Acting Citizen: Old Enough to Understand

FWD
(front wheel drive)

By James Knudsen

In his September column, “At Random: Things I Will Never Be Old Enough to Understand,” Paul Clark (aka motomynd), chronicled some things he doesn’t like or just doesn’t get. Front wheel drive (FWD) made the list, and from his column it seems to fall in the category of something he doesn’t like. As the son of an early adopter of the FWD train layout (see my “Fourth Saturday’s Loneliest Liberal: About the Panhard,” November 2014), I found this troubling to the point of offensive, and so, today’s defense.

Cugnot

    The first self-propelled vehicle was, after all, FWD. The Cugnot, a 3-ton, steam-powered gun carriage designed by French army officer Nicholas-Joseph Cugnot, was the first vehicle in the book of my childhood, Cars of the World, in Color. To say that the Cugnot had a “drivetrain” is a bit of a stretch. The end of the piston was affixed to the front wheel. The monstrosity topped out at 3-miles-per hour, allegedly blew up on its maiden voyage in 1769, and was the first vehicle to be involved in a traffic accident. M. Cugnot forgot to install brakes.
    Karl Benz created another self-propelled tricycle in 1886, setting the internal combustion engine above the rear wheels. It would be the French industrial team of Rene Panhard and Emile Levassor who would set the design template that would define automotive design for the next century. Their 1891 creation, of which thirty comprised the initial production run, put the engine in front of the driver, and sent the power to the rear wheels, the “Systeme Panhard” arrangement. Now that we’ve arrived at this design milestone, let’s point out the inherent advantages of rear wheel drive (RWD).
    At the limit, and in the hands of a skilled driver, like motomynd, RWD provides better handling. Cars built for racing are exclusively RWD nowadays, but the FWD Miller racing cars of the 1930s dominated the Indianapolis 500 for years. Besides handling, in competitive situations, RWD is the better suited to heavy hauling. Semi-trucks – tractors – remain RWD. And for good reason. When pointed uphill, weight transfers rearward onto the drive wheels, improving traction. So, if you are racing, or pulling a trailer, you’re better off with RWD. But the layout has its disadvantages. Weight and space inefficiency top the list.
    To get the power from the front-mounted engine to the rear wheels requires some heavy components. Yes, driveshafts can be made from exotic, lightweight materials like carbon-fiber, but that tends to put the vehicle out of the financial grasp of mere economic mortals like myself. In addition to the driveshaft, there’s the rear-axle assembly. In the good ol’ days, these were made of iron. Hotrodders are still enamored of the Ford, nodular iron, 9-inch rear-end. They’re incredibly strong, and can withstand the high output of a big-block V-8.
    They also weigh a lot, and weight is rarely a good a thing. It’s bad for handling, bad for fuel-economy, and bad for ride quality if that extra-weight is unsprung. And a solid-rear axle is unsprung weight.
    But the area I find most troubling is the space a RWD layout takes up that could be put to use carrying people and their belongings. For the earliest vehicles, this wasn’t much of a concern. “Horseless carriage” was the name given to the earliest automobiles. Given their horse and buggy origins, it was an apt moniker. Manufacturers didn’t bother to reinvent the wheel, and stuck the tall, spoked wheels of the surrey on their new-fangled inventions. The passengers rode high above the ground, and pesky running gear went about its business below a flat floor.
    Modernization, pneumatic tires, suspension systems that actually worked – all conspired to lower the profile of the automobile. The transmission, driveshaft, and rear-end, with nowhere to go, moved into the passenger compartment. “Wait, a minute,” you say, “my grandmother’s Chrysler New Yorker had plenty of room.” It did. It also weighed 4,500 pounds, and returned 10 miles-per-gallon ... on the highway.

1980-Chevrolet-MONZA-rear-seat

    The issue of space becomes worse as the car becomes smaller. If you ever experienced the joy of riding in one of the penalty boxes Detroit marketed to the public as “small cars” in the seventies, you may recall the middle seat of the rear seat upholstered in carpet. The quest for a low roofline forced designs that had the driveshaft tunnel rising up to a level at, or above the rear seats. Rear passengers were consigned to the Death Valley of accommodations, below drive-line level. For 20+ years, European manufacturers had been building small cars that avoided this. And so, on to FWD….

As previously noted, by the end of the 19^th century, the front-mounted engine driving the real wheels had been accepted as the standard layout for automobiles. It wasn’t until the late twenties that designers began presenting automobiles that sent power to the front wheels.
    There are a few candidates for first in this category, but some candidates are the 1928 Buccialli:

and the Cord L-29, introduced a year later:

The main advantage these cars had over their contemporaries was a lower stance. What hadn’t been figured out was efficient packaging. The Cord employed a Lycoming straight-8-cylinder engine placed behind the transmission. Its successor the Cord 810/812 used a Lycoming V-8, greatly reducing the length of the hood.

Citroen Traction Avant

    French car maker Citroen would introduce the Traction Avant in 1934, once again placing the engine, a 1.3-litre 4-cylinder, behind the transmission. It would remain in production until 1957, and provide the engine for the ground-breaking Citroen DS introduced in 1955.

 

Austin Mini

    But it was the brainchild of Alec Issigonis that showed the way for the majority of FWD cars produced today. The Austin Mini/Morris Mini-Minor, first presented in 1959, introduced the idea of mounting the engine transversely (sideways) to the world. Turning the engine 90 degrees reduced the space devoted to mechanicals and made possible a 4-seat sedan with an overall length of ten feet. That’s a foot and a half shorter than a modern-day Fiat 500.

FIAT-128-Saloon-2378_20

    In 1969, Fiat introduced the Fiat 128. Designer Dante Giacosa improved on Issigonis’ design by separating the engine and transaxle unit, and the world now had the template for the modern FWD automobile.

Now that I’ve droned on for a thousand words, motomynd is gnashing his teeth muttering, “I don’t like the way FWD cars handle. Who cares about all this packaging nonsense?” A fair point, although I’ve already conceded that RWD is the better option when driving in competition. Let’s start with Mr. Clark’s objection that drivers are most likely to have encountered, the issue of torque-steer. It’s real, and particularly when decades ago manufacturers took a “deal with it” attitude towards the issue.
    Torque-steer occurs when one wheel is able to apply more power to the ground than the other wheel. And the issue is exacerbated when the car is built using unequal-length driveshafts. The Austin Mini and its introduction of the transverse mounted engine also brought us unequal-length driveshafts. The result is unequal application of force to the road, especially under heavy throttle.
    However, few if any cars still employ unequal-length driveshafts. My own recent experience with my FWD Scion tC showed no signs of torque-steer when mashing the throttle in second gear. I should add that this car’s odometer has over 200k miles and a worn suspension and motor mounts, all of which should have the steering dancing in my hands. It doesn’t dance, even with my hands off the wheel.
    A more recent example of a car that should exhibit torque-steer is the Honda Civic R. Its 306 horsepower applied to just the two front wheels should give anyone with memories of less modern FWD cars the willies thinking about the potential for torque-steer. But its road manners are reported to be exceptional. Not just for a FWD car, but for any car. And that brings us back to the supposed superiority of RWD.

Before I get into the final part, let me state first that motomynd is the far better driver of the two of us. I’ve never cantered around the racetrack at 160 miles per hour. And I’ve never perfected the technique described in his September column that he uses when traction vanishes and you “can cut into the skid, hit the throttle, and power your way out of it.”
    Such a technique would have come in handy on snow-covered roads in eastern Washington the night I wasn’t really sure where I was going. I had departed sunny Southern California to be with my sister Morissa as she exchanged vows for a second time. She had sent an email letting people know where and when this was going to happen and – well, I like surprises, and I assume others do as well.
    The location near Winthrop, Washington, was near nothing so far as I could tell, and it was probably past nine in the evening on January 24, 2004, when I finally got to the little burg. I found a phone and called Morissa to alert her to my impending arrival as well as to get some idea as to where in blazes she was. I made note of the location and started on my way to the cabin on the outskirts of the town. There was a snow-covered hill on my right and a river on my left.

Chrysler Fifth Avenue

    A mention of my conveyance is called for at this point. I was driving a 1985 Chrysler Fifth Avenue that I’d bought for less than five hundred dollars. For tackling the task of gobbling up mile after mile of Interstate 5 it was perfect. The 318 V-8 was anemic in its output, but once up to speed it was more than adequate. Its suspension was designed with retirees in mind and its upholstery, pillow topped leather seats, made for effortless cruising on dry, concrete freeways. Those conditions were hours away. As I gingerly made my way east on the two-lane road, I felt and saw the nose veer left. Remember, left equals river.
    I turned the wheel right, perhaps abruptly, but the car did respond and the front of the car began to yaw to the right. And it continued yawing until the left-rear quarter panel smacked the snow-covered hill, which a moment ago had been on my right, with a reassuring thud. The river was on the left, remember? The ungainly beast had somehow managed to pirouette 180 degrees in rapid fashion.
    I returned to the little town, made a U-turn, and attempted the final mile of my journey with even more caution, and I did finally arrive safely.
    That was but one example of RWD leaving me unimpressed. The feeling a driver gets with less-than-ideal traction is one of disconnection between the front and rear wheels. The front wheels are sorta gripping the road, sorta not, and the rear wheels have their own separate agenda that they have no intention of sharing with the front.
    Have I sworn off RWD completely, forever, never to return? Of course not, if someone wants to drop a Ferrari 250 GT Lusso in my driveway, I’ll drive it. Every single day.

Copyright © 2022 by James Knudsen