At the Scion brand’s launch in 2003, Toyota officials used the term “funky” about 5000 times. Two Jameses—Rick and Brown—may have been credible arbiters of funk. But when you’re talking about cars, what the heck does funk mean? A Lotus Elan with an Isuzu engine? The original Saab 900 Turbo? Chrysler’s TC by Maserati? Hard to tell. All we know is that Scion’s coupes and hatchbacks have demonstrated the barest fillip of funk—about as edgy and hip as a Toyota Yaris. Scion’s fortunes, perhaps as a result, have since sagged, with their intended 18-to-24 demographic rising fast and their Internet sales dwindling. Toyota’s fear is that Scion may soon be viewed as a mainstream brand specializing in entry-level eco-wheezers.
Throughout, however, the boxy xB has at least evinced a filament of funk, developing a small but loyal following, especially in the Schwarzenegger state. Now in its second generation, the xB is altogether a better car, with 55 more horses, electric steering, 10 more cubic feet of people volume, and a bonus half-cubic-foot of cargo space.
After 16 months and 40,000 miles of sympathy-free roughhousing at C/D, our xB’s before-and-after performance changed little. Skidpad grip (our car came with the $250 TRD rear anti-roll bar) remained the same at 0.81 g. Up to 80 mph, acceleration fell a 10th but afterward made a comeback, scoring an identical 28.7 seconds to 110 mph. Top speed held steady at an electronically limited 124 mph.
Nowadays, 158 horsepower doesn’t sound like much, but the xB weighs only 3039 pounds, enabling it to match, say, a Mitsubishi Lancer GTS to 60 mph. What’s more, it delivered an average of 26 mpg, with the majority of those miles logged during city errands.
What definitely improved with age was braking, dropping from 179 feet when new to an excellent 167 feet at our test’s conclusion, thanks to tires that were nearing their wear bars and therefore grippier. We installed snow tires on the xB for six months of slate-gray Michigan misery, then reinstalled the original Goodyear Eagle RS-As. They showed 90-percent wear as we waved goodbye to our Blackberry Crush xB, meaning that a commute through a November blizzard turned our knuckles not white but translucent. What saved us was the xB’s aggressive stability and traction control.
Scion recommends service intervals at 5000 miles, which seems too frequent, but at least the first two are free. The other six set us back only $461, with the most expensive of those ($189) at 30,000 miles, which included engine and cabin air filters. We suffered no unscheduled stops, and our only out-of-pocket expense was a $4 fuse when the 12-volt outlet inexplicably shorted out. The xB’s lone peculiar malfunction: a fuel gauge that briefly refused to read past one-quarter full, fixed for free at a scheduled stop.
There were complaints about the xB’s clutch—too much travel and a little unpredictable in takeup. Right after the car begins to roll from rest, the engine lugs momentarily, as if it’s going to stall. In response, the driver begins slipping the clutch with more revs than are actually necessary. Several drivers also found the pedals too far apart for easy heel-and-toeing, a shame given the quick-revving engine and the relatively smooth shift linkage.
Because the xB is such a rolling recÂtangle, it wasn’t surprising that, on interstates, it fluttered like a day lily in strong crosswinds, requiring a few too many steering corrections. In the big blows, the required protocol was two hands on the wheel.
A couple of drivers complained that the cloth seats were too mushy. “My butt is rolling around in here,” said one. And the front seatbacks should have been equipped with map pockets.
But the most vociferous beef—voiced by virtually every driver—was the awkward relationship among driver, steering wheel, and pedals. The seat in this tall car is most comfy in a bolt-upright position—the Ralph Kramden bus-driving posture. Yet the steering wheel is extremely close to the dash and doesn’t telescope one iota. What should be the “correct” seating attitude—with your arms and elbows at comfortable angles—unfortunately leaves your head, torso, and gut feeling as if they’re jammed into the dash and too close to the windshield. The natural reaction is to recline the seatback, placing your head at a more comfortable distance and height, but your arms are then in the Italian straight-ahead arrangement. On trips, our drivers were constantly fiddling with the seat adjustments yet failing to find perfection. A relentless compromise.
The instrument binnacle, mounted atop the dash but canted to the right, also added to the funk. The idea is good—no matter your body size or preferred seating position, you’ve always got a clear shot at the IP. The irony is that there’s a ton of dead space directly above the steering wheel, where the gauges would not have been obscured in the first place because the wheel adjusts through so few degrees of rake.
Headroom is vast. Visibility in all directions is simply unsurpassed. The rear seats are spacious. And the three huge rotary HVAC controls are the essence of simplicity and can be operated while you’re wearing gloves. On the other hand, nobody cared for the radio’s “Multi Selector,” a tuning knob that not only rotates but also tilts in four directions. Fiddly and tricky to operate when the car is moving, it always felt as if it were broken and about to fall onto the floor.
After 40,000 miles, not much wear and tear was visible. There were a few more door dings than normal, as if the body skins were thin. The heavy chrome logo fell off the driver’s floor mat, which itself wore poorly. The interior surfaces showed no more than the usual scuffs and bruises, although the top of the flat dash seemed preternatural in its ability to collect dust and dog fur, requiring a monthly Armor All. There was a five-inch crack in the cargo area’s plastic lift-over scuff plate. That cargo area, by the way, is vast—58 inches deep, with width that varies between 38 and 52 inches.
Otherwise, vibrations and rattles were acceptably few, with the noisiest of our own making—a loose license plate. Also our fault: $1400 worth of bendage to the right-rear corner when one of us backed into a pole that, we hope, supported nothing of great value—like someone’s roof.
As is true with most inexpensive cars, the doors closed with a tinny ring, and there wasn’t a surface in the dark cabin that anyone would call “rich.” In fact, the carpet on the rear seatbacks was lumpy and of a quality you wouldn’t recommend for a bathroom throw rug.
Dynamically, however, the xB didn’t disappoint. In the hills, you can wail up and down through the gears and hold the nose in moderate understeer for hours on end, and around town the xB is a box that almost endlessly swallows boxes. In the manner a really useful kitchen appliance is gratifying, so, too, is the xB, even if it isn’t gonna cook up any crisply quick flings ’round the Ring. You can rectify a little of its unambitious handling with stiffer TRD shocks and lowering springs. In the end, our xB proved cool, practical, and reliable, and an ’09 xB fitted identically to our ’08 will set you back $18,578. Maybe Toyota was using funk as an abbreviation for funktional. In any event, our experience with this Lilliputian UPS truck was extremely pleasant.
RUSS FERGUSON
Not a trip car. Three hours max. Big enough to haul tons of stuff, but don’t ask me to come along. Why is there a center armrest for the driver only?
MARY SEELHÃRST
Cool built-in iPod adaptor, with connectors in the glove box and on the center console. I love it! But what’s with the touchy
“Multi Selector” stereo?
ALISA PRIDDLE
Totally appreciated the space when loading four people,
Christmas presents for three families (including a 26-inch TV),
and luggage for a week. Filled the car to the ceiling.
SUE MATHEWS
My elderly parents found the xB roomy and easy to enter and exit.
K.C. COLWELL
Traction control is too aggressive. Cuts in and kills the engine.
TONY SWAN
There is simply no better buy in a small-scale utility vehicle.
Memo to Scion: Lose the center instrument binnacle.
PETE FERGUSON
Not as refined as a Honda Element, but it sure costs a lot less.
PATTI MAKI
A lot of weaving in strong crosswinds. Made my dog barf in his crate.
A friend’s bike had a flat tire, and the xB was an ideal rescue vehicle—
folded the rear seatbacks, and the bike fit right in.
John Phillips
Contributing Editor
John Phillips first began writing about cars in 1974, at Car Weekly in Toronto. He later worked for Ford Racing, then served for seven years as the Executive Editor of Car and Driver. In the interim, he has written for Harper's, Sports Illustrated, The Toronto Globe and Mail, The Cleveland Plain Dealer, and Conde Nast Traveler. He enjoyed a one-on-one interview with Joe Biden and is the author of the true-crime saga God Wants You to Roll and the memoir Four Miles West of Nowhere. In 2007 he won the Ken Purdy Award for journalism. He lives with his wife, Julie, in the Bitterroot Valley.
