Who to be? Let's go find ourselves in the Dodge Journey crossover

While I was at the wheel, Dodge's business in Europe was going poorly: the crisis undermined already modest sales, and the model lineup resembled a building materials warehouse. Angular cars looked crude and behaved accordingly. Of the entire family, Europeans only noticed the Caliber. But one model can't carry a brand. Nevertheless, the Americans are persistently seeking an approach to the grumpy European buyer. Their new bet is the Journey, which recently reached Russia. A station wagon? Sort of: an elongated body, a spacious trunk, roof rails. Or maybe a minivan? That also fits: the interior easily transforms in any direction, you can order a third row of seats, and there are plenty of compartments for small items. "No, no, no!" Dodge marketers cut off my doubts. "This is a crossover! Look: rugged looks, wide wheel arches, decent ground clearance." Sounds great! And is all-wheel drive also available? Not so fast—it stayed overseas. Along with the most powerful V6 3.5 engine. The diesel with a manual also didn't reach us—Americans don't trust our diesel quality. Okay, that's understandable. But since when did all-wheel drive and powerful engines become superfluous here? Strange logic. At the same time, the Americans expect us to buy two thousand of these crossovers a year. In two trims—SE and R/T. Both with gasoline engines: an inline four-cylinder 2.4 with 170 hp (220 N•m) paired with an ancient four-speed automatic, or a V6 2.7. The latter is 15 horsepower more powerful, has 36 newton-meters more torque, and the gearbox is twice as "toothy"—as many as six gears. Something tells me that with such an arsenal, winning over a discerning buyer won't work. Both engines would be better suited to a sporty hatchback, but not a 1800-kilogram wagon. It doesn't matter what's under the hood: an empty Journey with a couple of passengers doesn't drive; it crawls heavily. Especially uphill. Overtaking in it is scary even where it's allowed. Both gearboxes seem to have been disabled on the assembly line and struggle to decide when to shift. The tachometer needle hits the limiter just after the overtaking lane ends. Manual mode livens things up a bit, but the result is the same. The word "acceleration" simply doesn't exist in the Journey's vocabulary. The faster you go, the more intrusive the engine whine and the blurrier the steering responses. And once you reach 120 km/h, the steering becomes completely numb. But even at 60 km/h, the handling resembles the "Autodrome" ride at Gorky Park. Who would like that? Maybe only oil workers! The car eagerly consumes their product—13-14 liters of 95-octane per hundred kilometers on the highway. However, you shouldn't push the Journey hard. Otherwise, all the contents of the numerous hidden pockets will fly out, and kids seated in different rows won't appreciate dad's enthusiasm—the body roll is too tiring. But if you stay within traffic rules, the car glides. In a good sense. The suspension comfortably swallows potholes and cracks, noise insulation is tolerable, and the loud engine barely bothers you at low speeds. Inside, everything is decent: the seats are comfortable, though there's no lateral support at all, but they're easy to adjust to any body. The instrument panel evokes nostalgia for early versions of the Netscape Navigator browser. Same color scheme, everything is laconic, clear, and tasteful. But you truly appreciate this car only after moving from the driver's seat. Passengers have a real paradise here. They don't have to turn an empty steering wheel, struggle with a dull gearbox, and the engine will drown out the driver's grumbling. How many people are in the cabin—one, three, or five—doesn't matter. Everyone gets a great ride. Compared to most compact vans, the space in the Journey feels like an Il-86 after a Tu-134. And if the driver doesn't jerk around, you don't want to get out of the Dodge. A journey of a lifetime. As long as the numbers on the price tag: for the R/T version with the V6, dealers want at least 1,180,400 rubles! No matter how much I love my family and want to support a brand I like during the crisis—that's too much. And the modest Journey SE isn't worth its 892 thousand either. The four-cylinder engine is a quiet (in quotes) horror, and the interior looks like it's ten years old. Let's be completely honest: this flashy front-wheel-drive compact van of solid size was made for passengers, almost forgetting about the driver. The Journey is a trip the whole family dreams of, except the one who pays for the tickets. I can't even imagine who you'd have to be to buy a Journey. Oh, right, they explained to us: anyone.