First Drive: 2003 Volvo XC70

When our jet took off from Seattle, bound for a Volvo event in Alaska, the pilot informed us the temperature in Anchorage would be nine degrees. He paused and added, "That's plus nine degrees Fahrenheit."

There's been a lot of talk lately about the unseasonably warm temperatures in Alaska this winter. Balmy weather moved the Iditarod sled dog race north to a starting point in Fairbanks in search of snow. A week ago it seemed Volvo's attempt to give a rugged test to the 2003 XC70 would be more like a drive across one of the boring lower 48 states. In fact, driving across Pennsylvania this winter would be more of a challenge for the rugged crossover vehicle's cold weather performance.

But then the weather in Alaska changed and the mercury began to drop. By the time we landed in Anchorage, "plus nine" degrees was accompanied by 30 mile per hour winds whipping clouds of dust down the runway and sending the wind chill factor plunging below zero. And that was in Anchorage, a city that Alaskans feel is temperate because of the nearby Pacific Ocean.

When I reached the starting point of the test route, the nearby Alyeska Prince Hotel, weather predictions were calling for subzero temperatures in Fairbanks and Prudhoe Bay. Hearing this, the Volvo folks were becoming more and more cheerful as the weather predictions worsened. Remember, many of them are from Sweden where frigid is fun. They bundled us onto a ski tram and whisked us to a restaurant at the top of the slopes for a briefing on the journey.

Elliot Boston, who is attempting to become the first African-American to climb the highest mountain on each continent, briefed us on how to survive in subzero temperatures in the unlikely event that one of the trusty XC70s breaks down along the road.

"You could be caught in a whiteout and it could be 60 below out," Boston said wearing a puffy orange all-body down suit he uses to survive in extreme conditions. "The first rule is, stay with the shelter." The shelter, in this case, would be the car. Start the engine and run it for 10 minutes each hour until help comes (or you run out of gas), he said.

My journey to this mountaintop in Alaska had started very early that morning in Long Beach, California, where the small airport had been socked in by fog. When they finally let us board the plane, the gate agent sternly informed us that the visibility was still poor and we needed to "use extreme caution when locating your plane. It will be to your left, the large white plane with blue lettering on the side that says Horizon." I got on the right plane and was soon flying over Half Dome peak in Yosemite and later, the Cascade Mountains in Washington.

On the plane ride north I spent some time reading tips for motorists venturing along the Dalton Highway, which starts north of Fairbanks and continues to Prudhoe Bay, our final destination, on the Arctic Ocean. The Dalton Highway was built in 1974 to service the Alaskan pipeline. The road is sometimes washed out, bridges collapse; flying gravel and broken windshields are commonplace. Some people install steel plates under their gas tanks to keep them from getting punctured.

"I know many of you will want to stop and take pictures," Soren Johansson, spokesman for Volvo, said. "But please remember, cold temperatures are one thing, but the wind is a killer. Don't stay out too long."

In case of emergencies, Volvo has installed satellite phones in all the cars. However, they are so expensive, a person on the Volvo support crew joked that, "The only reason to use the phone is if you're bleeding." It's nice to know the phone is there, but it's a little hard to imagine getting stranded, especially since there will be 15 XC70s making the trip, one leaving each 15 minutes with two drivers aboard.

Johansson, who scouted the route and has driven it three times, said the Anchorage-to-Prudhoe Bay route is one of the most spectacular drives in the world. "It changes you," he said. "When you come back you have a different perspective on life."

However, the Northern stretch, from Fairbanks to Prudhoe Bay, is so taxing, and the weather is so unpredictable that most Alaskans would never consider doing it at this time of year. Another Volvo spokesman said that when he tells locals what they are doing, their reaction is, "You're driving where?"

Some of the journalists seemed puzzled by the fact that we would be driving the XC70, a vehicle that has been out for several years, when Volvo has just released the XC90, a true SUV. Part of the answer is that the 2003 model has gotten a number of changes, including a boost to the 2.5-liter, five-cylinder turbocharged engine that now makes 208 horsepower at 5,000 rpm (and 236 pound-feet of torque from 1,500 to 4,500 rpm). Also new for this year is a newly designed Haldex all-wheel-drive system which provides faster response to a sudden loss of traction.

At dinner, Johansson provided another reason for the test-drive: the demographics of the two vehicles' owners, the XC90 and the XC70, are significant. He said the XC70 drivers were rugged outdoor types and that this trans-Alaskan trip would be a test that would demonstrate the crossover vehicle's impressive characteristics.

With that prediction we were assigned driving partners, given a starting time and escorted back onto the tram for the trip down the mountain. As we glided down, with the pale image of looming mountains faintly visible under a new moon, I recalled something one of the Volvo people had said at dinner, "Don't waste your film taking pictures around here. Wait until you get north of Fairbanks. It's incredible."

The sights I had seen today alone were beyond anything I had experienced in my life, and they were telling me it would get better? If this prediction was correct, then, truly, I would be changed.

I wasn't out of the car for more than 30 seconds when the cold hit me. The 2003 Volvo XC70 seemed so warm and secure with beautiful visions of pristine Alaskan mountains appearing around every bend in the road that I decided to venture out to take a quick photo. The temperature gauge on the dash showed it was 14 degrees Fahrenheit, which seemed manageable.

But then I stepped outside.

It wasn't the temperature so much as the wind. In an instant, all the warmth was sucked from my exposed fingers and I lost all interest in photography and returned to one of the most basic of human desires: survival. I couldn't help thinking that if it was this cold here, what would the temperature be in Prudhoe Bay, the destination of the first leg of Volvo's "Enduro?"

We had been driving north for about an hour after leaving Anchorage when this incident occurred and instantly taught me respect for the Northern elements. My driving partner, Wayne Baldwin, a Volvo project manager for life cycle products, had immediately felt the sting of the wind and ducked back inside, cranking up the temperature on his side of the dual-climate control. I threw the five-speed automatic back in drive and continued on, secretly rubbing my numb fingers and reminding myself to check the wind before I ventured out for anymore picture-taking.

Our route led northeast out of Anchorage on Alaska Highway 1 to the small town of Glenallen where we stopped at the Caribou Inn for lunch. There, a jolly waitress derided our Volvos and extolled the virtues of her Ford Excursion. She claimed that she had clocked almost 20 miles per gallon on a recent shopping trip to Anchorage. "No way," one of the Volvo drivers exclaimed, "You must have been towing that sucker!"

As I dove into a plate of fried halibut, the waitress told us that the weather today was one of the nicest days they had experienced in a long time. She informed us that the local schools only closed when the temperature dropped below minus 50 degrees. "Can you imagine waiting for the school bus at negative 50?" she asked. I didn't say anything, but the idea of waiting for a school bus in any negative temperature was beyond my imagination.

Back on the road, we turned due north on Alaska Highway 4 through a remote region that climbed to 3,200 feet and drove the temperature down to zero. Although this was nowhere near cold enough to close school, it was cold enough to bring an end to outdoor photography. On the winding two-lane road we finally got some ice under our studded snow tires. Baldwin explained that this year's XC70 had a new all-wheel-drive system by Haldex, which replaces the former slower-responding "viscous coupled" unit.

On glare ice, with no other cars in sight, I slammed on the brakes at 60 miles per hour and felt the antilock braking system pulsing under my foot. The studded snow tires bit into the sheer ice and the car tracked straight as it came to a stop. Then I hit the gas and felt strong acceleration, the traction control system feeding power to whatever wheel had the best grip. Acceleration was amazing given that we were starting on ice.

Baldwin had told me that Volvo boosted the power in the XC70 from 197 to 208 horsepower by introducing variable valve timing to the five-cylinder aluminum block engine. "But the big news is the torque," he said. It now delivers more torque at a lower rpm — 236 pound-feet from 1,500 to 4,500 rpm — where it is more usable. The power increase was noticeable, particularly in the midrange passing zone, but there is unexpected torque steer at launch speeds. Additionally, the five-speed transmission is sometimes caught unaware and doesn't shift smoothly. Still, the day's driving made me feel this is a highly refined wagon with a great sense of adventure and luxury.

Eventually, we reached Alaska Highway 2 that carried us to our hotel in Fairbanks. As the sun set (in Alaska that takes a long time since it runs almost parallel to the horizon for two hours), the temperature began dropping. I went for a brief walk on a frozen river behind the hotel. When I returned to the lobby, Soren Johansson, spokesman for Volvo, was just arriving. When I commented on the weather he muttered and shook his head, "Too warm. Too warm." Apparently, he had envisioned a more challenging test for the XC70.

At dinner, Johansson seemed suddenly more cheerful. I soon found out why. He announced that a storm was blowing down from the North and would possibly catch us halfway between Atigun Pass (elevation 4,752 feet) and the next town of Deadhorse, some 130 miles north. The whiteout could be so severe, he said, "It would be like staring into a glass of milk."

The change in weather would require a change of plans. We would not string out along the route like we did today. Instead, we would leave in two groups, maintain visual contact and rendezvous at a little town appropriately called Coldfoot. There, if reports from truckers and other travelers coming south seemed encouraging, we would push north to Prudhoe Bay on the Arctic Ocean.

With these sobering words Johansson told us we would be starting early, one group at 5:30 a.m. and the other a half hour later. His tone seemed to have a strong effect on the auto journalists. They immediately returned to their rooms for a good night sleep — miraculously turning their backs on an open bar.

The most sickening feeling for a driver is when you turn the steering wheel and nothing happens, the car continues hurtling forward on its own, heading straight for some immovable object such as a tree, a rock or, in my case, a snow bank.

We had dragged ourselves out of bed that morning at 4:45 a.m. and climbed into the 2003 Volvo XC70 for the final leg of the Trans-Alaskan Enduro that would end in Prudhoe Bay on the shores of the Arctic Ocean. An hour later it was still dark and we were weaving our way through the mountains north of Fairbanks and watching as the temperature gauge below the speedometer bounced between zero and minus 22 degrees Fahrenheit.

The road was sanded in spots, dry in other stretches and covered with packed snow in still other sections. I had come around a curve at about 60 miles per hour and suddenly found myself on black ice — absolutely beautiful polished black ice, without a spec of sand or gravel on it. I turned the wheel and nothing happened. The car began going straight while the road curved. I fought the urge to turn the wheel even more and instead waited, feeling the dynamic stability traction control (DSTC) system working its magic with near instantaneous response. Slowly — agonizingly so — the car responded and I returned to my side of the road. I carefully hauled my speed down, but I could do nothing about my pulse rate.

Out of the corner of my eye I had noticed my driving partner, Wayne Baldwin, a project manager for Volvo, reach for the grab handle while softly muttering, "Whoa…." Baldwin, a veteran rally race driver, has crashed many times so I knew he didn't scare easily.

Once we were back in control we began a lively discussion of the virtues of dynamic stability control systems in general and Volvo's DSTC system specifically. The new Haldex all-wheel-drive system that works with the DSTC system responds within one-seventh of a wheel turn when slippage is detected, Baldwin said. What the system does is try to get you pointed back in the direction you had been pointed by cutting power and individually braking the wheels. This means that when you are in a skid, you should ignore the age-old "steer in the direction of the skid" advice and let the system bring you around.

The Haldex all-wheel-drive setup and a more powerful engine (both new to the XC70 for 2003) were among the reasons Volvo set up this extreme test-driving event that began in Anchorage and would end 1,000 miles to the north.

But even DSTC can't bail you out of some situations, as we soon found out. Coming around a corner an hour later, and beginning a long downhill grade, we saw the tail of an XC70 sticking out of the snow, the hood buried in a drift up to its headlights. Two figures stood beside it, slapping their hands to keep warm while surveying their predicament. As we stopped and put on our fur-lined coats, the excited driver began spouting excuses about why he had "lost it."

Meanwhile, Baldwin backed our XC70 up to the stuck Volvo and removed a small plastic plate from the bumper, exposing a stout I-bolt. Through this he inserted a metal clevis connected to a special tow rope (a Volvo accessory). As other drivers dug the car out, Baldwin finished connecting the two cars. After one failed attempt, during which the wheels of both cars spun pointlessly, we proceeded with more digging and another cautious attempt that plucked the Volvo out of the ditch. Amazingly, there was no front-end damage.

Continuing on our way, I asked Baldwin if experienced rally drivers would think they could outdrive a dynamic stability control-type system. He replied that there had been a time when he had preferred rear-wheel-drive cars because he could power his way around a turn. But, after getting lessons from some world-class Volvo rally drivers, he began to prefer front-wheel drive.

"Really," he said, "I think for conditions like this, I'd take a setup just like this one." But then, after a second of reflection he added, "Of course I might still need to use the emergency brake if I wanted to rotate the car around a turn." I asked him to show me how to do that and, at lunch, we found a large parking lot outside the only restaurant in Coldfoot, a town inside the Arctic Circle.

Baldwin told me to take it up to 20 miles per hour and, with the gas still putting power to the front wheels, lock up the rear wheels with the emergency brake and cut the steering wheel hard. The car turned around in a neat 180. I released the emergency brake, hit the gas and was soon going in exactly the opposite direction. This was the only way to get the XC70 sideways without turning off the DSTC system. And believe me, I tried.

After lunch we continued north through some of the most striking scenery of the entire journey. Although the road was blanketed with packed snow and ice, we were able to keep our speed as high as 75 mph (later, other drivers claimed speeds of 100 mph on the ice and snow). A lower speed allowed greater appreciation of distant peaks and a landscape that was steadily turning completely white. The spruce trees and underbrush soon disappeared and finally we began the climb through the Atigun Pass.

By now the wind had picked up and was whipping loose snow across the road at about 40 mph as the temperature dropped to 18 degrees below zero. The peaks around us had lost their definition and seemed suspended and ghostly, disconnected from earth. As we came around a hairpin turn and climbed higher, a wave of snow enveloped us and turned the world completely white. For several seconds I remembered the sheer drop-offs to our left and tried to hold the course, driving by memory. The wind cleared and once again I could see. Whiteouts such as this continued all the way up to the pass at 4,752 feet.

On the other side of the mountains we crossed a long plateau on which there were only low bushes for vegetation. Gradually, those too disappeared and the world of white closed in around us. The wind strengthened and soon we were more frequently experiencing whiteouts. Often, the whiteouts ended with the frightening specter of a tractor trailer truck hurtling toward us like a freight train, the black diesel exhaust from its stacks flattened by the gale.

During this stretch some of the other test-drivers caught up with us and we all turned on the single rear foglight for visibility. The light is a typical feature on European cars, Baldwin explained. It helped us to keep the right distance from the car ahead.

I turned the wheel over to Baldwin with about 140 miles still left to reach Prudhoe Bay. It was so cold now that ice crystals were forming on the glass all around us. How could I make the folks back home in California understand what this was like?

"You know," I said to Baldwin. "If I was a really dedicated guy, I'd ask you to stop the car so I could take a picture of the Volvo from behind, to show what we're driving through."

"I'll stop the car if you want," he said, calling my bluff. "But make sure you take your coat."

"No, I want the full effect." With that I stepped outside into minus-14-degree temperatures with a 40-mph wind. My first breath caught about halfway down my throat — it was too painful to inhale the cold air. Within seconds my nose was stinging. Moments later needles of pain were shooting through my fingers. I snapped the picture and dove back inside the car. It took me five minutes to recover from being outside for 30 seconds.

The last 100 miles into Prudhoe Bay were like a dream. At times the wind was so strong it pushed the car sideways across the icy road. Finally, we saw a row of low buildings and slanting cranes and oil derricks with the weak orange sun eerily setting behind them.

We pulled up outside the Prudhoe Bay Hotel and quickly emptied the cars. The XC70s were being loaded onto transport carriers and they would be trucked back to Anchorage. The drivers were working against time: the storm we drove through would soon close the Atigun Pass.

I snapped a last picture of the XC70 as it was loaded aboard the truck and felt the anxiety of separation from this vehicle that had faithfully, and safely, carried me through such a hostile environment.