Road Tests: Long-Term Test

Repelled by the glaring color and frightened by the neo-styling of this uber-machine was how Gonzo Schexnayder began his month-long journey with the VW Beetle.

If you know anything about his previous concerns with yellow vehicles (see related Viewpoint), you'll know that he wasn't quick to relish the opportunity to drive the bright and shiny Bug for 30 days in a row and freely admitted his displeasure with the car.

"C'mon," he said to anyone who would listen, "If you put a 'Lemonade for Sale' sign on the roof you could sell frosty cups of the tart liquid to tongueless Eskimos in the winter."

But it wasn't just the color. Designed with the graceful lines of quality Tupperware, the car seemed to have been built by expanding the metal skyward with a giant inflatable balloon. In fact, the interior was so spacious, Gonzo often felt like he was in a remake of John Travolta's heart-wrenching "The Boy in the Plastic Bubble," awaiting the moment when the safe oxygen atmosphere would escape and he'd once again face a disease-ridden world.

This car was not going to win any awards for subtlety.

Because of that boldness of color and shape, Gonzo also worried the car would be making a statement to which he didn't subscribe. Like a bespectacled, conservative Englishman in a beat-up '76 Vega, he feared this Beetle would speak volumes of his personality when it knew nothing of who he really was on the inside. Suffice it to say, it was a strenuous day when he found out it was his for a full month.

While first impressions of this caliber would normally have been hard to follow, entering the car proved an ultra-experience unto itself. As Gonzo sat behind the wheel for the inaugural drive, the dashboard spread out before him like never-ending midwestern fields of corn and soybeans. "It's huge!" he commented, spreading his arms outward on the dash like a maid smoothing bedspreads.

If there were ever a need to spend a night in the car, Gonzo knew then and there that he could first have dinner on the expansive dash and then curl up under the windshield while the light of the moon warmed him gently to sleep. There was no avoiding it. No matter where your eyes scanned, dashboard was there. He immediately called his wife and ordered in. "Sparkling apple juice and chocolate-filled cookies to start," he said, "with Chinese take-out to follow."

While the aesthetic issues were disquieting at best, the first REAL issue cropped up during his westward commute. The curvaceous doors and lofty windows did give him plenty of viewing pleasure (and what beauteous sites there are on Santa Monica Blvd.), but it provided ZERO relief from a morning sun that shone brighter than a nuclear blast.

Add to that an incapably small visor, mounted too high on the bulbous ceiling to offer assistance, and you've got a Martha Stewart recipe for driver's-side UV-radiation sickness. Sometime during his five-day-a-week east-west trek, Gonzo realized the left half of his face had been tanned trucker-style and his pupils had become permanently dilated. He wasn't a happy camper and fought the urge to wallpaper the glass.

One design feature which did appeal to him was what appeared to be a foot rest to the left of the clutch. Whether designed intentionally or by accident, he liked angling his ankle to and from the clutch pedal, resting it in between shifting. Like the needle of a metronome, his toes bounced back and forth with no more effort than that with which rhetoric and lies fall from the silver-spooned mouth of George W. Bush.

An early concern with the car was its diesel-drinking status. The only memories Gonzo still retains of diesels involve a neighborhood friend who could always tell when his Dad was coming home by the Greyhound Bus sounds of the diesel-loving family Mercedes. The rhythmic chug-chug of the engine could be heard miles ahead of the car's arrival, the noise emanating from the hood like a bat's radar and signaling to all that playtime was over and dinner was soon to start.

More importantly, there was even a latent fear of running the Beetle out of gas. Floating among the flotsam of his brain was another repressed memory of complaints by friends of his parents concerned that someone might drive their diesel dry because "re-priming the engine" would be a "pain in the keister."

However, despite all these diesel-fume anxieties, none of them became an issue. In fact, it was the engine's resounding (but soft-sounding) spunkiness which eventually won Gonzo over and made his sojourn enjoyable.

So, in conclusion:

Sure, finding a gas station that sold diesel was a bit of a hassle. Yet, the miles-per-gallon was high enough that stops were much less frequent.

Sure, the three cupholders under the radio barely offered enough width and height for a 12-ounce can of Coke. Perhaps it was a sign that the car shouldn't be a rolling restaurant or that he should drink fewer carbonated beverages.

Sure, the car looked a little weird. But so do platypuses. They serve a purpose in the grand scheme of life; why shouldn't the New Beetle? In a perfect world, everyone has a place at the table.

Sure, there was the puttering sound only a diesel engine could make. But the noise wasn't overpowering and it didn't slow the car down a bit. It had great pickup off the stoplight line and handled quite well on the highway.

Sure, the car seemed a trifle too wide to drive and park. Yet, in all his travels nobody honked their horn at him for getting in the way or crossing a highway line and he never had a problem fitting it into the compact spots at the grocery store. So it must have just seemed as wide as an AMC Pacer.

All in all, what started as fear and loathing became joy and happiness. The bright yellow Beetle had some issues, but made up for them in friendliness and ease of use. The car went from anticipated nightmare to a morning bright spot, waking him up like a lapping, hyperactive cocker spaniel or a tall, cheerful ice-filled glass of lemonade.

Total Odometer Reading: 31,160
Best Fuel Economy: 35.0 mpg
Worst Fuel Economy: 28.1 mpg
Body Damage: $0
Maintenance Costs: $0
Problems: None.