My idea of off-roading is pulling into Tim Hortons for a coffee while my two-year-old uses the potty. When you've got two kids under five, the necessities of life take precedence over blasting through river beds and bouncing across rocky mountain slopes.
So when Globe Auto asked me to test drive a Toyota FJ Cruiser — a sport-utility vehicle whose round headlights and white roof recall the rugged Toyota Land Cruisers of the 1960s and 1970s — my first thought was: What am I supposed to do with this beast?
As a pampered city boy in search of authentic off-road adventure, I thought about taking my kids down the highway to the African Lion Safari. Then I remembered how, during a visit to the same theme park with my parents years ago, we were terrorized by a pack of baboons who mounted the hood of my father's '64 Valiant and tore every last inch of rubber stripping from the windshield.
So the lions and monkeys would have to wait. Instead, we loaded the FJ's generous cargo area with a week's worth of supplies — including my daughter's potty — and embarked on a week-long trip to the family cottage on Lake Huron, where the only wildlife we encountered were squirrels and seagulls.
In keeping with the FJ's heritage, the vehicle is built like a tank and is most at home on inhospitable terrain, where its off-road pedigree really shines. On paved highways — the kind of roads I prefer — the muscular four-litre V-6 delivers plenty of power for towing a trailer or passing transport trucks.
One of the FJ's best features — judging by the many envious glances we got — is its bold styling. Everywhere we went, heads turned. "I love those trucks," said a construction worker who was admiring the FJ with his buddies.
"What do you drive?" I asked him.
"A Mini," he said, pointing to his pipsqueak of a car.
The FJ could have crushed it.
Inside the cabin, the FJ's styling also gets high marks. The handsome black-and-silver dash is logically laid out and controls for the stereo and heating and cooling system are extra large for easy operation, even if you're wearing gloves.
The FJ was designed with outdoor lifestyles in mind. That's apparent from the water-resistant seats and durable plastic flooring, which make cleaning up a breeze after a day of slogging through snow or mud. Parents of children prone to accidents will also appreciate Toyota's thoughtfulness.
If you're considering the FJ as a family vehicle, however, it does have some drawbacks, starting with the doors.
The rear "suicide" doors have no exterior handles and can be opened only from the inside, which means you first have to open the front door, then reach inside and pull a lever in order to gain access to the back seat.
This arrangement is fine if you're a circus-level contortionist. But if you've got a crying toddler in one arm and keys in another, it's a hassle.
"These doors are ridiculous," my wife complained.
Adding to the frustration, when you finally get your kids into their car seats and you're ready to hit the road, you have to remember to close the rear door first. Why? Because if you try to close the front door, it will just bang against the side of the vehicle unless the rear door is already in place.
Visibility is another area in which the FJ falls short. The wide roof pillars obscure much of the view, particularly when backing up or changing lanes. The rear-mounted spare tire makes a bad situation even worse. Thank goodness, our model came with a sensor that beeped whenever we were about to back into something.
