The crossover segment is hotter than a kitchen fire at Buffalo Wild Wings, so Subaru could ill afford to wait to update its Tribeca, which landed with a thud two years ago when it was launched with a strange face, an overworked powertrain, and a pointless B9 prefix.

Deep slashes from the styling surgeons' knives have resulted in a more conventional mug that's now more Chrysler Pacifica than overgrown cicada. Larger sideview mirrors and rear quarter windows, new taillights, and a modified rear valance complete the face-lift. Only the doors, the roof, and the rocker panels carry over. The handsome interior is essentially unchanged, although it's now easier to climb into the still-cramped third-row seats.

The new front end permits better cooling for the bored-and-stroked engine that has gained a significant 631 cubic centimeters of displacement. The boxer six also features new variable valve timing, and--even though it now slurps regular 87-octane gasoline instead of premium--output has been bumped to 256 hp (up from 245 hp) and 247 lb-ft of torque (up from 215 lb-ft). The engine's torque curve is flatter and rises more quickly at the low end, so the Tribeca hustles more readily when the tach isn't pegged.

The increased spice is optimized by a five-speed automatic transmission that no longer downshifts at the slightest brush of the gas pedal. And since the gearbox shifts more quickly and blips the throttle automatically on downshifts, Ferrari-style, driving the Tribeca briskly on challenging roads is even more satisfying than before.

The original Tribeca couldn't take the heat, but Subaru is wise to step back into this raging kitchen with a crossover that will please more people.

During a recent 10K training run, my buddy Jim, who prefers his cars to come from Germany, his wine from France, and his running shoes from Japan, still was incredulous as he recounted driving a V-6-powered Saturn Aura rental in San Francisco. "Joe," he said, panting for breath, "that car was actually pretty good. I couldn't believe it. A Saturn!"

Anyone who's ever driven the first-generation Saturn Vue, a vehicle mired in mediocrity, might be similarly shocked once settled behind the chunky wheel of the all-new 2008 Vue. Like the Aura, which is based largely on the Vectra developed by General Motors' European arm, Opel, the new Vue is the result of a transatlantic collaboration. It's a twin to the Opel Antara crossover. "We took the ride and handling developed in Europe," says vehicle line engineer Bob Reuter, "and transferred it directly here."

And why not? GM finally is overcoming the institutional, geographic, and cultural barriers that historically have prevented it from leveraging its global resources. Saturn leaders acknowledge that the first-generation Vue was developed in a vacuum, with little to no input from other divisions either here or abroad. And we know how that ended.

The new Vue, happily, is a far more satisfying vehicle. Our test car, an all-wheel-drive XR model with the top-spec 3.6-liter V-6 (what GM likes to call its "high-feature" V-6, as though an aluminum block, variable valve timing, and dual overhead camshafts are novel), showed its Euro roots when we pointed it down a curvy, bumpy stretch of road at twice the speed limit. The Vue might not have the reflexes of a BMW X3, but its body control, bump absorption, and steering feel were all impressive. The V-6, which also powers the Red Line model, revs freely to nearly 7000 rpm but gets just a little coarse at the very top of its band. Both it and the 222-hp, 3.5-liter V-6 (funny, GM doesn't call this iron-block lump a "low-feature" V-6) are mated to the six-speed automatic that was jointly developed by General Motors and Ford. Both V-6 models get hydraulic power steering. The $21,395 four-cylinder XE, which will underpin the mild-hybrid Vue Green Line coming this fall, is still equipped with electrically assisted steering, which feels artificial but improves fuel economy.

The Vue's interior is much better than previous Saturn efforts but is still not quite as well-realized in terms of material quality as the cabins of its competitors from Japan and Korea. The front seat bottoms are too low and too short, but the glove box is huge and there are some clever storage solutions in the rear cargo area. The exterior is marred by faint paint mismatches between the steel body panels and the plastic trim.

Overall, the Vue is fully competitive in its segment. And it's no longer a shock to hear such a statement about a Saturn.

We were stopped in the middle of nowhere by a river rushing across the road, so we left our cars idling on the wet, patched pavement and stood in the rain to watch it. We were on the back roads of Texas Hill Country, and spring rains had turned many dry creek beds into fast-moving streams and rivers. We'd come here because it seemed like the right place to wring out a cross-section of high-performance SUVs, a distinct mutation of the sport-utility species, one whose lineage we trace back to the original BMW X5. We stood contemplating the churning brown water, but a modicum of good sense--and a healthy fear of ending up on YouTube courtesy of some unseen observer's camera phone--stopped us from trying a water crossing. (Fording attempts claimed the lives of three other drivers in south-central Texas during our visit). Later, the sun would shine on our efforts, as we pushed our five sporty sport-utes along the picturesque and challenging byways that crisscross Hill Country.

BMW added sporty driving character to the sport-utility vehicle for the first time back in 1999. But once the X5 created a new branch in the SUV stream, that stream quickly swelled with entries from Mercedes-Benz, Infiniti, Porsche, Cadillac, Land Rover, Chevrolet, Jeep, Acura, and Audi, all of which have introduced SUVs with some degree of sportiness. (Do we hear some student of the early '90s squawking about the turbocharged GMC Typhoon? OK, but it was pretty one-dimensional, not to mention short-lived.)

The occasion of an all-new X5 struck us as the perfect time to take a fresh look at the idea of the athletic SUV. So we gathered up the new BMW plus a group of performance sport-utilities that spanned a wide range.

The Mercedes-Benz M-class can be made into a sporting machine, but it takes in-house tuner AMG to do it. AMG's tack here is typical of the company's method elsewhere in the Mercedes-Benz lineup: stuff its 6.2-liter V-8 into the engine bay and back it up with wide tires, a stiff suspension, and massive brakes.

The fact that Porsche entered this field says a lot about how popular--and profitable--it is. The Porsche Cayenne was codeveloped with the Volkswagen Touareg and is now also related to the Audi Q7, but the Porsche is undeniably the sportiest of the siblings. We chose a Cayenne Turbo to push the idea of a Porsche SUV to its logical conclusion.

Coming from the other direction is staid old Land Rover, which earned its street cred in sub-Saharan Africa but nonetheless felt the need to give its nose-in-the-air Range Rover brand a model designed to whip around corners as well as tiptoe down hillsides. We specified a supercharger for our Range Rover Sport, because without it, the last part of the name is a bit of a misnomer.

Finally, we threw an American wild card into this Eurocentric mix. Both Chevrolet, with its TrailBlazer SS, and Jeep, with its Grand Cherokee SRT8, make muscle-truck versions of their mid-size SUVs, but the TrailBlazer's less-potent V-8 and crude four-speed automatic made the Jeep the easy pick to carry the U.S. flag on our foray into the Lone Star State.

We knew immediately that we wanted to take these trucks to Texas. The notion of performance cars in the shape of SUVs would seem perfectly natural there. After all, the Chevrolet Suburban has been embraced as the national car of Texas, and countless Texans use crew-cab diesel pickups as everyday rides. Not to mention that when you're driving a group of vehicles whose EPA city gas mileage is mired in the low teens, it's good to be in a state that pumps its own oil.

We based ourselves in Austin, because it's one of our favorite cities. We did most of our driving in Hill Country, since we wanted roads that weren't just long, flat straights. Despite the image of Austinites as layabouts (thanks largely to native-son filmmaker Richard Link-later's 1991 film, Slacker), the locals we encountered were very car-aware; our quintet of potent SUVs attracted lots of attention.

Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT8Standing out in a crowd is no accident for the Grand Cherokee SRT8, which looks like an escapee from the SEMA show. With its massive front air dam, center-mounted dual exhausts, and bright twenty-inch wheels, the SRT8 is not for cruising incognito--the rather bland-looking BMW would be the choice for that. The Mercedes is the most highly stylized, but we found the squared-off Range Rover far more handsome. And the Cayenne's recent redo hasn't made it any more fetching, but it still brings out the camera phones simply because it's a Porsche.

Rumbling through Austin, it's the Jeep that wants to mix it up with the locals in stoplight duels. You get the sense that the SRT8 was engineered around the 0-to-60-mph sprint, which it dispensed in an amazing 4.4 seconds in our tests. That's quicker than any of the European bluebloods, including its twice-as-expensive and slightly better-endowed German cousin (with 6.2 liters of hand-built AMG V-8 versus the Jeep's 6.1-liter Chrysler Hemi). At low speeds, the SRT8's throttle response is explosive; credit the Hemi and the Jeep's relatively light weight. The full-time four-wheel drive, though, seems a shame--you really want to burn rubber in this thing.

We found the Grand Cherokee relatively easy to maneuver and park in town, thanks to its tidy size and optional rearview camera. The downside is a cabin and cargo hold that are on the smallish side, compromising utility. Additionally, the SRT8 tows less than other Grand Cherokees (3500 pounds, versus 7400 pounds with the 5.7-liter V-8), and the central tail-pipes necessitate a custom-made hitch.

The SRT8's slightly numb but straightforward steering, paired with its one-inch-lower ride height, beefed-up suspension, and ultrawide tires, had us carving easy turns on the smooth, curving ranch roads that follow the Colorado River northwest out of Austin. But once we were on the rougher backcountry two-lanes, with their bumps, drops, and cattle guards, the choppy-riding Jeep was over its head. "It feels to me like the width and the offset of the front wheels are incompatible with the fundamental chassis engineering," said technical editor Don Sherman. "Bumps trigger wandering that the steering rack can't contain, so you feel like you're merely along for the wild ride, not fully in charge of your directional destiny."

Its back-road performance is a reminder that the Grand Cherokee SRT8 is clearly a traditional SUV given a pimp-my-ride makeover rather than a cohesively engineered sporty sport-ute. The Jeep provides obvious bang for the buck at a starting price of just over forty grand, but it's really more of an amusing toy than a serious machine.

Porsche Cayenne TurboThe words "Porsche" and "Turbo" always denote seriousness, and the Cayenne is no exception. But Porsche's stern refusal to compromise results in a vehicle that's certainly very capable but not much fun. The Cayenne Turbo not only endeavors to provide Porsche-like levels of performance (such as its advertised 171-mph top speed) but also major towing ability (7716 pounds) and serious off-road chops (with up to 10.7 inches of ground clearance).

But all that off-road hardware--such as the standard two-speed transfer case with low range--is really just along for the ride, because no sport SUV is going to see off-roading tougher than the dirt roads we drove in Hill Country. Why not? In a word, tires. Tackling difficult terrain in high-performance tires is like going rock climbing in wing tips. In fact, a sharp rock punctured a sidewall on one of our Cayenne's 35-series, twenty-one-inch tires, and that was on a relatively ordinary dirt road.

As part of the Cayenne's 2008 redo, Porsche has added direct fuel injection and variable valve timing to the twin-turbo V-8, upping output to a nice, round 500 hp--easy to remember for barroom boasts. Torque is an impressive 516 lb-ft, but the Turbo still proved disappointingly docile in town. Its six-speed automatic likes to start off in second gear, and, until the turbos kick in, you have a relatively puny 4.8 liters tugging more than two-and-a-half tons. But once we got it onto the wide-open roads west of Austin, the Porsche turned into a rocket. We'd be cruising at a casual 80 mph and come up on a driver doing the 70-mph limit. Almost invariably, the incredibly polite local driver would move onto the shoulder to facilitate a pass. They wouldn't have to stay there for long, though, because the Cayenne Turbo accelerates from 80 mph with a ferocity that doesn't begin to let up until 120 or better. "I was amazed how 140 mph felt like nothing," said road test editor Marc Noordeloos after an evening run back to town in the Porsche.

Our Turbo's all-singing, all-dancing suspension--air springs with three firmness settings and active management plus optional active antiroll bars--kept the Cayenne stable through high-speed sweepers. But it couldn't make this high-and-heavy beast feel nimble when we hit a series of tight switchbacks coming south out of Kerrville. And reconciling the high-speed cornering ability with a decent ride requires toggling among the three suspension settings. Furthermore, in marked contrast to Porsche's sports cars, the Cayenne's steering had drivers grumbling about its lack of feel and its ultraquick response off-center. "Regular street manners have been sacrificed to the road racing gods," concluded Sherman.

Mercedes-Benz ML63 AMGLike the Jeep, the Mercedes-Benz wouldn't be here but for the efforts of the brand's in-house skunk works crew to transform a suburban schlepper into something sporty. And like the Porsche, the ML63 takes the sporting theme to an extreme degree. In many ways, though, the AMG M-class is more successful than both.

Our admiration for what AMG has wrought here is somewhat surprising, considering we weren't fans of its first M-class effort, the ML55. It helps that we're completely smitten with AMG's new big-block V-8, which here pours out 503 hp and 465 lb-ft of torque without a turbocharger or a supercharger. Although our tests had the upstart (and 640-pound lighter) Grand Cherokee beating the ML63 to 60 mph by a razor-thin 0.1 second, the bad-boy Benz was clearly the acceleration champ in the run up to 100 mph. Best of all, the big V-8 was instantly responsive throughout the rev range, and it did it all to the accompaniment of an amazing sound track that's "manly yet exotic," as Noordeloos put it.

As is the case wherever it appears, AMG's 6.2-liter V-8 is backed up by Mercedes' seven-speed automatic with its easy-to-use shift buttons. The ML63's steering proved more linear than that of either of its German competitors, prompting senior editor Joe DeMatio to comment, "Imagine, Mercedes steering that's better than a BMW's or a Porsche's!" Like the Cayenne, the Mercedes is a fat boy, and it, too, relies on air springs with adaptive damping and three driver-selectable firmness settings to deliver inspired handling or a decent ride.

The high-powered Mercedes was a letdown mostly in the small details. Its cabin is roomy, but there's little that's special to the AMG version of the ML. The aero add-ons are a bit too aftermarket-looking; the rubber-dotted running boards are particularly unattractive and totally unnecessary. Steering that's pleasantly meaty when you're working fast corners out in Hill Country feels just plain heavy when you go to park. The brake pedal travels a ways before it begins to really bite. And the steep price looks reasonable only next to the ridiculously expensive Porsche. As copy editor Rusty Blackwell pointed out, "You don't receive twice the joy of a base X5 for (almost) twice the price."

Range Rover Sport SuperchargedIf the ML63 AMG, the Cayenne Turbo, and the Grand Cherokee SRT8 all attempt to push the sporting SUV theme much further than the X5 did, the Range Rover Sport only tries to match it. The result, in the words of DeMatio, is that the Range Rover is "in many ways the most satisfying vehicle here."

As you'd expect, the Range Rover has long suspension travel, but it also displayed very impressive wheel damping when hustling along the Hill Country back roads. The Range Rover achieves a comfortable ride/handling balance, without requiring the driver to make selections choosing one over the other. DeMatio again: "The steering has some feel and is predictable, and it's very easy to enter a wide sweeper on one of the Farm to Market roads, like 1623 out of Stonewall, and place the vehicle comfortably through the corner." The Range Rover's superb sight lines and upright driving position help here, too. The cabin materials, though, are closer to the cheaper Land Rover LR3 than to the more expensive senior Range Rover, but the high center console and the prominent center stack provide a pleasantly coupelike cockpit.

Unfortunately, the Range Rover can't be a true athlete because it's just too porky--the fattest in this corpulent crew. Look underneath, and you'll see why: The Range Rover alone uses full-frame construction. Not only that, but Land Rover's engineers have actually hung massive iron ballasts from all four corners for vibration tuning. Clearly, shaving pounds was not a primary concern.

Despite the efforts of the supercharger (which emits a deeply unsexy whine), the4.2-liter V-8 is hard-pressed to move so much mass with any urgency--its 0-to-60-mph and quarter-mile times are the slowest here. You also feel the Range Rover's weight during tight, low-speed corners, where it understeers early and earnestly. And, after several passes over one particularly intense section of Route 16, the heavy Rover had fatigued its Brembos, whereas none of the other trucks showed any signs of brake fade.

The Range Rover Sport has its sights on the right place. Unfortunately, it's let down by its old-tech construction and an overemphasis on extreme off-road ability. What, then, of the vehicle in its crosshairs--the BMW X5, the sport-ute that started it all?

BMW X5 4.8iFor the most part, the new X5 carefully hews to the original's successful formula. The biggest changes in the 2007 redesign address criticisms of the last-generation version. There's a larger cabin with roomy, easily accessed back seats, and the X5--alone among the SUVs here--now offers a token third-row seat as an option. The cargo hold is larger and more useful as well.

The X5 has grown more than seven inches longer and some two inches wider and taller, but it doesn't feel appreciably bigger from the driver's seat. It retains the same sedanlike, down-in-the-car seating position as before, and the driver faces a fat, three-spoke steering wheel that would be at home in any BMW sport sedan. Some bemoaned the quality of the plastics on the center console, but everyone gave props to the optional Napa leather ($1000), which was ultrasmooth and rich.

Both the straight six and the V-8 engines are more powerful than last year's offerings, the latter having been enlarged from 4.4 to 4.8 liters and now making 350 hp. But even that figure looks small in this steroidal crowd, and the V-8 needs to be revved high to quicken the pace when the road opens up. Luckily, it sounds great doing so. The X5's six-speed automatic uses a new electronic gearshift, a console-mounted lever that toggles forward and back for manual shifts, but its action is rather dainty and unsatisfying.

Although the previous X5 effectively set the standard for sport-ute agility, the new one got a completely new front suspension, abandoning BMW's traditional struts in favor of control arms. Our test vehicle had two other new elements: adaptive dampers and active antiroll bars, both part of the Sport Package.

The new hardware has more weight to contend with, weight that makes itself felt in very tight corners. Otherwise, the X5 is amazingly athletic for such a tall, heavy machine. We pushed it hard along the lumpy, bumpy Texas back roads, and it remained as composed and unflappable as a B-movie cowboy. At the same time, the BMW manages to deliver a civilized ride, a feat all the more impressive considering that run-flat tires are standard. Our particular example enjoyed a bit of an advantage over the other trucks here, though, as its nineteen-inch wheels and 50-series rubber was the least extreme and therefore the most ride-comfort-friendly setup.

The X5 has added two new high-tech features that were largely unwelcome. The first is iDrive, a relatively minor annoyance but one that's unavoidable--it's standard even if you forego navigation. The second is active steering, which proved highly controversial among our group of five test drivers. Most hated it because of its lack of linearity and its unpredictable response, and even its strongest defender acknowledged that it can feel numb at times. This controversy, however, is easily sidestepped by skipping this stand-alone option, a move that also saves $1250.

The original X5 invented this genre, and BMW's approach is still the most rewarding. Interestingly, BMW has never offered an M version of the X5. The previous model topped out with the 4.8is, which offered five more ponies than the 4.8-liter in the new car, and we wouldn't be unhappy to see a bit more power here. But even in an environment as truck-friendly as Texas, the concept of turning an SUV into an ultra-high-performance machine just doesn't gel. The price goes through the roof, the gas mileage falls through the floor, and despite the giddy acceleration, the fun factor really goes nowhere. The idea of a sporty SUV is a good one, but it's best when not pushed too far. Despite being in a land that's never been known for restraint, our time with these SUVs had us respecting that very quality. Too much is sometimes . . . too much.

What do you think of when you hear the name Hyundai? Value for money? Great warranty? Lots of equipment? Lexus-rivaling interior?

Lest you snort cappuccino out your nose in reaction to that last one, let us assure you, it's no joke. From the soft-touch materials to the superb fit and finish, the new Veracruz seven-seat crossover has an interior that feels expensive and luxurious like no other Hyundai cabin ever has. And as for the exterior styling, it may be anonymous, but it's also inoffensive, and that seems to be the benchmark for this unadventurous segment.

The Veracruz is easily a match for the Honda Pilot and the Subaru Tribeca in interior quality and packaging--the third-row seats are particularly easy to get into--and it's competitively priced. But it also deploys that other Hyundai tactic: throw so much content at the thing that upmarket players such as the Lexus RX350 and the Acura MDX begin to look like viable targets. To that end, the Veracruz Limited's standard equipment list includes leather, dual-zone climate control, rear parking sensors, heated seats, and a power tailgate. And the list goes on (and on).

Mechanically, the Veracruz is equally impressive. The 260-hp V-6 is mated to a smooth-shifting six-speed automatic that allows manual shifting. It's a responsive powertrain, although that V-6 is a little too vocal at high revs. There's also too much torque steer under hard throttle, especially through sharp corners in the front-wheel-drive model (all-wheel drive is optional).

Dynamically, the Veracruz is pretty forgettable, with little in the way of steering feedback and the kind of body control that discourages aggressive direction changes. Ride quality is decent enough, but the suspension clunks loudly over bumps and potholes. Those deficiencies arguably matter less in this class (although Subaru managed to make the Tribeca engaging). The Veracruz hasn't reset the benchmark, but you'd be foolish not to check it out if you're looking at crossovers in this price range--the GLS starts at $26,995.

It's also further evidence--along with the recent unveiling of the V-8-powered Genesis concept, which will be Korea's first luxury sport sedan--that Hyundai is taking big strides toward the upper reaches now occupied by the likes of Lexus. But convincing American buyers that "Hyundai" is synonymous with "Lexus"? Well, sir, that's going to take a lot longer.

Palo Alto, California With its new GMC Acadia and Saturn Outlook twins--along with the forthcoming Buick Enclave--GM is right on target in the family-size-crossover category, a segment that's skyrocketing now that fuel economy, the efficient use of space, and some semblance of behind-the-wheel fun are fashionable again. These vehicles effectively will replace GM's minivan lineup, since the company has all but confirmed that it plans to ditch its uncompetitive minivan platform once and for all.

The Outlook and the Acadia are both all-new unibody vehicles, and GM is quick to point out that they provide similar interior space and passenger-hauling capability to a Chevrolet Tahoe or a GMC Yukon, along with improved fuel mileage (18/26 mpg on front-wheel-drive models) and a 4500-pound towing capacity. Both models seat up to eight passengers, depending on whether the second row is outfitted with a bench seat or captain's chairs. The third-row seats are roomier than most, and there's still nearly 20 cubic feet of cargo space with the third row in place.

The Outlook and the Acadia may not be as much fun to drive as the new MazdaCX-9, but four-wheel independent suspension, a relatively low center of gravity, and GM's willing new six-speed manu-matic help make both the Saturn and the GMC far more nimble than a full-size SUV, and that's all that will matter to most people. Power comes from a 3.6-liter V-6 with variable valve timing--the same engine used in the base Cadillac CTS and STS, but uprated with slightly more horsepower and torque. We still prefer the linear steering of the Tahoe and the Yukon to the wooden, slightly numb rack-and-pinion setups on the Outlook and the Acadia, but the crossovers' incredibly stiff chassis and good wheel control almost make up for any shortcomings.

Interior quality in both vehicles is along the lines of the new Chevrolet Silverado--which is to say, much better than past GM offerings but still not as refined as we'd like--and wind noise is noticeable for its near absence. All in all, GM's new crossovers represent exactly what most buyers of people movers both need and want: a vehicle with all the practicality of an SUV and few of the drawbacks.

Pelting across the dusty Moroccan outback, we pushed our Land Rover LR2 into three figures whenever the broken tarmac allowed. This was not as risky a business as it sounds, since the landscape had something of West Texas about it, with endless horizons and black ribbons of highway disappearing into a distant shimmer of heat. We could see forever.

With the Atlas Mountains as a backdrop and massive dunes undulating to the sea's edge, this was a Land Rover-scripted launch: adventure, adversity, mystery, and an exotic, sandy locale in which to become potentially stuck. It was as sentimental a backdrop for the new LR3 as you could hope for.

The LR2 succeeds the Freelander, which arrived stateside in 2001 but whose sales peaked at only 15,000 units in 2002. As with the LR3, formerly known as the Discovery, Land Rover wanted to put some clear air between a troubled vehicle and its successor. Like the LR3, the LR2 is a new-from-the-ground-up vehicle. Which is just as well, since the LR2 will compete in the premium compact SUV market against such accomplished contenders as the BMW X3 and the Acura RDX.

Contrary to early speculation, the Freelander replacement does not look like a mini-me version of the LR3. In fact, the LR2 is more faithful to the Freelander's look than we expected, especially from the front. It is, however, tougher looking than the more gently curved, slightly effete Freelander. It's got a more planted stance, too, thanks partly to a longer wheelbase and a wider track.

The LR2 has less tumblehome--that's the inward taper of the sides as they rise to the roof--than the Freelander, and so the interior has a more spacious feel. The low dashboard also enhances the sense of space and light, and four large adults will be perfectly happy to tackle long journeys. The perceived quality and architectural execution of the dash are a big step up from the Freelander, too. We particularly like the large, chunky radial dials for heating, climate control, and the Terrain Response system (more on that later).

With competition such as the X3 in mind, Land Rover wanted the LR2 to deliver better on-road driving than its predecessor. The stats are pretty encouraging in this regard, with torsional rigidity that's 40 percent better than the Freelander's, fully independent suspension, and a reasonably quick rack-and-pinion steering setup with only 2.6 turns lock-to-lock. The LR2 has a slightly higher center of gravity than the Freelander, partly due to the bigger standard wheels, but this is compensated for by the new car's wider track.Land Rover says that the LR2 covered 5000 miles of the Nrburgring "at ten-tenths," which makes you wonder what the LR2 would do with serious power under its hood--not that it's badly served by its 3.2-liter in-line six borrowed from the new Volvo S80. The engine is compact enough to be mounted transversely, which helps interior packaging and safety performance.

The six's performance figures--230 hp at 6300 rpm and 234 lb-ft of torque at 3200 rpm--may sound a bit peaky, but clever cam profiling and variable induction give it the sort of grunt you expect in an SUV. The six-speed automatic transmission features manual sequential shifting and a sport mode. It's a convincing dynamic package on the road. Throttle response is strong in the lower ranges, and banging the gears sequentially allows for quite sporting progress.

The LR2 deals with high-speed corners well, without need for constant steering adjustments through the apex. Steering feedback is good, bearing in mind that this is no Porsche Cayman rival, and the LR2's body control is reasonably tight. The X3 still has the edge, but the LR2 could well be the best-handling Land Rover of all time.

But the one thing a Land Rover must always do better than the rest is to go off-road. On-road, the LR2 is effectively a front-wheel-drive vehicle, with just enough power going to the rear wheels that there isn't a driveline shunt if grip conditions suddenly demand more power to the rear. For more serious off-roading, the LR2 has Land Rover's Terrain Response, which can be set for grass, gravel, snow, or sand. This, says Land Rover, more than compensates for the lack of a low-range transfer case.

It mostly does. We took to the dunes with the LR2 and were able to stay unstuck even over some epic crests. We missed a low range only when running in wet, soft sand. With 8.3 inches of clearance under the front axle, an approach angle of 29 degrees, a departure angle of 32 degrees, and a wading depth of nearly 20 inches, the LR2 is more than capable of dealing with the sort of grief an owner is likely to inflict on a $35,000 car.

Actually, Land Rover says that the LR2 will cost just under $35,000 when it goes on sale in April. Land Rover won't be offering a cheapo, entry-level car, as it believes this lowers the overall residual values for the model. Instead, the base LR2 will be specified with equipment that Land Rover thinks most people would order anyway, so leather, a panoramic sunroof, a nine-speaker Alpine stereo, MP3 input, auto headlamps, and seven air bags will be standard.

Who'll buy it? Land Rover's guessing that LR2 buyers will be a bit older than the forty-two-year-old average for the company. It reckons those people will be trading down from larger SUVs as the requirement for kid-and-cargo carrying space in their lives declines. Interestingly, they also suspect that some people put off by the LR3's jump up the price scale might now rejoin the Land Rover family with the LR2. They won't be disappointed.

The CX-9 shares the same gaggle of parts as the Ford Edge, but it's been engineered as a seven-passenger vehicle, so the Mazda's wheelbase has been stretched 2.0 inches and the vehicle is 13.9 inches longer overall.

The CX-9 is a great people package. The second-row, 60/40-split bench seat slides back five inches and also reclines, and there's a single release lever to expedite access into the third-row, 50/50-split bench seat. An optional rear-seat DVD system keeps passengers entertained, while the air-conditioning is powerful enough to sustain a breeze all the way to the back. Both rear seats fold down flat when it's time to visit the Home Depot. Even better, the interior of the Grand Touring model mixes color and trim in a cool, sophisticated way that even the Lexus RX350 can't match.

Mazda's new people mover also meets carlike standards of safety. The canopy air bag protects all three rows of passengers from head injury, while ABS, electronic brake assist, and stability control are standard. Like the Edge, the CX-9 features Ford's Volvo-engineered, antirollover stability system with twin sensors to monitor body roll and yaw. Also like the Edge, all-wheel drive is optional.

Best of all, the CX-9 drives like a Mazda, not some soggy station wagon. The long, 113.2-inch wheelbase helps deliver a stable ride, firm suspension bushings produce surprisingly crisp steering response (although at the price of some thumping over bumps), and the Grand Touring model even gets twenty-inch wheels. Moreover, the six-speed automatic (from Aisin, not Ford) has such refinement that you feel only the 263 hp of the Ford-supplied 3.5-liter V-6, not the shifting.

The Mazda CX-9 is what the American car has become in the twenty-first century. It's in the middle of the fastest-growing segment in the car industry, and that's why there are some forty-three similar crossover utility vehicles on the market right now, with a total of seventy expected by 2009.

If you're a mainstream automaker, two things ought to be at the core of your product lineup: a mid-size crossover utility vehicle and a modern six-cylinder powertrain. Any manufacturer that hasn't mastered those fundamentals by the 2007 model year hardly has any business being in the car business.

Which brings us to the Ford Motor Company, which is barely in business at all but, happily, has a handsome new crossover powered by a brand-new, 3.5-liter DOHCV-6 mated to a six-speed automatic that Ford developed itself. Ford is pinning a lot of its hopes on this engine, which soon will end up in some twenty percent of its cars.

With Ford's future hanging in the balance, the 3.5-liter Duratec had to be good--and it is. Edge engineers targeted the Nissan Murano, and although the Duratec is not quite as enchanting to listen to at high revs as Nissan's VQ-series V-6, it squeezes out twenty more horses, and the Ford six-speed gearbox is much more eager to play than the Murano's CVT. Short-ratio first and second gears help the Edge launch energetically out of your subdivision, and once you're on the freeway, dips into the throttle are met by fast, crisp downshifts. This is a lot more rewarding to an aggressive driver than the endless droning of a CVT. If you need to pass at 70 mph, the gearbox will seamlessly drop to fourth and even grab third if further analysis of the rev situation deems that the V-6 can handle it.

The rest of the Edge's driving experience is less inspiring. The steering lacks on-center feel, the brake pedal is mushy, and the Edge is hardly a boon companion on a curvy road, where it wallows and wanders when you push it hard. Yet the suspension does a good job of absorbing potholes and rough pavement.

Ford will serve the market for three-row seating with its Explorer, Freestyle, and upcoming Fairlane, so the Edge seats only five. The rear seats lack thigh support, but the backrests recline or easily fold forward to create an almost-flat load floor. The noble efforts of Ford's designers to create a hip, contemporary ambience are compromised by hard plastics and leather that wouldn't even make the cut for a $599 sofa offered on easy credit. But the Vista Roof, which covers the entire seating area with glass panels and power sunshades, is a cheery option.

With its highway fuel economy pegged in the mid-20s, the Edge is a worthwhile alternative for those ready to jettison their thirsty Explorers, but it does little to advance the art of the segment in which it competes. In other words, it's business as usual at the Ford Motor Company.

I'm in Zambia, Africa, in South Luangwa National Park. I'm bringing up the rear of a caravan of eight Jeep Wranglers that are being directed, one by one, down a steep river embankment and over the boulders of the riverbed below. The seven Jeeps in front are moving very slowly, if they're moving at all. I can hear the shouts of the spotters, who are leaping among the rocks and mud and pools of fetid water, helping our small group of American journalists guide the all-new, 2007 Wranglers over, around, and between obstacles that would defy anything this side of a Land Rover Defender. This is wicked terrain, and I'm not encouraged by the excited voices echoing off the riverbank. Good grief.

I came here to gaze at giraffes and baobab trees through the Wrangler's open roof, not to prove to the guys from the four-wheeling magazines that I'm anywhere near as proficient at this boulder-dodging business as they are. But the shouts and the sickening scraping sounds rising from the river suggest that differential cases are kissing boulders, mufflers are being crushed like tinfoil, and fender flares are finding new homes on the river bottom. It's going to be a long time before we get to our lunch spot next to the hippo lagoon.

As the hot African sun beams through the Wrangler's open top, I idly wonder if I'll be the one to hurtle a Jeep end-over-end into this river, plunging into my own personal heart of darkness. Forgive the angst. Just yesterday, one hapless member of our contingent jacked a Wrangler sideways while climbing a boulder, and the vehicle flipped side-over-side and tumbled down an embankment, landing on the passenger's door. Both occupants--Chrysler employees--were unhurt, but the incident underscored the fact that Jeep had flown us 9000 miles to test these Wranglers to their limits.

There's no more time to worry about such things, because Duncan Barbour, the amiable Scotsman serving as our chief trail guide, is beckoning me to come on down. I hit the switches to lock the front and rear differentials and disconnect the front antiroll bar, and then I ease the black four-door Wrangler over the embankment's edge until Barbour tells me to hold up. I set the brake, lift myself from the seat, and peer over the edge of the Wrangler's folding windshield. Barbour is standing way, way down there, directly in the Wrangler's path, which is not where I would be if I were him. He waits for the vehicle in front of me to claw itself out of the way, and then he gives me the go. Palming the shifter into first and inching down the rocky riverbank, I realize I'm not headed toward potential doom, because in the process of already having guided seven other vehicles down this particular assemblage of rocks, Barbour has gleaned the perfect path down the thirty-degree slope. Before long, the Wrangler and I are sloshing through the river bottom, and I'm following vehicle development engineer Mark Luscomb's advice to "let the throttle pull you along on its own. Keep your foot out of it." Hey, this is easy, I think.

Nothing is really easy in Zambia, a beautiful country of open skies, vast plains, and exotic wildlife that's straight out of the pages of National Geographic but whose populace shares the ills that afflict so much of Africa, from poverty to HIV and malaria to limited educational opportunities. Yet the locals we encountered displayed only enthusiasm and curiosity for our unlikely caravan of Jeeps as we paraded through the settlement of Mfuwe and paused in small villages full of thatched-roof mud huts. A Westerner's pangs of guilt for driving a vehicle that costs more than most Zambians will earn in a lifetime are somewhat ameliorated by the knowledge that tour companies such as our hosts, Robin Pope Safaris, maintain good relations with residents and are major contributors to local economies. One of our local guides was astonished to learn that our preproduction, prototype test vehicles were destined for the crusher once they were shipped back to the States. "Leave them here," he offered, "and we'll make good use of them."

The Wrangler's newfound civility begins with a frame that's twice as stiff in bending and 50 percent stiffer torsionally compared with the 2006 model's, a wheelbase that's two inches longer, and a track that's 3.5 inches wider. Black plastic fender flares in place of body-color flares help disguise the fact that the Wrangler is nearly half a foot wider overall. The additional width results in a more surefooted vehicle with more room for shoulders and hips, plus space for the new, seat-mounted side air bags to deploy. The longer wheelbase allowed chief engineer Jim Issner to position the fuel tank ahead of the rear axle, a crash-regulation necessity, and it also translates to a better ride and a bit more rear-seat legroom. Overall cargo volume with the rear seats folded grows by thirteen cubic feet, to 56.5 cubic feet, and with the rear seats upright there's still 17.1 cubic feet, eight more than before. The vehicle's increased width didn't seem to be a liability when I threaded my way through some of the tighter off-roading situations, but miles of elephant grass and narrow two-tracks lined with gnarly trees and shrubs badly scratched the body sides of our Wranglers.

The five-passenger Wrangler Unlimited inhabits its own new market niche: the four-door convertible. (The 2004-06 long-wheelbase, two-door Wrangler heads into automotive history, ceding the Unlimited badge to the new four-door.) Its 116.0-inch wheelbase is up twenty inches over the standard model and thirteen inches over the previous Unlimited. There's 86.5 cubic feet of cargo space if the rear seats are folded and 46.0 cubic feet when they're in place. The rear seats aren't stretch-out roomy, but they made for a decent viewing perch for a five-hour safari drive.

Jeep wisely ditched the old four-cylinder engine, which was altogether inadequate for pavement use. The in-line six is gone, too, replaced by Chrysler's stalwart 3.8-liter V-6, here making 205 hp and 240 lb-ft of torque. Jeep purists might find it difficult to wrap their heads around the notion of a minivan engine, but the demise of the old 4.0-liter lump is hardly worth misty eyes. They'd do better to complain about the lack of an optional five-speed automatic (a four-speed is offered), but at least the manual has six forward speeds.

Jeep beefed up the Wrangler's solid front and rear axles, key components of its off-road arsenal, for the top-of-the-line Rubicon, which was the only trim level--of both long- and short-wheelbase vehicles--that we drove in Zambia. The suspension links, coil springs, and recirculating-ball steering of all models have been massaged, and now when you're in the new Wrangler, you feel like you're driving a real vehicle rather than piloting a small farm tractor. This effect is, unsurprisingly, magnified in the four-door.

Both two- and four-door Wranglers will exit Jeep's Toledo, Ohio, factory with either Command-Trac (X, Sahara) or Rock-Trac (Rubicon) four-wheel drive and a two-speed transfer case, but the four-door Unlimited also will be offered with rear-wheel drive only, in an acknowledgement of its expected role as an urban lifestyle conveyance in the Sun Belt. The differences in ride comfort between short- and long-wheelbase Wranglers were obvious when our caravan bounced and jounced along a trail across the Lundu Plain. Since Zambia's rainy season had ended, the self-churning clay that had been worked up by the feet of elephants and hippos and cape buffalo had dried into an unforgiving moonscape that threatened to pitch occupants of the short-wheelbase Wranglers onto the piles of roadside dung, while those of us in the long-wheelbase models sipped ginger ale and changed CD tracks.

The Lundu Plain probably isn't recognized by the optional new navigation system, which has a virtual-breadcrumb feature for retracing one's off-road steps. It's just one of the Wrangler's nods to modernity. Others include power windows and locks, stability control, and a surprisingly good six-speaker stereo capable of storing 2500 songs in its hard drive.

The Wrangler embraces the new without forgetting what it is that makes a Wrangler a Wrangler. That's why you can still fold down the windshield, pull the pins out of the exposed hinges and remove the doors, and peel away all or part of the roof to expose yourself to the admiring world. The latter exercise is made easier by new top and door combinations such as the three-piece Freedom Top, which has separate, removable panels over the driver and the front-seat passenger. In the past, the Wrangler's hard top was an all-or-nothing, garage-clogging proposition.

The long, slow, but successful crawl through the narrow, rocky riverbed is finally over. Our patience is rewarded by a different riverbed, this one a meandering ribbon a hundred yards wide and carpeted with a thick layer of loose, dry sand. I've left some space between my Wrangler Unlimited and the rest of the caravan, so I feel like I'm all alone in the world's largest sandbox, and instead of aimlessly pushing a Tonka Toy, I'm at the wheel of one of the world's best off-roaders. I hit the accelerator, bounce over sandbars, careen from side to side, and head for the hippos.

In 1995, we took delivery of the new-to-America Land Rover Discovery for a Four Seasons test. It was a distinctive, rugged-looking SUV with exceptional off-road ability but poor body control, flawed ergonomics, and limited cargo and passenger space. Even worse, however, was its appalling reliability. Ten years later, Land Rover created an all-new Discovery. It dumped the old SUV's pushrod V-8 and ladder-frame construction and in their place put a 4.4-liter, DOHC 32-valve V-8; a hydroformed frame supporting a much stiffer body; and an independent, air-sprung suspension. Land Rover North America badged the new SUV the LR3. In June 2005, our Tonga green LR3 HSE arrived here fresh from the Solihull, England, factory. Over the next year, we'd determine if the famous Land Rover values and abilities were intact but also if the old Discovery's many faults had been exorcised.

We were immediately smitten with the British SUV's styling. Although totally contemporary, the LR3 maintains the classic Land Rover design language--a boxy, upright stance, a stepped roof profile, and rear side windows that extend into the roof. "I love how it looks," said contributor Ronald Ahrens. "It's simple and honest: rectilinear perfection. The designers successfully produced raw drama, rather than having to contrive it, by using a tall profile, short overhangs, and large wheels."

It's not only the LR3's styling that is thoroughly modern: its driving dynamics also have leaped into the twenty-first century. Like most SUVs, our LR3 spent most of its year on pavement, but it handled the tarmac much better than past Land Rovers. The switch to independent suspension dramatically improved body control. The LR3 is still a tall beast, and since it weighs nearly three tons, it can feel a bit top heavy. Overall, though, the suspension tuning is excellent. As creative director Richard Eccleston noted, "The ride is just superb--it's better than in a lot of luxury cars."

While the ride and handling were universally commended, the drivetrain got mixed reviews. Occasionally, we felt a clunk in the transmission when pulling away from a stop. We've heard that other LR3s have similar issues, but it happened so infrequently to us that we never investigated. Our most common complaint was a lack of power. "It's not often that 300 hp feels weak," opined assistant editor Erik Johnson. "With the cruise set at 80 mph on the freeway, the transmission downshifts when the LR3 encounters even the slightest grade." Blame it on a peaky, Jaguar-based V-8 motivating a 5800-pound truck. That combination also contributed to the LR3's appetite for fuel; it downed a gallon of premium unleaded, on average, every fifteen miles. In Europe, an optional turbo-diesel engine provides better fuel economy and greater torque, but that engine isn't offered here.

We never drove our Four Seasons vehicle on off-road adventures comparable to those we've had with other LR3s in England, Scotland, and South Africa, but we did endure a few wicked Midwest snowstorms. On a drive to western Michigan through twelve inches of fresh snow, senior editor Joe Lorio found the LR3 exceedingly stable and comfortable, thanks in part to a set of Dunlop Grandtrek SJ5 winter tires. The aggressive rubber sacrificed steering feel and directional stability in warmer, dry conditions but was much appreciated when the flakes flew.

Whether we were plowing through winter storms or heading to the mall, the LR3's cabin was a welcoming environment, because it maintains the classic traits we love about Land Rovers--the upright driving position, the tall windows, and the airy feeling. Standard triple sunroofs and handsome, light tan leather upholstery enhanced the interior ambience. Thankfully, Land Rover has not succumbed to the trend toward rising beltlines and shrinking greenhouses that makes the interiors of vehicles such as the Chrysler Pacifica and the Hummer H3 feel like coffins.

The ergonomics are a big improvement over the old Discovery's. The controls for the low-range transfer case and the air suspension are neatly organized aft of the gearshift lever, and the thick steering wheel and control stalks are nicely placed. We liked the solid, rubber-coated switches for the climate control and radio, but there are a few too many buttons of a similar size. Some drivers found the nonadjustable front headrests intrusive and uncomfortable. With its optional third row, our LR3 comfortably sat seven adults, and third-row head- and legroom are better than in most large SUVs. Both the second and third rows fold flat, creating a huge cargo hold that easily swallowed senior editor Joe DeMatio's peculiar load of a full-size kitchen range and two mountain bikes.

Finally, to the big question: was the Land Rover reliable? The year got off to an inauspicious start. Only two weeks into the LR3's stay, warning lights for the air suspension, stability control, and hill-descent control began popping up frequently. Restarting the vehicle would fix the issue temporarily. After multiple visits to the dealer, technicians solved the problem by recalibrating the steering-angle sensor. Soon after, warning lights popped up again, as if to alert us that the LR3 wouldn't accelerate past 15 mph, a situation we'd noticed on our own. A restart brought the LR3 back to normal. Also early on, we visited the dealer twice to fix the driver's door handle, which wouldn't open the door. Around the six-month mark, a new coolant expansion tank was installed because of a false low-coolant warning, and the fuel tank was replaced on recall.

We saw less of our dealer in the latter half of the year, but three items still needed to be addressed: a sticky rear wiper, a broken rear-seat latch, and a burned-out brake light. In all, we made five unscheduled dealer visits--better than the twenty-plus warranty repairs to our '95 Discovery, but an area where Land Rover still needs to do better.

Where the old Discovery was a one-dimensional, off-road-oriented machine, the LR3 is enjoyable to drive in the real world. Interior packaging and ergonomics have gone from one of the worst to one of the best in class. Chassis dynamics also made a similar leap. Most important, Land Rover has succeeded in these areas while maintaining the brand's core values. Now Land Rover needs to continue to improve quality, put the LR3 on a diet, and offer a torquier, more fuel-efficient engine. Then the LR3 will be one of the best SUVs on the market.

I've had a recurring dream of a beastly, rally-bred SUV that devours Toyota RAV4s whole and burps up bits of Honda CR-Vs. But the sporty SUV of my dreams wouldn't cost $90,000 like the Porsche Cayenne Turbo; instead, it would be no more than a family sedan. Can Mitsubishi's new Outlander make my dream come true? It has a shot--after all, it's built on the same platform as the next-generation Lancer Evolution.

The Outlander's first job is satisfying the masses, so Mitsubishi has given it all the key specs of a modern crossover. A navigation system, Bluetooth, keyless start, and a third-row seat are optional, and stability control is standard. The rear bumper flips down for easy access to the cargo hold, and the upholstery and plastics would impress an Audi owner.

Still, to generate real buzz, the Outlander needs something different. Something Evo different. It has an aluminum roof (just like the Evo), available all-wheel drive, and eighteen-inch wheels. The steering is nicely weighted, and the six-speed automatic can be controlled via paddle shifters. Yet with only 220 hp, the Outlander's V-6 sucks exhaust fumes from the 269-hp RAV4, and ride and handling are no better than the Toyota's.

To distinguish itself in this crowded market segment, Mitsubishi can't play catch-up. The Outlander needs Evo-style passion. Then we'll really have something to dream about.

Portland, Oregon Originally, Jeep was going to create one new entry-level model, but when the final two contenders were sent to consumer clinics, the M&M-munching, highly focused groups were split. Men and confirmed Jeep people went for the Patriot, while women and those who had never before owned a Jeep voted for the Compass. So the Jeep executives thought: Why alienate anyone? We'll make both.

As a guy (but not a Jeep owner), it's hard for me to see what the ladies were thinking. The battery-powered, pink Barbie Jeep these target-market women drove as toddlers has more of the brand's iconic style than does this baby-doll Infiniti QX56 with the Hello Kitty face.

Looks aside, the Compass drives a lot like the Dodge Caliber on which it's based. The 2.4-liter four uses variable valve timing to make a commendable 172 hp, but acceleration is only so-so, and the engine drones. The optional CVT accentuates the noise, so choose the light-shifting five-speed manual instead. Front-wheel drive is standard; four-wheel drive (with an electronically locking center coupling) is available. The ride is somewhat stiff, but with a carlike ride height and the resultant low center of gravity, the Compass's handling is nimbler than the small-SUV norm. Although the seating position is two inches higher than that in the Caliber, when you look out over the large dash through the low, steeply raked windshield, the Compass feels much more like an economy car than an SUV.

It's also priced more like an economy car, starting at $15,985. The Compass boasts some high-profile standard equipment (curtain air bags, stability control, traction control), but to achieve that ultralow starting price, Jeep sneakily skimps elsewhere. Air-conditioning, power windows and locks, and remote mirrors are not included. The cabin is roomy and full of storage cubbies, but it's also wall-to-wall hard plastic.

An economy car in an SUV wrapper may make the ladies swoon, but it seems like a brand extension too far. But, hey, I don't get the appeal of The View, either.

WOLFSBURG For 2007, Volkswagen has added 0.4 liter--little more than a twelve-ounce soda can--to the displacement of the base Touareg's 3.2-liter V-6. The extra piston displacement bumps output to 276 hp and 266 lb-ft (increases of 36 hp and 37 lb-ft), while the addition of direct fuel injection helps return essentially identical fuel mileage. The V-6 Touareg is now about a second quicker to 60 mph, but it's still no lightning bolt. Max power arrives later (6200 rpm versus 6000) and throttle response remains indifferent. But, in the end, who can argue with a little more pop?

Ann Arbor It was small, but it was important: sitting there on the tailgate, down beneath the release handle, was the "Santa Fe" badge. And it was crooked.

In the cheap and cheerful, low-buck, small-SUV segment, these kinds of details usually can be overlooked. But for the 2007 Hyundai Santa Fe, they're indicative of a larger problem. The Santa Fe is a perfectly competent SUV/trucklet/crossover, but it's missing those final finishing touches.

That's not to say Hyundai isn't trying. The '07 Santa Fe is a far more polished vehicle than its predecessor--both from an aesthetic standpoint and on the road. Gone are the polarizing lines, replaced by more palatable BMW- (see the X3 in the rear pillar?) and Volkswagen-derived (count the Touareg styling cues) shapes. Wind noise is down, power and ride comfort are up, and the Santa Fe's overall feel is more Real Car than Bargain Basement Special.

Where the Hyundai comes up short is in the details. The Toyota Highlander-aping interior feels more expensive than it is, but it also suffers from fit and overspray issues. The optional 3.3-liter V-6 is strong enough to get the job done, but it's also woefully underutilized by the standard five-speed manu-matic; shifts usually occur before the engine reaches peak power. And although we tested only the front-wheel-drive Santa Fe (four-wheel drive is optional), abundant torque steer and wooden, kickback-prone steering are high on our complaints list.

The Santa Fe may not be a dynamic or quality triumph, but it's still a good value, and that's what most potential buyers will be concerned with. A 185-hp V-6, stability control, side curtain air bags, and Hyundai's ten-year/100,000-mile powertrain warranty are all standard. Most of the competition charges more and gives you less. The latest Santa Fe amounts to one more bargain-filled step down the road to refinement--we just wish it was a slightly bigger step.

"There are two vehicles that I know really, really well," Gary Evert says as we pitch the RDX into a downhill left-hander in Mount Tamalpais State Park north of San Francisco. "The RDX and the BMW X3."

There was plenty for Evert, the RDX's chief engineer, to learn from the X3, both from the BMW's achievements and its failures. For example, the X3's six-cylinder engines position it too closely in performance and price to the X5, so Acura decided to restrict its V-6 to the bigger MDX. The RDX instead gets Honda's first production-car turbo engine in the United States. Based on the 2.4-liter unit from the TSX sedan, the new turbo four produces 240 hp and 260 lb-ft of torque.

This engine is a winner, and its debut will prove to be a watershed moment for the hard-core Honda enthusiasts who can rattle off engine codes as easily as their birth dates. Turbo lag barely exists, power delivery is linear and strong, and fuel economy is estimated at 19/24 mpg city/highway. Our test vehicle's engine emitted a low-frequency drone when we decelerated, but Evert assured us that final production tweaks of the ECU would take care of that. After we headed out of San Francisco, the RDX surged through the Golden Gate National Recreation Area's hills with such ease, we actually forgot that there was a turbocharger under the hood.

Acura mates the turbo engine only to a five-speed automatic, but paddle shifters rip off crisp gearchanges. The standard all-wheel-drive system is adapted from the RL sedan. It delivers up to 70 percent of the torque to the rear axle, where it can be diverted entirely to either rear wheel, an effect that is easily discerned if you really push the RDX through a corner. The Acura might not be as sporty as the X3, but its accurate steering and buttoned-down body control are joined by a firm, reasonably supple ride that doesn't beat you up like the overly stiff BMW's does.

The RDX will share its body and chassis with the new Honda CR-V, but it won't share its all-wheel-drive system. The turbo engine also will be an RDX exclusive for now, but it certainly deserves to spread to other vehicles in the Acura and Honda stables.

The development engineers at Mercedes-AMG are all dedicated to automotive excellence, yet the vehicle they can't stop talking about is the ML63. They'll tell you that it laps the old, long Nrburgring Nordschleife in eight minutes, thirty seconds-if you're brave enough, of course.

The made-in-Alabama ML has come a long way from its first iteration as a minivan with a German brand name, and the new generation of this sport-ute drives more like a Mercedes sedan. While Mercedes-Benz likes to portray the ML as an off-road device, the ML63 AMG more closely resembles the Porsche Cayenne Turbo S, one of the breed of sport-utes that are meant to be sports cars.

It took a breathtakingly comprehensive makeover to move the ML into such exalted company. The 6.2-liter V-8 develops 503 hp, yet it's defined by its wide range of torque between 2000 and 5000 rpm, which delivers exceptional drivability in concert with the seven-speed manu-matic transmission. Meanwhile, the all-wheel-drive system has been recalibrated to distribute 40 percent of the power to the front wheels and 60 percent to the rear, a proportion that suits an all-weather pavement machine. The chassis reflects an extraordinary amount of work, including a rigidly mounted front subframe, stronger hubs and wheel bearings, stiffer suspension bushings, and a performance-tuned variant of Mercedes-Benz's air suspension system.

As we snaked through the foothills in the shadow of Spain's Sierra Nevada, the ML63 proved far more agile than you'd expect, not the least because its 295/40ZR-20 Continental CrossContact tires put so much rubber on the ground. But the ML is really meant to offer adults a comfortable, upright place to sit while pounding down the autopiste at 120 mph. It punches a massive hole in the air at these speeds, and the wake turbulence must be powerful enough to suck Seats off the road and throw them in the ditch. We didn't stop to find out.

What if you could drive a Land Rover that gets 21 mpg instead of 14 mpg yet suffers little in real-world acceleration? You can, at least in Europe. While in England, we tested two versions of the Discovery 3 (Europe's LR3): one with a 2.7-liter turbo-diesel V-6 and one with the same gasoline 4.4-liter V-8 that powers our Four Seasons LR3. The oil-burning Disco isn't fast, but it keeps pace with the more expensive V-8 except in an all-out drag race, thanks to 328 lb-ft of torque at only 1900 rpm compared with the V-8's 315 lb-ft of torque at a lofty 4000 rpm. Let's hope Land Rover decides to engineer its new 3.6-liter diesel V-8 and a rumored 3.0-liter diesel V-6 for the U.S. market.

In Ann Arbor, Michgan, home of automobilemag.com's editorial offices, leagues of Toyota Priuses and Subaru Legacy wagons patrol the streets, fighting the good fight for sensible, low-emissions, all-weather mobility. What better place, on an unseasonably cool and wet May afternoon, to pit two of the world's most illogical SUVs against each other? The Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT8 and the Chevrolet Trailblazer SS have no reason to exist. Both get horrendous gas mileage. Both are faster than any 4500-plus-pound rolling bricks ever should be. But they do exist, and fast, ostentatious rides are the stuff that enthusiasts' dreams are made of. Can these big, heavy, fuel chugging tanks transcend their softer, slower, mainstream siblings to become desirable muscle trucks?

Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT8Riding on massive chrome wheels and coated in fiery inferno red paint, our Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT8 tester looks aggressive, modern, and European. It could be mistaken for a Range Rover to the (considerably) less discerning eye. Along with twenty-inch tires, the SRT8 has taller front and rear fascias than a stock Grand Cherokee and thunderous, center-exiting, dual exhausts. This truck is no poseur. A 420-hp, 6.1-liter Hemi V8, capable of launching the all-wheel-drive Grand Cherokee from 0 to 60 mph in under five seconds lies under its bright red hood. Due to its traction advantages, it is not only the quickest Jeep ever made, but it's also the second best performer in the entire Chrysler Group family. Only the Dodge Viper SRT10 is quicker.

All of that power is very usable and thrilling when you're driving around town, and the five-speed manu-matic transmission keeps shifts smooth and quick. Roll down the windows for an earful of the engine, which sounds great even at idle. Blip the throttle and inattentive pedestrians will dive for cover. Once the road opens up and the SRT8 is allowed to dance, though, the sportiest Jeep begins to stumble. When it's pushed, the Jeep's lack of directional stability is startling. Launching it full-throttle along a winding road reminds us of a cowboy trying to guide a bucking bronco into a corral. That sort of behavior is fine in the stable, but not for an SUV capable of 150 mph. The Jeep is a much tamer stallion on city streets or in straight-line highway settings. The highly bolstered leather and faux-suede seats are comfortable and supportive in any conditions, although some staffers complained about a lack of thigh support.

Other than our problems with the SRT's directional stability, our greatest disappointment was the 4788-pound truck's city fuel economy of twelve miles per gallon. The Chevy, which is 200 pounds lighter, managed only fourteen mpg during our two-day testing period. These trucks' heavy curb weights do have one advantage though--supported by their all-wheel drive systems and fat rubber at all four corners, both trucks have exceptional grip.

Chevrolet Trailblazer SSThe Trailblazer SS gets the same type of exterior styling tweaks as the Grand Cherokee SRT8--twenty-inch rubber and revised grilles and bumpers. The Trailblazer's styling has had several years longer to age, but it is no fine wine. Especially in drab pewter paint (other creative choices include blue. . . and black. . . and white), the SS is difficult to discern from lower Trailblazer trim levels, so few people will even realize you've spent $31,255 or more on a Corvette-engined street truck. By comparison, though, a base, rear-wheel drive SS is a relative bargain (although we drove the all-wheel-drive model for the sake of a fair fight). The Grand Cherokee SRT8 starts at $39,995 and can easily crest $45,000-plus. The less powerful Buick Rainier and Saab 9-7X both easily can top $40,000 as well, so although the SS is the quickest truck (other than the outgoing SSR convertible pickup) on the GMT360 light-truck platform, it is not the most expensive. Window stickers can be misleading, though, since all are readily available with rebates or other discounts.

As is the case with the SSR, the Trailblazer SS is saddled with a prehistoric four-speed automatic transmission. And unlike the SSR, the Trailblazer isn't offered with a manual transmission. Shifts are slow and jerky, and the transmission downshifts with the slightest brush of the accelerator. Those downshifts aren't smooth, either. Senior editor Joe Lorio elaborates: "There are mile-wide gaps between the gears and none of the sophisticated electronic controls that adjust the engine throttle to smooth out shifting. Consequently, any shift made with urgency causes a heaving ripple effect through the car." The truck's 395 horsepower can't get to the ground with any urgency because of the long first-gear ratio, so city driving in the SS is hardly different than it is in the weaker, short-wheelbase, 5.3-liter V-8-powered vehicles offered on the same GM platform. In contrast to the Jeep, the Chevy is better to drive on winding roads, where it is able to stay in the power band of one gear. But even there, the spotlight doesn't burn brightly on the SS.

The price difference between these two trucks was most apparent when we moved from behind the wheel of the Jeep to the Chevy's cabin. The Trailblazer's interior design and materials remind us why GM is trying so hard to regain the respect of many American buyers. Even the underdog Korean brands are sculpting finer cabins. The leather and suede seats are soft and comfortable, but lack the lateral support we'd expect in a truck with sporting intentions. The plastics on the dash and doors are rock-hard and roughly grained. The air vents feel cheap, as does most of the switchgear. The gauge cluster is all printed on one single panel, the way GM has been doing it since the Reagan administration. GM designers should sit in a Honda or Volkswagen and see how interiors should be done.

As one staffer put it, "choosing between these two trucks is like going to a strip club to find a wife." They aren't exactly the types of vehicles we'd like to settle down with. Judging strictly in terms of their dancing styles, we'd take the Grand Cherokee SRT8. It's wild and uncoordinated when it's really jiving, but it's always a blast to spin the Hemi up to speed. The Jeep is certainly better looking, both inside and out, and its lowered stance and generous slatherings of chrome will appeal to Dr. John fans and Lil' Jon fans alike. But there are better vehicles for $40,000 if you want speed, there are better trucks if you need space, and there are better vehicles in general if all you desire is attention.

Since most Chevrolet fans don't have easy access to a high-speed road course (with the exception of a few NASCAR drivers), we don't really know whom the Trailblazer SS is for. GM has just announced a new six-speed transmission for its rear- and all-wheel-drive vehicles, so there is promise for the SS and similar performance-oriented vehicles. Just tuck that transmission (and, of course, that same 'Vette engine) under more appealing sheetmetal next time around, General.

I went to college with a sheikh. He was a fun guy to hang out with, because his worldview was shaped by the unshakable confidence that comes with having a long row of zeros on your bank statement. He knew that he'd never get in trouble for anything short of arson or murder, so he was always good for creative, entertaining mischief. Yet he was also a practicing Muslim, which gave him a curious combination of rich-guy exuberance and religious restraint. He didn't drink and he prayed regularly, but he'd also amuse himself by sending the dean's office a subscription to Penthouse and a bag of mushrooms. After visiting Dubai to drive the new Porsche Cayenne Turbo S, I now see where that young sheikh was coming from, literally. The glitziest city in the United Arab Emirates exhibits a similar curious dichotomy between enormous, flashy wealth and a culture that is, in a lot of ways, straight out of the Puritan playbook.

Dubai has no bars (except in hotels, at least thirty-five of which are five-star rated), women are required to dress modestly in public, and possessing drugs or a man-crush on Brad Pitt will get you locked up until the Detroit Lions win the Super Bowl. Apparently, all the various sordid impulses repressed by the Arab M.O. are released behind the wheel, because the driving verges on anarchy.

Imagine the road discipline of a third-world country combined with the infrastructure of Germany and the automotive mix of Beverly Hills, and you've got the basic idea. Need to get on the highway but don't see a convenient on-ramp? Simply drive up the nearest exit ramp and hang a right at the end. Feel a need for speed? Open it up. There are very few cops, and speeding violations caught on camera result in a ticket in the mail that you can pay the next time you get your car registered. And the roads . . . One desolate stretch of fresh, glassy pavement outside the city stretches about fifteen miles toward a single hotel, and it features not a residence or a business along the way, yet its entirety is lined with streetlights. Assuming that you manage not to perish in a horrible accident, driving in Dubai makes for great fun, which likely is why Porsche chose it to showcase its ultimate Cayenne. Given the crazy highway speeds and the prevalence of Cayenne Turbos, this is one of the few places in the world where the Cayenne Turbo S's top-speed advantage over its lesser sibling (168 mph to 165 mph) isn't purely academic. Also, the UAE offers miles of sand dunes to play in, lest we forget that this is a serious off-roader.

With 520 hp and a full complement of boonies-bashing hardware, the Cayenne Turbo S takes aim at the upper echelons of two very disparate genres-off-roaders and luxury sport sedans-and capably mixes it up with them both. While most crossover SUVs achieve a "jack of all trades, master of none" balance of abilities, the Cayenne Turbo S is jack of all trades, master of each. It's like a Leatherman tool that includes a machete and a flamethrower. By my standards, anything that does 0 to 60 mph in 4.8 seconds is a sports car. Anything with 10.8 inches of ground clearance, a low-range transfer case, and locking center and rear differentials is an off-roader. And anything that tows 7716 pounds is a truck. This animal is all of the above.

Our first destination is a remote expanse of sand dunes, where we'll test the Cayenne's off-road chops with the assistance of a guide named Ahmad. After airing down the tires, we're about five minutes into the great beige yonder when I high-center our vehicle atop a particularly pointy bit of sand, requiring a tow from a fellow Cayenne. Whatever little confidence Ahmad might've had in my driving is now gone, and when I ask where there's a good area for doing doughnuts, he tries to discourage me from this idea. I can tell he's having visions of us stuck again, in the middle of nowhere, and eventually being eaten by nomads. But I've got a twin-turbo V-8, four-wheel drive, and the world's biggest sandbox, and I didn't come all this way to not act like a big hick.

Eventually, Ahmad relents and says he'll show me how to properly kick up some sand. This is like telling a contestant on The Biggest Loser that you'll show him how to eat dessert. I am actually offended. Saying something like "Yeah, yeah, whatever, Ahmad," I charge down a hill and prepare to sandblast everything between here and Tehran using the tried and true rally-driving oversteer method: turn, brake, get on the gas, and countersteer. Except, in sand this deep, somehow it goes wrong. The front tires refuse to bite at all, and I end up in a full-lock, full-throttle understeer slide that causes waves of sand to wash over the windshield and obliterate all forward vision. That was ugly.

"May I?" asks Ahmad, and I relinquish the wheel. He proceeds to drive into the same shallow bowl and, never touching the brakes, coaxes the big Porsche into a pirouette around its front wheels as a sandstorm erupts behind us. As the kids would say, "I got served."

On the way back out to the road, an ominous vibration erupts from the left front of the Cayenne, and I pull over to discover that the tire, aired down to 14 psi, has bled out its minimal air pressure and gone flat. We pump it back up with a portable air compressor, but Ahmad warns that some sand might've gotten inside the tire, and this could cause vibrations on the road. Duly noted. We pull back onto the pavement and set a course for the city.

I'm from Boston, so I know construction. But Dubai makes the Big Dig look like a Lincoln Logs project. In one area in the southern part of the city, I count thirty-four skyscrapers in progress, compared with five or so that are complete. Dubai's flag should feature a crane, a dump truck, and an exploited Indian laborer. And maybe also the mall. It includes your regular shopping attractions, such as a kiosk selling T-shirts that read "FBI: Female Body Inspector," as well as less common mall features like prayer rooms and a ski slope. Yes, you read that right. Granted, it's a wussy ski slope, but c'mon-an indoor ski slope in the desert? What next, a series of man-made private islands that collectively form a map of the world? An underwater hotel? A 100-square-mile amusement park? Why, yes, actually. All of that is in the works, plus, according to a front-page story in a local paper, a space tourism terminal. No idea is too wild, too extravagant, or too ambitious for the main man running the show, His Highness General Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, Crown Prince of Dubai.

Unsurprisingly, Dubai sports more exotic cars than you can shake a hookah at. I pull into the Dubai Autodrome racetrack to see if I can sneak out for a few hot laps, and the parking lot is littered with Porsche Boxsters and 911s and Chevrolet Corvettes, as well as a fleet of driving-school instruction cars-Audi RS4s. The track is booked solid, but one of the instructors, a British expatriate named David, has kind words for the Cayenne. "I've driven the Turbo here," he says, "and it's much better on a track than any SUV has a right to be. You can actually slide it around." Unfortunately, with the track busy, we have to explore the Turbo S's abilities on the considerably more frightening stage of the local highways. As I said before, the roads are great, but the drivers are another story. David concurs. "I've lived here since 1974," he says, "and you see so many accidents. I call it the Dubai Death Highway."

Be that as it may, I'm going hunting. One reason to buy a Cayenne Turbo S is to lord it over drivers of the regular Turbo, and I want a chance to rock the party on some Emiraties.

Merging up onto a four-lane highway, I get my chance. As I slide over toward the passing lane, a Cayenne Turbo comes alongside, and it's on. Oh, this is gonna be delicious. I'll toy with him a bit, then slowly but relentlessly pull past, my additional 70 hp providing an irrefutable advantage, until all he can see is that big "S" script on the deck and my quad exhaust pipes staring in his pathetic face. I put my foot down and command all 520 horses and 530 lb-ft of torque, along with the wonderful, slightly muted growl of a big V-8 with two turbo-chargers sitting in the exhaust stream.

But remember that sand in the tire? An intermittent vibration had been afflicting the Cayenne ever since, and as I pull past 100 mph in pursuit of the Turbo (which is now doing at least 120), our car develops a front-end wobble that gives me pause. The sensation is less like an unbalanced tire than an unbalanced washing machine shimmying through the spin cycle-the vibration attacks so hard that it feels like it'll bounce the car off the road. Then it suddenly disappears and I speed up, but it returns even worse. I eventually have to give up, so I set the nav system for the hotel and try to contain my anger as Cayenne after Cayenne-even a V-6 model, for crying out loud-blow past me in the fast lane.

As we get closer to home, the front end starts making more ominous noises. I pull over at a gas station and crawl underneath to have a look, much to the amusement of the pump jockey, who looks like he's never seen a Porsche driver get out of his car, much less crawl under it. The CV boot looks intact, but there must be sand in there, because the constant velocity joint sounds as if it's quickly heading for a velocity of zero. Maybe the sand in the wheel somehow contributed to its demise, but more likely it was just a matter of this particular car having spent two weeks getting thrashed by writers in the sort of sand that infiltrates your every crevice (and the car's, too). At any rate, we won't be taunting any Turbos, which was kind of a relief, because I have no doubt that someone would've forced me to prove that 3-mph top-end advantage in a door-to-door showdown that could very well have ended badly.

Even if I had put the hurt on a Cayenne Turbo, the vanquished driver could take solace in the fact that I'd paid dearly for the privilege. The Turbo S costs $112,415, a premium of $21,400 over the Turbo. Is it worth twenty-one large to get unique exhaust pipes, slightly bigger brakes, and another 70 hp? Of course not. The Turbo S is 24 percent more expensive than the Turbo, but it's not 24 percent more insane. Of course, in a land of private islands and desert ski-resort memberships, where luxury is redefined daily and nothing is quite outrageous enough, the Cayenne Turbo S offers one indisputable tether to reality that justifies the asking price for those with the means to pay it: no other machine can replicate its abilities, even if the Turbo comes close. If you're after the ultimate SUV yet devised, there's simply no other choice.

Do you have the patience to hear about one more SUV? How about one of those annoyingly nebulous SUV/crossover/whatever vehicles? At the risk of having you turn the page right now, we'll tell you that the new Mazda CX-7 is an SUV-like thing that tries to be sporty. We know, you've heard that before, with the BMW X5 and X3, the Infiniti FX45, the Porsche Cayenne, the Jeep Grand Cherokee SRT8, and some lesser lights as well.

Look past the obvious-the RX-8 wannabe front fenders, the hop-up windowline, and the bulging rear wheel arches-and you notice that, unlike every other entry in this overcrowded field (save perhaps the FX45), the CX-7 has not a single flat plane anywhere on its body. The front end is radically swept back, the windshield sports the fastest rake in its class, the roofline takes a dive aft of the B-pillars, and even the greenhouse features some major tumblehome and tapers in toward the rear. This thing isn't just styled, it's shaped.

The CX-7's engine is equally radical. Borrowing the Mazdaspeed 6's direct-injection, 2.3-liter turbo four-a high-strung engine with an all-or-nothing, turbo-dependent power delivery-and pairing it with a manu-matic transmission sounds like an absurd choice for SUV duty. After driving the CX-7, we'd say it's merely unusual. In this application, the engine has traded away 30 hp and 22 lb-ft for improved driveability, yet it's still able to push the CX-7 along with verve while returning semirespectable economy ratings of 18/24 mpg (with all-wheel drive). But the throttle response is hardly linear, and the engine note will never be mistaken for the smooth spin of a good V-6.

The CX-7's sporty chassis tuning suffers no such downside. Its most immediately endearing quality is the steering response, which is direct, linear, and nicely weighted. SUVs that don't heel over in corners are no longer a novelty, but even in those vehicles you're keenly aware that a lot of weight is riding way up high. The CX-7 is a bit lower and lighter (under two tons, anyway), and it manages to escape that high 'n' heavy feeling.

Naturally, the CX-7 isn't quite as roomy as some of the boxier entries, even though it's longer and wider than the Mazda Tribute, and there's no third-row seat. (That's coming in the CX-9, which was recently unveiled at the New York auto show.) The CX-7's below-the-windowline cargo space is reasonable, but its tapered greenhouse and sloping roofline cut into maximum capacity. If hauling stuff is your priority, you have a herd of more suitable SUVs to pick from. The CX-7 instead makes a case for itself as a tall, sporty wagon-and, for less than $30,000 (exercising a modicum of options restraint), it's notably cheaper than the other sporty crossovers at the auto mall. That's how you wedge your way into an overcrowded field.

Wheels. Audacious, chromed, crazy-large wheels. You walk up to Cadillac's new Escalade and tap the remote to unlock it, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the optional twenty-two-inch wheels.

Those suckers are big.

Big, however, is apparently what people wanted. Since the Escalade's success initially surprised almost everyone at General Motors (including Cadillac), the General's marketing gurus wisely decided to canvass their existing customer base for the 2007 model. Countless focus groups and a few hush-hush, names-not-released celebrity previews all revealed the same thing: the people who buy Escalades like them, but wish they were more . . . Escalade-y. A larger, more aggressive face. More chrome. More aftermarket-type items available from the factory (such as the twenty-two-inch rollers), better build quality, and more power for the already hefty 345-hp, 6.0-liter V-8. Give us these, said the privileged masses, and we won't let you down.

GM listened, and then it delivered. A new, Escalade-specific, 6.2-liter, aluminum-block V-8 with variable valve timing wallops out a healthy 403 hp and 417 lb-ft of torque-58 hp and 37 lb-ft more than last year-and it's mated to a new six-speed automatic with two relatively tall overdrive gears that help fuel economy. As for chrome, Cadillac laid it on thick. The bigger front grille, the fender portholes, the door handles, and the monstrous wheels practically swim in the stuff. What's more, trim quality finally befits a Cadillac rather than a warmed-over Chevrolet Tahoe.

Happily, the rest of the Escalade echoes that theme. Exterior panel gaps are up to 25 percent tighter, bumpers are integrated with the surrounding sheetmetal for a more cohesive look, and overall fit and finish are finally consistent with other Cadillacs. With the exception of bristly carpet and cheap-feeling upper dashboard material, the three-row interior's soft-touch surfaces and finely damped switches are a step or two above what you'd find in a Tahoe or a