Short Take Road Test
In the annals of mankind’s most pleasantly unexpected decisions, Dodge’s decision to produce the Viper in 1992 ranks alongside AC/DC writing bagpipes into its 1975 hit “It’s a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock ’n’ Roll).” Like bagpipes, the Viper is polarizing, loud, and impossible to ignore—especially in Snakeskin Green.
As recent tests of the 2008 coupe and track-ready ACR have proven that the uniquely vicious Viper remains drivable with 600 horsepower, we set out to determine if there were any discernible differences between the hardtop versions of the car and the convertible. That, and any excuse to borrow a 600-hp car from an automaker is a good one.
So Much Power, but None for the Top
The Viper is a car that has to make a few excuses for itself, mostly when it comes to refinement. It’s like Larry the Cable Guy: hugely entertaining to the right audience, but not really appropriate for grandma. There are a number of things about the Viper that make it not feel like an $88,125—or, in this case, $94,215—car. For example, the $3000 “painted stripes” on the nose and tail of the car show a white underside along their edges—perhaps they’re painted vinyl stickers? (The other three grand in options included $600 for the green paint, $700 for polished wheels, and a cheapie nav system that costs $1790 bundled with Sirius satellite radio.) However, most of our complaints have to do with the top.
Get into the business of putting the top down, and you uncover a new set of issues. It’s fully manual, which isn’t particularly offensive on a $22,000 Miata, but it’s a touch uncouth at this price point. Operating the top also means opening the trunklid, which is roughly the size of Utah, albeit with a lot fewer Mormons. It takes two hands to heave skyward—passengers who asked us to pop the trunk had to be told it was already popped and that they needed to grow a pair—but then it hurtles shut with finger-chopping force at the slightest tug. Appropriately damped trunk hydraulics? Not here, bub. Those are for wusses with Benzes, and if we need to tell you the Viper is not a car for wusses, perhaps you’ve spent the past 16 years in a Turkish prison.
Once you get over the top’s shortcomings and clamber over the Viper’s wide, warm sills, you settle into a deep, comfy bucket—comfy, that is, as long as you’re close to average height. Even those just a few inches above the median found things tight inside, and the outliers among us kept the top down and looked over the windshield. Power-adjustable pedals are thankfully standard and at least stretch the range of accommodation a little bit, letting more folks enjoy the Viper’s visceral treats.
