Don’s Take

The Cube a product of its time

Carl Jung’s ghost smiled the other night. I had Nissan’s new Cube that week. It’s the latest of those funky little, small-but-tall urban-warfare rigs.

It’s the one that looks like the bottom third of a phone booth.

It takes a minute to put your finger on it, but there’s something odd about the Cube’s shape. In fact, it’s asymmetrical. The left side doesn’t match the right.

A swath of darkly tinted glass wraps around the rear corner on the passenger side. It seems to cut a channel through the sheet metal and flows without interruption until it meets the front door.

Deep bezels sink the windows into the sheet metal. The Cube looks 3-D, just sitting there.

The cabin is only slightly less flamboyant. Sculpted concentric rings surround the dome light. An optional lighting package illuminates the cupholders and kickplate–and one’s toes in 20 youthful hues.

The Cube is a product of its time. Five years ago, they would have laughed it off the lot.

Twenty years ago? That’s where the crazy old shrink comes in.

Jung argued that energy created under certain conditions could cause events to occur simultaneously, even without an obvious cause-and-effect relationship.

He called it synchronicity. And so it was synchronicity that brought my Cube together one evening with a friend’s shop loaner, a 1990 Chrysler LeBaron.

It was a cross-cultural meet-up. One car symbolized the decline of the domestic industry, the other the ascendancy of the Asians.

Lured by the promise of a red-velour interior–or is that crushed velvet?–four of us headed downtown for dinner in the LeBaron, the journalist at the wheel. Inside three blocks, I knew I wouldn’t be driving the LeBaron into traffic.

It was like driving a houseboat; I’d turn the wheel and wait. Eventually, the rest of the car would follow.

It bobbed and weaved.

The technical term is “to wallow.”

We went back for the Cube because it goes where it’s pointed.

My rear-seat passengers weren’t happy about having to leave their crushed velvet sanctuary. But they couldn’t really complain. The Cube’s phone-booth dimensions gave them acres of headroom. Legroom is good, too, but the cushions are a little low.

The rear seats slide fore-and-aft and the seat backs recline. And you can’t say that about the Chrysler.

The Cube’s cargo area is small but well designed. A well behind the seats keeps the rollables on a short leash.

Everyone approved of the ride. Despite its short wheelbase and rudimentary suspension, it’s actually quite good at soaking up the jolt of potholes and railroad tracks.

The downside of the smooth ride is so-so handling. The Cube is nimble and quick in traffic, but its height and modest suspension limit its athleticism. It’s fun to drive but not in a go-fast kind of way.

Nissan pitches the Cube not as a performance vehicle but as a lifestyle accoutrement. It’s a “mobile device” and a “social space.”

For the young urbanite, who’s still at home with mom and dad, and who has outgrown the bicycle, public transit and the Vespa, the Cube is a ticket to freedom. Parents like it because it’s safe.

The only engine offered is a 1.8-liter, 122-horsepower four-cylinder that has a surprising punch. Quick and responsive in city traffic, it breezes along at freeway speeds. On an open two-lane road, loaded with passengers and gear, it would work hard to pass.

The standard transmission is a six-speed manual. A fuel-efficient continuously variable transmission (CVT) is optional. Nissan makes good CVTs and this may be the first that didn’t make me want to drive into a tree.

The EPA rates CVT models at 28/30 mpg city/highway, the stick at 24/29.

Even the base Cube ($14,710) Cube gets air-conditioning, a 60/40-split folding-and-sliding rear seat, full power accessories and a four-speaker stereo with CD player.

Safety gear includes stability control and side curtain air bags.

Options can be ordered individually and in packages, allowing buyers latitude when outfitting their Cubes. Key options include keyless entry and ignition, Bluetooth connectivity and iPod integration. The up-level Rockford Fosgate audio system is worthy and a a Ginormous Package (really) includes an exterior aero kit and assorted lights and other toys.

A $230 Interior Designer package adds carpeted mats, mini-bungee cords on the inside door panels and a bizarre detachable dash-topper. It’s a circular patch of shag carpet that seems to have no purpose other than to make people ask “Why?”

Historically, these little vehicles have found a secondary home among downsizing elders. But I’m not sure my g-g-g-generation is ready for its brash anti-orthodoxy.

Now that I think about it, synchronicity probably wasn’t ever involved in getting the Chrysler and the Cube together. It was a coincidence. But I’ll never see crushed velvet again without remembering the Cube and ripples in a pond will always remind me of that silly ceiling.