Car Throttle

Editor’s Note: this is a new series I’m starting, called “You’re Doing It Wrong.”  It’s focused around cars that look good on paper, but in the real world it just doesn’t add up.  Let me know what you think.

To most domestic enthusiasts, the moniker “SS” carries some weight with it. Chevrolet has been using the SS (Super Sport) designation for it’s hot-rod versions of standard models since the dawn of eternity.  Or at least the 60′s.  SS has always stood for large amounts of horsepower, some blinged-up trim, nice wheels and tires, and some more horsepower.

Classic SS Chevy’s like the Camaro SS396, Chevelle SS454, and Nova SS’s demand unusually large values for what are essentially overmuscled underdeveloped cars.  People these days are nostalgic for cars built when their environmental consequences were negligible -- or at least from back when no one really cared what the consequences were.  They were tire-burning monsters that sucked down high-octane leaded fuel at an alarming rate.  Along the way, though, Chevrolet lost the plot.

They began sticking the SS label in places it didn’t belong.  You can still buy a Cobalt SS with a thundering 174bhp 2.4L inline four.  Oh baby.  There was a Malibu SS with a 3.9L pushrod GM V6, which cranked out 240bhp -- only 4 less than the 3.0L V6 Accord of the time period!

Now, before we get to the main event here, let’s get something straight:  When I say “you’re doing it wrong” to Chevrolet on the Impala SS, I’m not talking about the Impala SS from 1994-1996.  That was what an Impala SS should’ve been:  a huge 350ci LT1 V8 with heavy-duty 9C1 suspension and a sinister body kit on a Caprice.  That Impala was pure badass; to this day they still fetch way more on the 2nd-hand market than they have any right to.

No, i’m talking about the modern V8 Impala SS.  On paper, it sounds pretty good.  There’s a 5.3L aluminum-block V8 under the hood, which cranks out a respectable 303bhp and 323lb-ft of torque.  Called the LS4, it’s a derivative of the Gen IV small-block.  You’d think at 5.3L it would share more in common with the Vortec 5300 truck engine, but it’s really more like a slightly smaller LS2.  That means it’s got the lightweight aluminum block rather than the Vortec’s iron block.  It’s also got Active Fuel Management, which is Chevy’s way of saying automatic cylinder shutdown, for fuel economy.  So while it’s “only” a pushrod 2-valve V8, it makes a lot of power for it’s size, complexity, and weight.  So far so good.

But looking at that picture, what do you notice?  If you’re keen-eyed, you’re saying “oh god, it’s sideways.”  Which means one thing: front wheel drive, unequal length half shafts, massive frontward weight distribution…  Oh, crap -- that’s three things.  And check out that front motor mount -- look familiar?

Uhh, that’d be an L67, the supercharged 3.8L V6 that GM has been stuffing into W-bodies since 1996.  For reference, this is the engine bay of a 1998 Buick Regal.  How much do you want to bet those motor mounts are interchangeable?

So what GM did wrong was design an impressive modern performance engine, then stuff it under the hood of the absolute worst chassis they still have in production.  And “in production” is a relative term -- the only car left sitting on the W-body chassis is the Impala now, the rest having all passed away peacefully in the retirement home where they belong.

So what do you get when you put a powerful, torquey V8 in a crappy front-wheel drive chassis?

You get rampant, nearly uncontrollable wheelspin. Which sounds like fun, unless you’re trying to go somewhere.  The Impala lounges it’s way to 60mph in the upper 6-second range, which means it’s still gonna get smoked by that stupid V6 Accord Sedan.  But wait, there’s less!

The only transmission GM has that can A) deal with 323lb-ft of torque and B) be mounted transversely for front wheel drive is the 4T65E-HD, which is a heavy-duty variant of the 4T-60.  Which is, umm, a four-speed automatic.  I’m sorry, is it still 1998?

Err, yes.  Because no matter how many facelifts they give it, the Impala is still a W-body, which has roots dating back to 1988.  So what’s an Impala SS like to be in?  I had the chance to ride in one recently (it was a rental car -- go figure!) and I’d give it an “A” for “alarming.”

Now, the roads were wet, but the traction control on this totally stock rental car was all-but-useless.  Application of half-throttle from low speeds resulted in a bunch of wheelspin and torque steer, then the aggressive T/C intervention, wherein the engine cuts power and the brakes apply themselves to stop the fun.  If you keep your foot in it on a wet road, it’ll quickly alternate between spontaneous wheelspin and giving you whiplash as the traction conrol kicks in, then back to the wheelspin… you get the point.  In a straight line on a wet road, a chipped Audi A4 2.0T Quattro has no trouble pulling two car lengths  on an SS from a stop.  Of course, the SS has the ponies to pull out a lead at higher speeds -- but who cares?  Your nasty V8 Impala SS loses to a 4-cylinder A4 from a stoplight?

And let’s not even mention corners.  The best way to go around a corner is not at all.  The Impala SS weighs in at a rather porky 3713 pounds, so it’s not going to be a ballerina.   But one thing the SS doesn’t tolerate is steering and throttle input simultaneously.  If roads are damp, a slightly overzealous throttle squeeze can result in the inside wheel spewing chunks of Goodyear down the giant gaudy SS badge on the front doors.  Asking the front wheels to steer a 3700lb sedan and put down 303bhp through an open differential is like asking Stephen Hawking to juggle burning chainsaws.

What’s sad is that this isn’t the only car GM put this powertrain in.  Thankfully they’re both out of production now, but you could get this same combo in a Chevy Monte Carlo 2-door (ugh) or a Pontiac Grand Prix GXP.  The GXP looked horrible as you’d suspect, but at least it had staggered tires (255 width in the front, 225 in the rear) and equal-length halfshafts to quell the out of control wheelspin and torque steer.  Chevy just threw a huge motor in, put on some big 18″ chrome wheels, and called it a day.  And after a few rapid accelerate-and-decelerate runs, the brakes were what I’d call “totally cooked.”  As in, the whole car shook when the brakes were applied.  Color me impressed.

Another “you’re doing that wrong” moment would be the price.  The SS starts above $31k, and with options can almost touch 34k.  I mean, for that kind of money you could get a real car.  Like a turbo Legacy, or a 300C, or… you get the point.  So what you’ve got is a performance car that can’t really perform, despite massive on-paper promise.  Hey Chevy: You’re doing that wrong.

(Side note: let’s be clear, it’s not that GM can’t make a good FWD performance car.  According to Car & Driver, the Cobalt SS Turbocharged Coupe is appreciably faster around Virginia International Raceway (VIR) than a shiny, new Mitsubishi Evo X.)