LS1Tech Review: 2017 Chevrolet SS
LS1Tech bids the Chevrolet SS muscle sedan farewell.
Dear Chevrolet SS,
You probably don’t remember me, even though we spent a week together touring the Texas Hill Country. You did the same kind of thing all over the country with several automotive journalists before me and I’m sure in the time since I last saw you that you’ve done the same sort of thing with even more of them. That’s OK. I knew our time together would eventually end. Yours as a model is ending, too. GM is shutting down Holden vehicle production which includes your Australian cousin, the Commodore, and you. In fact, according to a Chevrolet spokesperson, you stopped rolling out of the factory at the end of April.
There were a lot of things I wanted to tell you, but never did. Some of them I would’ve said calmly, others I would’ve shouted at you angrily. I’ll say them now, though.
You had a certain modesty to you. I always saw it, even through all of the jewelry and accessories you wore. You wanted the world to think you were a red-blooded, bad ass performance sedan. You certainly looked the part with your functional hood vents, large lower front air intake, big Brembo brakes, and flashy red calipers. Your 19-inch wheels looked as if they were born out of a fountain of sparks and a wretched chorus of screaming blades and grinders in a dimly lit metal fab shop. Your voice only backed up the image you were going for. Whenever you woke up or rushed me to my next destination, your quad exhaust tips let out a sound that I can only describe as guttural malevolence. It was as if you were a dragon awakening from a sleep brought on by the exhaustion of decimating an entire village, the peasants’ blood still hot and thick in your drowsy throat.
I always enjoyed your theatricality, but I never fully bought into it. I knew underneath all of that that your roots were those of a regular, practical sedan. You couldn’t hide them. Your three-mode Magnetic Ride Control was your biggest tell. The Tour setting’s ride quality was not quite as supple as I was hoping it would be, but Sport was a surprisingly good balance of soft and sharp. Even your MRC’s Performance mode was more compliant than I expected it be. Those last two settings were my favorites for their ability to limit body roll in curves and because they engaged your dual-mode exhaust’s most vocal, expressive settings.
You always took care of whatever I needed, too. If I was cold, I could turn on your heated front seats. If it was hot outside, I could set them to ventilate. Pairing my phone to you via Bluetooth was easy. So was accessing your built-in WiFi hotspot. Your user-friendly navigation system gave me peace of mind when I was headed to a new destination. Your 8-inch touchscreen was a breeze to use, but its color scheme and menu designs made me think of the screen you’d see on an IBM Thinkpad in a cheesy 1990s FBI thriller.
I also appreciated your openness and willingness to communicate. I have to admit that I thought you wouldn’t be willing or able to accommodate me in your back row. I had you pegged as a sort of four-door sports car with only two real seats for people who are 5’10” like me and taller. I was wrong. In fact, I was shocked at how much legroom and headroom I had in your back seat. Your steering was responsive off center and took on a reassuring weight when we flew into curves together.
If only your brake pedal was the same way. It felt as stiff and numb as I felt disconnected from it. I would put my right foot down and you would eventually come to a stop. I knew that would happen; it was the seconds in between when I was completely in the dark.
You carried yourself with the not-so-quiet confidence of 415 horsepower and 415 lb-ft of torque. Your 6.2-liter V8 had a hell of a bark – and the bite to go with it. You never seemed as if you had something to prove. When we were just cruising around the suburbs and city streets, you were perfectly calm and composed. I knew you had a temper, though. I don’t mean that in a critical way. I enjoyed setting you off. There was always this point in the rev range when you would switch from rowdy to enraged. I just gripped your wheel a little tighter and enjoyed the ride as you charged forward at invisible enemies on the horizon that I convinced you were there.
Whether we were running errands or ripping up the highway, your 6-speed automatic operated smoothly. Even in its sport setting, when its responses were even snappier. Other cars with that kind of setup tend to want me to rev them too high for a gear change between stop lights so it sounds as if the transmission is acting up or I’m revving the car too much. I never had to worry about that with you.
I’ll also take this opportunity to say goodbye, Chevrolet SS. I’m glad a car like you existed and even happier that I had a chance to spend time with you. If only I had the opportunity to see how your available 6-speed manual performs and what heights you could’ve reached in the future. Perhaps your engineer friends could’ve trained you until you developed some LT4 muscle.
I’ll never know, though. After this model year, you will never be part of a press fleet again. You will belong to the memories of those who enjoyed your company. I was one of them.
