Along with Murphy's Law and the Peter Principle, I have long had faith in what we'll call the Convertible Conundrum.
Nothing profound here. The CC simply states that whenever an auto manufacturer decides to throw a droptop model into the press pool they invariably do so in January.Imagine my surprise, then, when a Chrysler Corp. representative called to say he had a 1992 Chrysler LeBaron GTC convertible in town with my name on it. A convertible? In midsummer? But what about the CC?
Oh, well. Even Murphy's Law doesn't work every time.
Sadly, the anticipation of sporting around town topless was more exciting than the reality. In my young and restless years, back in the late '50s, I owned two convertibles: a 1949 Ford and a 1951 Mercury. I loved both those cars and have nothing but fond memories associated with them. I expected the same from the LeBaron.
What a difference a few measly decades make. I don't remember being made uncomfortable by the sun beating down on me in the '50s. Or caring about getting windblown. Or worrying about the vulnerability of an open car to thieves and vandals. Or being put off by the incessant roar of unbuffered traffic.
Most of all, I don't remember how terribly unsuited a convertible is for freeway driving. For that matter, I don't remember freeways. Driving a convertible on I-15 with the top down is not much different than riding a motorcycle on I-15 without a helmet. One feels a bit vulnerable with those big semi-truck wheels churning away only a few feet from one's head.
Then again, maybe it is merely that I have changed my priorities. Perhaps comfort and security is sought only by those of us who are slipping over the line into fogeyhood. The brisk sales of ragtops in recent years would suggest that the allure of top-down driving is alive and well for those young enough to appreciate it.
Whatever the reason, I confess that I spent most of the past week in the "radiant red" LeBaron with the top up, the windows closed and the air conditioner on. If that is the case with most convertible owners (as personal observation suggests it is) then the rationale for paying the extra cost for convertibility must be questioned. With its top up, a convertible is inferior in every way to its steel-topped siblings.
Canvas, for example, is not a great sound barrier when you are surrounded by 18-wheelers. Nor is it much of a cushion in a rollover. And the wind chill factor being what it is, an otherwise warm summer evening can be chilly in a convertible at 40 miles per hour.
There's more. Visibility is hampered by the large blind spots in the top's windowless rear quarter panels and the small (often opaque) rear window. Insurance companies don't like converts, so they will charge you more. If you drive by a poorly aimed Rainbird, get passed by a car when there's a puddle in the road, or ignore those black clouds overhead, it's not just the car that will get wet.
Perhaps most significant from a driving standpoint is the loss of body rigidity that comes when a car's structure is compromised by sawing off its top. Hit a rut or pothole and the flexing and torquing makes the car feel like it wants to go in four directions at once.
If you have stayed with me so far, you are probably thinking, "Boy, ol' Max really hated that LeBaron." Not so. It's a gorgeous car with snazzy white leather upholstery and all the power luxury stuff that any sane person could want, including a really good stereo with cassette and a CD player. Even the power top worked well, although fitting the boot over the retracted top was a hassle, as most are.
The above criticisms apply to all convertibles, not just the LeBaron. I'm even embarrassed to have voiced them because, romantic fool that I am, I still like the idea of convertibles. It's the reality of convertibles that intrudes on the fantasy.
Anyway, I was impressed by the LeBaron's 3.0 liter V6 engine that, coupled to a five-speed manual transmission, propels the front-wheel-drive GTC to illegal speeds in well under 10 seconds. And unlike the convertible sports cars I've driven lately, the LeBaron has a back seat that will accommodate two people, albeit cozily.
On the safety menu, the LeBaron had an airbag, 4-wheel disc, anti-lock brakes, and the doors lock automatically 10 seconds after you put the car in drive (the latter being of questionable value.) The EPA rates the car's mileage at 18 mpg city/27 mpg highway.
Oddity: the LeBaron's dash-mounted turn signal stalk. Memo to Chrysler: different is not always better.
Because of the space alloted for the retracting top, the trunk gets short shrift. You might get your golf clubs in but not your pull cart as well. No one is going to buy this car for its practicality.
Who will buy it? Here's what Chrysler says in its statement of the car's market position: "Chrysler LeBaron convertible is a lead image model, competing in the high-image, style-conscious and competitive mid-specialty market. The car appeals to upscale, affluent buyers, a high percentage of whom are women."
Chrysler should know. Along with inventing the minivan class, Chrysler can take credit for bringing the convertible back to the market in 1987 after it had been pretty much abandoned it as no longer suited to today's driving conditions and safety demands. Fittingly, LeBaron remains the best-selling convertible in the U.S.
In case you're wondering, convertibility doesn't come cheap. Base price for the LeBaron convert is $18,985 but options on my test car, along with destination charges, boosted the sticker to $22,563.
On the other hand, that's not a bad price for a car that does so much to set its owner apart from the commuting herd. People spend tens of thousands more for such marques as Ferrari, Porsche and Mercedes-Benz in search of the same thing the LeBaron provides: an antidote to the humdrum world of safe, practical four-door sedans.
As I said, I still love the idea of convertibles. Just don't ask me to drive one to work.