Bumper to Bumper

by Doug DeMuro

  It turned out that the Hummer was going so slowly that everyone’s fears about my safety were largely unfounded. Jordan, my girlfriend, my friends—they were all worried something bad might happen. But the Hummer could hardly muster up enough speed to get into “something bad” territory. Instead, our situation would be more accurately described as “residential speed limit” territory. After I maxed out at sixty-five miles per hour on the track’s longest straightaway, Jordan amusingly informed me that his BMW M3 track car hits 140 in the same spot.

  But don’t think for a second that I wasn’t going all-out. You’ve probably watched the video and you’ve probably thought that I slowed down, or I was easing up to protect the Hummer, or I lowered my speed so I wouldn’t die in a giant fireball shaped like a file cabinet. But this is not the case. I was absolutely, 100 percent, balls to the wall, foot on the floor, from the moment we got out on the track. It wasn’t me that was keeping speeds down. It was the fact that the Hummer has the same horsepower as a Jetta, but weighs as much as a bowling alley.

  Of course, the Hummer track experience was about more than just speed. Here’s another thing I learned about driving a Hummer on a racetrack: it’s absolutely terrifying. You’ve got all these cars buzzing around you, but you have no idea where any of them are, because a) your mirrors are buzzing just as much as the cars, and b) you’re driving a vehicle the size of a rural school district. So you kind of fling it into corners randomly and guess where other vehicles are based on their sound, which is not unlike how I expect a blind person would drive a Hummer around a racetrack.

  And then there’s braking. Before we got started, I assumed the Hummer would have so much brake fade that it would only manage about two laps before the wheels started shooting flames the size of a giant redwood. But here’s the thing: when you’re only doing about 40, you don’t really jam on the brakes. You just kind of tap them, and place the Hummer in the proper line, and hope to God you aren’t about to flatten a Miata. By the last lap, Jordan had stopped telling me to brake for most of the turns.

  Interestingly, however, I do have one piece of praise for the Hummer: cornering. Even though the Hummer has enough suspension travel to climb over a wood-paneled PT Cruiser, the damn thing managed to stay surprisingly flat in the corners. And I don’t mean “oh, the body roll was so mild that I only vomited twice afterwards.” I mean the thing stayed dead freakin’ flat, to the great surprise of Jordan and me. Later, I realized this is probably because we never got up enough speed to cause body roll.

  Unfortunately, my excellent Hummer track day experience ended after only about five laps. Here’s what happened: initially, Jordan told me he could feel things getting hot on his side of the Hummer. At first, I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or infer that he was getting tired of driving around a racetrack in a vehicle the size of a school bus. But just a few minutes later, coolant started bubbling up over the hood, indicating that, indeed, the Hummer had had enough. And so, like so many highly tuned, hugely expensive, track-prepped race cars before me, I steered over into pit lane. “You don’t have to put on your turn signal,” Jordan said.

  When we opened the hood, we discovered there was no leak, no loose hose, no giant problem with the engine. Instead, the issue was simple: the Hummer had gotten hot after five laps at full throttle, and the coolant’s expansion tank had spit up a little coolant. I let out a huge sigh of relief: the Hummer wasn’t broken. It was merely saying: Stop doing this, you giant asshole.

  So we did stop. We let the NASA guys get back to their track day, and we drove home to Philadelphia on the wide open highway at full throttle; pedal to the floor; maximum Hummer velocity. Along the way, we were passed by several semi trucks.

  Here’s What Happened When I Hypermiled My Hummer

  Originally published on Jalopnik—June 10, 2015

  Whenever new people find out that I have a Hummer, they always ask roughly the same question. First they’re surprised, and then they compose themselves a little, and then they say: What kind of gas mileage do you get?

  Of course, what they’re really thinking is: What kind of an asshole are you?

  The truth is, I don’t really know what kind of gas mileage I get, because I haven’t really measured it. That’s because I don’t really drive the Hummer all that much. You wouldn’t drive your Hummer very much, either, if you had one. Imagine climbing behind the wheel of an airplane hangar and cruising down your local neighborhood streets. Oh, and it’s bright yellow. That’s what it’s like to drive the Hummer.

  But I have been a little curious about the Hummer’s gas mileage, and this weekend I finally decided it was time to measure it. So I grabbed a friend and my trusty five-function calculator (add, subtract, multiply, divide, and write “BOOBS” upside down) and I set off on a fuel economy challenge.

  Here’s what happened. For the first leg of the journey, I drove like a normal human being to Princeton, New Jersey, which is this nice liberal college town about an hour north of Philadelphia where they’re still holding out for print journalism to make a comeback. Of course, I say “normal human being,” but what I really mean here is that I drove the Hummer Speed Limit, which is defined as: slower than full-size sedans with landau tops.

  I always forget how awful it is to drive on the highway in the Hummer until I’m driving on the highway in the Hummer. Then it hits me like a bright yellow airplane hangar. And I think to myself: Why did I do this? So I punch a couple numbers into my trusty calculator, and I’m given the answer: BOOBS.

  No, the real answer is that I wanted to determine the gas mileage for you, my dear reader, who is undoubtedly on the edge of your five-function office chair looking for the result. So I put up with the 65-mph maximum speed (track tested), and the lack of cruise control, and the no air conditioning, and the awful aerodynamics, and the fact that the cabin noise level ranks somewhere between “screaming toddler” and “nuclear holocaust,” and I endured the forty-six-mile drive to Princeton.

  Forty-six miles is all it took to reach Princeton. And forty-six miles is also all it took to burn through one full quarter of a tank of gas. When we reached the gas station, we pulled out the ol’ calculator and discovered that the Hummer’s fuel economy stood strong at 11.1 miles per gallon. Mind you, this is highway miles per gallon. At 60 miles per hour. With no air conditioning. To reach this fuel economy figure in a normal car, you’d have to pour gasoline out the window as you cruised down the road.

  We had to do better on the return trip.

  So for the drive back to Philadelphia, I decided to make a few aerodynamic modifications to the Hummer. What I mean by this is, I taped some cardboard boxes over the wheel wells and I stuck a bunch of blue painter’s tape on the panel gaps in an effort to reduce drag and make the truck more slippery. These were highly useful revisions, and I think just about any wind tunnel engineer would agree that these simple changes were able to dramatically enhance the car’s overall aerodynamic profile, bringing it from refrigerator on its side to refrigerator on its side with cardboard boxes taped to it.

  The other modification I made on our return trip was to my driving style. No longer did I cruise along at 66 miles per hour, carelessly flouting the 65-mph speed limit like an action movie villain. No, no. Now I was going to go the speed the Hummer wanted to go, in order to maximize fuel economy. So I asked the Hummer how fast it wanted to go, and it told me the answer: BOOBS. We settled on 40.

  Now, not many of us have ever cruised at 40 miles per hour on an interstate highway, so today I’m going to tell you what it’s like. Here’s what it’s like: hell. You get passed by everyone. I was getting passed by guys towing trailers. Cars from the 1930s. Box trucks. U-Hauls. At one point, I got passed by an old couple who clearly hadn’t passed someone in a very long time, probably since the Cold War, and they looked over at me as if they were wondering: Is that thing foot-powered?

  So low speed is no fun. It sucks. It’s torture. Also—and this is a completely true fact—it mak
es you get to your destination slower.

  But eventually we did reach our destination, and we climbed out of the truck, and we pumped the gas, and we did the calculations, and our final number was 11.5 miles per gallon. Suffice it to say, I don’t think the cardboard and the painter’s tape really had any major effect, aside from littering a substantial portion of Interstate 95 in Mercer County, New Jersey.

  Fortunately, we did reach several excellent conclusions during the filming of this video. Namely: the Hummer is an awful transportation device if you are interested in driving on roads, or streets, or highways, or in liberal college towns, or cities, or neighborhoods. However, it does have its uses. For example, I am told that it can crush a Chrysler PT Cruiser.

  The Maserati Ghibli Is A Luxury Sedan Joke

  Originally published on Jalopnik—June 29, 2015

  Good news, ladies and gentlemen! I have decided to devote an entire column to the Maserati Ghibli, which is a highly expensive new luxury sedan that offers roughly the same level of actual luxury as a floor lamp.

  Yes, it’s true: over the next several hundred words, I’m going to say several mean things about the Maserati Ghibli. (Pronunciation: “GEE-BLEE.” Nickname: “Gibbles and Bits.”) If you are a Maserati fan, I suggest you get out now, or at least start an angry thread about me over on the Maserati forums.

  I’m going to begin in a place where Maserati’s designers and engineers clearly didn’t: the car’s equipment levels. Before writing this column, I devoted considerable time researching this issue (approximately nine minutes, while I was on the toilet) and I’ve reached the conclusion that Maserati equipped this car in the following way: First, they carefully examined each and every rival, to see what their competitors were offering. And then they didn’t include any of that stuff.

  For an example of what I’m talking about, I turn to safety features. I also turn to the BMW 5 Series, which is dramatically better than the Ghlibi despite going on sale five years ago. These two cars are rivals in the same way that Ethan Allen is a rival to the furniture aisle at Walmart.

  Here’s what I mean: even though the 5 Series is one of the oldest cars in this segment, it still has everything. It has a parking camera that gives you a top-down view of the car and a look at the sides. It has forward collision alert with automatic braking. It has a blind spot monitor. It has a full-color heads-up display. It has a lane departure warning system. It has an automated parallel parking assist feature. It has night vision, for God’s sake.

  Do you know what highlights the Ghibli’s list of safety features? A backup camera.

  Yes, folks, that’s right: the five-year-old BMW 5 Series is cruising around with technology they have on nuclear submarines. And the most exciting safety feature in the “newly released” Ghibli is something that the federal government is mandating in two years anyway.

  But maybe safety equipment isn’t your thing. Maybe you’re into gadgets, technology, cool features you can show your friends when they hop inside your new luxury car and ask why you didn’t get a Prius. So I’ve decided to see how the Ghibli stacks up against the Mercedes-Benz E-Class—another midsize luxury sedan rival that’s even older than the BMW 5 Series. Here goes:

  Massaging Seats

  E-Class: Yes

  Ghibli: Passenger can reach across and poke you

  Panoramic Sunroof

  E-Class: Yes

  Ghibli: Stick your head out the normal sunroof for a panoramic effect

  Lane-Keeping Assistant

  E-Class: Yes

  Ghibli: Has steering wheel

  Adaptive Cruise Control

  E-Class: Yes

  Ghibli: You “adapt” by hitting the car in front of you

  Carbon Ceramic Brakes

  E-Class: Yes

  Ghibli: Er … look over there!

  Power Trunk Lid

  E-Class: Yes

  Ghibli: Yes, if the trunk is open and the wind is blowing very hard

  I could do these for hours. I could harp on about how the E-Class offers automatically adjustable seat bolsters that hug you in the corners, and the Ghibli doesn’t. I could talk about how the E-Class offers a feature that’ll open the trunk when you slide your foot under the bumper, and the Ghibli doesn’t. I could mention that the E-Class has automatic high beams, and it’ll let you know if someone’s coming when you’re backing out of a parking spot, and the Ghibli doesn’t.

  I could also mention powertrain choices. I could talk about the fact that BMW offers a hybrid, a diesel, a four-cylinder, a six-cylinder, a regular V8, and a high-performance V8, while the Maserati is saddled with merely two engine options: a turbocharged 3.0-liter V6, and a slightly more powerful version of that same turbocharged 3.0-liter V6. I could talk about all this stuff. But I won’t, because I don’t want to embarrass the good people at Maserati North America, who are currently trying to see if they can offer the Ghibli in July for $299 per month and nothing down.

  Speaking of deals, here’s the Ghibli’s biggest problem: it isn’t one. Consider this: a base-level 5 Series starts right around $51,000 with shipping. Likewise, the E-Class starts around $53,500 including destination. So what does the Ghibli cost? The Ghibli, with its tiny dealer network and its unproven reliability? The Ghibli, a hopeful newcomer to a highly competitive segment with many established rivals? The Ghibli, with far less features and equipment than its rivals?

  That’s right: $71,000 with destination.

  And for that money, you get a 345-horsepower V6, rear-wheel-drive, and optional steering column shift paddles. Spend seventy-one grand on a 5 Series and you could have a 445-horsepower, V8-powered, all-wheel drive, top-of-the-line 550i xDrive—and you’d still have enough money left over for a) a vanity plate that says “MASER LOL”, and b) a new refrigerator.

  Now, in the past, we’ve all known that the Italians didn’t exactly offer the very best value on the market, but we’ve sort of ignored it. For instance: the Ferrari F430 didn’t have side airbags, even though the Koreans were installing them in cars that cost nine grand back when Chandler and Joey were still living together. The old Quattroporte had a navigation system that was about as useful as asking for directions from a blind Italian woman who didn’t speak any English. In fact, she may have been the lead engineer.

  But this was fine, because these cars were Italian, and this was part of the charm. So we ignored the flaws, and we prattled on about how good these vehicles sound, and how fun they are to drive, largely because we were so excited that the Italians gave us a press car in the first place.

  But here’s the thing: this time, we can’t ignore Maserati’s flaws. Over the last few years, they’ve added dozens of new dealers all across the country. They’ve ramped up production dramatically. And they’ve set a volume goal of 50,000 units by the end of 2015, up from 6,200 in 2012—an eightfold increase in just three years. In other words: Maserati wants to be “one of the guys” in the luxury car world; one of the main players; one of the top choices, rather than just some fringe brand that’s only considered by people who plan to let their estate worry about depreciation.

  So have they succeeded? Have they created a world-class luxury car? At a competitive price? With competitive equipment? And a competitive dealer network? That would be: no, no, no, and no, respectively. What they’ve done is they’ve given us a nice $40,000 car with a $30,000 badge on the front. And you don’t need BMW Night Vision to see that.

  I Spent a Day With the Nissan Murano CrossCabriolet

  Originally published on Jalopnik—August 4, 2015

  When I look back on my writing career, I believe I will cite July 26, 2015, as the ultimate pinnacle. That was the day I got to drive an overpriced convertible SUV that looks like an angry clothing iron.

  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that’s right: I’ve driven the Nissan Murano CrossCabriolet. And I haven’t just driven it. I spent the day with it. Running errands. Cruising around town. Assuring my neighbors that it won’t be a permanent addition to our parki
ng lot. It was a glorious day, and I invite you to experience it with me. If you are anything like the rest of my readers, you love the Nissan Murano CrossCabriolet because of what it represents: one large, multi-national corporation’s struggle to lose money in a world filled with profit and opportunity.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself here. Before I get into the ins and outs of the Murano Crosscabriolet, we should back up and discuss what the Murano CrossCabriolet is and what it isn’t. What it is is the world’s first SU-vertible, a part-SUV, part-convertible that’s just as comfortable driving to the beach as it is tackling rough roads. What it isn’t is very good.

  I still remember when Nissan threatened to come out with the Murano CrossCabriolet, back in 2010. First, there was a concept car. They won’t build it, I thought. Then, a production model. They won’t build it. Then, some magazine reviews. They won’t build it. Then I saw one on the street. They built it.

  And it wasn’t just that they built it. It’s that they decided to charge nearly $48,000 for the privilege of owning one, which was deep into BMW 5 Series territory. To illustrate how ridiculous this is, I want you to imagine for a moment that you’re a car shopper with a budget of fifty grand. Do you buy a new BMW? An Audi? A Mercedes? Or a convertible Nissan that looks like a beached whale wearing a fedora?