Goose hunting / Mazda test drives

Our "geese-swans" reached Russia by a long road. One crossed the Atlantic — this is the Pilot, a purebred American, designed for the States and assembled at a plant in Alabama. The second flew in from the east: the CX-9, which by the time Russian sales started had already been sold in the US for a year, is produced near Hiroshima.

So what didn't they like about America? As you know, a goose looks for where it's more satisfying. When the fate of these models on the Russian market was being decided, it was growing rapidly, and we've always had plenty of lovers of "taking more." And if it's also cheaper — then a queue should form altogether. But the global crisis crossed out the plans of both Mazda and Honda. You'll agree, it's hard to call five-meter monsters anti-crisis. Although Russia is a unique country: even during a war, some people live in clover. So I wouldn't be surprised if demand for these giants doesn't drop much. But what drives a person who chooses a half-wagon-half-minivan-half-SUV, we'll try to understand today.

I'm sure: the same person can't like both — the Pilot and the CX-9. They're too different. The difference between them is like between a German "Tiger" and a Soviet T-34. Like between the sands of the Sahara and the ice of Antarctica. Like between winding European roads and straight American highways. Although at the beginning of the article I called the Mazda "goose" fat, its forms are still much more elegant than Honda's blockiness. The main feature of the CX-9 is the smoothness of lines, both outside and inside. When getting acquainted with the Pilot, it's like hitting it with your forehead. Or rather, into the almost vertical wall of the huge radiator grille. Then another blow — against the front pillars, which, unlike the "nine," aren't raked as much. An absolutely flat roof, behind it — a sheer drop of the tailgate. Bam — the gaze falls like a stone from the cliff, managing to notice the gloomy "vertical" lights along the way.

Inside — the same picture. In the CX-9's cabin, I get less tired, and there are three reasons for that. First, the seating position here is closer to a passenger car's. Second, the design isn't as chopped and sharp as in the Pilot. And third, you don't have to search for your things: a standard center console and door pockets — that's all the Mazda can boast. Although, in essence, that's a minus. In the Honda, there are as many compartments, boxes, and niches as your heart desires, and on all three rows. So for absent-minded people like me, I'd advise refraining from buying the Pilot. But if your memory is fine — you can live in the Honda, having put everything from a toothpick to an iron in its place.

Getting behind the wheel, I understand: the seating is comfortable in both. The seats are soft, don't dig into the sides, don't press. After all, these "barns" aren't for racing! But the steering wheels are good in both. The wheel is pleasant to hold. But turning it on the Pilot requires quite a bit — four turns from lock to lock. The steering is like in American versions. Oh, America! Hence — a lack of information and a noticeable emptiness on the straight. On the CX-9, the tool is more precise, though it doesn't shine with particular transparency.

When leaving the parking lot, difficulties immediately arise. I looked back — and there's the New Athos Cave, no end in sight. The light at the end of the tunnel barely breaks through: both cars are tinted behind the middle pillars. Let's try using the instruments. And here a terrible blow awaits me: the CX-9 has no parking sensors! And this is on a car over five meters long! But for dealers — extra work. On the Honda, this device, whose usefulness I perhaps realized for the first time in my life, fortunately, was there.

Today I'm Nils, flying on geese. First — on this strange, angular one. The Honda's acceleration was remembered for its peculiar yawing, more characteristic of front-wheel-drive cars. There's no "beast" in the six-cylinder engine: it hauls calmly, without dips or surges. The five-speed gearbox shifts smoothly, without jerks. Gears can be limited to one or two with the gearshift lever on a convenient protrusion, or by pressing a button on its left side, you can leave only three — Overdrive. On overtaking — a useful function.

But you should be wary of potholes. The Pilot knocks with its short-stroke "legs" and, despite the high tire profile, shakes passengers considerably. A goose is a waterfowl. Maybe that's why the Pilot likes to rock on the waves? Having gone out for off-road tests, we found that this "goose" doesn't like off-road. On dirt roads — strong vibrations, the VTM-4 all-wheel-drive system is purely a pavement option. Only for snowdrifts in courtyards. Now let's fly on the CX-9. The sensations are similar. The engine isn't fire. But the Mazda is still more responsive to the driver's actions. The steering wheel is shorter and more informative, the "gearbox" is a bit quicker (by the way, with an honest manual mode), and body roll is less. These are nuances, of course, but the Mazda is easier and more pleasant to drive. And how it flies on the straight! You forget about the dimensions and huge mass. But not for long. Joints, sharp edges of potholes, seams — the CX-9 collects everything from the road. The price for the "sporty bias" and 19-inch wheels.

Off-road — the same story. The wheels hang on harmless bumps, there's no forced pseudo-lock like the Honda's, and the stability control doesn't turn off and helps as best it can, braking the needed wheel. Again — you can drive out of the yard, you can also go down to a little lake on the sand. Well, what did you expect? Neither manufacturer ever passed these cars off as SUVs. In America, there's even a front-wheel-drive Pilot. There again: no matter how much I walk around these cars, no matter what arguments I come up with in their defense, the main thing always remains one — size. I apparently live on a different planet from gigantomaniacs. Therefore, I understand them poorly and can't comprehend why they engage in this goose hunt. Why does a city dweller need a five-meter jalopy, even if it has three full rows of seats? Ask how often they use them. But our country, remember, is special. And the people in it are the same — they love bigger, even if it kills them. And when it's also for just a "million and a half" — why not take it?