Behind the Wheel | 2013 Audi S7 and S8: Internal Combustion as a Term of Art

The S7 hatchback, above, is a more conventional steel-body car than the S8, which has an aluminum space frame. More Photos »

The state of the internal-combustion art has never been more artful. Direct fuel injection, variable valve timing, computer-controlled ignition systems and a hundred other technologies have become tools for shaping how an engine performs. Engineers can add torque here, subtract it over there, let the engine rev at one point and hold it back at another. This is a new artistic medium, and Audi’s latest V-8 engine is a masterpiece.

Called the EA824 inside Audi, and marketed as the 4.0 TFSI V-8, it’s a densely packed engine less than 20 inches long that overachieves relative to its 4-liter displacement. TFSI stands for Turbo Fuel Stratified Injection, and right now internal combustion doesn’t come better than this.

I drove two 2013 Audis equipped with different versions of the EA824. In July, my nephew and I took the large 520-horsepower all-aluminum S8 sedan ($125,995 as tested) on a blitz from Dallas to Oklahoma and across the Texas panhandle, all the way home to Santa Barbara, Calif.

Then, a few weeks later, my wife and I drove the slightly smaller, sleeker, steel-body 420-horsepower S7 ($94,570 as tested) up the California coast to San Francisco and back.

On the long, often empty, straights of Interstate 40 across the Great Plains, the S8 was outrageously serene. As we cruised through sudden cloudbursts, surprise hailstorms and blistering heat over three days, it pushed forth with only slight differences in tire noise to indicate whether we were moving across water, ice or broiling asphalt. Even on lonely stretches of open road, as our speed crept inadvertently toward three digits, there was barely a change in the wind’s whistle. This is Audi’s most capable and powerful large sedan, and it is built to ingest continents.

The family of A8 sedans, of which the S8 is the highest performer, includes standard and stretched L versions (with wheelbases of 117.8 or 122.9 inches), with powerplants ranging from a turbodiesel V-6 to an outrageous 6.3-liter 12-cylinder. All of the A8s and the S8 are built with an all-aluminum space-frame structure that has been the car’s hallmark technology since the first-generation sedan of the mid-1990s.

The high-style, low-slung S7 has a predatory countenance. There’s something empowering about simply ducking under the low roof and into the thickly bolstered driver’s seat, as if you’ve transformed from a weakling into a Charles Atlas muscleman without all that pesky weightlifting.

But the S7 is a more conventional machine than the S8. It’s a hot-rod version of the A7 hatchback, which itself is a derivative of the more upright A6 sedan. The structure is ordinary steel and the 114.7-inch wheelbase is the same as the A6’s. Unfortunately, the S7’s squashed but stylish fastback roofline compromises headroom, and the rear legroom isn’t impressive either.

Regular A7s are available with the same turbocharged diesel and supercharged gasoline 3-liter V-6s that are found in the A8. But new for 2014 is an even more radical RS7 that uses a version of the EA824 rated at a loopy 560 horsepower. With a base price of $105,400, it starts out $25,200 more expensive than the 2014 S7.

That’s $25,200 that could be used for other important things. Like bail.

Slicing through central California, where the weather is always perfect, I swear that my wife’s pupils dilated noticeably when she first dipped into the S7’s accelerator pedal. The S7 may give up 100 horsepower to the S8 — at least according to Audi’s suspiciously conservative ratings — but 420 horsepower is still some 2.4 times the rating of her Kia Sorento. Power may be corrupting, but it’s also empowering, liberating and fun.

Forget all the navigation systems, radar-controlled cruise systems and even the Wi-Fi connectivity built into both the S7 and S8. All that is stuff you can find in other luxury performance cars. Other manufacturers are even adopting all-wheel drive similar to Audi’s once novel but still brilliant quattro system. What those other cars don’t have is the EA824.

Behind the Wheel 2013 Hyundai Santa Fe and Santa Fe Sport: Renovated With or Without Family Room

Today, even as some Americans find nano-scaled joy in the Mini or tiny plug-in cars, others — especially those struggling to install child seats — would gladly stick with the car they’re currently driving, if only it were bigger.

Cute-and-cuddly crossover utilities, especially, seem the “Toy Story” dolls of automobiles, outgrown and cast aside as buyers age and start their families.

But Hyundai hasn’t had the right crossover for families, be they the Cleavers or the Kardashians. The brand’s smallest plaything has been the Tucson. The Santa Fe was roomier, but clearly not big enough: a paltry 16 percent of buyers of the old Santa Fe were raising children, compared with up to 53 percent for its midsize competitors.

Consider that rectified this year, as Hyundai spins off a second Santa Fe that pulls more chairs to the family table.

The redesigned Santa Fe Sport stays roughly the same five-passenger size as before. It’s also much improved, shedding roughly 270 pounds and gaining a handsome Sonata-style interior and a pair of direct-injection 4-cylinder engines.

And for the population exploders there is a new, enlarged Santa Fe: 8.5 inches longer, with a 3.9-inch longer wheelbase. With a V-6 and three rows of seats, the Santa Fe is distinctly different from the Sport. It has also become one of the better all-around mid-to-large crossover utilities.

Consider them two lengths of sausage, sharing a name and much the same skin and interior fillings (though the Sport is made in Georgia while the bigger version is imported from South Korea). Compared with creating an entirely separate midsize model, Hyundai’s two-wheelbase strategy seems shrewd, reducing costs and trimming the margin for error in styling, naming, manufacturing and marketing. (Consider how the Commander worked out for Jeep; sales of that awkwardly stretched Grand Cherokee evaporated over five years before the plug was pulled in 2010.)

This larger Santa Fe looks and drives smaller than it is, outhandling and outaccelerating lummoxes like the Honda Pilot and Nissan Pathfinder. Though the Hyundai has less interior volume than those big-box specials, it swallows as many riders and lots of stuff. And its third row is surprisingly adequate, even for adults on short trips.

Throw in carlike performance and comfort, a 290-horsepower V-6 and lavish features, and the Hyundai becomes a smart package for families who need three-row versatility but don’t want a minivan or a truckish road-hogging S.U.V.

Buyers choose between two versions of the plus-size, three-row Santa Fe: a six-seat Limited with a pair of captain’s chairs in the second row or a GLS with a second-row bench and seating for seven. (For either model, the split third row folds flat.)

So how big is Hyundai’s strapping baby?

At 193.1 inches bumper to bumper, the Santa Fe stretches past the Toyota Highlander and the Pilot. It’s only about 4 inches shy of the Pathfinder and Ford Explorer.

But the Hyundai pulls a neat visual trick. At a casual glance, you’d swear the Santa Fe was a size smaller than any of them. The Hyundai is the narrowest vehicle in its class — roughly 4 to 5 inches slimmer than the Pilot and Explorer — and its roofline slants lower as well.

Yet the Santa Fe’s efficient packaging delivers roomy interior dimensions that, in some cases, actually exceed bulkier rivals: the Hyundai has more third-row legroom than the Nissan. In this class, only the Santa Fe and Pathfinder exceed 40 inches of second-row legroom, on par with especially spacious midsize sedans.

At 3,933 pounds, the Hyundai is the only sub-two-ton vehicle in its group, weighing about 400 pounds less than the Toyota and 600 less than the Ford.

Drivers should instantly notice, and appreciate, the Hyundai’s slender proportions and comparatively lighter weight. For one, the Hyundai can turn around in a two-foot-tighter circle than the Nissan, Ford or Toyota.

Pointed south from Monterey, Calif., to Los Angeles, my Santa Fe Limited carved a serene, soft-riding path. Cranking 290 horsepower from a direct-injected 3.3-liter V-6 — matching the Explorer for the most powerful standard 6-cylinder in the class — the Hyundai offers surprising hustle. Mated to a smooth 6-speed automatic transmission, this V-6 likes to rev and sounds healthy doing it. With the optional trailer prep package, the Santa Fe can tow 5,000 pounds, matching the class’s best.

Behind the Wheel | SRT Viper: The Viper Strikes Back

The best time was set by Mark Gillies, who was Car and Driver’s executive editor at the time, in a stock Dodge Viper ACR. The race organizers didn’t include the Viper in the original results because of a technicality involving its tires. But the fact is, a factory Viper — albeit the no-holds-barred ACR model — won the race.

And that’s the foremost thing you need to know about the Viper. It prioritizes speed, the ability to set the lowest lap times on any given track, above all else.

It doesn’t matter that you think its exhaust note sounds like a rutting water buffalo, or that its proportions recall the Duocar driven by Ace and Gary, the ambiguously gay superheroes of “Saturday Night Live.” The record shows that the Viper is the second-fastest production car ever to run around Germany’s famed Nürburgring. And it took the $845,000 Porsche 918 Spyder to dethrone it.

I drove the new 2013 SRT Viper, reborn after a three-year absence, on the road course at the North Carolina Center for Automotive Research. Later, I tried a Viper GTS on the street.

The major difference is that the GTS includes a two-mode suspension (firm and firmer) and a more sophisticated stability-control system that will stay out of the way on a track while still providing a safety net.

The basic Viper, though, is tuned such that you can drive hard and never notice the stability-control intervention. If you do, you’ve really tempted fate.

While either Viper will get around a track with utmost haste, the 2014 model year brings a new track-oriented TA Special Edition Package whose performance claims include 278 pounds of aerodynamic downforce at 150 miles per hour, helping to glue the car to the pavement. The TA also has the largest tire-contact patch of any production car.

Beneath a carbon-fiber clamshell hood approximately a quarter-acre in size, the Viper’s 8.4-liter V10 now makes 640 horsepower and 600 pound-feet of torque — the highest torque rating of any naturally aspirated car engine. The Viper V10 doesn’t merely build power — it erupts.

In its trimmest form, the Viper weighs only 3,297 pounds, which means it has a power-to-weight ratio just this side of an Exocet missile. Top speed is 206 m.p.h.

The Viper will burn you — and not just figuratively. When changing gears, you’ll want to be careful not to let a finger stray down toward the metal shift lever, lest you wish you were wearing oven mitts. The rod protruding from the transmission tunnel may as well be Satan’s pitchfork bursting forth from the fiery bowels of Hades.

Likewise, you’ll want to carefully exit the car, particularly when wearing shorts, for the exhaust pipes below the doors are about as well insulated as a stilt bungalow in Bora Bora. I imagine that the Viper Club of America includes a lot of guys with missing patches of leg hair on their calves.

While many modern supercars don’t offer a manual transmission, the Viper doesn’t offer an automatic. Its V10 traces its roots to a Chrysler V8 introduced in 1964. The car is not sold in Europe, where the French translation of “Viper” is “Pourquoi?”

Other models from Chrysler’s high-performance SRT division are equipped with a 6.4-liter V8 that can deactivate half its cylinders for improved fuel economy. The Viper cares not for that trick, keeping all 10 cylinders thumping at all times. Gas mileage is consequently barbaric, with the Viper earning E.P.A. ratings of 12 miles per gallon in the city and 19 on the highway — a thirst that incurs a $2,600 gas-guzzler tax.

I tried the racetrack-ready launch-control function on the GTS, but the 355/30/19 rear tires lit up in such a huge burnout that I controlled future launches with my own two shoes on the clutch and throttle. The Viper still needs a third-party moderator, which is sort of nice when so many cars rely on their own internal algorithms to sanitize the dirty work of driving. The Viper’s a big dumb oaf, and it needs your help. Well, hallelujah.

During the drive at the North Carolina track, one Chrysler engineer lamented that the Viper would inevitably be compared to the new Corvette, even though the Viper is much faster, more expensive and comparatively rarer. “Soon you’re going to see those on every corner, but that won’t be the case with the Viper,” he said.

And while he’s right — with a base price of $101,990 and fewer than 29,000 cars built since 1992, Vipers will never overrun every Dairy Queen parking lot — it is still awfully tempting to compare America’s only two real serious sports cars.

So I have to wonder if the Viper’s glorious return is getting smothered by the debut of its fantastic new rival from Chevrolet, a hot car in its own right. Chrysler recently scaled back Viper production in the face of high dealer supplies, an ill omen for a brand-new car.

The difference between the Corvette and the Viper is that the ’Vette wants to be a new Ferrari, while the Viper wants to be a 1965 Shelby Cobra. Either that, or a big rock on a catapult. It hasn’t decided.

I don’t think Chevy really has to worry about the Viper. But Porsche might. The 2013 Viper, in perhaps its only subtle gesture ever, includes a miniature map of the Nürburgring molded into the rubber of the passenger-side coin holder. I don’t want to make any predictions, but if I were Porsche, I might not get too attached to that record lap time.

Behind the Wheel | Chevrolet Corvette Stingray: Stingray Returns With Styling à la Mode

While the Corvette’s 61-year history has included some spectacular cars, aspirations for the 2014 model are the highest yet. The Stingray badge evokes the beloved second generation. More Photos »

Imagine, if you will, that an unnamed manufacturer just released an all-new sports car. It rockets from 0 to 60 miles per hour in 3.8 seconds, pulls more than one lateral g on the skid pad and has a carbon-fiber hood and roof. The interior includes dual high-resolution screens, top-quality materials and the option of racing seats. The manual transmission, with 7 forward speeds, will execute rev-matched downshifts, and it’s mounted at the rear of the car for optimal weight distribution.

Other serious performance hardware include a dry-sump oiling system (which keeps the engine lubricated during neck-straining cornering maneuvers), an electronically controlled differential and magnetic ride-control suspension. All of this is concealed beneath bodywork that’s thoroughly dripping in exotic, low-slung menace.

If Porsche made such a car, it would cost $125,000. If its fenders wore Ferrari badges, it would cost $200,000. But we’re talking about a Chevy with a starting price of $51,995. And this fact blows our minds just a little bit less because the car is a Corvette. Where that particular vehicle is concerned, we’ve come to expect outrageous returns on our dollar.

The Corvette has a long and often glorious history. But that continuity, stretching back to 1953, means that every new generation of the Corvette tends to be viewed through the prism of its predecessor.

And it’s tempting to think of this seventh-generation Corvette Stingray (in ’Vette lingo, the C7) in terms of the sixth-generation Vette — it’s like a C6 with better seats, more power, better behavior at the limit. But then you start itemizing the list of aspects that are different, both quantifiable and subjective, and you realize that the C7 isn’t much like a C6 at all.

The new car’s ambitions are fundamentally loftier, a point underscored by the return of the Stingray name. (Chevrolet is surely hoping to evoke the world-beating 1963 Sting Ray rather than the 1976 model — a fixture of the “Boogie Nights” era — that last wore the badge.)

Start with the handling. “Handling” was never something the old ’Vette was overly concerned with, as long as its lap times were low enough. The car’s breakaway behavior was a particular problem, as it would let go suddenly and with great drama — the C6 Corvette is the only car I’ve ever spun on a racetrack with the stability control system engaged. If Khrushchev and Kennedy had been that twitchy, we might all still be eating canned peas in our fallout shelters while watching “Leave It to Beaver.”

The C7, though, is friendly and controllable all the way to the limit. The Z51 performance package includes an electronically controlled differential (called eLSD) that allows fine modulation of the car’s rear-end behavior, instantly adjusting from locked and stable to open and nimble, depending on the requirements at hand.

After spending some quality time sliding around the Black Lake testing area at General Motors’ proving ground in Milford, Mich., I concluded that buying a ’Vette without the Z51 package would be like getting a puppy without a leash. If you spend a little bit more for a leash, you’re going to have a lot better control of that puppy, right?

And the Z51 package is a bargain. For $2,800 you get performance gearing, a transmission and differential cooler, bigger wheels and tires, bigger brakes, a firmer suspension, the dry-sump oil system and the pièce de résistance, that magic differential.

I would also opt for the magnetic ride control system with performance traction management, which goes for $1,795. And the multimode performance exhaust costs a not-insignificant $1,195, but is worth it for the wonderful sounds, if not the five extra horsepower that it uncorks. So equipped, you have a $57,785 car that has everything you need. The Corvette Stingray is not a case where the base price is merely a teaser and the car you really want costs 50 percent more.

Behind the Wheel | BMW 6 Series Gran Coupe: A Coupelike Sedan Suitable for Caligula

More shocking, it’s on a BMW, a company generally known for rationality. But there the name is, discreetly appearing in chrome in the quarter windows of each rear door: Gran Coupe.

There’s plenty of space to add “Brougham,” and BMW should. At $111,995, the as-tested price of a 650i Gran Coupe, it darn well ought to be a Brougham.

The Gran Coupe is an extension of BMW’s longstanding 6 Series line of two-door coupes and convertibles. But it’s really not a coupe at all — rather, it’s its own four-door thing. The front sheet metal is carried over from the 6 Series coupe, but the wheelbase is stretched more than four inches, to 116.9 inches. That, incidentally, is the same wheelbase as the 5 Series sedan with which the 6 Series shares most of its structure, chassis, suspension and drivetrain components.

The Gran Coupe is BMW’s tardy response to the low-slung Mercedes CLS and the handsome Audi A7, both squashed four-doors styled with lower roofs and radically raked windshields. Underneath, these Germans don’t differ much from their makers’ more conservative, more conventionally proportioned sedans. But the styling influence of the CLS is also apparent in mainstream sedans like the Kia Optima, Ford Fusion and Toyota Avalon.

In the United States, the Gran Coupe is offered as a 640i with a 315-horsepower twin-turbocharged 3-liter straight 6, as a 650i with a 445-horsepower twin-turbo 4.4-liter V-8 or as an M6 with a version of that twin-turbo V-8 fortified to produce 560 horsepower. All-wheel drive is optional on the 640i and 650i.

My 650i test car had the M Sport package, a giant glass roof and other options that knocked the sticker up from the $87,395 base price for the 2013 model.

But while the CLS and A7 are merely sexy, the Gran Coupe is as decadent as red satin sheets on a giant round bed under a mirrored ceiling. The Mercedes and Audi try to seduce you, but this fantastic looking BMW is ready for a weekend at Caligula’s. It is, by far, the most exuberantly and boisterously styled car in BMW showrooms today.

The Gran Coupe is 2.8 inches lower than its sibling 550i sedan. So getting into the car is best done by putting your rump on the seat first and then jackknifing your body a bit to duck under the roof. Depending on the length of your legs, the swivel into a perfectly shaped seat can either be graceful or a slam of your Allen Edmonds cap-toe oxfords into the door.

Once inside, the base of the windshield seems 1.6 kilometers away, but the driving position is nearly perfect. The leather-covered M Sport steering wheel is thick rimmed, beautifully shaped and perfectly placed in relation to the paddle shifters of the 8-speed automatic transmission. Ahead of you is a straightforward circular tachometer and speedometer. Throw in some discreet carbon fiber trim and loads of high-quality leather — driving environments don’t come any better looking.

But then you grab for the shifter and the illusion is shattered. BMW’s bizarre shifter operates with counterintuitive imprecision: you push forward to get into reverse, you engage Park by pushing a button on the shifter itself and, just to unlock the wand, you need to use your thumb to hold down a button on the side.

Of course it’s all-electronic; the problem is that it feels electronic, too. There’s no sense that the shifter is physically attached to the car.

That sense of electronic distance between car and driver is amplified by BMW’s now-entrenched iDrive system for controlling subsidiary systems including navigation, entertainment and communications. Though iDrive has improved through the years, it’s still not something that operates intuitively. You could drive this car through a three-year lease without ever mastering the intricacies of the social-networking apps built into the system.

Press the Start button and the V-8 quietly whirs to life. There’s a rumble in its exhaust note that’s obvious from outside the car, but so subdued inside that you don’t notice it unless you’re listening for it. There’s plenty of throttle travel in the pedal, so it’s easy to keep the engine running at low speeds where, around town, the huge amount of torque (a constant 480 pound-feet from 2,000 to 4,500 r.p.m.) allows all those gears in the transmission to do most of the work.

Behind the Wheel | 2014 Honda Accord Plug-In and 2013 Ford Fusion Energi: Aiming for the Hybrid’s Sweet Spot

What, then, should we make of Ford Fusions and Honda Accords suddenly sprouting plugs and growing battery packs? Both of these mainstream, top-selling cars have recently arrived as plug-in hybrids, expanding their maker’s existing lines of gas-only models and conventional hybrids.

You can think of a plug-in as an overachieving hybrid, a vehicle that runs largely on electrons for local miles and then mostly on gasoline for longer trips. That combination — a broadly appealing solution that splits the difference between petroleum power and purely electric cars — has the potential to make battery propulsion acceptable to motorists put off by matters like limited driving range.

The Ford Fusion Energi, however, is less about the blending of electrons and hydrocarbons for power and more about the car’s dual nature: the ability of a handsome family sedan to switch, superhero-style, from one driving persona to another.

When its 7.6 kilowatt-hour battery pack is fully charged — that takes about 2.5 hours from a 240-volt source — the driver can invoke the car’s jazzy smooth electric-vehicle self. In the first two days of a week with the sedan, I used a button near the gearshift to select the EV Now mode, which keeps the car driving almost exclusively on its battery. In 36 miles of driving punctuated by frequent electric top-ups, I was effectively operating a spacious 3,913-pound zero-emissions electric sedan, not using a drop of gasoline.

The car’s roomy interior, comfortable ride and taut steering were a welcome change from the toylike robotic feel of the Nissan Leaf compact E.V. that is my usual transportation. Among sedans that can operate on battery power, in my view, the Fusion Energi is surpassed in size and style only by the Tesla Model S.

Both cars appropriated Aston Martin’s signature grille to inject some James Bond flair in their four-door profiles. But don’t take the similarity too far: compared with the rip-roaring Model S, the Fusion Energi has swallowed a dose of Xanax. It glides sedately through city streets. The acceleration on highway on-ramps is adequate, but when driving solely on electricity, the car is not even as zippy as a Leaf.

Things change about 17 or 18 miles down the road, when Dr. Electric transforms into Mr. Combustion. With gasoline supplying power via Ford’s 2-liter 4-cylinder engine, and assisted by the electric motor and battery pack that had been operating solo in E.V. mode, the car’s output jumps to 188 horsepower. It feels like twice the oomph.

Ford has perfected smooth transitions between gas and electric power sources, so passengers have little evidence of the handoff. The cabin of the Ford Fusion Energi is also among the quietest I have experienced. Close the door and you feel practically vacuum-sealed, buffered from engine noise or vibration. Noise-cancellation technology is used to counteract any whine from electrical components.

After the switch from E.V. to hybrid operation, there is an obvious sign that hydrocarbons are powering the Fusion: the planted feel on the road now takes on a sporty quality. It becomes a fun family cruiser, especially shining on the highway, territory not usually associated with E.V. prowess.

An 80-mile round-trip drive between Berkeley to San Jose — usually an anxious experience in my Leaf requiring a 55 m.p.h. pace to conserve energy — was carefree in the Fusion Energi, which offers a total range of 620 miles.

Yet the Transformer-like shift has an impact on efficiency. There were several days early in the week when I frequently charged throughout the day, and therefore remained all E.V. As a result, fuel economy broke past 100 miles per gallon of gas (not including the electricity you put in the battery). The E.P.A. pegs average combined city-highway fuel at 100 m.p.g.e. A Toyota Prius plug-in, for reference, is rated at 95 m.p.g.e.

Trips that started all-electric for the first 20 miles or so but continued on for another 50 or miles registered around 75 m.p.g. And the day’s travel to San Jose and back — when I tested the limits of legal highway speeds, with air-conditioning and audio blasting — fuel economy was a respectable 38 miles per gallon. Over the course of 227 miles, the Fusion Energi averaged 55 m.p.g.

Wheels Blog: Cadillac to Recall SRX Models for Wheel Problem; Triumph and Nissan Issue Recalls

Cadillac Cadillac said it will recall 19,000 SRX models for a problem with wheel lug nuts that could increase crash risk.

General Motors will recall almost 19,000 2013 Cadillac SRX models because the lug nuts on its 18-inch wheels may loosen, the automaker told the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration.

In a report posted Friday on the safety agency’s Web site, the automaker said it traced the problem to “wheel nuts with a blue tint Teflon content topcoat, a nut torque at the lower end of the acceptable range and a rarely occurring rotor dimensional characteristic.”

The combination means “one or more of the wheel lug nuts could detach” possibly causing a crash. However, the automaker said it found the problem on vehicles in its fleet and was not aware of any wheels coming off or crashes related to the defect.

In other actions:

• Triumph says it will recall about 279 of its 2012-13 models because an indicator light might show that the transmission is in neutral when a gear has been selected, according to a report posted on the N.H.T.S.A. Web site. The action covers Triumph’s Speed Triple, Speed Triple ABS, Speed Triple R, Speed Triple R ABS, Sprint GT, Sprint ST, Tiger 1050 ABS and Tiger Sport models.

• Nissan’s worldwide recall of 841,000 vehicles does not include any in the United States or Canada, Steve Yeager, a spokesman for the company wrote in an e-mail. Mr. Yeager said the recall affected Cube, March and Micra models sold in Japan, Europe, Asia, Oceania, Africa, Latin America and Middle East, where the automaker will tighten the steering wheel fixing bolt to the correct torque.

Behind the Wheel | 2013 Nissan Pathfinder: Once a Hit With Campers, Now Working With Pampers

The rise of the citified crossover has helped to close the barn door on sport utilities that built a reputation on rugged backcountry virtues. 

Whole swaths of manly-men trucks have vanished, from Hummers and Chevy TrailBlazers to Isuzu Troopers and Mitsubishi Monteros. Even 4-wheeling nameplates that once ruled the suburban commuter trails, like the Ford Explorer and Jeep Grand Cherokee, have been forced to adapt or die, becoming so carlike and digitized that owners of the originals would barely recognize the latest generations.

For brands that offer a choice between pure crossovers and more traditional S.U.V.’s, the identity crisis is particularly acute. As Americans vote for all-wheel-drive crossovers with not a whit of off-road pretensions — the Toyota Highlander and Nissan Murano come to mind — it’s harder to find fulfilling roles for a hard-core Toyota 4Runner or Nissan Pathfinder.

Rather than retire the grizzled warriors, some automakers continue to soften and compromise them, sometimes to dubious effect: the 4Runner is a pale shadow of its rebellious self of the 1980s and ’90s.

The Pathfinder fares better, but tiptoes down the same bumpy road: it can’t get too fancy-pants and reject its country roots, or its small-town, dirt-road buds — the ones who grew up with it and know it best — would accuse it of selling out. On the other hand, the Nissan has to grow up and take on three-row family duties or it’s not going to have a job anymore.

The result is a Pathfinder that, like the latest Explorer, throws a few bones at 4-wheeling fans even as it winks at the real target: moms and dads obsessed with numbers, counting two kids (at least), three rows, seven seats and as many miles per gallon as possible. Oh, and please don’t let it look like a minivan.

The Pathfinder avoids the minivan styling curse, but what’s left hardly seems a bragging point. The Nissan seems to wear its existential conflict on its sleeve: what am I, and why am I here?

The front is barrel-chested, with a black mesh grille that looks eager to suck up mud and win points with papa. From there, the Nissan goes as soft as spoiled fruit, with a falling roofline and awkward bulges to distract you from its suburban banality. It’s more evidence that Nissan designers seem lost of late, the 370Z and Juke aside.

The Nissan, to its credit, looks less tortured than its mechanical cousin, the Infiniti JX, which has even more reason to be confused; that one’s a pillow-plumping luxury hauler. Fortunately, the Nissan looks and drives better than the deluxe Infiniti version, and it costs thousands less.

By switching to a car-type unibody platform, the Pathfinder sheds about 500 pounds, weighing about 4,300 total. And that’s despite a growth spurt of about 4.5 inches in length and four in width, with a three-inch lower roofline. The Pathfinder also adopts a powertrain that’s more car than truck: Nissan’s workhorse 3.5-liter V-6 — here with 260 horsepower and 240 pound-feet of torque — linked to a fuel-saving variable automatic transmission. That engine replaces a 4-liter V-6 that made 6 more horses and 48 more pound-feet, but was cruder and thirstier.

The slimmer Pathfinder manages 20 m.p.g. in town and 26 on the highway with 2-wheel drive, or 19/25 m.p.g. with 4-wheel drive. (Nissan’s “best in class” fuel mileage claim overlooks the same-size Ford Explorer, which gets 20/28 m.p.g. with the EcoBoost turbo 4-cylinder.) Over a three-hour highway run in the Pathfinder, I achieved 24 m.p.g.

I was suspicious of how smoothly a continuously variable transmission, which eliminates the conventional stepped gears, would mate to an S.U.V. But the Pathfinder’s throttle is well matched to the C.V.T., allowing feathery inputs to keep pace with traffic without making the engine rev obtrusively. While Nissan’s C.V.T.’s are among the industry’s smoothest, summoning a burst of acceleration results in an engine surge to high r.p.m., amplifying the somewhat coarse sound of the V-6.

The interior feels traditional and utilitarian, with a bluff dashboard and more knock-knock hard plastic than in some competitors. But the amenities are all here once you move up from the basic rear-drive Pathfinder S ($29,495). The gauges and center navigation screen are large and readable; the controls are mostly straightforward. The faux wood and metal finishes of my Platinum test model looked solid.

That range-topping Platinum 4WD version starts at $41,995 and rose to $43,850 for the well-optioned test truck.

Nissan’s vexing weather alerts were in full effect, a synthetic female voice warning me ad nauseum of supposed flood risks in neighboring New Jersey even when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

The Nissan’s strong suit is interior space, despite a third row seat that’s typical of this class: The lankier your body, the more you’ll complain about the coach seating. The third row does recline slightly, helping matters. Fight for the second row, and the reward is outstanding legroom, aided by 5.5 inches of fore-and-aft sliding for the split seats. Flip a lever in that second row, and the seatback and cushion slide forward and sandwich in an efficient clamshell arrangement. That opens up easy third-row access, even when a child seat is strapped into the folding second row. And the seats return to their original position without excessive wrestling.

As with the Explorer, there’s no low-range setting for serious off-roading. But a three-mode console knob lets drivers select full-time 2-wheel-drive to save fuel; pick an automatic mode that engages 4-wheel traction when the wheels slip; or lock the system into full-time all-wheel drive. Hill Start Assist, which is standard, holds the vehicle steady on steep grades.

On the road, the Nissan feels steady and workmanlike, more truckish than some car-based crossovers. The steering has pleasing heft, but there’s body lean in swift corners and some structural shimmy over rough roads. The Explorer’s superior body control makes it seem to shrink around the driver; the Nissan never lets you forget you’re pushing a relatively big rig.

In the old days, you didn’t necessarily need a family to want a Pathfinder, a 4Runner or, before those, the Jeep Wagoneer. Their outdoorsy nature and scouting skills appealed even to singles who knew their way around a campsite.

This Pathfinder is different. Sure, it will navigate a rutted dirt road or deep snow. But I can’t imagine anyone without children having the slightest inclination to own one. If you’re into real off-roading, buy a Jeep Wrangler. Place the Pathfinder on the growing list of one-time mudders that had to scrub up to survive.

Behind the Wheel | 2014 Aston Martin Vanquish: Candy for the Eyes, Music to the Ears

Rolls-Royce and Bentley, brothers-in-arms for decades, were split up and absorbed by, respectively, BMW and Volkswagen. Both brands have achieved record sales since. VW also revived Lamborghini and Bugatti, lavishing resources and components to allow these tiny and often-troubled brands to thrive as never before. Ferrari and Maserati, once fierce Italian rivals, now share and share alike, playing nice within the Fiat family.

Even Porsche, so proud of its record as a small independent, succumbed to hubris and tried to swallow Volkswagen in a takeover — and found itself eaten by VW instead. Yet Porsche, too, sells more cars than ever around the world.

Among the pedigreed names, that leaves two British marques, Aston Martin and the even tinier Lotus, standing with no sugar-daddy automaker to lend support.

For Aston Martin, that tenuous position raises a question: how strongly can the company — propped up for now by Italian private equity and Middle East petrodollars — compete against Ferrari or Bentley, brands with munificent parents helping to pay the bills?

One thing’s for sure: 10 minutes in the company of the 2014 Vanquish, and even a casual car fan would wish this 100-year-old company a fruitful second century.

That’s because the Vanquish, which assumes the DBS’s position atop the Aston hierarchy, seems to be appreciated by one and all as one of the world’s most nakedly pretty automobiles. It’s hard to drive the Vanquish anywhere, and impossible to stop, without people popping up to remind you of that fact, as though you were showing off a particularly photogenic child.

Second, and almost unfairly, the sound of this Gabriel is as beautiful as its looks, a 12-cylinder, 565-horsepower Hallelujah chorus. That’s a 55-horsepower jump from the DBS, with additions like direct injection, dual variable valve timing and a “big wing” intake manifold.

Oddly, perhaps, that sound and beauty trace their roots to workaday Detroit. Ford owned Aston outright from 1994 to 2007, bequeathing a new factory in Gaydon, England. It also carved out space in a plant in Cologne, Germany, where Aston is hand-building its 5.9-liter V-12 engines.

Tooled up and modernized, the oldest living sports car company went from just 43 worldwide sales in 1993 to nearly 6,900 by 2007. Just as important, a longtime Ford designer, Ian Callum, blossomed into a star with the DB7 of 1994. That DB’s signature shape was burnished in the later DB9 and Vantage by Callum’s successor, Henrik Fisker (now perhaps better known for the troubled plug-in car company that he started, then departed).

The Vanquish is the most blazing riff yet on that 20-year theme. By updating Aston’s bonded-and-riveted aluminum platform and a V-12 engine whose thirst is increasingly at odds with regulations, the Vanquish works to justify its $282,110 base price, a cinematic splurge of luxury and force.

Making its glamorous way through the Red Hook neighborhood of Brooklyn, the Vanquish stood out like the Duchess of Cambridge at the local tattoo parlor. In Manhattan, when the Aston growled up to a Chelsea wine bar, the Italian managers threw open the building’s glass-walled garage door to better display the car, despite chilly temperatures; one joked that I should just pull the Aston inside.

Such gratuitous charm is influenced by Aston’s $1.8 million One-77 supercar, including the Vanquish’s all-carbon-fiber body, demure recessed grille and a valved exhaust system that opens its gilded throat under acceleration. Buyers can expose a little or a lot of the lightweight carbon twill by opting to forgo paint on the roof or side mirrors, or to leave a full wraparound carbon-fiber band on the lower body. In any case, the driver will cringe every time the low front air dam sands the pavement.

Behind the Wheel | 2014 Aston Martin Rapide S: Rapide S: Hooligan With a $200,000 Price

There’s lunacy in each atom of its structure and overwrought emotion in every revolution of the crankshaft in its 550-horsepower 5.9-liter V-12. It’s a $200,000-and-change car that demands to be taken on its own crazy terms. And if you can manage that, it can be wonderful.

To oversimplify only slightly, the rear-wheel-drive Rapide is a version of the DB9 sports car with a wheelbase that’s been stretched 9.8 inches — more than long enough to shove in a pair of rear doors. In fact, at 117.7 inches, the Rapide’s wheelbase is 4.5 inches longer than that of the midsize Mercedes-Benz E-Class sedan and 2.7 inches longer than that of Porsche’s Panamera four-door.

First shown in concept form in 2006, the Rapide entered production in 2010. The 2014 Rapide S, on sale now, is the first significant update since then.

The basic structure — made of aluminum forgings, castings and extrusions that have been glued and riveted together — is Aston’s VH platform, which also underpins the DB9, Vantage and Vanquish. To balance the weight of the V-12 up front, the 6-speed transmission is mounted between the rear wheels. Each of the four wheels is independently suspended on its own set of double wishbones. Those wheels are huge: 20-inches in diameter covered in 245/35 ZR20 Bridgestone tires in front and 295/30 ZR20 rubbed in the rear.

The body that covers the structure is the Rapide’s greatest asset. This is a ridiculously sleek car; the shape doesn’t merely cut through the air but slices it into fillets. It’s so perfectly and provocatively proportioned that at first sight the rear doors are easily overlooked. Compared with the Rapide, the Panamera looks like a sausage.

But there was something generic in the appearance of the original Rapide; the nose was too bland and ordinary. So the Rapide S gets a new front end with a revised hood, sparkly LED headlamps and an open-face aluminum grille that looks more substantial and ferocious than before. And the rear deck now concludes in a ducktail spoiler. Over all, the Rapide S seems more serious and mechanical than before. It’s no longer a rolling sculpture, it’s now a muscular beast.

To meet European pedestrian-protection regulations, Aston has moved the engine down by three-quarters of an inch. That’s about the only thing that’s down about the engine, though. Thanks to revised cylinder heads and a few electronic tweaks, output has swollen from the original’s 470 horsepower. But it’s the quality of that power that distinguishes the Aston from German hot rods like the 560-horsepower BMW M5, the 550-horse Mercedes-Benz E63 AMG or Porsche’s top-of-the-line 550-horse Panamera Turbo S.

The Germans have been moving from high-revving naturally breathing V-8s to turbocharged V-8s that make their power at relatively low engine speeds. In contrast, the Aston V-12 needs to be spun up to make power; the peak torque of 457 pound-foot comes at a thumping 5,500 r.p.m. and maximum horsepower at 6,750 r.p.m.

And the engine loves to romp at those elevated speeds. As the engine builds speed it sends out a thrilling tenor trill that the driver can feel as a vibration at the base of the skull. Making an upshift with the paddles behind the steering wheel feels like directing a choir to drop an octave. Such a move is so aurally satisfying that for a moment the horrifying mileage ratings — 13 m.p.g. in the city and 19 on the highway — seem almost reasonable. But leaving the transmission to shift itself in automatic mode makes the car feel relatively lazy. This is a powertrain that needs its master’s spur to stay engaged.

The steering is a touch heavy, but the rack itself is quick and communicative, and that helps the big car feel smaller than it is. At the limits of adhesion the Rapide S will push its nose through a corner. But if this Aston is going quick enough to test those limits, it’s either on a racetrack or fleeing a crime scene.

Car and Driver measured the Rapide S, which weighs 4,410 pounds, ripping to 60 miles per hour in just 4.7 seconds and blitzing the quarter mile in 13.1 seconds at 111 m.p.h. There are quicker four-doors — the all-wheel-drive Panamera Turbo S runs to 60 m.p.h. in 3.3 seconds — but none that perform such feats more flamboyantly.

But that melodrama severely compromises other aspects of the Rapide S. All four doors swing up as they open to ensure that every entry and exit is an event, but actually lowering in under the low roof takes care, and hauling the doors back down to close them would be easier with a rope and a grappling hook.

Looking forward from the driver’s seat, the roof is so low that it’s hard to see overhead traffic signals, and the pillars are so thick that a Hummer can hide behind them. But that’s still better than the rearward view that, if it were any more restricted, would be nonexistent. Cargo room is negligible under the hatchback.

The cockpit can feel claustrophobic with all four occupants in narrow seats fitted between a center tunnel and thick side sills. It’s a beautifully crafted and decorated space, all covered in carbon fiber and beautifully stitched leather, but it’s not a sumptuous luxury environment. This is, instead, a distinctive, eccentric and theatrical four-door sports car. It should be appreciated as such.

With a few options aboard, including a Bang & Olufsen stereo, the test car’s total price came to $223,595.

So crazy costs money. How crazy do you want to be?

Behind the Wheel | Volkswagen Jetta Hybrid: Hybrid Drivers Wanted

That posed a challenge for Volkswagen as it belatedly developed its first gas-electric hybrid passenger car, the 2013 Jetta Hybrid: how to preserve VW’s DNA while introducing technology that shuts off, at least occasionally, its prized internal combustion engines.

True, this new Jetta is not VW’s first hybrid vehicle; the Touareg Hybrid has been on sale since 2010. But given that the minuscule production of that S.U.V. in hybrid form, it was more of a pilot project than a mainstream product.

The Jetta Hybrid, on the other hand, is the real deal: an affordable, fuel-efficient Volkswagen aimed at the large market of family-car buyers.

At its fuel-efficient best, hybrid technology allows the gas engine to be taken over by a silent electric motor. Yet one could argue that VW’s identity is fundamentally characterized by the rumble of an efficient internal-combustion engine — often, of the diesel variety — springing to life when the accelerator is pressed. The engine flipping on and off could cause angst for VW and for drivers accustomed to its ways.

But VW’s engineers are clever, and based on my week with the Jetta Hybrid, it seems they managed to turn the tables, redefining hybrid-ness in a Volkswagen context. The car represents a mix of efficiency, precise handling and high-speed confidence not previously offered in a hybrid.

First, the engineers made the Jetta Hybrid feel more like a VW in how its gears shift. VW avoids the continuously variable transmissions found in hybrids from Toyota, Ford and Honda. Because variable transmissions usually operate at optimal gear ratios, they allow for efficient switching between gas and electric power sources. But with their delayed response to the accelerator, hybrids with C.V.T.’s provide about as much excitement as watching an entire golf tournament on television.

Instead, VW employs its automated 7-speed direct-shift gearbox, in which you feel the gears lock, unlock, pause and re-engage at tighter ratios as the car’s speed increases. The manual paddle shifters behind the steering wheel give you the option of controlling those gears. Think of the vroom sound children make when they play with toy cars. That’s what Volkswagen engineers were apparently seeking, and it is present in the Jetta Hybrid, though it’s missing in many hybrids (notably in the Toyota Prius with its eerie quiet at low speeds and strained high-pitched whine with rapid acceleration).

The Prius’s efficiency strategy is to nullify the gas engine with electricity, to defy its existence almost as if in embarrassment of how it’s fouling the air. Just the opposite for VW, which embraces the engine.

As a longtime hybrid driver, I had to adjust to this Jetta’s idiosyncrasies. In my first days with the car, I tried to drive it like other hybrids, with a very light touch on the accelerator to keep the car in electric mode, preventing the gas engine from waking up. But the Jetta balked at such gentle treatment. From start-up, the engine came on and stayed on, asking to be used. Lifting my foot off the brakes at a stoplight, the car surged forward disconcertingly.

But when I confidently stepped on the accelerator, the Jetta Hybrid came to life, handling switchbacks with dexterity and passing confidently on the highway.

Unfortunately, when the Jetta was driven as it wants to be driven, its mileage suffered. Over 122 miles of mixed city-highway driving, I averaged fuel economy of 35 m.p.g., well below the Environmental Protection Agency’s combined city-highway estimate of 45 m.p.g. (The Jetta Hybrid’s city rating is 42 m.p.g., and the highway estimate is 48.)

Yet, I easily managed 44 and 45 m.p.g., respectively, on two 60-mile highway jaunts. But such thrift required restraint, certainly not an autobahn driving style.

Volkswagen says the car can be driven up to 44 m.p.h. in pure electric mode, though this is not easily achieved.

The styling of the Jetta, inside and out, is clean, solid and functional, even if some of the flourishes, like the points on the front fascia, seem unresolved. The seating is generous and comfortable. Other hybrids dazzle drivers with large dashboard energy-flow diagrams and eco-motifs like leaves or butterflies, but the Jetta Hybrid’s designers remained content to simply let drivers drive. It’s all very VW.

Behind the Wheel | 2013 Chrysler 300 SRT8: A Chase Car to Lure Private Eyes Out of Retirement

When I think of people who’d fall hard for the Chrysler 300 SRT8, names come to mind: Kojak, Mannix, Rockford, Starsky and Hutch.

Trivia lovers will note that the private detective Jim Rockford was a Firebird man, and that Starsky and Hutch favored a white-striped Ford Torino. And it’s the 300’s sister car, the Dodge Charger, that’s been recruited for actual police work.

But on the gritty streets of Brooklyn and New Jersey, the broad-shouldered Chrysler always seemed a step away — specifically, a step on the gas pedal — from a tire-burning cop-show chase. Or, alternately, a video game appealing to characters on either side of the law.

And there is nothing virtual about Chrysler’s new Performance Pages, which engages drivers in real-life competition. Displayed on the 8.4-inch UConnect infotainment screen in the center of the dash, this computer animates and records this Chrysler’s feats of acceleration, braking and handling. My best score was a fleet 4.8-second run from 0 to 60 miles per hour, accomplished without the aid of the electronic launch control, which is standard on this 2013 model, though I didn’t engage it.

The 300’s name can be traced to the C-300 of 1955, the first American sedan whose V-8 engine produced 300 horsepower. The father of that car was Virgil Exner, the industrial designer and lover of tailfins. But the modern 300 can claim two daddies: the car is perhaps the most successful melding to emerge from the shortlived union of Chrysler and Mercedes-Benz, and it is still genetically related to the Mercedes E-Class. The 300’s combination of American street style and German breeding made it a cultural and showroom hit.

Now, a reworked line of 300s help to carry the torch for the post-bankruptcy Chrysler controlled by Fiat. The 300 is one of several models whose cabins suggest that Chrysler — after decades of cheap-plastic eyesores — is finally turning the corner with competitive, attractive interiors. A touch of Italy never hurts: the car I tested was outfitted with $2,500 worth of Poltrona Frau leather on its upper doors, instrument panel and center console.

Even without the fancy Italian hides, the handsome cabin breathes new life into a big sedan that feels more rewarding than pedestrian front-drive cars like the Toyota Avalon and Ford Taurus. It helps that the 300, like the Mercedes, was designed as a rear-drive car despite an all-wheel-drive option (though not for the SRT8).

For most 300 buyers, the combination of a new 8-speed automatic and a Pentastar V-6, with 292 horses and a highway economy rating of 31 m.p.g., is the smart app. A 5.7-liter Hemi V-8 raises the horsepower to 363 — and surely that’s enough, right?

But no, say the muscle heads at Chrysler. The engineers of the SRT division, which produces the Viper sports car and high-performance versions of the Jeep Grand Cherokee, Dodge Charger and Dodge Challenger — have created a small batch of SRT8s. The tuner edition of the 300 adds a raging bull of a Hemi, with 6.4 liters, 470 horsepower and 470 pound-feet of torque, coupled to a 5-speed automatic.

The SRT’s interior features real carbon-fiber trim and a heated, chrome-spoke, flat-bottom steering wheel with paddle shifters. For $1,995 you can add a 900-watt 19-speaker Harman Kardon audio system. Also available is a two-tone interior with red leather seats, faux-suede inserts and heated cushions for the front and rear.

The Performance Pages readouts add a range of analog-style engine and transmission gauges. One vivid screen animates real-time horsepower and torque output. Another highlights the g-forces affecting the car — in acceleration, braking and cornering. I kept finding excuses to goose the Chrysler, just to watch the horsepower gauge explode from roughly three horsepower — the Hemi’s output at idle — to 400 and beyond. Just remember to keep one eye on the blurry road ahead; the car runs a quarter-mile in roughly 12.7 seconds. Top speed is said to be 175 m.p.h.

The SRT’s reworked body looks ready for undercover duty. The car is half an inch lower than a standard 300, with dual four-inch exhaust outlets and 20-inch wheels. The SRT’s approach to performance is as subtle as a blackjack to the skull.

But while the Hemi provides the blunt force and basso soundtrack of a big-block Motown V-8 — with equally oversized, track-worthy Brembo brakes — the Chrysler tempers that force to become a surprisingly comfortable, compliant daily driver. The Hemi can shut down 4 cylinders to save fuel, though it remains thirsty, with an E.P.A. mileage rating of 14/23 m.p.g., drawing a $1,000 gas-guzzler tax.

The adaptive suspension now features three selectable modes. The stiffest Track setting commands the transmission to hold gears at high revs while the driver manually controls the shift paddles or console stick. Yet that 5-speed transmission remains the weak link, especially in light of the 8 speeds in other verisons of the 300.

The SRT8’s starting price of $49,990 can seem iffy at first, and more so after options. (My test car checked in at $57,750.) The closest comparison for the Chrysler may be Cadillac’s CTS-V, a 556-horsepower beast available as a sedan, coupe or wagon. But even that formidable Caddy costs about $15,000 more than the 300.

Still, smaller German supersedans like the Mercedes E63 AMG and BMW M5 cost $100,000 and more.

With its accurate but relatively light steering, the Chrysler isn’t as precise, agile or luxurious as the Mercedes or BMW. But on the mean streets, it gets the job done in remarkably similar fashion. The Chrysler delivers 90 percent of the German cars’ performance for barely half their price. And I’ll swear this on a stack of Gutenbergs: the Chrysler is more fun and more visceral than BMW’s flawed new M5, though not as sensational as the Mercedes.

And if valet attendants don’t respond as quickly to the Chrysler, you can always try flashing a badge.

Behind the wheel. 2013 Honda Civic: a meat well cooked-Over triggers the final score

In 1990, when it turned out that the mirror in the shiny, new, freshly Orbiting Hubble Space Telescope is brilliant precisely the right way, the Space Agency began to work on a solution. In December 1993, this fix, Corrective Optics Space Telescope Axial replacement, called Costar, was launched aboard the space shuttle Endeavour and, in a major calls for service of all time, has been installed in the Hubble. The telescope has been look at the edge of the universe since then.

The 2013 non-toute new Honda Civic is the 2012 Civic with Costar. It is a version sharper, more focused, more user-friendly for the Civic, even if they are basically the same car, powered by the same engines 4 cylinder feeding the same transmissions.

To distinguish the Civic version 2012 2013 sedan dull, Honda has summarized the front end with a new chrome trim grille and bumpers, replaced the rear bumper and lights back and bolted on new wheels. Single steel sheet which has changed is the hood, which has a slightly stronger form.

Honda says the look is more 'chic' and 'premium', which is a way bias say that it is not as cheap or as bland. And the changes have left the Civic looking more like his brothers and sisters more large, redesigned and well-received 2013 Agreement.

While the two-door Civic sharing other revisions with the sedan, its outward appearance has not changed. This is the other revisions that make up the substance of the improvements for 2013.

The front structure has been revised in order to better perform in the offset crash tests. In fact, next Thursday the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety announced that the cut Civic 2013 and sedan got Top Safety Pick more, its highest rating, indicating that they performed well in all tests, including a new small lag before crash test.

In addition, suspension and steering electrical systems have been adjusted for better responsiveness and other noises of material has - more obviously as a buffer to the inside of the trunk lid. Even window glass is a little thicker to remove noise.

In the Department of gadget, a rear backup camera is now standard on all versions, as well as a cell phone Bluetooth and audio integration. Pandora Internet radio and SMS text messaging interfaces have been added alongside USB and standard iPod interfaces.

The biggest improvements, however, are the materials revised inside cabin. A new star feels thick and rich to the touch; the door panels seem better padded. More impressive is the refilling of the dashboard, which has a better texture, is softer to the touch and simulated sewing.

Dashboard in two fundamental levels did not change, but the austerity of the 2012 Civic, which had all the charm of a plastic bucket, has disappeared. The Interior of 2013 is among the most pleasant found in any compact car.

Banned from the programming of the Civic sedan is the base model DX, a leader of loss that virtually no one bought anyway. But that still leaves seven variations of the civilian sedan and four cups.

Sedans, four versions use the same 140-horsepower, 1.8-liter engine. The least expensive is the LX $18 955 public with a manual 5 speed and tires and 15-inch steel wheels. Adding an automatic transmission 5 speeds nudge prices upwards of $800.

A notch above which is the $21 605 EX, which mounted on 16-inch alloy wheels and is only available with automatic transmission. The former has an air-conditioning, a more powerful stereo system, four-wheel disc brakes and a sunroof.

For $23 055, the EX - L adds leather trim. The two EX versions can be done with a navigation system with voice command for another $ 1,500.

For mileage-obsessed, there is also the HF model for $20,055, which has an automatic transmission, lightweight wheels of 15 inch and low rolling resistance tires; HF also fails the spare wheel to save weight and economy a little better: 29 miles per gallon in the city and 41 MPG on the road, against 28/39 for the automatic LX and EX. My test car was an EX with fabric upholstery, but without the navigation system.