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The super-sized Atlas isn't the three-row VW should build

In the late '50s and early '60s the Volkswagen Beetle wasn't ubiquitous in my hometown of Lincoln, Nebraska, but it came pretty damn close. Fords and Chevys dominated, but beyond the occasional MG, Triumph, or Renault the import scene was essentially a VW scene. When my folks finally pulled the trigger on a second car they bought a Beetle, and that shopping process was my first exposure to a Volkswagen showroom. For our family VW love wasn't a cult, but our '66 model spoke – as did all Volkswagens and most imports at the time – of a return to common sense in your transportation choice. As VW's own marketing so wonderfully communicated, you didn't need big fins or annual model changes to go grab that carton of milk. Or, for that matter, to grab a week's worth of family holiday. In the wretched excess that was most of Motown at the time, the Beetle, Combi, Squareback, and even Karmann Ghia spoke to a minimal – but never plain – take on transportation as personal expression. Fifty years after that initial Beetle exposure, and as a fan of imports for what I believe to be all of the right reasons, the introduction of Volkswagen's Atlas to the world market is akin to a sociological gut punch. How is it that a brand whose modus operandi was to be the anti-Detroit could find itself warmly embracing Detroit and the excess it has historically embodied? Don't tell me it's because VW's Americanization of the Passat is going so well. To be fair, the domestic do-over of import brands didn't begin with the new Atlas crossover. Imports have been growing fat almost as long as Americans have, and it's a global trend. An early 911 is a veritable wisp when compared to its current counterpart, which constitutes – coincidentally – a 50-year gestation. In comparing today's BMW 3 Series to its' '77 predecessor, I see a 5 Series footprint. And how did four adults go to lunch in the early 3 Series? It is so much smaller than what we've become accustomed to today; the current 2 Series is more substantial. My empty-nester-view of three-row crossovers is true for most shoppers: If you need three rows of passenger capacity no more than two or three times a year – and most don't – rent it forgawdsake. If you do need the space more often, consider a minivan, which goes about its three-row mission with far more utility (and humility) than any SUV.

2015 Subaru WRX

Every time I drive a Subaru WRX, I wish one of my parents had taken some weird, top-secret spy job that would have forced us to relocate to Finland when I was a kid. I could have learned the art of rally-style car control as a young lad, and in my adult life, sought out a dangerous/rewarding/awesome career as a professional WRC driver.
Never was that more clear than on the launch program for the new 2015 WRX, where Subaru pointed us down a long, somewhat treacherous stretch of road in the tree-lined mountains of northern California. Quick elevation changes were met with blind turns and washed-out shoulders, not to mention rogue bits of snow, ice and gravel that lined the apexes of nearly every turn. Here, I couldn't stop grinning, my co-driver and I switching between second and third gears, with precise steering inputs and judicious braking keeping us safely on the road and not plummeting nose-first into the trees. And the WRX simply devoured each inch of pavement with a ferocious poise that made me remember why I have loved this car so darn much.
But this sort of 100 Acre Wood perfection isn't the only way to experience Subaru's darling WRX. After a long stint of driving back down the California coast on Highway 1, I realized that Subaru's line about this being the best-driving WRX yet wasn't just a bunch of PR mumbo-jumbo. Of course, it isn't without a few compromises...

Catch the rally bug in one easy step at Wales Rally GB

You should go watch a rally. Yes, you. And by "a rally," I mean pretty much anything that could be considered a rally. Is there a grassroots rallycross event near you featuring some $500 beater Subarus mucking about in a field? Go to that. Or a full-blown WRC event. Set your coffeemaker to kick out some extra-potent brew, because you'll probably have to wake up early and drive for a bit to see something. But trust me, it'll be worth it. In Europe, with hundreds of events concentrated in a relatively small geographical area, in all sorts of environments (snow, forest, dirt, you name it), this is a lot easier. North America is huge. Your TV is closer, your couch is comfortable. That's the challenge for hooking new rally fans in America. So, why get off your tail? I travelled to Wales, the tiny windswept country on the western edge of Great Britain, to find out. First, we stopped by David Higgins' rally school, parked at the top of a sheep-studded ridge in the middle of nowhere. This was a two-part trip. The first bit was a visit to David Higgins' rally school, parked at the top of a sheep-studded ridge in the middle of nowhere. The second part was the main event: watching the headline rally event in the UK – WRC Wales Rally GB – in what amounted to a tropical storm at winter temperatures. Despite the challenges, it was one of those trips that left me smiling the whole time. At the Higgins Rally School, we had a very abbreviated experience, essentially the highlights of a multi-day course condensed into a few short hours. The first was learning how to do J-turns on mud, in an old UK-market Ford Escort ... with right-hand drive, and so, a left-hand manual shift, which made it much harder to nail the technique with the "wrong" hand. Then, it was off for a lap with an instructor in the passenger seat in a rear-drive-converted Subaru Impreza WRX – flying through gravel, mud, within spitting distance of piles of logs. That was exhilarating. Or at least, it was, until the ride-alongs with the pros. Jimmy McRae, a storied driver and father to the late and even more storied Colin McRae, was behind the wheel. The car was an early 1990s Prodrive-built Legacy, a real works car, and it made demonic noises as McRae flew through the woods, mostly sideways.