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'84 MotorWeek Cherokee, Bronco and Blazer comparison indulges your SUV nostalgia

These days, truck-based, full-frame SUVs are somewhat of a rarity on the auto landscape due to the rapid rise in popularity of easier-driving, car-based crossovers. Although, without the gradually building popularity of these chunky, high-riding vehicles decades ago, it's unlikely that America's roads would be filled with so many CUVs today. In its latest dig into the archives, MotorWeek has found a 1984 comparison test of a trio of these early Sport Utility Wagons, as long-time host John Davis called them, that helped get acceptance of this segment going. This is a red, white and blue test of the SUVs from American automakers at the time and pits the Chevrolet Blazer, Ford Bronco and Jeep Cherokee (specifically in Wagoneer guise) against each other. Driving manners and interior usability are considered in the evaluation, but Motorweek actually takes these vehicles off road, too. Among the bigger revelations is the improvement in on-road ability in the past 30 years. While specific 0-60 times aren't given, all three models take around 10 seconds just to get to around 50 miles per hour in the 500-feet on-ramp acceleration test. Check out this clip to see just how far this segment has progressed in the past three decades or just get a blast of nostalgia from these now vintage models. News Source: MotorWeek via YouTube Chevrolet Ford Jeep SUV Off-Road Vehicles Classics Videos Ford Bronco chevy blazer

Autoblog's guilty pleasure cars

Guilty pleasures are part of life – don't even try to pretend like you don't have one (or two, or six). In the non-automotive space, this could come down to that secret playlist in your iPhone of songs you'll only listen to when you're alone; or think of that one TV show you really do love, but won't admit to your friends. I've got plenty, and so do you. Going back to cars, here's a particularly juicy one for me: several years ago, I had a mad crush on the very last iteration of the Cadillac DTS. Oh yes, the front-wheel-drive, Northstar V8-powered sofa-on-wheels that was the last remaining shred of the elderly-swooning days of Cadillac's past. Every time I had the chance to drive one, I was secretly giddy. Don't hate me, okay? These days, the DTS is gone, but I've still got a mess of other cars that hold a special place in my heart. And in the spirit of camaraderie, I've asked my other Autoblog editors to tell me some of their guilty pleasure cars, as well – Seyth Miersma, as you can see above, has a few choice emotions to share about the Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution. Read on to find out what cars make us secretly happy. Mercedes-Benz SL65 AMG This decadent convertible is the epitome of the guilty pleasure. It's big, powerful, fairly heavy and it's richly appointed inside and out. It's a chocolate eclair with the three-pointed star on the hood. Given my druthers, I'd take the SL65 AMG, which delivers 621 horsepower and 738 pound-feet of torque. That output is borderline absurd for this laid-back convertible. I don't care. You don't need dessert. Sometimes you just crave it. The SL line is about the feel you get on the road. The roof is open. The air, sun and engine sounds all embrace you. It's the same dynamic you could have experienced in a Mercedes a century ago, yet the SL gives you the most modern of luxuries. An Airscarf feature that warms my neck and shoulders through a vent embedded in the seat? Yes, please. Sure, it's an old-guy car. Mr. Burns and Lord Grantham are probably too young and hip for an SL65. I don't care. This is my guilty pleasure. Release the hounds. – Greg Migliore Senior Editor Ford Flex I drove my first Flex in 2009 when my mother let me borrow hers for the summer while I was away at college. The incredibly spacious interior made moving twice that summer a breeze, and the 200-mile trips up north were quite comfortable.

Autoblog In Cuba: 1957 Chevy Bel Air Review

If you've been following the Autoblog In Cuba series, you may remember that my efforts to rent a car in the country were ultimately unsuccessful. Misinformation, bad planning, and a lack of rental car inventory conspired to disrupt my hoped-for driving adventure. I discovered in my week of exploration, however, that the terrific thing about Havana is that there's always another adventure to be found – if you're willing to look. A car I could drive myself might have been impossible to come by, but a ride to remember was not. After all, even when reviewing a new car, I've found that impressions about the car and the route can be credibly formed from the right seat. Starting from the parking lot of the grand Hotel Nacional, finding an interesting car for hire is as simple as walking up and down the block. Scads of classic American iron wait just outside the hotel gates, in a riot of colors and conditions befitting the tropical climate. Fords from the 1940s are plentiful – more sedans than coupes – and the glory days of General Motors are represented by enough Pontiacs and Cadillacs to fill a Bruce Springsteen B-sides album. But the Chevy Bel Air is the king of the road here, by some margin. View 30 Photos I settled on a burnt orange 1957 Chevy Bel Air convertible, in tourist-appropriate condition. I was looking for a hardtop at the request of my crew's audio/video needs, but settled on a burnt orange 1957 Chevy Bel Air convertible, in tourist-appropriate condition. This car might look good as a prop in the background on your vacation photos – hair blowing in the breeze with the ocean at your back, parked in front of Che's face in Revolution Square, etc. – but was far from pristine on a closer inspection. A perfect representative of the Cuban average. At least the price was right: $50 for two hours to make it 12 miles to Hemingway's house, and back. My driver was a kid named Daniel who looked to be about 20 years old. The Chevy doesn't belong to him, he co-drives it with the owner, but he was able to give me the basic mechanical rundown. The eight- or six-cylinder engine that Chevy shipped this convertible with was long gone. No surprise there, as nearly every American-made car I'd ridden in so far was powered by some belching Mercedes diesel. Despite it's clattering note, Daniel said the lump under the hood of the '57 drinks gas: a four-cylinder of Russian origins, pulled out of a GAZ Volga as best I can understand.