Ode to the Minivan
Minivans are not hot. They are not hep, hip, cool, phat, sick, or whatever slang today's teenagers are employing to express personal enthusiasm for—and bestow social acceptance upon—a person, place, or thing. The closest to cool that a minivan has ever gotten is the Volkswagen Microbus, and then only within granola-munching, Birkenstock-shod, Grateful Dead-listening, surfboard-toting circles. Minivans are appliances, transitional lifestyle vehicles that serve a specific purpose and are disposed of just as quickly as is practical.

Given this enticing description, it should come as no surprise that fewer people are choosing a minivan after settling down, buying the four-bed-three-bath, two-car and starting a family. This year's sales figures illustrate the slide in the North American market.General Motors and Ford Motor Company have ceded the segment to Chrysler, Honda, Nissan ,Toyota , Hyundai and Kia.
Image is the problem. Men feel that a minivan emasculates them. Face it, that smoking hot college girl won't even glance in your direction if you're rolling in a beige Toyota Sienna, but swap that out for a black Chevy Tachoe maybe even equipped with a burbling Borla exhaust system, and it's possible she might look your way. For women, a minivan screams Mommymobile. It symbolizes the trade of a successful career for kids and suburbia. It embodies fading hopes and lost dreams. At least when piloting a Honda Pilot with dark tinted windows, observers can't tell if you're heading for a corner office or a soccer field.

Back in 1983, when Chrysler Corporation debuted the Dodge Caravan and Plymouth Voyager, the minivan became an overnight sensation. Finally, there was a vehicle to replace the ubiquitous station wagon in American driveways (which had the same emasculating effect and Mommymobile image that minivans do today). Here was a family conveyance with the utility and tall driving height of a full-size van combined with the fuel economy and driveability of a passenger car. People loved the minivan, and Chrysler was the only game in town for a long time.
A decade later, consumer preferences shifted again. The SUV, with its all-weather capability and rugged image, captured the favor of moms and dads across the country during the 1990s. Gas was cheap, automakers could make big profits on the truck-based SUVs, and it was party time for companies that eagerly fed consumers' insatiable need for "active lifestyle" sport-utes. Minivan sales leveled off as the SUV market exploded, thanks to families choosing the larger, heavier, and less efficient vehicles in increasing numbers.

But word got out that these top-heavy SUVs were more likely to roll over in an accident or during a loss of control because of their higher center of gravity and generally less responsive handling in emergency maneuvers. Then fuel prices doubled in the space of two years. Finally, photographs of polar bears stranded in melting ice floes started landing on magazine covers and consumers began looking for alternatives to their beloved trucks.
The so-called crossover—a vehicle that blends the attributes of a car and an SUV—was the answer and is now the star in the family car market. Today, former perennially popular SUVs like the Ford Explorer sit unsold while Honda CR-Vs and Toyota Highlanders fly off dealer lots. Ten years after the first crossovers debuted, it's clear this segment is just reaching its stride and is here to stay. Despite the fact that they are nothing more than tall-riding station wagons (occasionally equipped with all-wheel drive), crossovers are hot.

That's fine by me, with the exception of two design flaws inherent in most crossovers. First, those with third-row seats designed to carry children rather than adults typically do not offer sufficient crush space to ease a concerned parent's mind. True, they meet whatever Federal standards exist, but if your kid's head is just inches from the rear glass and some drunk hasn't noticed that you've stopped at a red light, don't you want as much space as possible between Junior's head and the grille of the following vehicle?
Second, crossovers have conventionally hinged rear doors. When you have young children who must ride in a child safety seat, conventionally hinged rear doors can contribute to a parent's back pain and muscle strain. Think this over for a moment. You've parked your spiffy new Hyundai Veracruz at the local mall, maybe in one of the spots irrelevantly marked "Compact." Now its time to unload the kid. You're squeezed between the door, which is mashed up against the car next to yours, and the child seat. You're unfastening the straps, lifting your 25-lb. bundle of joy out of the seat, then twisting, pulling, and shifting the weight as you back out from between the densely parked machines, banging your door into the adjacent vehicle and creating scratches on your paint and dings in the other car. After the shopping excursion, the process is repeated, in reverse.

Sliding side doors would add extra wiggle room when loading and unloading the kids while saving strain on the parent's lower back. They also eliminate the potential for damaging other people's vehicles in parking lots. Couple that with a larger cargo area that allows for a greater crush zone behind the third row seat and lets me carry more stuff on family vacations when the third-row seat is folded into the floor, and that—on top of 7-passenger seating, a commanding driving position, car-like handling reflexes, and decent fuel economy—would make my crossover vehicle the perfect family car. Then give me a lower floor and lower center of gravity for easier entry and exit; more responsive handling and greater stability in emergency maneuvers; second-row seats that I can take out to create truly huge cargo toting capacity—and then I'd have the ultimate family vehicle, dontcha think? Might even look a little like a minivan.
































