The 2014 Ram 1500—Chrysler’s homage to the airship

Sea-to-Sky Highway is a 250-mile ribbon of asphalt that tracks the pacific seaboard from Washington to Whistler, British Columbia (BC). The road is a crucial piece of infrastructure for the greater Vancouver area; but veterans of this route know the blue waters and black granite that BC-99 North bisects are raison d’être enough. On this particular occasion, it was the path to a long weekend at a world-class resort. This would be my 5th visit to Whistler, but my first time making the trek during winter.

Cautiously, I steered our newly acquired rental vehicle to the exit of the parking structure. Wearing a shiny new coat of white paint, 19’ 1” long, our Ram 1500 quad-cab was resplendent among its rental brethren. I sidled Falkore through the maze of orange cones and cement columns as my friends became acquainted with the Ram’s accommodations. Unlike the mountain goats it takes its name from, this truck is not fleet of foot in technical terrain.

We pulled onto an empty Vancouver byroad and rain began to fall. I gave the loud pedal an experimental flattening. The truck emitted a menacing roar, and thanks to an eight-speed transmission too young to exhibit the unavoidable symptoms of fleet-duty abuse, I suddenly became aware of how little I knew of Canadian speeding laws. I also became aware of the Ram’s great girth when a Mini gave be a berating honk for occupying one-and-a-half lanes.

One of my copilots gave some quick directions and I reined in the great white land beast. Brake tip-in was abrupt but stopping power ample, as it should be on a towing-inclined vehicle like the Ram. After a brief stint crossing Vancouver’s interior, we merged onto Sea-to-Sky highway, and the rain began falling faster.

To accommodate increased traffic during 2010 Winter Olympics, Sea-to-Sky highway received a massive retrofit. The road surface was restored with the addition of lane lines, and the granite cliffs that it traverses were shored up and reinforced to prevent rockslides. The project was said to have saved the nation’s bid to host the games, but during all the construction the Canucks didn’t bother to install a single streetlight. The addition of reflectors to mark the road’s many high-speed sweeping corners was considered enough of a concession to those without native knowledge of the route.

As we climbed farther north and the sweepers came closer together, guiding the Ram around each one became a game of Russian roulette. With a gross vehicle weight of over three tons and steering feedback so minimal that to call it muted would be a compliment, I was thankful that at least the brakes on the Ram seemed not to want me dead. The steering, it seemed, had conspired with the weapon’s-grade V8 in a plot to break free of human control and charge out into the Canadian wilderness.

It occurred to me whilst “flying the waterbed” that what little visibility I had left given the lack of street lights and pouring rain was being further diminished by the Ram’s own entertainment system. So luminous was the Ram’s eight-inch wide touch screen display that it was reflecting onto the windshield. It was then that I came to understand this truck for what it really was—a vehicle made for passengers.

The Ram’s infotainment screen proved to be plotting against us.

Normally I’d have been insulted, but in this instance I was somewhat glad for the fact that all three of us could rely on a comfortable death. There we sat, the heater running, swaddled in leather, being lulled into a false sense of security by the Ram’s thumping stereo; like passengers on a 21^st-century Hindenburg.

Despite the half-inch of rain that fell during our two-hour voyage and the Ram’s three-ton heft sucking us into oncoming traffic around every bend, we arrived at Whistler village to another harsh reality. There was nearly no snow. We later learned that the deluge we drove through was part of a system called “The Pineapple Express” that brings warm rain north and typically hits Vancouver once a year. This year, there had been two Pineapple Expresses—James Franco eat your heart out—and we’d arrived smack dab in the middle of the second one.

Making our way through the former Olympic village, we circled the front half of Whistler-Blackcomb and located the road that would lead us to lodging. Predictably, we couldn’t discern which unit was ours, and so the Ram had to be asked nicely to perform an unrecorded number of six to eight-point turns. Backup camera to the rescue you say? Sorry cowboy, $40k gets you eight-inches of infotainment glory and twenty feet of truck, but that’s where the buck stops.

And so I rotated the mighty Ram’s shifter—yes, rotated—from D to R and back again any number of times while saying a Hail Mary to the rental car gods.

About that shifter—it seems that Chrysler have had an epiphany regarding the mechanism one uses to select a gear. Not only the Ram, but a great many Chrysler products have ditched the traditional column and floor-mounted shift levers for a gadget that might otherwise be mistaken for a climate-control knob. It just didn’t feel right to be piloting a 400 horsepower truck and selecting drive the same way one sets an Easy-Bake Oven to ‘Cake’.

After finding a suitable hitching post for the Ram, we disembarked and began the process of correcting the deplorable weather we’d encountered using alcohol. The next day, a few more of our group arrived in a rented Chrysler 200.

“What’d you think of it?” I asked.

“Decent car, but the shifter is all weird…”

Throughout the weekend, the Ram performed it’s shuttle duties amicably, transporting our small army from cabin to the hillside parking lot like the moving island NASA uses to prepare for shuttle launches.

Our drive home took place during daylight hours, and in considerably less rain. I was grateful that those of us who’d never taken in the views had the chance to see this time. No longer afraid that each stab of the throttle would send the truck into an uncorrectable slide, I took advantage of the mighty Hemi to make our exit a little hastier. This engine is magnificent, it makes me wonder why Chrysler choose to build the seven-hundred-whatever horsepower Hellcat (ok, so bragging rights) because there is more than enough getup here to motivate any manner of passenger car.

But that’s just it. The Ram is a passenger car. It’s a passenger car that can two your ocean boat, because family sedans don’t offer that feature, and the reality is that most full-size pickups sold today are used as commuter vehicles.

There exist in this world trucks that are honest. They don’t have 400 horsepower, or heated seats, and you have to use a lever to put them in gear. Ram’s effort with this truck is not a complete waste; it’s won several awards. I just cannot endorse the continued devolution of a vehicle type that is at it’s best when kept simple into something akin to a Grand Riviera with a bed.

The indestructible ‘Taco — Why the first-generation Tacoma will always be the best

In 1964, Toyota Motor Corporation introduced the Stout, an uncomplicated pickup truck celebrated for its simplicity and reliability. Today, the Toyota Tacoma, direct descendant of the Stout, commands an astounding 65% share of the compact pickup segment (Tudor Van Hampton, “GM Rediscovers Smaller Trucks”, The New York Times, Oct. 10^th 2014). The Tacoma sells so well that between 2003 and 2014 all of Toyota’s American competitors discontinued their own compact pickup models—from 2011 to 2014 the “Taco’s” only competition was the Nissan frontier.

The first-generation 1995-2004 Tacoma created the model’s reputation for being all-but-indestructible, competent on- and off-road, cheap to own and practical. Having owned both trucks, I can say from experience that while the new truck is very good, it’s not as well designed as its predecessor.

Small size was a crucial design aspect of the first ‘Taco’. A narrow wheelbase made the truck extremely nimble off-road and capable of reaching areas full-size trucks cannot. It also made the truck light, which meant it was easy to drive in loose conditions like sand and snow where a larger vehicle might sink in and get stuck. Two four-cylinder engine options were possible because the truck was smaller, which meant those seeking fuel economy over power could purchase an efficient and cheap-to-own truck. The larger size of the new Tacoma makes it more comfortable but sacrifices all of the advantages of its predecessors’ smaller footprint.

The bed of a first-gen Tacoma is metal. This means it will accept any of several protective linings available, which, once applied, keep things placed in the bed from rearranging themselves between stoplights. It also means you can fasten things to it and they are basically attached directly to the truck. The second-gen truck uses a plastic bed that is impossible to line. It includes clever movable D-rings that allow one to secure the contents of their truck bed from any position. Unfortunately because these mounts are plastic, and mount to the plastic bed using a plastic interface, they effectively relieve themselves of duty when you apply around 100lbs. of force to them. Truck people can and do apply 100-plus lbs. of force, that shouldn’t be a secret to people who design trucks.

The interior of a first-gen Tacoma can be entirely removed with a pair of screwdrivers and a ratchet. Built from unapologetic grey plastic, the first-gen truck ‘s cab could be stripped and re-assembled by someone with zero knowledge of its construction in a matter of hours. Break something? You can probably replace it for the price of a quality T-shirt. In addition to being cheap to fix, the truck was easy to customize. In making their trucks unique, Tacoma owners built emotional connections. Need to pull the light-up subwoofer out of the backseat of your gen-two truck? That demands a trip to the dealership; hope you’ve been saving your shillings.

Other things the first-gen design got right are more technical. For instance the chassis made by legendary off-road outfitter Dana, the manual transfer case that can’t be defeated by a blown fuse, and the ability to engage the locking differential at any time on so-equipped trucks (second-gen trucks only allow this in 4wd low).

So is the second-generation Toyota Tacoma a design failure? Absolutely not considering the goal it’s designers were tasked with. For 2005, Toyota’s goal was to continue to dominate the segment that the first-gen truck was already leading and attract sales from full-size pickup buyers who don’t actually need the capabilities that only a full-size can deliver, namely heavy-duty towing and hauling. Customers more commonly need a commuter vehicle than they do an all-terrain vehicle, and don’t want to pay the high cost of fuel that full-size trucks demand.

With this goal in mind, it’s easy to understand the larger size of the gen-two truck. Most people won’t sacrifice comfort for the ability to scamper past an F-150-stopping boulder in a county with a four-digit population. Even after its growth spurt, the new truck is still easier to park than a full-sizer. Most people don’t take issue with things sliding around in the plastic bed because they don’t place things their very often, and the lighter plastic bed helps with fuel economy. Most people trust that a push-button 4wd system won’t fail, will never use a locking differential and don’t care that they can’t engage it in most gears (I never have).

If the compromises are warranted, why is it so easy for me to declare the first-gen Tacoma a better design than the second? Like it’s Stout progenitor, the first-gen was a focused, simple, small truck. It delivered a great experience for users who actually needed a very specific set of capabilities. The second-gen Tacoma is still a good truck, but it’s a compromise, an homage to the all-conquering forces of consumerism. It’s a little bit like the second set of Star Wars films—the special effects are better, but it doesn’t make you smile.