1999 Ford F-250 Lariat on 2040-cars

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How the Ram Multifunction Tailgate compares to Ford, GMC, Honda

Ram just announced its Multifunction Tailgate — a descriptive if not very creative name. It's an asymmetrical barn-door arrangement, which can both fold down like a conventional tailgate or swing open like a gate. There's a new bed step, but unlike Ford or GM, the step isn't part of the tailgate itself. Rather, it kicks out from under the bumper (as opposed to out from under the driver's side of the rear bumper in its previous incarnation). So let's just focus on the tailgate functionality. A video of the Ram Multifunction Tailgate in action is above. For one, either of the swinging tailgate sections can be opened independently. They open to a full 88 degrees. In conventional flip-down mode, the tailgate works just like a normal one, too, with a 2,000-pound rating. The bottom line is that while it gives a variety of types of access to the load area, it doesn't "do" anything else. It's a $995 option on any Ram 1500. Its closest analogue is the Honda Ridgeline, which works basically the same way, but on that truck the tailgate swings as one piece. And the Honda's load rating isn't as hefty as the Ram's tailgate: 300 pounds. As Honda says, that's sufficient to hold the weight of the part of an ATV hanging out of the bed, or something similar, but it's a lighter-duty unit (and a lighter-duty truck) than the Ram's overall. Let's also get Ford's one-trick tailgate out of the way before comparing to the more analogous, and complicated, GM MultiPro. A bit of trivia: Ford's optional Tailgate Step is actually designed and supplied by Multimatic, better known as the outfit that builds the Ford GT and produces the DSSV spool-valve shocks. This step has been available for years. It pulls out of the top edge of the tailgate when the tailgate is lowered, deploying a single step. A separate handle pulls out from beside the step and flips up, giving a handhold. While it was initially (and infamously) mocked by competitors, with load floor heights as high as they are it's better than toting around a stepstool. It's currently a $375 standalone option. Now we get to the GMC MultiPro tailgate, the most complicated and multi-functioned around. It's essentially a tailgate within a tailgate, with a fold-out stopper that deploys from the inner tailgate. This gives it several functions depending on the position of all the parts. It can still be used like a normal tailgate, dropping down at the push of a button or using the key fob.

Car Stories: Owning the SHO station wagon that could've been

A little over a year ago, I bought what could be the most interesting car I will ever own. It was a 1987 Mercury Sable LS station wagon. Don't worry – there's much more to this story. I've always had a soft spot for wagons, and I still remember just how revolutionary the Ford Taurus and Mercury Sable were back in the mid-1980s. As a teenager, I fell especially hard for the 220-horsepower 1989 Ford Taurus SHO – so much so that I'd go on to own a dozen over the next 20 years. And like many other quirky enthusiasts, I always wondered what a SHO station wagon would be like. That changed last year when I bought the aforementioned Sable LS wagon, festooned with the high-revving DOHC 3.0-liter V6 engine and five-speed manual transmission from a 1989 Taurus SHO. In addition, the wagon had SHO front seats, a SHO center console, and the 140-mph instrument cluster with mileage that matched the engine. When I bought it, that number was just under 60,000 – barely broken in for the overachieving Yamaha-sourced mill. The engine and transmission weren't the only upgrades. It wore dual-piston PBR brakes with the choice Eibach/Tokico suspension combo in front. The rear featured SHO disc brakes with MOOG cargo coils and Tokico shocks, resulting in a wagon that handled ridiculously well while still retaining a decent level of comfort and five-door functionality. I could attack the local switchbacks while rowing gears to a 7,000-rpm soundtrack just as easily as loading up on lumber at the hardware store. Over time I added a front tower brace to stiffen things a bit as well as a bigger, 73-mm mass airflow sensor for better breathing, and I sourced some inexpensive 2004 Taurus 16-inch five-spoke wheels, refinished in gunmetal to match the two-tone white/gunmetal finish on the car. That, along with some minor paint and body work, had me winning trophies at every car show in town. And yet, what I loved most about the car wasn't its looks or performance, but rather its history. And here's where things also get a little philosophical, because I absolutely, positively love old used cars. Don't get me wrong – new cars are great. Designers can sculpt a timeless automotive shape, and engineers can construct systems and subsystems to create an exquisite chassis with superb handling and plenty of horsepower. But it's the age and mileage that turn machines into something more than the sum of their parts.

For EV drivers, realities may dampen the electric elation

The Atlantic, a decades-old monthly journal well-regarded for its intelligent essays on international news, American politics and cultural happenings, recently turned its attention to the car world. A piece that ran in The Atlantic in October examined the excesses of the GMC Hummer EV for compromising safety. And now in its latest edition, the magazine ran a compelling story about the challenges of driving an electric vehicle and how those experiences “mythologize the car as the great equalizer.” Titled “The Inconvenient Truth About Electric Vehicles,” the story addresses the economics of EVs, the stresses related to range anxiety, the social effects of owning an electric car — as in, affording one — and the overarching need for places to recharge that car. Basically, author Andrew Moseman says that EV life isn't so rosy: “On the eve of the long-promised electric-vehicle revolution, the myth is due for an update. Americans who take the plunge and buy their first EV will find a lot to love Â… they may also find that electric-vehicle ownership upends notions about driving, cost, and freedom, including how much car your money can buy. "No one spends an extra $5,000 to get a bigger gas tank in a Honda Civic, but with an EV, economic status is suddenly more connected to how much of the world you get to see — and how stressed out or annoyed youÂ’ll feel along the way.” Moseman charts how a basic Ford F-150 Lightning electric truck might start at $55,000, but an extended-range battery, which stretches the distance on a charge from 230 miles to 320, “raises the cost to at least $80,000. The trend holds true with all-electric brands such as Tesla, Rivian, and Lucid, and for many electric offerings from legacy automakers. The bigger battery option can add a four- or five-figure bump to an already accelerating sticker price.” As for the charging issue, the author details his anxiety driving a Telsa in Death Valley, with no charging stations in sight. “For those who never leave the comfort of the city, these concerns sound negligible," he says. "But so many of us want our cars to do everything, go everywhere, ferry us to the boundless life we imagine (or the one weÂ’re promised in car commercials),” he writes. His conclusions may raise some hackles among those of us who value automotive independence — not to mention fun — over practicalities.