by Scott Corlett

During last summer’s visit, Mom was loath to relinquish the passenger seat of my Mercedes-Benz S-Class test vehicle. So much so, we nearly passed on a gustatorial orgy at a wine-country restaurant in favor of burgers in the car. This year, in anticipation of Mom’s imminent incursion, I checked my automotive lineup and then reached for a second dose of my preferred sedative, a pint of butter-pecan ice cream. After last year’s über-ride, what would Mom think of the wheels for this visit—an updated 2008 Mercury Mariner?

As that new pint dwindled, my now dangerously elevated blood sugar wrought delusions of grandeur. No, I thought, our time in the Mariner wouldn’t just be another half-day traipse to Napa. No, sir, we would go all the way—we would embark on the filicidal ritual known as the “family car trip.” Fortunately, before any more bright ideas popped up, the spoon hit bottom. Less fortunately, when the sugar fog lifted the next day, I found an e-mail chain whose last message proclaimed my mother’s excitement at our newly laid “plans.” The scheme seemed innocent enough: Mom, my brother, his girlfriend, and I would drive from San Francisco up to the south shore of Lake Tahoe—the only twist being that we would take [ominous organ music sounds] the back way.
For those of you who are unable to recall the prior version of the Mercury Mariner (and if you don’t, who could blame you), it was a plastic-clad SUV with half the pizzazz of an 80’s-era Sable station wagon. But, when I parked in front of my brother’s place and the luggage-laden trio descended, I watched Mom nod slightly as she saw the new, clean-cut Mariner. For 2008, the folks at Mercury realized that less is sometimes more: gone is the silly plastic skirt and body molding and in is a flatter, Audi-esque grill; sleeker lamps; and yards of smooth metal, punctuated by stronger, more heavily flared fenders.

I loaded their bags into the rear cargo space. Even with this payload, which was better suited for an Abercrombie safari than a lake weekend, plenty of room was leftover. The young couple climbed onto the back bench, where, despite the Mariner being a midsize SUV, six-footers will do just fine. I hopped back onto the driver’s seat and then cringed. Mom was looking around the cabin, and her brow was lined like a freshly tilled field. Did the gas station back on the corner carry Häagen-Dazs, or if not, I wildly thought, was I prepared to settle for a non-premium brand, the crack cocaine of ice cream?
As she said, “I guess these seats don’t massage you,” I would have killed for a mere tasting spoon of frozen nonfat yogurt. “But it’s nice,” she added as her sunglasses slid into place and I pulled myself up from the creamery gutter. “Very simple, I like that.” I couldn’t have put it better myself. The interior designers of the new Mariner have taken a page from the stylebook of their corporate cousin, Volvo. The Mariner’s center console is a swooping, silvery affair, with room for a laptop at the bottom of the stack. And the Mariner’s available premium package helps with the upscale aura—with it, you get leather seating; a six-disc, in-dash CD changer; and dual-zone automatic climate control.

As we tacked across California’s central valley, on a combination of freeways and two-laners, the Mariner’s holdover 3.0-liter, 200-hp Duratec V-6 kept the ride just the way Mom likes it—slow and easy. With this engine, coupled to the standard, four-speed automatic transmission, the acceleration may be leisurely but the mileage is decent at 18/24 mpg in FWD (an AWD system, another carryover, is an option). Given that, forget the base, 153-hp I-4 plant—even Mom would chafe under its reins and, moreover, you would see an improvement in fuel economy of only two miles per gallon. If you want some real savings at the pump, the Mariner is also available with a hybrid drivetrain; for the lowdown, check out Gaywheels.com’s review of the closely related Ford Escape Hybrid.
After several hours in the 2008 Mercury Mariner, we had traveled high up into the Sierras, the lovebirds were asleep in the back, and Mom was pointing out the redwood trees, one by one. Then, without warning, at an elevation of 7000 feet, the highway narrowed to … a one-lane cart path? Per force, we slowed to 30 mph. I looked at the optional Navi, which gave no indication that we had left a major roadway but only showed endless miles ahead before we rejoined civilization, not to mention neared an ice cream shop. Mom interrupted her arboreal survey to look over my way. As I heard, “Maybe we should sing to pass the time,” I just stared at the passing, crusted remains of last winter’s snow.

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