Gaylord — Aston Martin calls the performance version of its DBX SUV the 707 on account that it makes 707 horsepower on the European metric scale (PS stands for PferdStarke, of course). By U.S. standards, that’s 697 horsepower.

To avoid confusion and establish a universal naming convention, may I suggest the badge be changed to DBX 007?

Everyone knows Aston Martin as the official vehicle of the James Bond movie franchise, and the DBX’s performance model deserves nothing less than a starring role in the next 007 epic. This is, after all, the world’s most-powerful, luxury super-ute — a 193-mph rocket that elbows past the 657-horse Lamborghini Urus Performante, 631-horsepower Porsche Cayenne Turbo GT and 617-horse BMW X6 M.

It’s a sports car in a 5,000-pound SUV body. Put it in a Bond chase scene and it will obliterate the obligatory pack of villain cars. Zero-60 mph? 3.1 seconds. SPORT PLUS track mode? Check. Off-road Terrain mode? Check. Gorgeous bod? Check. I got a taste of this Double-OMG-Seven sensation over rural M-32 in north Michigan — twisties I usually reserve for testing sports cars.

Rotating the meaty rotary drive mode dial to SPORT PLUS, the suspension noticeably stiffened and I laid waste to a series of downhill S-turns. But the cherry on top was this rhino-in-tennis-shoes’ performance between turns. SPORT PLUS shortened the gear ratios for the nine-speed gearbox so that — upon corner exit — I had titanic torque on tap. I buried my right foot and the super-ute charged forward without hesitation. WHUMP! WHUMP! went the upshifts as the digital speedometer registered obscene speeds.

Lots of performance cars — the DBX 007 included — sport electronically-stimulated shocks that perform miracles in reducing body roll. But few possess a drivetrain like the Mercedes-sourced 4.0-liter, twin-turbo V-8 under the Aston’s vented hood.

This is a drivetrain from the gods. Surely it was crafted by Q for James himself.

I gulped real estate at speeds normally reserved for much smaller, much lighter vehicles. So confident is the chassis, so addictive is the V8-’s howl, that I wanted the road to go on forever. No tire shredders popped out from the wheel hubs. No machine guns burst from the grille. But the engine’s song, crackling upshifts and burbling downshifts would make a bloody good Hollywood soundtrack.

Allow me the usual caveats for when I review a supercar affordable to a few. For the Aston’s $280K sticker, you could buy 10 Chevy Trax RS models. The fun of vehicles like the Aston is to explore the industry’s envelope — not just in performance, but in technology.

Take the Aston’s infotainment suite. It may be 10x the cost of a Trax, but it does not have 10x better tech. Electronic gains have eliminated much of the gap between luxe and mainstream cars.

The Aston’s infotainment system offers wireless Apple CarPlay — but not wireless Android Auto. Consistent with its Mercedes sourcing, the Aston features last-gen Merc infotainment tech anchored by a smallish screen and mouse pad controller.

I normally run screaming from mouse pad controllers (looking at you, Lexus), but the Aston’s pad was competent. My fingers glided over its surface, which accurately selected radio stations on the screen. Good thing, because voice recognition was lousy. Maybe Aston is programmed to understand the Queen’s English coming out of Bond’s mouth as opposed to my West Virginia twang.

DBX 707 is meant to evoke awe for its driving manners, machismo and style — not nerd quotient. The smell of fine leather filled my nostrils when I entered the cabin (even the lower doors are wrapped with red stitching). The seatbacks were sheathed in carbon fiber. The console stuffed with buttons.

Buttons for shifting: P, R, N, D. Button for louder exhaust. Button for raising/lowering. Button for shaking, not stirring, your martini (kidding about that last one).

The big question about DBX707 is where it belongs.

With its tight handling, I wanted to track it. But we’re talking about a 5,000-pound ute. Its weight and high center of gravity would be inherent handicaps on the fast switchbacks of, say, Pontiac’s M1 Concourse.

And then there’s the raw power. Good Lord. The 667 pound-feet-of-torque comes on like a tidal wave at low revs, demanding respect out of corners. I tested a 460-torque Corvette Z06 right after the Aston and the Chevy felt tame by comparison, thanks to a normally-aspirated, high-revving V-8 that built torque to its 8,600 RPM redline. If you want to track an Aston, buy a $170K Vantage F1 Edition sportscar with the same insane engine (and save yourself 70 grand).

In my time with DBX 707, it was happiest in the north state countryside where it could bound across the lightly-populated roads like a bull on ‘roids. If I had the means (or was the Duke of Charlevoix County), I’d keep it in a car stable up north with other gems.

I’d pity the DBX 707 were it kept in Metro Detroit — or at M1 Concourse — where it could never properly exercise its legs. Doomed to a live life as a caged animal.

So call it the DBX 007 and put it in a Bond film. Heck, set it in Michigan.

Have Bond pick up Ana de Armas at the McNamara Terminal. He’d pop the boot — er, hatchback — to easily store all their luggage. She’d round the front — her slit dress grazing the classic Aston grille (made 27% larger than the standard DBX to feed the twin turbos) — then slip into the monogrammed passenger seat under a panoramic roof. She and James would banter about eccentric features like the hood opener on the right side of the glovebox — because the Aston is also made with right-hand drive for England.

Cruising west on I-94, Bond would notice a fleet of sinister black sedans in the mirror, then exit into the streets of Ann Arbor. He’d storm up State Street, past slack-jawed students as they emerged from their studies in the Law Triangle, then turn under the M-14 overpass onto the twisted, East Huron River Road two-lane.

Bond selects SPORT PLUS mode. Ana grips the door handle. He takes a hard right, the cannon-sized quad tailpipes let out a roar and he disappears across the Foster Bridge as his pursuers plunge into the frigid waters of the Huron River.

Long live 007. Long live the V-8.

Next week: 2024 Alfa Romeo Giulia

2023 Aston Martin DBX 707

Vehicle type: Front-engine, all-wheel drive, five-passenger SUV

Price: $236,000, including $3,086 destination ($287,520 as tested)

Powerplant: 4.0-liter, twin-turbo V-8

Power: 697 horsepower, 663 pound-feet of torque

Transmission: nine-speed automatic

Performance: 0-60 mph, 3.1 seconds (Car and Driver); top speed, 193 mph

Weight: 5,128 lbs.

Fuel economy: EPA 15 mpg city/20 highway/17 combined

Report card

Highs: V-8 from the gods; curb appeal

Lows: Mediocre tech; where to exercise it?

Overall: 4 stars

Henry Payne is auto critic for The Detroit News. Find him at hpayne@detroitnews.com or Twitter @HenryEPayne.

Chicago — Happy Halloween. The Toyota Crown is a Prius dressed as a big sedan.

The Japanese automaker rocked the world 25 years ago when it introduced the Pious — er, Prius — a popular, virtue-signaling, green nerd-mobile. Three decades later and Prius’s DNA has spread through the Toyota family with hybrid powertrains populating everything from the RAV4 SUV to the Tundra pickup to the Crown.

On a 900-mile road trip with Mrs. Payne from my Oakland County domicile to Chicago to Charlevoix, Michigan, and back, Crown averaged 39 mpg thanks to the hybrid gerbil-wheel spinning under the hood.

Toyota loves to make big sedans, and they are plentiful across the pond in Japan. But in the U.S., Americans prefer SUVs, and sales of Toyota’s large Avalon sedan flagged. Shove a V-8 in a Dodge Charger sedan and we Yanks will take notice. But with the Crown, Toyota has decided to try something different.

It married a Prius and a Highlander SUV and named its offspring Crown.

Prius was once the ugly duckling of the family, but no more. The 2023 model is sleek, sculpted and simple — a design approach shared by Crown. A thin, horizontal light bar wraps around the front end like the glasses worn by X-Men superhero Cyclops. The design is echoed ‘round back in the high, thin taillight bar.

Crown shares Prius’s coupe-like profile — but for a black wedge hung above the car’s rocker panels. The wedge is there to mitigate the Crown’s tall, slab-like sides, which give away the model’s mission: sedan proportions with the lifted seating position of an SUV.

We own two sedans, and the Crown was noticeably easier to slip into. That’s because the Toyota’s hip point (seating position) is, by my measure, 21 inches above the ground — well above a typical sedan’s 15 inches, and closer to the 30 inches of an SUV.

Utes make up 70% of the non-pickup market, but Toyota still sees plenty of consumers who prefer the lines of a sedan to a boxier SUV. Think of 50-somethings coming off two decades chauffeuring kids in a Toyota Highlander SUV — but now want something with similar interior room but more style.

Crown sports the same 112-inch wheelbase as Highlander and is spacious inside — its headroom, rear legroom and cargo space pinched just an inch from the SUV. Crown’s increased aerodynamics (and 500-pound trimmer waistline) pay dividends in superior fuel economy (41 mpg vs. 35 mpg) even as the Crown/Highlander share all-wheel-drive, 2.5-liter 4-cylinder drivetrains.

It should be noted, however, that $41,415 Crown is smaller (by an inch in cargo and rear legroom) than the hybrid sedan it replaces, the $38,945 Avalon. And the cheaper, 500-pound lighter Avalon also managed to get better fuel economy (43 mpg) out of its hybrid 2.5-liter mill. Go figure.

Get used to hybrid 2-liter drivetrains powered by continuously variable automatic transmissions. Everybody has them these days, from Toyota to Honda to Ford to Subaru, as government emissions mandates force everyone into the same box.

Mashing the pedal entering I-94 on-ramps to Chicago, Toyota’s package droned a bit much compared to, say, the Honda Accord Hybrid. For those who want more grunt, Toyota won’t option you a Hemi V-8 — but it will offer its Hybrid Max drivetrain, which pairs a turbocharged 2.4-liter four-cylinder with an electric motor on the rear axle and a 6-speed automatic for another 100 horses over my 236-horse egg-beater.

It’ll also cost you eight grand more in the Platinum model. I’d stick with the standard powertrain since the chassis doesn’t like to be pushed hard anyway. Crown is content as a sippy boulevard cruiser. Did I mention it’s like a big Prius?

Like its hybrid pioneer, Crown’s interstate stops were not for fuel but for bathroom/lunch stops. Unlike Toyota’s pricier 220-mile range (ugh) electric brother, the bZ4X, I got 565 miles of range with the Crown at 39 mpg. Which means I only had to refuel once (for five minutes) on my 900-mile road trip while traveling at 80 mph.

The bZ4X, by contrast, would have needed to stop at least four times — and probably more since traveling at 80 mph can suck 20% from battery range. Time to fill up? The Toyota EV gains 130 miles in a leisurely 30 minutes at a DC fast charger, which is why EVs are best considered as metro cars.

Inside, Crown is cleanly designed like its exterior with twin digital screens and a compact shifter that frees console space. It’s quite a contrast to the guitar-shaped dash of the Highlander. But for its premium price — and royal name (my Limited tester with fancy 21-inch wheels and panoramic roof stickered for $50,169) — Crown cuts some corners.

Mrs. Payne’s $30K Subaru Impreza features adaptive cruise control that allows you to increase speeds by 1 mph (quick button push) or 5 mph (long button hold). Crown’s cheaper ACC package will just increase/decrease speed 1 mph at a time. The sedan’s infotainment system is a step behind competitors in its graphic presentation, and — for a big boulevard cruiser — Crown’s drive-assist technology isn’t very ambitious.

Navigating miles of Midwest highways, I found the system excelled at lane-centering but would give up on interstate curves unlike, say, a $10K-cheaper Hyundai Tucson.

Toyota’s reputation wasn’t built on building bleeding-edge tech, however; it was built on reliability. Toyota loyalists will no doubt forgo the latest goo-gaw in exchange for never having to visit a dealership for anything more than an oil-and-filter change.

The brand’s new design direction, however, looks decidedly premium — and is a nice contrast to the polarizing spindle grilles of the Lexus luxury brand. Lexus has, thankfully, abandoned its maddening remote touchpad interface for a touchscreen in new-generation models like the comparably-priced hybrid Lexus ES 300h. But Crown’s minimalist design and touchscreen may be the better combination.

Crown offers one more noteworthy feature: it comes standard with all-wheel drive, unlike Lexus or Prius.

As I pulled into Charlevoix, the temperature indicated an unseasonably balmy 80-degree October day. But winter cometh. And Toyota fans looking to upgrade their Prius may appreciate that Big Brother will have all four corners churning when the white stuff starts to fall.

Next week: Aston Martin DBX707

2023 Toyota Crown

Vehicle type: Front-engine, all-wheel-drive five-passenger sedan

Price: $41,145, including $1,095 destination ($50,169 as tested)

Powerplant: Hybrid-electric with 2.5-liter, inline-4 cylinder; hybrid-electric with 2.4-liter turbo-4

Power: 236 horsepower (hybrid 2.5L); 340 horsepower (hybrid turbo-4)

Transmission: Continuously-variable (hybrid 2.5L); six-speed automatic (hybrid turbo-4)

Performance: 0-60 mph, 7.6 seconds (mfr.); towing, 3,500 pounds

Weight: 3,980 pounds

Fuel economy: EPA est. 42 mpg city/41 highway/41 combined (hybrid 2.5L); 29 mpg city/32 highway/30 combined (hybrid turbo-4); 39 mpg (observed)

Report card

Highs: Simple styling, easy seating position

Lows: Continuously variable tranny continuously drones; cheap features for price

Overall: 3 stars

Henry Payne is auto critic for The Detroit News. Find him at hpayne@detroitnews.com or Twitter @HenryEPayne.

Holly Oaks — Dude, light-duty off-road trucks are soooo 15 minutes ago.

On a sodden Saturday at Holly Oaks ORV Park, I could barely stand along Ridgeline Trail on the park’s west side. At 6-feet-7-inches tall, my 2023 Ram 2500 Heavy Duty Rebel loomed beside me like the War Rig from “Mad Max: Fury Road.”

Thirty-three-inch Goodyear Wrangler all-terrain tires. Power dome hood. Skid plates. Red war paint. A beast.

And a beauty. As I swung my mud-caked boots into the cab, I entered an interior straight out of a South Beach condo. Leather stitched dash, leather thrones, 12.3-inch digital instrument display, 12-inch vertical infotainment screen. What, no sauna?

Bigger is better and my fearsome 2500 Rebel has it all. Heavy Dutys designed for hauling yachts now have yacht-like interiors plus the off-road armor once reserved for Jeeps. Ram follows Ford’s Tremor in bringing its Rebel off-road model to the HD segment — and Chevy isn’t far behind with its first heavy-duty ZR2 trim for the 2024 model year. My friend Scott, a loyal Ford owner, covets the Tremor but was wowed by the Ram’s interior. High praise.

The Rebel badge debuted on the Ram 1500 in 2015, but that truck can’t fit in my garage either. So why not supersize to a 2500 and its monster, 17,000-pound towing numbers. Heck, this thing can tow a garage.

The license plate should be issued by the state of Brobdingnag.

The Rebel HD is massive. Gargantuan. Mega. In addition to the aforementioned highlights, my HD Rebel Crew Cab has a 410-horse V-8 (a 6.7-liter diesel inline-6 is a $9,595 option), 6-feet-4-inch bed, and 13-inch lift . I’m 6-feet-5-inches and had to haul myself into the seat by the steering wheel. Mrs. Payne needed a ladder.

With great size comes great responsibility.

After a night of heavy rain, I drove the HD Rebel to Holly Oaks for some playtime. At nearly four tons, 79 inches wide, and 19½ feet long, the War Rig needs room and I drove it on adaptive cruise control up Telegraph Road so radar would aid my eyeballs in detecting any sudden slowdowns up ahead. War Rig could do serious damage in a collision to a small, 3,000-pound compact car.

Curiously, for all my $80K tester’s luxury, the adaptive cruise will come to a complete stop at a stoplight — then, um, release after five sedans like my wife’s old 2017 Subaru Impreza. Never take for granted these driver-assist systems. Like 1500 Rebel Jr., 2500 Rebel rides on rear coil springs making for a smooth ride with little bed flutter, though the all-terrain tires are predictably noisy compared to all-season offerings.

Continuing the truck’s beauty-and-the-beast duality, the brawny, 6.4-liter Hemi V-8 engine is married to a smooth 8-speed transmission. Flattening the throttle onto I-75 at Exit 93, the 8-speed clocked off seamless shifts before I settled back into cruise control at 75 mph.

Dedicated off-roaders will hook the V-8 up to a trailer where the 2500 Rebel’s max tow capacity increases from the 1500 Rebel’s healthy 11,500 pounds to a spectacular 16,800. That’s enough grunt to plan a big weekend with your buddies towing, say, eight Polaris RZRs with seven riding in the trailer — and another stuffed into the bed with its 3,140-pound payload capacity.

Of course, the HD Rebel will want to join in the fun, too.

But like on-road, its girth needs to be respected off-road, too. To support its weight, the Wrangler all-terrains are pumped to 64 PSI. Ideally, I should have bled them down by half to take on the tortures of Holly Oaks’ landscape. For my short time around the park, I didn’t bother.

That was fine for wide-open throttle donuts on the sandy flats, but the park’s muddy slopes required some tiptoeing lest the beast’s 7,500 pounds become a runaway avalanche. The HD Rebel has a useful locking rear differential for climbs (patience, it takes a while to connect) but you’ll want to pay for the next trim Power Wagon if you want Jeep Rubicon-like, twin-locking differential and front sway bar disconnect. Speaking of Jeeps, 2500 Rebel’s ocean-liner length makes for less breakover angle than the last V-8-powered off-roader I piloted at Holly Oaks, the insane Wrangler 392.

The Wrangler takes the same displacement, 6.4-liter Hemi block and squeezes out another 60 horsepower and 40 pound-feet of torque. Floor Jeep’s 5,100-pound hellion up a Holly Oaks trail and you’ll wake the dead. The HD Rebel was more civilized under my size-15 boot. The Ram’s priority is towing off-roaders and their gear to the trail.

To that end, the interior is practical as well as luxurious.

Jeep/Ram leverages its superb UConnect infotainment system across the lineup — including the HD Rebel. In addition to mirroring my phone, it also provided multiple camera views, the forward-facing view proving most useful as I crawled over Holly Oaks’ trail peaks. But there are other options like a camera with a 55-foot cord should you want to keep an eye on the inside of your trailer.

The center console can be turned into a middle seat to carry a total of six inside the Crew Cab. Legroom is generous, and the rear seats split 70/30. Folding the right seats exposes a flat floor (complete with cupholder for the remaining left-side passenger) so you can load luggage, coolers and gear if the pickup bed is occupied by a motorbike or RZR.

Beneath all the digital wizardry, stitching and leather thrones is a good ol’ rubberized floor. So that when you get home and realize the floor is caked with mud, you can just wash it clean with a hose (ahem, you may need a power washer for the exterior).

Because, come Sunday, you’ll want to throw a coupe of golf bags in back and take the Rebel to the golf club to embarrass your buddy’s light-duty truck.

Next week: 2023 Toyota Crown

2023 Ram 2500 Heavy Duty Rebel

Vehicle type: Front-engine, four-wheel-drive, four-door pickup truck

Price: $68,840, including $1,895 destination charge ($77,395 as tested)

Powerplant: 6.4-liter V-8; 6.7-liter, inline-6 cylinder diesel

Power: 410 horsepower, 429 pound-feet torque (V-8);  370 horsepower, 850 pound-feet torque (diesel)

Transmission: Eight-speed automatic (V-8); six-speed automatic (diesel)

Performance: 0-60 mph, 7.5 seconds (Car and Driver est.); Towing, 16,800 pounds (V-8); 3,140-pound payload

Weight: 7,500 pounds est. (V-8 as tested)

Fuel economy: EPA est. NA; Fuel economy observed while thrashing to Holly Oaks and back: 9 mpg

Report card

Highs: Looks awesome inside and out; tenacious towing

Lows: Ginormous size. . . and price tag

Overall: 4 stars

Henry Payne is auto critic for The Detroit News. Find him at hpayne@detroitnews.com or Twitter @HenryEPayne.

Zion, Utah — The Subaru Crosstrek Wilderness’s design was inspired by a hiking shoe, and it wants to explore like a hiking shoe.

I took Subaru’s latest extreme off-road model all over southwest Utah, and at the end of the day it resembled rugged footwear: covered in dirt, mud and as comfortable as when the day began. Utah, of course, is where every off-road vehicle wants to go on vacation, and the roads here are crawling with Jeeps, Broncos, Tacomas and other dirt-kicking creatures.

Subaru engineers like to say that Wilderness models are “not about about conquering nature, they’re about experiencing nature.” Not that my Wilderness tester doesn’t have Jeep-like aspirations.

It is armed with Yokohama Geolandar all-terrain tires, the only vehicle in its class so equipped. Even terrific, more expensive competitors like that $37,690 Jeep Compass Trailhawk and $39,985 Ford Bronco Sport Badlands don’t come standard with dirt treads. The all-terrains’ value is not just in traction, but in reliability. The carcass and sidewall of off-road tires are more robust than their all-season counterparts, which makes for sure-footedness when the asphalt ends and you begin to explore America’s expansive outback.

Utah’s network of outdoor trails is often dyed the color of red rock, but otherwise, they’re similar to dirt roads you’ll find in Michigan: littered with loose rock, ruts and other obstacles. My driving partner Jeff Glucker — an experienced racer and off-roader — groans about all-seasons on trails and their sidewalls’ vulnerability to jagged rocks. In the Crosstrek Wilderness, we were less concerned, barreling along long stretches of gnarly dirt roads at a healthy Baja-like clip. The Wilderness’s lifted 9.3-inch ground clearance (more than a base Wrangler, for goodness sake) and aluminum front bash plate provided additional assurance.

Crosstrek is also equipped with a Deep Snow/Mud feature in X-Mode. Modeled after Sand/Mud/Ruts modes found in Jeep ‘n’ Bronco off-road hellions, X-Mode dials back the traction control systems, changes transmission mapping, slows automatically on steep declines, and even brakes the inside wheels (torque-vectoring, in engineer speak) for better maneuvering across loose terrain.

Designed for off-road use under 25 mph, X-Mode would alert us that it was in use whenever we dropped below that threshold, so that we had a steady chorus — BEEP BEEP BEEP — of beeps as we barreled along the trails. Annoying, but a reminder that the ‘Ru was engaged in the task at hand.

These tools, of course, will only get you so far in the off-road jungle. Our high-speed trails skirted Sandy Hollow Park — a 4×4 playground of deep sand dunes, rocky climbs and general mayhem. Like stepping up to another level in an arcade game, you’ll want to be armed for such challenges with 30-degree-plus approach and departure angles, locking differentials and removable doors for better visibility. You know, Jeep ‘n’ Bronco and side-by-side stuff.

With its modest 20-degree approach, 21-degree breakover and 33-degree departure angles, the Wilderness dares not enter such territory. But the upgraded Crosstrek does come with its own secret sauce so you can still conquest nature: a 3,500-pound towing capacity.

Thanks to clever transmission engineering, that’s an impressive 2,000 pounds more than the standard 2.5-liter Crosstrek, and a hefty 1,500 pounds more than the Jeep and Ford Bronco Sport Badlands competition.

So with that $20,000 you save by not buying a Wrangler Rubicon, you can buy, say, a used Polaris RZR all-terrain vehicle and trailer — then head into the wilderness and go places on the side-by-side even a Wrangler can’t reach.

Experience and conquer nature.

Nature like Zion or Sandy Hollow or Michigan’s Silver Creek sand dunes and Drummond Island. And the Wilderness can get you to such places with minimal time at service stations (always a pain with a trailer) thanks to an expanded 18-gallon fuel tank to complement the sippy, 27-mpg 2.5-liter Boxer 4-cylinder engine under the hood.

Towing, of course, drinks fuel so the ‘Ru would likely get half the usual 486-mile-range on such trips, but that’s still solid. And is still more than the full 228-mile range of the $46K Subaru Solterra electric vehicle. Subie’s core northern customers are notorious tree-huggers, but they also covet their mules’ road trip capabilities.

Industry insiders say auto customers will have to adapt to a new electric era of longer charging times and poorer vehicle range. But the gas-fueled Crosstrek Wilderness will spoil owners rotten with its AWD, all-terrain-tire ruggedness (which would suck range on an EV), cold-weather ruggedness (which would suck 25% of battery range) and towing capability (reduce EV range by 70%).

Subaru residuals are already some of the industry’s best, and expect used ‘Rus to get even more valuable in the electric age. Good thing 97% of Crosstreks are still on the road. Even if you’re just an occasional off-roader, the $32K Crosstrek Wilderness is a heckuva value.

The Subie’s big center screen is more useful than many luxury vehicles (Mrs. Payne loves it in her new Impreza RS, which bears a similar price to the Wilderness Conestoga wagon). Not only did Wilderness sync wirelessly to Android Auto on my phone, but the ute comes standard with a wireless charging pad so my phone didn’t drain while navigating miles of Utah wilderness.

Of course, most of your time in the Crosstrek will be spent navigating the urban jungle, and here the unibody Crosstrek excels compared to ladder-frame, off-road megabots. Though lifted over its hatchback sibling Impreza, the Crosstrek still exhibits sporty road manners. More importantly, its all-terrain tires were quiet on high-speed four lanes where big-35-inch all-terrain tires on more capable off-roaders get loud.

The faux-leather StarTex-equipped interior is nicely segregated from the four-banger up front and even the continuously-variable transmission — the bane of Subarus past — is unobtrusiveness. Only six-footers in the rear seat might feel pinched, but otherwise the interior is a comfortable sanctuary for long road trips.

The Crosstrek Wilderness is wrapped in one of the wilder Subaru tennis shoe designs on the shelf. Like its successful Outback and Forester Wilderness cousins, it is larded with an expansive rubber sole — er, plastic cladding — to the point where the front end is completely black like a Merrell shoe. Wilderness’s signature bronze highlights on the front fascia and the roof supports complete the signature look.

At a time of rising vehicle prices, Crosstrek Wilderness is a welcome value with all-season dexterity and all-terrain capability. Just be sure to keep a hose in back of the garage. This shoe will need regular cleaning.

Next week: 2023 Ram 2500 Heavy Duty

2024 Subaru Crosstrek Wilderness

Vehicle type: Front engine, all-wheel drive five-passenger SUV

Price: $32,290, including $1,295 destination ($35,560 as tested)

Powerplant: 2.5-liter flat-4 cylinder

Power: 182 horsepower, 178 pound-feet of torque

Transmission: Continuously-variable with paddle shifters

Performance: 0-60 mph, 8.1 seconds (Car and Driver est.); towing, 3,500 pounds

Weight: 3,500 (est.)

Fuel economy: EPA 25 mpg city/29 highway/27 combined

Report card

Highs: Quiet on-road, capable off-road; 3,500-pound tow rating

Lows: Tight back seat; backup camera warning chime, please

Overall: 4 stars

Henry Payne is auto critic for The Detroit News. Find him at hpayne@detroitnews.com or Twitter @HenryEPayne.