2012 Dodge Charger SRT8: Political incorrectness feels so right
By Warren Brown,
I understand Mitt Romney. He is not as much of a flip-flop artist as he is a deeply conflicted man.
I understand how that happens. You have noble values that, unfortunately, run afoul of other things you want to do.
Romney, a wealthy Republican, wants to be president of the United States. He also wants to remain wealthy — aspirations that seem in conflict with the many good and noble things he did for the common people of Massachusetts as governor of that state.
So here he is disavowing a successful state health-care program that served as the template for the Obama administration’s national health-care plan. Here he is whooping it up with the most conservative of conservatives, saying and doing things that his late father, George W. Romney, a liberal Republican, the 43rd governor of Michigan, a civil rights stalwart and leader of the American automobile industry, would be ashamed of.
But I’m not angry with Mitt for his apparent betrayal. We all have a little Mitt in us, including me, and, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m an eco-lefty Obama supporter.
I fully understand the global need for renewable energy, for alternative propulsion systems for cars and trucks, for today’s vehicles to consume less oil and gas. I’m a staunch advocate of such changes.
Or I was, until I spent a week behind the wheel of the 2012 Dodge Charger SRT8, with its humongous 6.4-liter, 470-horsepower V-8 engine.
It’s a rear-wheel-drive beast. It comes with a $1,000 federal gas-guzzler tax, applied because it swallows gasoline at the combined city-highway rate of barely 18 miles per gallon, less than the federal threshold of 22.5 miles per gallon. But the car runs so fast and hard, it makes me want to shout: “Hallelujah, Sarah! Drill, baby, drill!”
I could’ve declined delivery of the Charger SRT8. The car runs counter to my newfound religion of environmentally responsible motoring. But I wanted to drive it more than Mitt wants to become president. So I swallowed my hypocrisy and said yes.
I’m glad I did. Little is more pleasing than the guilty pleasure of driving a car as rambunctiously powerful, fast and wasteful as the Charger SRT8. But I had to be smart about it.
It seems that every law enforcement official in the Washington-Baltimore region knows about the performance capacity of the Charger SRT8. They often followed me on major highways and city streets. I understand. The car has neck-snapping, back-slamming acceleration. It can run from 0 to 60 mph in under five seconds with no heavy breathing. The police were just waiting for me to mess up.
So, like a wayward soul creeping into a porno show, I drove it in places where people weren’t looking — in fact, where there were no people at all. I had such fun! You squeeze the Charger SRT8’s accelerator. A deep growl-rumble emanates from the bowels of the car. Squeeze it a bit more. The volume and depth of the exhaust note increase. Shove it. Whoosh! You start “oh my God”-ing all over the place. You can’t help it. The feeling is just that good when the Charger SRT8 is driven in a place where the car — the top of the five-trim Charger line (SE, SXT, R/T, SRT8 Super Bee and SRT8) — is allowed to run the way it is designed and engineered to run.
But there aren’t many places like that, which is why the Charger SRT8 is bound to remain a niche-mobile. It is too big, powerful, fast and mean-looking for most American motorists. It costs substantially more than cheap or “affordable.” It is a miserable, frustrating, heavy and ponderous car to be with in most congested, stop-and-go urban traffic. Add those demerits to the Charger SRT8’s prodigious consumption of premium gasoline and you have a car that makes little or no sense as a daily commuter.
But still I love the 2012 Dodge Charger SRT8. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa, I love it. It’s the way of the world, I guess. You can’t have churches and saints without sinners. You can’t have politics without duplicity. And you can’t convert to environmentally responsible motoring without at least understanding why the other sort is so magnificently appealing.