by J.J. Gertler

Queen of the Waves

"Come," said the Memsahib. "It is time for a sojourn to the Homeland."

"Jolly good," quoth I. "Shall we take the runabout?"

"Nay, sirrah!" she expostulated. "Surely, that dinghy is too petty a vessel for a captain of your ability. Let us travel in refined comfort, that my mother shall not believe me to have married a prole!"

Thus delivered of her expostulation, she bade the servants bring round the good ship Crown Victoria while I repaired to don my nautical garb.

Upon my return, the vessel sat abeam our portal. Resplendent in luxurious maroon, Crown Victoria's lines displayed good aerodynamic breeding, sleek without the vulgarity of some other vessels of her class. Expanded aft running lights were the only clue that she was the latest of her line. Her chrome faux grille, the one styling concession to the unwashed, at least gave skippers of lesser vehicles warning to heave to that we might pass.

Upon boarding the good vessel, we found ourselves in an appropriately leather-lined cockpit. Her Splendidity found the dashboard "lovely and elegant and understated and symmetrical and linear and immense." The leather-wrapped wheel felt rich in the hand, and we became comfortable with the aid of seat adjustment switches cleverly made in the shape of seats. What you did to the switch, the seat did to you. "Deeply cute," pronounced the Splendid Memsahib.

"Yet I am struck by these plastic door handles," I replied. "They are plastic door handles that look like plastic door handles. Decent quality plastic, yes, and well textured. Yet they seem meant for some -- lesser vehicle."

I was quite taken with the instruments. The large digital readouts made reading at a glance easy. And the integrated trip computer (the Mem loves trip computers) was by turns useful and fun. The color, too -- Ford's cool blue -- was bright enough to read and easy on the eyes, like the Mem herself.

We slipped the lines and set sail northward. I commanded the vessel brilliantly, and bade the Mem take notice. She dismissed me blithely, noting that the good ship Crown Victoria did almost all of the Captain's chores itself. "Consider all the vessel does, my self-congratulatory captain:

It releases the parking brake for you when you engage gear.

Locks the doors for you then, too.

Turns its own headlights on at dusk.

Dims the interior mirror whenever lights hit it from behind.

Maintains a precise interior temperature.

She modulates her own brakes, to avoid skidding.

Ditto the gas, to pre-empt wheelspin.

The ship even pumps up the rear suspension when you load it, to stay level.

Face it, Hornblower, all you gotta do is steer."

Which, I report, I did magnificently.

I even faced up manfully to the greatest challenge posed by Crown Victoria: maintaining attention to driving. So quiet, smooth, and stable was she that the effect scarcely resembled driving. After all, one doesn't often think "Hmm, I have to take care of the living room now, and make sure it keeps going on the right direction." (Except, of course, in California, where all homes are intermittently mobile.)

So little did the vessel demand, and so eerily quiet was our progress, that I was quite able to observe some peculiarities in this, a craft so obviously suited for the long-distance cruise with a sizable crew. Comfort abounded, yet few provisions had been made in concession to the needs of a crew. Stowage was limited to two map pockets and a glove box. No flocked change pocket. No cubbyholes. No center console. I felt guilty for my condemnation upon opening a pull-out tray to reveal dual cupholders (with an ashtray and a cigarette lighter), until noticing that the cupholders bore the legend "Soft Cups Only." Those with cans, bottles or -- for the truly plebeian -- Big Gulps need not apply.

Even less logically, the cassette player was not accompanied by any form of cassette storage. To award more than one Golden Cupholder would surely tax credibility.

I shared these observations with the Memsahib, who reassured me forthwith. "How fortuitous, then, that the servants are following in the Explorer!"

"Of course!" I cried. "How gauche of me to forget."

Just then, a gong sounded.

"Supper in the fo'c'sle?" I postulated hopefully.

"Nay," replied the Mem. "Do see, how your pictogram doth flash."

After pausing to ensure that I had not left myself undone, I realized that she had indicated the instrument panel. On the digital display, the estimated miles to empty had just reached 50, triggering the audible signal and the blinking silhouette of a fuel bowser. Relieved that I had not indeed breached etiquette, I conned the Vic alongside a provisioning pier.

Guided by Ford's welcome fuel-door-side indicator, I loosed the gas cap, only to find that -- like her kin -- the Vic's gas cap was retained on a plastic leash, which made losing the cap difficult, but was so short as to make fueling bothersome. Fortunately, this problem was encountered rather rarely, as long uninterrupted cruises allowed the Vic to travel 17 to 23 miles on a gallon, putting us in mind of Columbus, who got 30,000 on a galleon.

Our return to the byway occasioned considerable braking and gawking from lesser motorists. Something about a monochrome Crown Vic with blackwalls and unusual plates (Michigan manufacturer insignia not being commonly recognized) arouses the greatest of respect in fellow motorists. Many times on our voyage, a rapidly overtaking vessel would decelerate sharply upon espying our carriage, and saunter by primly, even tentatively. Then the Mem would wave cheerily, and zip! they'd be on their way again.

But our Crown Vic was no sheep in wolves' clothing. It had the cop suspension, cop motor, cop tires... Sorry. I seem to have been carried away. It bore the handling package, the limits of which we explored in the hill country of central Pennsylvania. We were progressing in stately array along a winding byway when a stripling in a mere Chevy Cavalier closed in.

"By Jove!" I thought. "Here's one in a bit of a hurry." An at that moment, without so much as a by-your-leave, he dared pull out and actually pass.

Such an affront, such Cavalier disrespect, may not be long endured. So it was with a "Yoicks! And away," we set off in pursuit. There followed a merry twenty-minute chase along the meandering route. We did keep things within limits; while Crown Vic can be "hustled" (which I do not mean pejoratively) on the winding back roads of the Pennsylvania coal country, it very clearly has a limit which a courteous captain kindly doesn't request it to exceed. In return, it complies with reasonable entreaties.

Ask it for speed, and the big Ford responds without drama. The 4.6-liter modular V-8 moves out smoothly, the Vic gathering its legs under it until you're going much faster than you thought and the obstacle you'd pulled out to pass is fading in the rear view. American V-8s may not be the all-grunt torque machines of yore, but they do live in refined form. "We trust in thrust," I explained to the Memsahib as we closed on the Cavalier.

We both found the Vic's highway handling praiseworthy for a ship of this class. Even with its sense of bulk, it handles with a precision undreamed-of in previous generation Strassenskreuzers. Responses are proportionate to inputs, with decent road feel -- better, in fact, than some smaller cars we've tested. The ride is not very floaty; soft springs coupled with bounce and a half damping give smoothness without imprecision.

Rapid maneuvers, though, like backroad work, are best done in stages. The Vic understeers, rolling weight onto the outside front wheel. You turn in, wait for the car to take a set, then work the power. Changing everything at once is asking for trouble. One reason is the 225/60x16 Michelin XGT tires, which even with the handling package are optimized for ride and quiet. They have decent stick once established in a corner, but the long sidewalls make transitions less than confidence-inspiring.

When the time came to haul out the anchor, we found the brakes strong. They have to be, as this vessel likes to freewheel.

We found the regally leather-wrapped command wheel a good handful, smaller in diameter than one expected. On the down side, the broad bench seat (with separate fold-down armrests for driver and passenger) did not support us laterally in a manner befitting our station.

Eventually, despite our power and prestige advantage, the Cavalier escaped, and we settled back to enjoying our nine-hour voyage. The Mem, who had napped blissfully (and desperately) during our backroad adventure, fished out a cassette of bagpipe music. The radio and climate control are a far reach for the driver, but arranged for equal access by both front-seaters. Her fingers were better suited to the fiddly small buttons on the radio than mine.

We arrived in the Frigid Homeland none the worse for our passage. Later, when the Mem took command for a while, she noted that the Vic "purrs in just a lovely fashion when you turn it on." She particularly liked that the climate control waits for heat to come up before blasting air at one, and found it quite easy to drive.

In nocturnal peregrinations, we found the map lights pleasingly well-focused (which, one supposes, they have to be so as not to fool the automatic rear-view mirror). Also, somewhat surprisingly given the weight and shape of the noble craft, passing semis moved it a good bit. The only other surprise was that the aft cargo compartment hatch was ideally shaped to drip water on one's head when retrieving goods from the hold. (But that hold easily swallowed an entire office worth of packing boxes.)

But in the main, our sojourns with Crown Victoria were, like the Queen herself, dignified and refined, with flashes of unexpected passion.

Go to Ford

Base Price $21,970 Price as Tested $26,400

Includes package 114A (Front & rear mats, power locks, speed control, light package, leather-wrapped steering wheel, cornering lamps, 6-way power front seats, keyless entry, rear air suspension, electronic dash, climate control a/c, ABS with traction control, auto-dim electrophotochromic mirror, 2-position memory driver's seat; 2395), handling & performance package (410), JBL audio system (500), leather-surface seats (645), destination (575).

Copyright 1995, Backyard Aerospace

Hard Drive is a trademark of Backyard Aerospace.