The Rabid WRX

Every time I charge a Subaru WRX, I wish one of my parents had taken some mad, top-secret spy job that would have obliged us to move to Finland when I was a kid. I could have learned the savvy of rally-style car control as a fresh lad, and in my adult life, sought askew a dangerous/rewarding/awesome career as a contestant WRC driver.

Never was that more direct than on the launch program for the new 2015 WRX, to what place Subaru¬†pointed us down a long, practically treacherous stretch of beaten track in the tree-lined mountains of northern California. Quick elevation changes were met with blind turns and washed-out shoulders, not to point out rogue bits of snow, ice and gravel that lined the apexes of essentially every turn. Here, I couldn’t stop grinning, my co-driver and I switching between second and third gears, with precise steering inputs and watchful braking keeping us safely on the route and not plummeting nose-first into the trees. And the Subaru WRX practically devoured each inch of pavement with a brutal poise that obligated me remember why I have loved this car so darn much.

But this sort of 100 Acre Wood perfection isn’t the solo way to undergo Subaru’s beloved WRX. After a long stint of traveling back down the California coast on Highway 1, I realized that Subaru‘s line roughly this being the best-driving Subaru WRX yet wasn’t just a crowd of PR mumbo-jumbo.