Yahoo Autos Ezra Dyer: The VW T-Roc Cab is the Twee Wagen We Can't Have
From the September/October issue of Car and Driver.
Performance convertibles present a fundamental contradiction. All convertibles are inherently optimistic and cheerful. Thus, an open roof undermines whatever brooding moodiness is otherwise baked into the formula. I once drove 205 mph in a Bugatti Veyron Grand Sport Vitesse with the top off, and I can say that right around 180 mph, you start wishing for a roof if only to better hear the German man in the passenger's seat screaming for you to slow down.
High speeds in a convertible are more fun in theory than in practice. Next time you're on a highway doing 70 mph, count the number of convertibles you see with the top down, and you'll learn how many people in your area are trying too hard.
Now that we've established that performance cars should be hardtops, it follows that convertibles are best based on mellow machines. And there was once a vibrant ecosystem of such cars. The Car and Driver archives are full of comparison tests that now read like a lost civilization's scrolls—Saab 9-3, Volvo C70, and Volkswagen Eos; Toyota Camry Solara, Mitsubishi Eclipse, and Chrysler Sebring. Oh, the aughts were heady days at a Florida rental-car lot, my friends. And if you bought a Buick Cascada when you had the chance, I congratulate and envy you. Now you're just out there cranking Gordon Lightfoot's "Sundown" as the actual sun goes down, hitting 37 mph on your way to Dairy Queen, your chill impeccable. I once owned a BMW M3 convertible, and I can now admit I was doing it wrong.
To do it right circa 2024, I had to go to France. That's where I picked up a Volkswagen T-Roc Cabriolet, the spiritual heir to cars like the Eos and the Beetle convertible. The T-Roc is nominally a small SUV, with a high beltline and a vaguely high-riding stance. But it's really a car, with a 148-hp turbocharged 1.5-liter four driving the front wheels through either a six-speed manual or seven-speed dual-clutch automatic transmission. It's not fast. Nor does that matter.
This T-Roc Cabrio was bright teal blue, a flash of defiant vibrancy against the overcast sky outside Marseille. It wasn't really top-down weather, but I powered the soft top down nonetheless, because when you're in France with a teal-blue convertible VW, it's your duty to cheer up the world at large. If I could have brought the T-Roc into the airport, I would have used it to brighten the day of the two customs officers as they faced a thousand-person line. As for the people in the line, their grimacing ennui was beyond the salve of even the cheeriest Teutonic trucklet, as I well knew from recently having been among them.
But out on the road, seat heater toasting and sun attempting to shine, all was well. And nearly 150 horsepower seemed plenty. In fact, the last convertible VW that I drove in the U.S., a turbo-diesel Beetle, had 150 horsepower, and a diesel Saab 9-3 convertible I drove in Italy in 2006 had just under 150 horses. To me, this says that 150 or so horsepower is just about right for this sort of car, although the demise of those two examples suggests otherwise. In any case, the T-Roc is tuned for lazy days on the coast, its transmission quietly slurring shifts, its limber suspension soaking up the frequent speed bumps that appear to be randomly placed around the French countryside. It took a while, but the French finally got around to slowing down the Germans.
As for why modestly powered, reasonably priced open-top cars are on life support in the U.S.? I have a theory, and it turns out I'm part of the problem. The truth is, affordable convertibles with back seats are still popular. But now they're trucks.
The Wrangler, Jeep's Neanderthal in athleisure wear, is the king of convertibles, with more than 150,000 sales last year. Throw in the Gladiator and the Ford Bronco, and that's more than 300,000 convertibles. For perspective, Volkswagen sold 9511 Beetle convertibles in 2019, the car's final year. Buick sold fewer than 20,000 Cascadas, ever. That's not because they were bad cars but because they were cars, period. So I don't blame the T-Roc Cab for its SUV LARPing—the modern convertible shopper wants a truck. As the script tattooed across my shoulders says, the Dodge Dakota Convertible walked so the Jeep Gladiator could run.
So the T-Roc Cab and its essential car-ishness made me wistful for a category that no longer exists—until I remembered that it still does. Hang in there, Mini convertible!
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