The 2011 Honda Ridgeline: Heir to the Subaru Baja's Throne
Here in British Columbia, one of the best things a Vancouverite can do is to get themselves out of Vancouver. Be it north or east, two hours time is all it really takes to remove yourself from the condensed urban sprawl, with another two hours being sufficient to remove yourself from nearly all human contact in some of the most gorgeous scenery planet Earth provides us with. This is precisely the reason why, as a young man, I’ve always owned or had access to a pickup truck.
In my younger years, it was an inherited/borrowed 1974 Ford F-250 Custom with a 360 crate motor, a four-speed manual transmission, Armstrong steering and power assisted brakes. Chauffeuring around my mom, myself, and a large Old English Sheepdog by the name of Penny, my dad would spend the majority of his summer vacation perspiring in the midsummer heat that was only intensified by the physical exertion of working that old, black-on-black truck around BC’s various campgrounds. When I turned sixteen, this flat black behemoth became the truck I learned to drive in; it’s massive bumpers and heavy gauge sheetmetal providing my parents with a modicum of relief as their firstborn enjoyed his first whiffs of freedom wafting from the vent windows. For years following, that truck pounded up every forestry road I willed it to, hauling around no small amount of camping gear, dirt bikes, mountain bikes, and trash. And although it may have proven slightly more difficult to manoeuvre through Vancouver’s congested streets, its hulking mass and imposing nature compensated for its immense size, convincing my ever-more-distracted fellow drivers to notice the big truck’s movements. Eventually though, it fell victim to the same cancer that claims so many old Ford pickups, and subsequently went to a new home and owner who was better prepared to cure its rot.
However, even in its rusting state, that truck set a very high bar for every truck to follow. The quintessential work vehicle, the pickup truck remains a Canadian favourite for many of the same reasons I fell in love with that old warhorse of a pickup. Be it for work or play, they represent the ultimate in cargo-hauling capability, and remain some of the most capable vehicles on the road today when the conditions are less than amiable. And this is precisely why the Honda Ridgeline has been an unmitigated failure. Requiring sales to top at least 50,000 units per year to remain profitable, the Ridgeline met that figure just once, in 2006, and has been a losing proposition ever since. Selling just 16,464 Ridgelines last year in the massive U.S. market marked a new low for the bizarre vehicle, and has prompted much debate over the truck’s future. Although Ridgeline enthusiasts remain hopeful and Honda executives remain tight-lipped, most sources have deemed 2012 as the year of the Ridgeline’s demise.
And if the human race survives a few other sources’ predictions about the events to come in 2012, I for one, would be highly surprised to see the Ridgeline join us survivors. Why? Well, first off, there’s the way the thing looks. Having debuted to much fanfare in 2005, it’s remained largely unchanged for a nearly geologically long amount of time. Treating the truck to a minor cosmetic refresh a couple years ago, the Ridgeline’s underpinnings and major body panels can't help but reveal its age. Although the unibody construction may have been a boon a few years ago, it’s looking pretty long in the tooth now, and the overall quality of assembly leaves a lot to be desired. Highlighting every ding and dent on my tester, the lustrous black paint demonstrated the caveat of the Ridgeline’s thinner sheetmetal construction, much to the chagrin of its resale value. Of course, further inspection of the body brought up a few other sore points with the truck’s build; most notably that downright atrocious panel alignment and subsequently irregular gaps all over the place.
And then there’s the degree to which its bizarre body shape limits its practicality. Precluding any sort of standard long-box configuration favoured by the larger (and more successful) truck lineups, the unibody construction forces Honda to attach a dinky little five foot bed to a huge cab structure. Ridgeline owners are quick to point out the versatility offered by the lockable in-bed trunk, but the reality is this: as a truck, this thing is ultimately useless. It won’t haul a sheet of plywood for the worker types, and can’t even handle a large mountain bike. Its payload capacity is dismal by truck standards, and anyone hoping to use it for topsoil or other loose materials better not need to access their in-box trunk any time soon (which is, coincidentally, where the spare tire is located). Heck, even after you’ve dumped out your topsoil, you should expect to spend more than a few minutes cleaning out the gutter surrounding that in-box trunk before it’ll seal properly. Finally, being a plastic bed may preclude the need for any form of bedliner, but does open up a whole new can of worms in the form of deep, ugly scratches. Sure, my old Ford’s bed may have looked like hell after its three-and-half decades of service, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be remedied by a spray in bedliner. The Ridgeline, on the other hand, may find its bed has simply worn away just after half that period of time.
Which brings us to the drivetrain. While Honda is ready and willing to admit the Ridgeline’s familial ties to the first generation Acura MDX, the reality is that both the Ridgeline and former MDX actually use modified variants of the same platform that underpins the very un-truck-line Honda Odyssey. And while the Ridgeline’s transverse 3.5L V6 and VTM-4 all-wheel drive system may work wonders in the desert (the Ridgeline is a class winner at the gruelling Baja 1000 stock mini class), its low ground clearance and smaller-diameter, street-oriented tires conspire against it here in the more technically challenging Canadian north. Furthermore, although the VTM-4 system may be labelled “4WD,” there is no full-time four wheel drive mode available to the driver once they’ve left second gear or 29 kilometres per hour, which does diminish my own confidence in the truck slightly. Although certainly not a problem in the middle of summertime, I prefer a positively-engaging transfer case in my truck during the winter.
Now, I wish I could finish this review off with glowing praise about the truck’s on road manners and interior cabin... but sadly, I can only say one of those statements is true. On the road, chugging along in rush-hour traffic, the Ridgeline’s not a bad ride at all. The independent suspension copes with speed bumps significantly better than the solid axle found under most trucks, and its short bed and backup camera make parking a breeze by comparison. And there seems to be acres of interior room in nearly every direction. Both fore and aft, even the longest of legs will have little trouble stretching out, and the flip-up rear seats provide a relatively large interior cargo area when stowed away. However, the interior fit and finish is far from par for the course. First off, there are ridiculous amounts of low-rent plastics all over the Ridgeline’s interior, and more to the point, each of these molded pieces displays it’s obvious casting marks as if it was proud of them. The worst offender, by far though, has to be the door panel. Molded in two halves, the casting line runs atop the door’s interior panel, providing a nice sharp plastic edge for you to rest your arm on. It’s hardly comfortable, and really demonstrates the very real lack of thought in designing the Ridgeline’s interior. Furthermore, my tester’s steering column seemed to come up from under the dash at a weird angle, evidenced by the giant gap between the column and dashboard on the right side, and the rubbing panels directly opposite on the column’s left. The seating position is quite truck-like, and makes the whole truck feel quite a bit taller than it is, and the off-kilter steering wheel never felt too odd, but using the center console proved to a be a huge annoyance. With a combination of lifting lids and sliding shelves all sharing the same storage space, it’s impossible to find anything you’ve put in it because it may have dropped from one storage bin to another inadvertently when you slide the forwards compartment open. Ironically, the only shelf from which things can fall is the topmost, 2" deep, super-easy-to-access tray, while the pit into which things fall is a cavernous expanse of space that seems to be nearly bottomless. Anyone familiar with the sonar ping Blackberry ringtone should toss their 'berry down into the pit just to see how useful that ping can be.
Overall, and quite obviously, I do not lament the Ridgeline’s inevitable passing. To be succinct, it is one of the most expensive trucks available, and simply doesn't offer value enough to make it worthwhile. Adding onto that particular issue is the fact that although the Ridgeline may have been treated to a reasonably recent redesign, it has gone predominantly unchanged in the six years since its debut. To expect something of its age to compare with trucks benefitting from half a decade's worth of technological progress is to doom a vehicle to dismal sales, but to saddle that vehicle with an exorbitantly high price tag is to doom it to its own demise.
