1998 Lincoln Continental
Just what it needed&emdash;more chrome.
Lincoln's median customer is a sixty-two year old high-school
educated white male, a customer that marketers have a love-hate
relationship with. The biggest downside is that he's well on his way
to dying, something that will prevent him from buying too many more
Lincolns before his time is up. But his relatively low level of
education and implied gullibility mean that he's easily wowed by a
new piece of trim here or there. And he usually buys his cars fully
loaded, at full sticker.
Unfortunately, allying yourself with a market that it aging as
quickly as this isn't a very smart move&emdash;were Lincoln's
customers to stay this way, they would all be gone in a good fifteen
years, and so would the marque itself. So about four years ago, it
set about reengineering and dechroming its cars, giving them modern
powertrains and at least marginally current, if not completely
up-to-date, styling.
The Continental, the marque's midrange car that was for years
based on a lengthened Ford Taurus platform, was rebodied and
replatformed; a V-8 engine was dropped under its hood, it was so
thoroughly dechromed that the only brightwork left on its flanks was
a thin line running down the side and a discreet piece around the
windows; its interior was designed with an almost Germanic efficiency
and eye to detail. Real wood abounded, as did firm and supportive
leather seats, and the car's niftiest feature, a burl-handled
umbrella that slipped into its own pocket in the rear compartment.
Sales were less than spectacular. As well-done as it was, and as
good a highway cruiser as it was, the Continental was still a sea of
compromises. Its suspension claimed to be tuned for handling, and yet
its body extended far beyond the wheels, making the car difficult to
place in a corner. As tastefully done as its new body was, it looked
out-of proportion, with a too-pointy nose and ungainly rear tail
lamps grafted onto a high rear deck that looked to have been added
just so that the thing could hold a couple of golf bags. Taken as a
highway cruiser, it didn't quite suffice either, because its gas tank
was too small to feed its big V-8.
For 1998, the Continental's been refocused, rechromed and
proportioned, decontented and recontented. It's lighter but stiffer,
a kind of claim that I'm starting to doubt. How much stiffer can cars
get? Lincoln claims that this Continental is 45% stiffer than the
last, not that the old one felt particularly floppy.
After doing what must have been some very extensive&emdash;and
expensive&emdash;market research, Lincoln found that a large
percentage of the car's buyers (now a couple of years younger than
the brand's median age) used their Continentals for driving down to
Florida from the cottage up in the mountains, or for long
cross-country drives to vacation spots. It adjusted the car
accordingly.
The changes are many, yet subtle. The gas tank is appreciably
bigger, allowing a crusing range of nearly 600 miles, an improvement
of nerly 200 over last year's model. The trunk has been reshaped and
lowered, and yet manages to be a couple of gallons bigger; it can
hold as many golf bags as the car has seats (five). While the car's
platform itself has not changed&emdash;it still rides on the same
wheelbase&emdash;Ford has done some stretching and tucking in the
interior, resulting in even more front and rear legroom, and
cavernous headroom, at least for somone my height.
The exterior has received a minor restyling that has both
modernized and traditionalized its look. The grille is new, wider but
not so tall, and the side glass has been enlarged. The rear
taillights are big, glittery things now, with dozes of round and
square reflectors inside them; they wrap over the top of the trunklid
like those on a Mercedes C-Class.
New chrome is everywhere. A big wide swath of it runs all the way
down the side of the car, like the way it used to (and ought to) be.
The bumpers are now capped by gleaming curved pieces and the rear
license-plate surround glitters, too. As much of the stuff as has
been added, the effect is neither tasteless nor garish: chrome, after
all, is what Lincolns are about and have always been about, and all
of the pieces are nicely shaped and just big enough.
The big shock comes from when you enter the interior, where a
river of the stuff has been poured right down the center console,
running from just under the center dash vents all the way back to the
armrest-cum-storage compartment. While the cockpit still retains a
good amount of the last model's genuine burled walnut, the shiny
stuff in the middle is garish enough to make you forget all about it.
Thankfully, the seats remain as comfy as a living-room la-z-boy, and
all of the controls still move with a silky-smooth touch. The
standard-issue stereo is phenomenal. My only gripe with the interior
is the floppy accelrator pedal; it feels thinner and flimsier than a
sheet of paper, and bends over when you step on it&emdash;in loafers,
you can actually feel the rod that it's attached to through your
feet.
Though no Lincoln, save for perhaps the Mark VIII LSC, ever made
any pretense towards being a sports car, the Continental hustles down
the road with a ferocity that belies its boatlike size. Ford's
modular 4.6-liter V-8 in this instance produces 250 horsepower, which
is enough to haul the car from a standstill to 100 in just over eight
seconds. The car covers freeway miles effortlessly, clearly in its
element. Cruising range is immense, but it's something you pay for
every time you go to the gas pumps: a full tank, depending on the
price at the time, can run almost sixty bucks.
Hit a twisty road, and the story, not surprisingly, isn't as good.
Even on its "firm" setting, the adjustable air suspension wallows and
wiggles through every turn, and the steering, so light and effortless
on the freeways, prevents you from placing the car's wheels with any
kind of accuracy in a turn. Just dive in, see where the thing goes,
and adjust if neccesary. Much to their credit, the 16-inch Michelin
MXV4s hold on well, without any protest, and when they do break away
there's plenty of audible warning. (The Continental can be ordered
with a "security" package that ºòÝ ê ª
êapability to º ð tires as well as a low-pressure warning
system manufactured by Vancouver's UniCom Signal.)
One of the car's oddest features allows you to alter suspension
and steering effort settings at the touch of a button on the car's
(relatively) big-screen computer. The idea being, I suppose, to
switch the suspension to soft when you're driving around potholed
city streets, and then to firm when you hit the freeway. But the
scariest thing is that you can vary the steering effort
independently, allowing you to dial up soft suspension and fast
steering, or conversely, hard suspension with really light effort.
The results, as can be expected, are comical on a closed
track&emdash;especially in the wet&emdash;but are probably dangerous
out on the open road. My advice? Leave it in the middle all the time.
Even set to "firm," the car still wallows in and out of bumps more
than any Lexus, though the car's motions are much better controlled
than any Lincoln of yore, and it doesn't impart much more handling
prowess than the normal setting. The steering effort at "high" is too
high and its speed is at odds ith the car's floaty handling and large
size. At low, it's like you're back in the sixties&emdash;drive by
guesswork.
One benefit of the advanced computer, though, is that not only are
the obligatory memories present for seats, but they are also there
for mirror positions, radio presets, and seat heat level among other
things. Tailored, Lincoln says, for husbands and wives who frequently
switch on the long drive down to Florida or Arizona, it's a
comprehensive, imaginative solution that I'm surprised I haven't seen
on any other luxury car.
For all of the high-tech gadgetry and the four-valve engine and
the central computer, the Continental is still in the end about as
traditional&emdash;and as American&emdash;as apple pie. It's big,
comfortable, soft-riding, with enough metal in it to make probably
two Honda Civics. The chrome pieces could cover four. It's no
back-road barnstormer, but it wasn't designed to be, either: when
taken in the context of Lincoln's design goals, it's quite a success,
and has just enough electronic gadgetry in it to make it interesting.
Just don't play with all of the settings at the same time.