2018 VW Atlas vs. 2017 Dodge Durango, 2017 GMC Acadia, 2017 Honda Pilot, 2017 Mazda CX-9

From the August 2017 issue

No, you’re not going to buy a minivan. We get that. You’re aware of the minivan’s superior packaging and value proposition vis-à-vis any three-row crossover. You’d totally drive a minivan (you’re not one of those people whose ego is so precious that you’d be embarrassed to be seen behind the wheel of an Odyssey), but you truly need one of these jacked-up wagons wrapped in cladding like so much bacon around a sirloin. Because, as we understand it, you have children to take to summer camp.

Not band camp or sports camp, and heavens no, not space camp, but the real outdoorsy kind, out in the country on a lake with canoes and archery and mosquitoes bigger than the horses. Sure you do. Kind of like the guy who drives a pickup because he has to make that annual trip to the garden center to load up a bed full of mulch. But we’ll play along, which is why we booked five all-wheel-drive family trucksters for our own trip to YMCA Camp Al-Gon-Quian in northern Michigan.

The last time we surveyed three-row people haulers was way back in 2011, when this segment was still burgeoning. Six years later, it has fully burgeoned—indeed, well beyond its original appeal to families outgrowing sedans and other traditional five-seaters. Today, even hipster parents who dress their onlies in vintage concert T-shirt replicas are entering the three-row crossover market, because Pink Floyd kid has friends.

Choosing our roster seemed difficult at first, as there are now more than a dozen competitors in the segment. Clearly, we had to invite back our 2011 winner, as the Dodge Durango is still on the market and, in fact, relatively unchanged. Sharing its underpinnings with the Jeep Grand Cherokee, the Dodge is unlike the rest of this field in that its 3.6-liter V-6 is mounted longitudinally and sends the majority of its torque to the rear wheels. The atavistic Durango can be configured with two rows of seats, but, of course, we opted for three, with second-row captain’s chairs swapped for the bench, reducing maximum seating from seven to six. In GT trim, our Durango carried an as-tested price of $49,065.

The 2017 GMC Acadia is in its first model year of a ground-up reengineering, and the long-awaited 2018 Volkswagen Atlas is brand new, so these also made the cut. A pair of corporate V-6s that match the Durango’s 3.6 liters provide motivation, although the GMC and VW can also be had with four cylinders and, like the rest of the SUVs here save for the Dodge, front-drive models are available. The new Acadia has been downsized from the jumbo first-generation model that GM has been selling since 2006. Like the Dodge, it can be had with five, six, or seven seats. Also like the Dodge, ours was a six-seater with second-row captain’s chairs. We tested a loaded Acadia Denali with a $51,785 price tag. The Atlas finally gives VW a player in this segment and is available exclusively as a seven-seater. Our top-trim SEL Premium model stickered at $49,415.

We also picked the Honda Pilot and Mazda CX-9. This familiar pair saw re­designs for the 2016 model year, making them the next-freshest things coming out of the dining-hall kitchen. Honda’s ubiquitous 3.5-liter V-6 powers the Pilot, which is the only vehicle in this class offering minivan-esque eight-passenger seating. Our Elite-trimmed tester accommodated only seven, in a two-two-three configuration, and cost $48,160. Mazda is the sole carmaker thinking outside the box when it comes to two-box three-row propulsion, using a 2.5-liter turbocharged inline-four as its only engine. Our seven-passenger CX-9 Signature carried a $45,855 MSRP.

Since this was not a kickball game, we told the rest of the three-row crossover market to get lost and we hit the road. After a 200-mile freeway cruise, we sought out twisting country roads to measure handling and later we even subjected these soft-roaders to authentic two-tracks, or rutted dirt paths with weeds growing up in the center and the occasional angry branch intruding into the lane. Truth be told, we did nothing with these vehicles that you couldn’t accomplish similarly in a Camry, provided you don’t mind stuffing the neighbors’ kids in the trunk.

The Pilot was the bed-wetter in our cabin, earning our scorn and its last-place finish when its brakes started smoking after a few runs up and down our twisty road. This was the only mechanical hiccup we encountered from any of our campers, but it was not the only complaint we had with this vehicle.

Its nine-speed transmission and herky-jerky adaptive cruise control give the Pilot a spastic freeway ride, and the slightest bit of steering input causes the soft suspension to lean. Even when we weren’t boiling its brake fluid, the Pilot’s pedal was spongy and had too much travel. Its 280 horsepower and the lightest curb weight of the group, at 4300 pounds, made the Pilot the quickest at the test track. But the raucous grate of its V-6 above 4000 rpm will make most drivers reluctant to use the full powerband.

The Durango is more likable than it is great. It's truckish and bodacious and easily the reddest of all the competitors. It's also the only vehicle in this group that really could have used a V-8.

But workaday qualities matter less in this class than they once did. The Durango showed its age against the field in numerous ways, mostly in its sheer enormity. It was the longest and heaviest vehicle we tested, and, at 5131 pounds, it recorded the worst fuel economy in the test by far. Its size held it back in every dynamic enterprise, too. Its skidpad grip of 0.76 g was the lowest despite Dodge fitting the Durango with the widest tires (sized 265/50R-20) of any of our competitors. Braking distance also suffered, with the Durango’s 190-foot stop from 70 mph ranking dead last.

Dodge also offers the Durango with a 360-hp V-8, which isn’t any more rational but probably makes more sense for this wannabe muscle truck.

The Acadia arrived at Al-Gon-Quian fresh off a stint at fat camp, where it dropped more than 650 pounds and seven inches in length. Now fitted with a detuned version of the roaring V-6 that GM stuffs under the hood of Camaros, the Acadia boasts the most power in the test at 310 horses. Combined with taut steering and a responsive chassis, the Acadia topped our slalom test. It also won braking, stopping from 70 mph in 173 feet, a foot less than the Atlas.

As a mechanical package, however, the Acadia was let down by its transmission, a six-speed automatic that is slow and clunky compared with the trannies in the other vehicles. The eight-speed gearboxes in the Dodge and particularly in the VW snap off shifts so quickly that you don’t even notice, doing a stellar job of keeping their less powerful engines on the boil. Even the six-speed in the CX-9 is smoother than the Acadia’s, which not only slams into higher gears but also seems reluctant to give them up to a downshift. Oddly enough, the Acadia is unique in allowing the driver to select a two-wheel-drive mode in which only the front wheels receive torque. Use it for a few tenths-of-a-mile-per-gallon improvement in fuel economy, says GM, but understand that torque-steer will ensue under heavy throttle application.

Finally, Volkswagen offers the big SUV that it's been avoiding building for more than a decade. It rides beautifully, handles competently, and is miraculously roomy. It's neither quick nor fun. Do you care?

We did question how VW thought it could get away with launching this important and long-in-development new model with an engine that’s 26 years old. Of course, the company has a well-demonstrated talent at hiding things, on full display again with the VR6 under the hood of the Atlas. Quiet and smooth are two words we never thought we’d use to describe one. The eight-speed transmission does a commendable job of making the Atlas feel like it has more than 276 horsepower, but good gearing and a responsive throttle didn’t keep the VW from being the slowest to 60 mph.

On the road, the Atlas immediately identifies itself as coming from the Jetta and Passat side of the family, rather than the European one. The steering is light and makes maneuvering the giant buslike VW easy. Its suspension is soft and tuned for compliance such that the Atlas absorbed the jolts and jounces of our rutted camp driveway better than any other. It’s always competent, and you’d never accuse the VW of being sloppy like the Honda or sporty like the Mazda. Yet it just does its job in that unassuming way, something that Volks­wagens of the present need to do to better capture what made Volkswagens of the past so special.

Provided you’re merely midstream in your spawning, let us offer this bit of advice: There’s still time to change the road you’re on. Because if you have too many offspring—perhaps as few as two—your family will have outgrown the Mazda CX-9. Its third row is tiny and tough to access, and even the second row is comparatively tight. Once you really, truly need your minivan surrogate, you’ve already sized yourself out of this tall wagon.

This is a shame because it drives so much better than any of the others in this test. The CX-9 is nimble and agile, matching the Acadia for the best-in-test roadholding and lowest center of gravity. Weight transfers smoothly in the CX-9, which feels better balanced and more compact than the others. Yes, its turbocharged inline-four is down on power, but 310 pound-feet of torque mitigates the effect. There is a flow to the controls of the Mazda that is not present in the GMC or any other mainstream crossover of this size. If we were picking teams for capture the flag, the Mazda would be our first choice. It would also be our first choice for cabin mate, hiking buddy, or pretty much any other metaphor for comparo winner.