Road Test
Correction: An article Saturday on the Environmental Protection Agency's announcement . . . truncated a remark by President Bush. The complete quote reads, "I am confident, and so should America."
—Columbia Journalism Review
July/August 2001
If you're similarly addicted to reading corrections in newspapers and magazines, you know that many are painfully unnecessary, sometimes heroically pointless. Which is why we went all bilious upon learning of Audi's intention to "correct" its dandy A4 with a heavily revised, second-generation effort.
Did the A4 really need correcting? Not only is it Audi's bestselling vehicle — 34,460 sold here in 2000 alone — but since its U.S. introduction in 1995, the car has also emerged as a 10Best vehicle three times and as a comparison-test victor seven times, earning hyperbolic plaudits for three engines and two body styles. Hell, in its last gasps of production, it aced two of those comparos this year. That sound like something in need of correction?
Apparently so, at least if you're an engineer in Ingolstadt.
For starters, the new A4 now resembles a seven-eighths-scale A6. For the next few months, car spotters will be able to pick out the 2002 A4 only by dint of its slightly more angular trunklid and taillights. Shouldn't the A4 be driving the A6's styling?
This latest Audi is marginally more ample than its forebear — 2.3 inches longer, 1.3 inches wider, 1.3 inches more noble in wheelbase, and, ahem, 377 pounds bulkier. Most of this augmentation goes unseen, and even the aft cabin's newfound two cubic feet are hard to locate. There's a 0.9-inch increase in rear legroom but no increase in shoulder room. For two adults, the rear bench is now not so much comfortable as it is less uncomfortable. Six-footers still splay their legs to clear the seatbacks, and large-hair types will still want to pack restorative gels and mousses. What's more, the new dimensions seem to have benefited front-seat occupants not one whit. The driver's right leg regularly rubs the transmission tunnel, and his elbow is often in contact with his neighbor's. A taller beltline means that visibility is slightly impaired, too.
The A4's cockpit is nevertheless a great place to fritter away time — tasteful, inviting, more Italian than Teutonic. It makes you want to touch everything — the rich fabrics, the Buffalino real leather, the persuasive "leatherette," the muted aluminum, and the real wood that looks like real wood. Double door seals and 30-percent-thicker glass further hush an already pacific workplace. And subtle touches abound: rubber-lined storage drawers beneath the front seats, illuminated rear footwells, a tiny three-spoke leather wheel like something out of a DTM racer, and a classy fishnet headliner that flows down the A-, B-, and C-pillars.
Initially, two engines are offered. There's the familiar 170-hp, four-cylinder 1.8T, now the first turbo to meet ULEV standards. And there's again a 30-valve V-6, although this all-aluminum variant now displaces 3.0 liters and produces 30 newfound ponies, all at a saving of 44 pounds. The V-6 hustles a manual-shifting Quattro to 60 mph in 6.8 seconds — versus the old car's 7.4 — although it will likely be remembered more for its smoothness.
With its sump-mounted balance shaft, this new six, at idle, is as silent and quiver-free as a dead carp. In part because of its new variable valve timing and dual-path intake manifold, whose 4200-rpm crossover we neither felt nor heard, the V-6 is also more forgiving of short shifters and engine luggers. In fact, second-gear starts are a cinch. After that, feel free to flatten the throttle, from step-off to 6400 rpm, and you'll experience so precisely the same insistent accelerative whoosh — with so characterless an exhaust growl — that you'll swear there's some sort of electric motor at work. Along the Ohio Turnpike, we inadvertently drove 30 miles in fifth gear, rather than sixth. Which may signal one of the V-6's shortcomings. It lands squarely in luxury's lap, rather than sport's, and possesses none of the zing or immediacy of the sixes in, say, the BMW 3-series or Lexus IS300. Course, there's an upside to this: We drove home from New England in one shot — 750 miles with only two blitzkrieg gas stops — then happily ambled off to a late dinner and movie.
