You Don't Need a Bigger SUV, You Need a Roof Box
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It’s roof box season. That magical time of the year when everything from Subaru Outbacks to Lamborghini Huracans sprout racks and sleek plastic cargo carriers from Thule, Yakima or whatever was on sale at REI. Short of a Princess Cruise t-shirt or a group of Germans wearing cargo shorts with black socks and sandals, nothing announces summertime vacation more loudly than a roof box.
“There’s no way we’re cramming three humans and two dogs into a Honda CR-V and driving to Wyoming,” my wife said with assurance and certainty.
“Sure, we can,” I replied. “We just need to con– ahem, convince–Honda into loaning us a roof box too.”
Best Rooftop Cargo Carriers for 2023, Picked By Experts
And so it was that Honda leant us a 2023 CR-V AWD Sport Touring Hybrid for a trip from our home in Santa Barbara, California to the Fireside Resort in Wilson, Wyoming. That’s just outside of Jackson Hole and near Yellowstone National Park. From the accessories catalog, Honda included the crossbars for the roof rack ($280), a roof box with 13-cubic feet of lockable storage ($523), thick all-season rubber mats ($200), a dog-resistant plastic cargo tray ($130) and seat back protectors ($110). Throw in the $39,100 cost of the vehicle, $455 for the “Still Night Pearl” blue paint, and the expected $1295 destination charge holdup and the total cost of this 21st Century, gas-electric, Family Truckster came in at $42,093. Not cheap, but safely below the $48,000+ average new car price in 2023.
Right now, though, good luck finding a dealer willing to let a top-end CR-V hybrid go out at sticker.
“We don’t need to carry water with us,” I argued with my wife Dana as we loaded up the CR-V on the Monday leading up to Memorial Day weekend. “But the dogs will need it,” she contended. “So, it’s cheap, we’ll stop and get some along the way…” I responded as she added two one-gallon jugs of Kirkland Signature drinking water in the foot well behind the driver’s seat. Family trips are not always about agreement. And some fights are better avoided than won.
Nina, our 22-year-old daughter home from college, amazingly agreed to come with us. And along with her came her seven-month-old basset hound puppy, Cleo. Cleo and my 21-month-old chocolate lab Caroline would be riding in the way back together. Nina would perch in the second row alongside whatever didn’t fit in the roof box, and Dana and I would share driving.
Thirteen cubic feet doesn’t seem like much—it’s 1.8 cubes short of the trunk space in a 2023 Civic sedan—but it’s all flat and useful. The 65-inch-long, 34.5-inch-wide rooftop cargo carrier easily swallowed my soft carry-on sized bag, my wife’s similar hard-shell bag, 31-pounds (two bags) of Science Diet dry dog food and a foldable dog crate. Honda lists the box’s weight capacity at 110 lbs, and we were maybe 20 or 30 lbs shy of that. I guess we could have added a cat too.
The box itself isn’t much more than a plastic shell, but it can be opened from either the left or right side, is wedge-shaped for aerodynamic efficiency, and doesn’t weigh much itself. Open the CR-V’s sunroof with the box in place and there’s some irritating turbulence. But keep that thing closed, and there’s barely any noticeable additional wind noise.
Google maps pegged the trip at 1078 miles slashing through Nevada, Utah, and Idaho. We aimed to make it to Salt Lake City on Day One (a stout 850 or so miles), and then an easy cruise to Wyoming on Day Two.
Already best buds, the two young dogs settled in with each other with astonishing ease. “As soon as one of them raises their head, we’re stopping so they can poop,” Dana sensibly asserted. “I don’t want to be smelling dog shit the rest of the trip.” Succinct and to the point, my wife is.
Honda sold more than 361,000 CR-Vs in the United States during 2021 and moved another 238,000-or-so during 2022 despite supply chain disruptions cutting production. The CR-V has long been the best-selling Honda model, and with production of this new sixth-generation model ramping up, there’s at least some chance this year that it will challenge Toyota’s RAV4 as the best-selling not-a-pickup in the country. A long shot’s chance.
Honda has butched up the CR-V for this latest generation. What was a swoopy face is now a flat, gaping maw. The rearward side windows are squared off and everything seems drawn with a straightedge. Seems like all SUVs want to look like old Land Cruisers now, and the CR-V wears its macho a bit uneasily. But, yeah, it’s likely Honda has read the market well.
After 331 miles, even Jean, Nevada seems like an Edenic garden of doggie relief. Whether it’s the massive Chevron station in Jean, the mega-Maverik in Fillmore, Utah or any of the thousands of other places with plentiful pumps and clean restrooms, during the summer they’re all whelmed with ordinary family haulers. Finishing up the first quarter of the 21st century, Americans are still addicted to road trips. And the modern crossover SUV is optimized to the task.
Honda’s latest hybrid system for the CR-V is conceptually more closely (but not that closely) aligned with that of the departed Chevrolet Volt’s scheme than previous Hondas. That is, it’s an inline hybrid with the Atkinson-cycle, 145-hp, 2.0-liter internal combustion four almost always acting as a generator to feed current either to the twin electric motors or the not-at-all-large 1.1-kilowatt hour lithium-ion battery pack. Those motors sit side-by-side and produce up to 181 hp and 237 lb-ft of torque. There is no conventional transmission—not even a dread continuously variable one—but there are clutches that allow the engine to directly drive the wheels at times using two different ratios. So, there are two ratios when the engine is a full participant plus another one for when the electric motors are doing the motivational work. It’s a somewhat mystifying dance between four elements – ICE, electric motors, battery, and generator.
In total, says Honda, that samba produces a peak combined output of 204-horsepower. But that lasts only as long as there’s juice to squeezed from the dinky battery. And once the stored zap is gone, the four-cylinder engine is tasked with hauling a vehicle that weighs nearly two-tons on its lonesome.
“It’s not fast,” Dana said as we crossed into Utah, “but it’s really nice. I’d buy it.”
According to the U.S. Census Bureau there are 83.9 million families with an average of 3.13 people in each one. That’s most of us. And about two thirds of them have pets.
“Caroline has her head up,” Nina reported from the aft couch. “She’s looking antsy.” And young chocolate labs can only hold their antsy-ness for so long.
The Creamery in Beaver, Utah is one of those places that isn’t a destination, but becomes a favorite after the stumble across. It’s a dairy Disneyland; a lactose oasis. It’s also one of America’s great roof box meetups. Chevy Equinoxes, Ford Explorers, Nissan Rogues, Kia Sorentos, and all sorts of Hondas, Toyotas, and Jeeps. All are welcome under their lockable, plastic halos.
While the wife and daughter went inside for ice cream and blocks of cheddar the size of Coleman coolers, I took the dogs to the patch of grass set aside for their play and sanitation.
Summer travel is a series of impromptu, 20-minute, casual friendships. The little kids playing with Caroline and Cleo? Didn’t know their names, didn’t know their parents’ names, didn’t know their work histories, prison records, religious affiliations, hopes, dreams, or medical conditions. But I learned they were from Provo, traveling back from visiting family in Kentucky, and for 20 minutes we were buds. After I picked up the dogs’ donations, threw orange balls a while, and consumed some Huckleberry ice cream, it was back onto the road.
And then there was Salt Lake City.
Just down the street from the Fairfield Inn in downtown SLC is Pioneer Park. As the sun set, and a few minutes after unloading the CR-V, I grabbed the dogs and headed down to that public green space. A car show—modestly sized, but diverse in all ways possible—was going on. The first car that captured my attention was a tasty ’70 Datsun 510 two-door with its hood off. The engine was something special.
“Hey, is that an SR20DET?” I asked, it was. “Exactly,” the owner answered jumping up out his folding sports chair so quickly he practically leapt out of his flip-flops. In my mind I was preparing my extended, self-aggrandizing dissertation on the glories of Nissan’s mid-Nineties, turbocharged 2.0-liter four, but the owner talked first. “How’d you know that?” he said. “You’re way too old to know about the SR20!”
At that point I leapt across the lawn and strangled him to death with my bare hands. I’ve been a fugitive from Utah law enforcement ever since. The end.
Alright, in reality, I resisted my immediate homicidal instincts. But only barely. I didn’t realize all my work for Super Street and Sport Compact Carmagazines back in the day was a set-up for an ego-crushing encounter late-in-life. I felt ancient the rest of the trip. And there was no 20-minute friendship for the not-that-young whippersnapper with the nice 510.
Since its introduction as a 1997 model, the CR-V has only grown. At 184.8 inches long over a 106.3-inch wheelbase, it’s still 3.2 inches shorter than the original three-row Pilot Honda introduced for the 2003 model year, but the wheelbase is identical. At 73.5 inches wide, it’s about four inches slimmer than the original Pilot, but inside it feels at least as roomy as that oldster. It’s as mainstream as vehicular products get.
Honda reports EPA ratings of 43 mpg in the city, 34 mpg on highway and 37 mpg combined for the all-wheel drive CR-V hybrid models. Yeah, right.
With five mammals and their stuff aboard, that box on the roof adding some aerodynamic drag, plenty of long climbs, the A/C always on, all four USB ports and the wireless pad charging Apple products, and a wife who is comfortable cruising at 80 mph or better (I’m slightly slower), the CR-V burned 97.7 gallons of fuel during our 2797-mile trip for an average of 28.6 mpg. That’s impressive for a vehicle with almost all the functionality of a Chevrolet Tahoe—except towing.
Honda does claim a 1000-lb towing capacity for the CR-V Hybrid. As if there’s much worth towing that weighs that little. Non-hybrid CR-Vs equipped with the 190-hp, 1.5-liter turbocharged four and the CVT automatic can yoke up and haul 1500 lbs behind them.
The small battery means that on long hill climbs it will drain. That leaves the combustion engine whirring up with some frenzy to get power to the electric motor. That means, at times, it will sound like the drone of a CVT-equipped car. A larger-capacity battery would be appreciated. And there’s a good chance one will arrive in the form of plug-in hybrid CR-V in the next few years.
Whether laden down and cruising or heading into urban traffic with one aboard and all the travel stuff stowed in a cabin, the CR-V rides well and quietly. It doesn’t inspire much excitement, but that comes from family members either telling stupid jokes or working through some emotional grudges. There’s an intimacy that comes with a road trip that can’t be duplicated on an airliner, and compact crossovers almost seem designed to amplify that familial coziness.
No one acquires a new car or truck with a passion for efficient commuting burning in their soul. We all aspire to a specialness when we sign up for those 60 or 72 or 84 months of payments. We all want to do… something. And that’s not always setting a personal best time in a GT3 up Tail of the Dragon. Or spitting fire from the exhaust of a six-wheel Hennessey Ram TRX on Miami’s Ocean Boulevard. For most of us, most often, it means family trips.
Road & Track’s specialty is specialness. That is, we report on extraordinary machinery with exuberant characters, adventures to exotic places and the legends of motorsports. Roof boxing up cross the Mountain West in a Honda? That’s as mundane as American travel gets. But we all, eventually, do something like it.
But a lack of specialness isn’t the same as a lack of satisfaction. The compact crossover SUV is an evolved species. And, usually, they are the best-selling product any manufacturer sells that isn’t a pickup. From Mitsubishi Outlander to Porsche Macan, these things are all sorts of great. And like the CR-V, they’re all better with a roof box atop them.
Our six-day trip wasn’t eventful, featured very little family conflict, and used up more than two dozen doggie poop bags. What I got out of it was a chance to spend time with two women I love, two dogs I adore, and getting to visit that part of the country that’s most unlike the place where I live. The vehicle and its storage box weren’t the point, they were the tools that made it possible. We should all have such good times.
That in mind, next blitz across the country, I’m taking a Porsche with a roof box. And no dogs.
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