(hooked in Portage, IN)
With less than 200 miles on the odo, my Fiat Cinquecento (pronounced "cinquecento") was placed on the hotseat to accomplish one task: get me to Chicago, fast, and without exploding or making me look gay.
Only the smart car is smaller, so I didn't expect a GT experience over the 260 miles of 94. At one point, the 500 got darty, following every groove in the pavement. But this may have more to do with the fact that I was traveling closer to 100mph than I should. The thing is coffin (bad word?) quiet at speed with little wind noise to indicate velocity. Cruise control deployed-> dartyness gone --> jail time averted.
Big difference between the Fiat and an Aveo, Fiesta, or a Mazda 2 is not smaller size but an Italian interior. Some of the TWENTY buttons on the steering wheel get accidentally pushed or have alien cryptographs indicating possible invasion initiation purposes, but otherwise this is functional fashion.
Let me say I say a word about Satellite Radio: dumb.
This thing is small, but it has one advantage over my Fiero: four seats. A friend's wife was the willing first victim of the 500's back seat. She's of average height and said she was fine back there, but I doubt a third or fourth disciple would willingly road trip in this thing, outside of a Catholic Penance ritual.
Parking Cinquecento in the Second City is promiscuous. You're always finding a slot that others have to refuse due to size issues. But I refused to do what even Europeans think is a dick move: parking perpendicular to the curb. The electric steering out of Sport mode is liquid light. Pinky parking happened a couple times. Wait, that may have looked gay.
I must go back this weekend and regain my manhood. More...
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