| About one third of all cars sold in Japan are an oddity: Cars for midgets. Kei cars. Limited in size (11.2 by 4.9 ft), displacement (40 cid), and power (63hp). "Americans won't buy them," says Akiko Itoga, who meets us in the basement garage of Honda's headquarters in Tokyo. "Americans want big." We are here to test whether a Kei car can be pressed into duty as the epitome of big, as a chauffeured limousine. "We," that is Martin Koelling, East Asia correspondent of Germany's Handelsblatt, and I. Martin already excelled as a very capable driver at our from-the-backseat test of the Lexus GS 350 F Sport. That was in the serene setting of Kagoshima. Today, we are in the 13 million metropolis of Tokyo. I have been around many cars in my life. My favorite part is the backseat, and my favorite drive is to be driven. I quickly learned that "driver, why don't you raise the partition" signals the most fun one can have in a car. But how much fun can you have in a Kei, a car that is normally not associated with party space, except among anchovies?
I have experienced this degree of hands free luxury only in true chauffeured cars. In Japanese taxis, usually Crowns, the driver operates the doors without having to get up. In the olden days, this was done via a series of levers. Now, servos serve the purpose. There are thousands of perplexed and sometimes screaming cabbies in Manhattan and other world metropolises, where Japanese tourists exit the cab and leave the door wide open. Back home, the benign ghost will take care of it. It does it taxis, limos, and in our nifty NBOX.
We do this while submitting the NBOX to a brutal torture test: Will the car start with the door open? Will the ghosts close the door with the car in motion? Or will an underhanded under-hood nanny chew us out? Nothing of that happens. The car emits small electronic yelps, but it obeys Martin's orders to start. With the car in motion, the NBOX dutifully closes my rear door when Martin up front says so. That's how we like our cars. Good car. Yoiko.
"Move your seat all the way back," I order my driver. "I have," answers driver Martin from the front. Amazing. Behind a completely retracted driver's seat, a solid foot of empty space separates my knees from the front chaise. I did not have that kind of space since back when I was rich, had an expense account, and a stretch would take me from 1020 Park to JFK. Or the Meatpacking District.
"I could wear a top hat, and there would be room to spare. This is a coach in its true meaning. Will you buy me a top hat?" I take note of the first and ignore the last. That Kei car made me stingy.
This is why the American Automotive Policy Council (AAPC), which represents Ford, Chrysler, and GM, hates, despises, loathes Kei cars as another trick by the insidious Japanese to keep the poor persecuted American cars out of Japan.
"That little mill has oomph," Martin mumbles as he clicks through the paddle shifters. "Plenty for the city and such a small car." Martin races a Honda Civic. The Civic demures, whether in awe of the sheer power of the NBOX, or that of Tokyo's Metropolitan Police, I don't know. Yes, the car has a CVT and paddle shifters. Back at Honda, I was told it is for the entertainment of the driver.
"Look at those mirrors."
Meanwhile upfront, Martin fondles the car with a loving touch that I would reserve for the fairer sex.
Say what you want about Honda, but the inside of this car is made with love, dedication, and ingenuity. The longer I am in Japan, the more I notice that people ignore the outside of their houses, they run ugly pipes and wires up and down the walls. The inside of the house surprises. It is usually well thought out, nicely proportioned, with a lot of built-ins and an amazing economy of space. The NBOX is like a Japanese house. From the outside, it has the charm of a shipping box. Sit inside, and you don't want to leave. "Look at those legs!" says Martin. That gets my interest immediately, but I see nothing except a motorcycle messenger who is about to pass us on the left. It's his legs that attracted Martin's attention. Actually, it's those trick mirrors again. The side rearview mirror is curved, not in the usual horizontal, but in the vertical axis, eliminating blind spots from dog level all the way to heaven. "It also makes legs of motor cycle rider look short and funny," Martin opines as he deftly directs the NBOX away from the imperial palace and into Tokyo's rush-hour. Should the NBOX ever be federalized, then only with a decal saying "The legs in your mirror may be longer than they appear."
"You know, they do have shorter legs. This car is made to measure, but I am beginning to have problems." In a Porsche or BMW, one reclines. In an NBOX, one sits upright. With his longer legs, Martin wishes for a height-adjustable seat, which he is not provided with, or does not find. The top hat worthy headroom would accommodate much larger examples of the Aryan race, if only that darned seat could be raised. I'm sure Honda engineers could solve that in seconds. I still suspect they may already have. My back seats are a treasure-trove of versatility; they fold more ways than an origami.
We glide up the elevator. On the 20th floor, we are greeted with applause and champagne. Driver Martin has been re-elected as the storied club's vice president, and we are having a victory party.
                      from The Truth About Cars http://www.thetruthaboutcars.com | |||
| | |||
| | |||
|
Junked AMC Eagles are plentiful in Denver-area self-service wrecking yards, but nowhere near as common as the cars that took AMC's four-wheel-drive-car concept and ran with it: Subarus. I see 
Just 70 more miles and it would have made 200,000! The prime suspect: head gasket.
You could still buy seriously weird Subarus in the early 1990s (e.g., the final 
You'll find on in every car, kid. 
