In the Wall Street Journal today, a review of a new Chevy Super Sport, which to my 1960s memory was a Chevelle, part of the Malibu family. But this article refers to it as a four-door Camaro. All I can see is that this new car is butt ugly, no, make that ugly ass. It has ZERO character to it. It could be a Volvo or a Kia even – the only distinguishing Chevrolet aspect is the logo. Otherwise, no way.
In case you come up against the WSJ pay firewall trying to read the article, here’s what the reviewer rode.
Price, as tested: $48,570
Powertrain: Naturally aspirated port-injected 6.2-liter overhead valve V8; six-speed manual transmission; rear-wheel drive with limited-slip rear differential.
Power/torque: 415 hp at 5,900 rpm/415 pound-feet at 4,600 rpm
Length/weight: 195.5 inches/3,975 pounds
Wheelbase: 114.8 inches
0-60 mph: 4.7 seconds
EPA fuel economy: 14/22 mpg, city/highway
Cargo volume: 16.4 cubic feet
The ONLY redeeming factor I can tell of the new car is that it has a six-speed MANUAL transmission. I know Mr. EOS is verklempt that no truck manufacturer today makes a manual transmission and that’s all he’s EVER driven.
I learned to drive on my father’s four on a tree 1963 Mercedes manual transmission but my own first car was automatic. And we gave our kids no choice – they HAD to learn how to drive a stick shift – it was mandatory if they wanted a driver’s license. Of course, their children won’t know what a stick shift is, or the cool accessories guys bought in the day. My guy friends had gear shift knobs made out of wood, out of metal, somebody had an 8-ball. It was what defined your car in so many ways. Am I right?
But getting back to the Chevy Super Sport. One of my best friends in high school (and still today) left Wilmington in late August of 1966 headed for Palo Alto, accepted at Stanford. Ginger was not only brilliant, but gorgeous and an award winning athlete. ANYWAY, her father gave her a car to drive out to California and all he could get off the lot at Diver Chevrolet was a crazy huge engine Chevelle Super Sport convertible. Manual transmission, and guys help me here, could it have had a 4-something engine in it? Or 396? That thing took off like a scalded hog.
Even though I could drive a stick shift, before she left for Cali, Ginger needed me to drive the car from someplace in downtown Wilmington to her house. I don’t remember the reason just that I was scared to death because of this hill. Now, I know it doesn’t LOOK steep in the photo, but when your knee is shaking, your foot is on the clutch, you pray you can get it into first gear, the hill felt like Mount Everest.
All this is a long way of saying that the idiot who bought the 2016 faux four door Camaro ought to be punished to a life of driving only classic old cars to know when a car was a car. I don’t remember what Ginger did with her Super Sport – I’ll have to ask her soon, but I do remember she said she was awfully popular on campus riding into town with Delaware plates on a car whose engine you could hear miles away. I’d take it today in a heartbeat. It was really sweet.