff and solid and never exhibits signs of flexibility. Cowl shake was non-existent even on what they claim is a “road” in front of my son’s middle school. Speaking of which, dropping off your 13-year-old son at school in a Snakeskin Green Viper is just the way to get on his good side.

No one driving a Viper will ever confuse it for a luxury car. You feel every interaction between the road and the rubber, and that’s a good thing for a car like this. The ride is fairly stiff, more so than a new ZR1 with its MR damping system in Comfort mode. The Viper is not a car that should be chosen for daily driving duties, but it does a decent enough job that you won’t mind taking it out to for errands when the mood strikes you.

The Viper is a toy, and in many ways it is the anti-Tesla Roadster. Like the Roadster (at least when the updated Drivetrain 1.5 is installed), the Viper is absurdly fast and has limited utility. But where the Tesla is whisper quiet, the Viper is constantly rumbling along. At low speeds and part throttle it doesn’t sound particularly impressive, but it absolutely roars when opened up. Visibility is mediocre with the top up, and even with the top down the windshield header is rather low and makes it difficult to see traffic lights. Without any wind blocker available, there is plenty of buffeting in the cockpit even with the side windows up.

But none of this matters much because the Viper is about the open road where such mundane concerns are meaningless. Put on a ball cap, or better yet a helmet, and take the Viper out to play. At $93,000 including a gas guzzler tax and those $3,000 stripes, you won’t really care about its thirst for premium gasoline anyway.

Chrysler pays the bills with big sellers like the Dodge Ram and Caravan, but when it comes to passion and excitement, the 2009 Dodge Challenger sits with the Viper atop the Pentastar throne. The new Dodge Challenger is retro done right, with the wide stance and long hood of the original mixed with the clean lines and aggressive dimensions of a modern pony car. For the 2008 model year, Chrysler introduced only the SRT version of the Challenger. The first production model sold for $400,000 at auction, and the entire stock of HEMI-packing, Mopar goodness was history faster than it takes to hit 125 mph on a barren back road.

The reality of today’s high gas prices combined with strict new fuel economy standards means that, unfortunately, it’s unreasonable for every Challenger to pack a fire-breathing, neck snapping 425-hp, 6.1L V8. So for 2009, Chrysler added the R/T Challenger with an extremely competitive 375-hp 5.7L Hemi and a less expensive Challenger SE with a corporate 3.5L V6 engine pumping out 250 ponies. We wanted to see if the SE model could satisfy our hunger for rear drive performance and classic muscle car looks, so we took in the entry level Challenger for a stay in the Autoblog Garage.
Our Dark Titanium Metallic Clear Coat Challenger SE review vehicle came only with the $2,795 group G package, which includes stability control, Sirius satellite radio, anti-lock brakes, and 18-inch aluminum wheels. This gave the SE an MSRP of $25,140, which puts it in line with similarly equipped competition from the Ford Mustang.

When an automaker introduces a vehicle with sporty pretenses, there is usually a vast difference in the appearance of the base model and the snorty, rip-roaring high performance model. This isn’t the case with the Challenger. While the SE didn’t have 20-inch rims or stick-on stripes, its basic shape is still very much a head turner. Carried over from the $40,000 SRT model are the front chin spoiler and aggressive-looking but non-functional hood vents. Those attributes and the Challenger’s classic muscle car dimensions make Chrysler’s bargain basement muscle car look more expensive than it really is.

The Challenger is a big vehicle, sharing its platform and powertrain with the full-sized Dodge Charger and Chrysler 300. But when you’re standing next to it, the Challenger appears relatively compact. The larger than expected 18-inch rims fill the wheel wells, which gives the sheet metal around them better proportions. Having only two doors also helps, as the coupe shape allowed Chrysler designers to create a compact greenhouse with an abrupt C-Pillar. The front chin spoiler also gives the Challenger a nice ground-hugging look.

We had the Challenger SE during this year’s Woodward Dream Cruise, and when we drove it down the famous four-lane avenue, we received thumbs-up from several onlookers. With the windows down, we heard one young man turn to his father and say “Hey Dad, it’s the SRT Challenger”. What the kid don’t know won’t hurt him. At one point we were taking pictures of the Challenger next to the Mustang Bullitt, and a passing spectator ogled the base Challenger while completely ignoring Ford’s coolest Mustang. If anything, the reactions of others proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Challenger SE looks the part of muscle car, but how does it drive?

In a word, slow. We got the the impression we were driving a Chrysler 300 Touring instead of anything from the era of modern muscle. We expected a bass-filled growl when turning the key, but instead were treated to the whimper of a V6. After slapping the truly retro four-speed automatic into Drive, we experienced a smooth yet unsatisfying engine; long, infrequent shifts; and family sedan acceleration.

Don’t get us wrong, the engine is just fine. The transmission, while only sporting four cogs, is perfectly average and acceleration is acceptable – just not for something that looks as fast as the Challenger. We noticed plenty of body roll and steering calibrated for minimal feedback when we hit the twisties. This definitely isn’t the ass-kicking SRT8 Challenger we drove at Chrysler’s proving grounds over the summer, but then again this model doesn’t cost $40,000. The SE model, with options, falls some $15,000 short of that amount. There is no gas guzzler tax we actually averaged a respectable 24 mpg.

We certainly didn’t feel like stunt drivers for a Vanishing Point sequel behind the wheel of the Challenger SE, but at least we were comfortable. Clearly the budget ran out before Chrysler designers were able to fit the Challenger with a retro interior, but the familiar layout works well just like it does in the Charger. The seats were large and comfy, the buttons well laid out and easy to reach, and the materials were of a higher quality than we’ve experienced in recent Chrysler products. Our only major gripe is that Chrysler insists on using an antiquated cruise control stalk instead of more modern and easier to use steering wheel button controls. The cruise stalk is unlit and in the dark we had absolutely no idea how to set speed, no matter how many times we used it.

The Dodge Challenger is our favorite vehicle in Chrysler’s lineup right now. It looks terrific in any trim and you can get one that fits most any need, desire or budget. The SE model is a sheep in wolf’s clothing, but if you want the muscle car look without the gas guzzling, performance and sheer driving joy of the SRT8 or R/T models, it’s worth considering. And that’s not a knock on the Challenger SE. As Ford has proven with its V6 Mustang, there are a lot more people who want a car that looks cool than there are those who want a fast car that’s fun to drive. Just don’t think you can blow away that Nissan Altima 3.5 sitting next to you at the stop light, because you’ll get your ass kicked.