On Wheels by Brooks Peterson

Saturday, June 3, 2000

Wagon offers powerful, smooth ride

Bulletin: There are distinct signs that the station wagon, once thought consigned to oblivion, is making something of a comeback. Perceptive consumers are trekking to the showrooms to take another squint at WagonWorld.
   This is not to say that the gigantic land yachts of yore, with their woodgrain-vinyl flanks, are putting in another appearance.
   What we're seeing now is lean, functional, cleanly styled wagons that aim directly at suburbanites who have found that their massive sport utilities are just Too Much (too much dough, too much gas . . .), but for whom the purchase of a minivan would represent a symbolic farewell to whatever is left of their flaming youth.
   So: You've got some awfully nice stuff out there. BMW and Mercedes both offer wagons blending impeccable road manners with brisk performance (and then some).
   The Ford Taurus/Mercury Sable wagon and the little Focus wagon remind us that FoMoCo is still a wagonmaster, if no longer the wagonmaster.
   Preposterous notion?
   But let's press our exploration of the genre a little further. Let's say you need a vehicle with a wagon's capacity for hauling and toting, but you also want . . . a berserk Scandinavian road missile?
   Preposterous, some would say. You know what I'd say right back at them?
   Volvo V70 T5 wagon, that's what I'd say. Based not on the old 850/V70 platform, but on the big new S80 sedan, this is one over-achieving Swede.
   Now, this may come as a surprise to you, but Volvo has been in the wagon business a long, long time - all the way back to the '50s.
   All new Volvo wagon
   All the Volvo wagons have been functional vehicles, with the stress on utility rather than flair. But those supposedly staid, stolid Swedes haven't always played straight with us. Remember the old 245 wagons of the '70s and early '80s on which some of the firm's more subversive engineers slapped turbochargers and intercoolers?
   No Volvo wagon, however, has waded into the fray any better equipped than this one: Your turbocharged 2.3-liter five (yes, five) is merely good for 250 pavement-ripping horses.
   Forget Hans und Franz: Olaf and Sven are here to . . . pump up your wagon!
   Not having realized at first that I was driving the hi-po T5 version of the V70, I was more than a little startled by the gusto this sober, respectable silver wagon displayed both in traffic and out on the road.
   There is still a trace of turbo lag, but wait a microsecond or two, and . . . FOOMP. You have liftoff.
   Very capable vehicle
   I should mention also that the 5-cylinder engine (not, in the past, one of my favorite formats) was almost startlingly smooth. Your basic iron fist in your rabbit-fur-lined Swedish driving glove.
   Happily, you have the option (only on the T5 version of the V70) of managing that power through a manual or automatic transmission.
   Our tester came with the five-speed automatic, and it was capable as could be. Would we go shiftless if it were our money? Not a chance.
   Do not be misled into thinking, however, that you will pay for the V70 T5's sporting pretensions with a rock-crusher ride. Nossir. The suspension - MacPherson-strut front, multi-link in back - gives every indication of having been heavily massaged by the engineers to make sure that ride comfort is at the level that Volvo's gradually aging yuppie cohorts expect. This takes just a bit of the edge off the handling, but you're still left with an enormously capable, and fling-able, vehicle.
   The extras
   Someone mention brakes? Discs all round with anti-lock, needless to say. And the stopping power is genuinely formidable - so striking that in some instances I found myself over-braking.
   Our tester arrived with a stunning case of option-itis: If the factory left anything off, you couldn't prove it by me.
   From a fairly robust launch pad (i.e., base price) of $33,400, our tester soared like an Agena rocket. When the smoke had cleared away, we faced an as-tested bottom line of $44,900.
   The delectations included a $2,500 navigational system which is the first such rig for which I have developed any fondness at all. Press a button and it rises majestically from its receptacle atop the dash.
   Well armed, indeed
   Once deployed, it looks like nothing so much as a miniature tombstone. More to the point, it's notably easy to use - more than I could say for some of the competition. For $2,500, however, I'd probably continue to wrestle with my dog-eared old travel atlas.
   Utility, the usual safe-as-houses design that has characterized Volvos from time immemorial, luxury (sink into that glove-soft, aromatic leather and tell me you're not impressed) . . . it's all there. For a price, yes, but as a package that offers all the old Volvo values while stirring in a healthy dollop of berserk Viking spirit (can you say "red mist?), it's a tough act to beat. Whether you want to haul peat moss or just plain haul, you're well armed indeed, my friend.
  

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