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Viewed one way, this road to evolution started with a regression: that of turning a perfectly good Camry into a sport-futility vehicle. That does give a pretty good idea of how the Highlander drives, though. In categories such as steering, handling, braking, acceleration, and ride quality, the qualities of refinement and boredom join forces like never before. That's the Camry, all right.
The step from Camry to Highlander placed a little extra emphasis on the boredom. Nearly 500 pounds of extra fat (2006 Camry SE vs. 2006 Highlander V6 2WD Limited) instill more reluctance to every maneuver. High-profile P225/65R17 tires skid a little early in corners (they were likely chosen for their high treadwear rating of 500), and its high stance on the road (more ground clearance plus more raw height) makes the body a bit tippier around every turn and a bit more divey in the braking. The stability control steps in early (and can't be disabled), and forward movement is a trifle slower.
But the dynamic degradations too modest to matter much. The unibody construction keeps handling closer to its origin than to, say, a Tundra, and it steers accurately. This plus Toyota's squashy strut suspension give Highlander the softest ride among the competition it later spawned (Honda Pilot, Nissan Murano, Mitsubishi Endeavor), even if that softness occasionally translates into bounce. Swift acceleration comes courtesy of the larger of the Camry's two V6s, a 3.3-liter unit that delivers 208 horsepower in a relaxed fashion. The Highlander will fulfill all reasonable performance requests as it reliably transports you to point B.
And now, the evolution begins. Building on the Prius's progress, the haughtiest Highlander is now home to the latest iteration of Toyota's Hybrid Synergy Drive, which made its technological mark by being the first hybrid system that could not only supplement the gas engine, but at times take over completely.
In this case a 45-kilowatt, 288-volt NiMH battery pack serves as the power source to two electric motors up front, providing 60 horses in the 268-horse stable. The larger of the two motors plays the propulsion role; the smaller one's duties divvy up between serving as the engine's instant starter and regulating the transaxle's output speed. And finally, to ensure that engine-off driving never becomes a sweaty workout, the steering assist, air conditioner, and alternator all switched over to electric units.
4-wheel-drive Highlander Hybrids like ours add a third electric motor (650 volts, like the others) that exclusively drives the back wheels, mainly between 0-25 MPH and at full throttle. The 4WD system's purely electric nature paints the Highlander as the most soft-core off-roader, but also nixes the need for the usual friction-prone 4WD gear like rear driveshafts and center differentials.
Basically, this is the Highlander you know, with everything turned one notch stranger. Starting it still involves a turn of the key, but all you do is wait for a beep and a "READY" message and you're good to go. (What I don't understand: the engine turns on after about ten seconds no matter what, then eventually turns back off if warm.) Tread lightly on the pedal and you can creep all around the parking lot in pure-electric silence (the tight-turning Highlander is an easy parker, by the way), dazzling puzzled pedestrians until you're back on the street where traffic demands real-world grunt. Neat, huh?
The rest of the weirdness has to do with the electric everything. Acceleration is more complicated when it's a solo at some times and a duet at others; the engine quickly shuddering to life at low speeds is the most noticeable effect. At higher speeds, the smooth, stepless transitions of the Continuously Variable Transmission rewrite the relationship between engine speed and road speed, and somewhat mask the fact that the 4WD Highlander Hybrid hits 60 MPH in just 6.9 seconds - a full second faster than the conventional model (and 0.6 faster than the 2WD Hybrid). The steering went from numb to number, and the brakes get a bit grabby since they've been designed to send some of their energy back to the engine, though they mark a definite improvement in linearity over the Prius's brakes. Finally, when you hybridize a Highlander and deck it out with 4-wheel-drive, its mass ascends to a scale-crushing 4,245 pounds.
Once your brain gets used to it all, the race for fuel economy begins. With potential savings directly tied to your foot, you develop a habit of lifting it as soon as possible so those motor-generators can turn your coasting energy back into free juice. You also tread lightly when starting out in the hopes of delaying the gas engine's activation point (typically 5-10 MPH) as far as it'll go. If you're extremely meticulous with your footwork (and oblivious to the 15-car lineup accumulating behind you), you can even creep into the 30s without drinking one drop of fuel, though after a mile or two the battery's half-dead and the engine steps in to end this electron abuse. All this drama ends once you reach freeway speeds where the gas engine pretty much runs the show, with the electric half imperceptibly chiming in at the computer's whims.
It's true that hybrids only enjoy their benefits in city life, and also true that aerodynamically-challenged SUVs suffer disproportionately on the freeway. In the Highlander Hybrid's case, the two forces have combined to make fuel economy almost uniform across the speed spectrum. I first slogged around traffic for a couple hours, fuel hovering around 26 MPG. Cruised the highway at 70 MPH for a while, still 26 MPG. Headed for the hills, then a bit more in-town time, then hopped back on the freeway for home, and the end of the day saw - you guessed it - 26 MPG. 26 tapered off to 24 over a few more days of mixed commuting, but it's clear that any question about the Highlander Hybrid's mileage calls for the same answer: "mid-20s."
Final note: 24 is but two measly MPG less than my cumulative score with the Ford Escape Hybrid, a 463-pounds-lighter SUV that coughs up 113 fewer horsepower. Two things are possible here: Toyota's hybrid technology has advanced faster than Ford's ability to emulate it, and/or Toyota just makes better engines. Neither would surprise me.
Given the Prius's rousing success, it's a curious strategy that Toyota would style the Highlander so invisibly. Exactly three items distinguish the hybrid from the heathen: a chrome grille, LED taillights, and the 2-inch "Hybrid Synergy Drive" decal right below the word "Highlander." This SUV's sales success should shed some light on the question of whether people have been picking the Prius more for standout styling or Toyota technology.
Not a lot of the innards changed, either, meaning buyers can look forward to the same clean, attractive interior found in other Highlanders. The steering wheel, dash design, roomy and numerous compartments, etc. are right where they should be. The expensive-feeling buttons and switches are kept company by the Limited model's Lexus-like leather; electroluminescent gauges ("Optitron") also recall Toyota's upscale brand. And thanks for having the shift lever stick out from in front, like on a car. Just give us less flimsy cupholders and get rid of all that repulsive bogus aluminum, please; it doesn't compliment the cream colors as well as does the repulsive bogus wood.
One thing Toyota did was send the tachometer packing; in its place stands a battery meter. Why? The engine is still the star of the show, and tracking its activity is both more interesting and more indicative of fuel usage than anything the battery does. Couldn't they have just left the tach as-is and tacked on a mini sub-tach for the battery in the same cluster? There's plenty of space.
The only other switcharoo comes into play if you order the upscale Limited trim line with the $2,000 navigation system, which buys the fancy video game displays telling you the intricacies of a hybrid's moment-to-moment life. On top of the usual screens (Map, Destination, Menu, Audio, Climate), the hybrid part adds two more: one that monitors average MPG, instant MPG (via bar graph), and MPG over the last 30 minutes (via bar graph), and another screen that gives instant MPG (numerically), battery charge, and a detailed diagram tracking the direction of energy flow. Condensed versions of either screen can also be summoned in the readout beneath the speedometer; watching power flow from the little speedo screen and consumption from the big screen seems to make the best infotainment compromise.
Some compromises could have easily been solved with a little more thought. Because the space-hog of a stereo insisted on taking up two DIN slots, the climate controls got evicted to the navigation screen. And if the Highlander would just drop that dorky cassette deck (uh, isn't this a technology showcase?), the radio's preset buttons could be living on the faceplate. Instead, this clumsy solution forces this poor little interface to house two more tenants when it's busy enough juggling the navigation and hybrid screens, which are each complex enough in their own right.
But each of those systems works well. The JBL stereo, while lacking in MP3 and iPod capability, blasts the cleanest, deepest sound through its eight door-mounted speakers among any Toyota with the JBL upgrade I've heard yet. Toyota's mouse-less navigation system, as usual, makes you smear the screen with your finger and lacks some of Honda's configuration options (keyboard type, guidance prompt frequency, etc.), but is otherwise as fast, friendly, and easy. I wish the A/C system would drop it habit of switching to recirculated air on each startup, but no complaints with its chill capability.
Some complaints with the driving position. Years after the Camry and Solara got telescoping steering wheels, the Highlander's remains fixed and far away, which conspire with the too-reclined seat to keep us long-legged types at a long-distance relationship with the steering wheel. The wheel's upward tilt was also makes the Highlander feel a bit bus-like, and the upper rim can block the speedometer. May you have better luck than me.
The seat itself is perfectly fine, as is the one next to it, and the Highlander's height probably gives it the most pleasant entry/exit of any vehicle. The three behind it are quite comfortable too (they recline, slide, and have two cupholders in each door), if just a little bit low. The thing is, if it were any higher, six-footers would run out of headroom. Funny, the Camry doesn't have this problem.
As for the third-row seat, its only practical use seems to be traumatizing young children at record-young ages thanks to exhausting entry, tall walls, and ass-on-the-grass seats. But all seats in the house recline, all have 3-point belts and head restraints, and all but the back of the bus get side air bags for body and head. It doesn't hurt that the Highlander aced every crash test known to man with 5 stars apiece.
While the Highlander can't hope to approach the Sienna's versatility, folding down its rearmost seat quadruples capacity from 10.5 cubic feet to 39.7. Tumble the second row and you get all of 80.6 to work with, suggesting none of the hybrid componentry (including the battery pack living beneath the middle seats) stole any space.
Like the regular Highlander, the Hybrid comes in base or Limited trim, with the latter adding automatic headlights, fog lights, moonroof, automatic climate control, JBL stereo, CD changer, leather seats and steering wheel, power passenger's seat (driver's is already powered), auto-dimming mirror, alarm, wood trim, and spoiler. All this stuff adds $4,860 to the $33,635 of the base Highlander Hybrid, tipping the tab to $38,495. 4WD costs $1,400 extra in either case.
And now the question you've been waiting for: "what's the hybrid premium??" Well, prices of $27,045 and $31,065 for the regular Highlander V6 2WD and Highlander V6 2WD Limited point to price jacks of $6,590 and $7,430, respectively - EEK! The incongruency is due to the Hybrid Limited adding items to the base Hybrid that the regular Limited doesn't add to the regular base (i.e. leather seats, seat heaters, sunroof). The act of jumping to a Hybrid also nets a few items (i.e. power seat, third-row seat, alloy wheels, tinted windows), so fairness demands we use a number that's even smaller than the lower figure. $6,000 ok with everyone?
Going by 12,000 miles a year and $3.20 for each gallon of gas, this 24 MPG Highlander Hybrid will burn a $1,600 hole in your wallet every year - $421 less than the cost of a 19 MPG regular Highlander. Our $6,000 figure divided by $421 points to a 14.3-year wait for payback - way worse than a Prius but slightly better than the Escape Hybrid, the closest thing it has to a competitor.
Note: That raise isn't as petty as it sounds. Improvements must be measured by percentages, not absolute numbers, and 5 extra MPG means a 26% improvement - some ways off from the Prius's 40%, but still significant.
Of course, you can't ignore the other factors like the tax factor, a constantly in-flux law that within a year's time the government switched from a deduction to a credit (currently $2,600) - a credit that's set to diminish with time once Toyota meets a sales quota. Then there's the giant mystery of resale value. As for replacing the expensive battery, Toyota now unofficially promises it will last about 16 years, which would make it less of a concern than previously predicted.
Instead of fussing over fuzzy equations, try looking at the big picture. Personally, I'm all in favor of hybrid conversions. I'm even more in favor for converting worthy donors. Is the Highlander worthy?
Going back to square one, this is, at its core, a Camry station wagon - one of the smartest cars on Earth wrapped in the smartest shell. But this "crossover" didn't completely cross over; the Highlander remains 400 pounds heavier and 10 inches taller than it would if it were a real wagon, while managing to actually lose headroom over the Camry. Also, a V6 engine of 3.3 liters is arguably bigger than necessary, and unarguably double-whammies the user by asking for premium fuel. In the race for efficiency, the Highlander Hybrid starts from 40 yards behind.
If you don't need its extra seats, better cargo space, extra acceleration, or 3,500-pound towing capacity, why not do yourself and the world a favor by choosing a 4-cylinder Camry that drives a thousand times better, has a nicer back seat, doesn't threaten or annoy other motorists, and - insult of insults - gets better fuel economy (same 24 MPG, but on regular)? There's more than one way to save a whale, and the TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS you'll end up saving (uh, that's a 1 followed by four zeroes) might inspire a few ideas.
The Highlander Hybrid is fascinating stuff, but unlike the genius Prius, ultimately more a triumph for technology than for the common consumer.
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