My 2001 Toyota Solara SE V6: You CAN Sell an Old Man’s Car To a Young Man

With my ‘70 Mustang convertible sent to greener pastures, I spent the rest of 2001 and spring of 2002 replenishing my bank account and pondering my next move.

I was at a crossroads: While I loved driving my Ford Probe, I also wanted more goodies on my daily driver. I was 35, had a good-paying job, and felt it was time to move up. Manual windows and locks seemed a little passé to me by then.

Frankly, ingress and egress was more challenging than it was six years before. The Probe, with a height of 51.6 inches, was low to begin with. Then, I’d installed lowering springs to boot (blame Sport Compact Car magazine), which probably put it at about 50.5 in. or so. I’d quit smoking in January, 2000 (good thing) but compensated by eating (bad thing) and managed to put on about 50 lbs. So, I decided to “step up” to a more mature vehicle.

Ready, Big Spender?

My car searches have always run the gamut; every option is on the table. But, thanks to Chris, a work friend of mine, the leading contender was an E46 BMW 3-Series. Unbeknownst to me, Chris had traded in his 1999 Civic Si and leased a 2001 330i sedan. And he didn’t mess around: Topaz Blue exterior, dove gray leather interior, Sport Package, Premium Package, Xenon HID headlights, Harman/Kardon premium audio, and most important, a 5-speed manual.

2003 330i in Topaz Blue.

When he arrived to pick me up for lunch, I was floored, just floored. The exterior, interior, fit and finish, attention to detail, all of it. Much like the VW Beetles I remember from childhood, it was a car from another land, different from other cars I’d experienced.

And, the powertrain! The M54 225 hp 3.0L inline-six was just delicious. From its sonorous exhaust note to its seamless power delivery, I was smitten, baby! Smitten! The 5-speed manual transmission was a perfect match, its throws mechanical and deliberate. The steering, hefty and precise. The whole car was like a little jewel to me.

This was going to be a problem, I could already tell. Why?

Because I’m cheap.

And, being a cheapo, I couldn’t reconcile BMW ownership (or “leasership”) against the financial costs. The ones I’d spring for I didn’t want, and vice versa.

Proud Unicorn-mobile Owner

Besides being a cheapo, I’m a complete dork about almost any car offered in rarely-seen manual transmission trim. In my experience, a manual transmission can transform even the most invisible transportation appliance into an entertaining drive. 2002 Chrysler Sebring GTC convertible 5-speed? I wanna try it. 2003 Acura 3.2CL Type-S 6-speed? Hit me up. (Disclaimer: Excludes GM FWD X-cars, Mopar K-cars and K-derivatives, as their respective shift linkages were simply abysmal.)

So, a few months later, I discovered a 2001 Toyota Solara SE V6 on the local Chevy/Toyota dealer’s lot . . . and it was a 5-speed! Ooooh, I was giddy. (God knows why.)

Build Quality Bonkers

Well, I do know why: the Solara had the feel of “peak Toyota.” The doors, with their frameless window glass, opened with a smooth, mechanical “click” and closed with unexpected Teutonic heft. No door glass rattles here.

My ‘01 Solara SE V6 5-speed. Looks like a still I captured from video.

The interior was largely silent, except for the faint throb of its 200 hp, 3.0L V6 at idle. Instrument panel gauges and overall dashboard layout appeared to be “borrowed” from the contemporary Mercedes-Benz CLK coupe. The JBL audio was powerful and played both cassettes and CDs (wooo, big-time!).

2001 Solara dashboard and instrument panel.
2000 Mercedes-Benz CLK series dashboard and instrument panel.

Its charcoal interior, with leather seating surfaces and power driver’s seat, was a comfortable place to reside. Plenty of room for rear passengers and a fold-down seatback to boot. Lots of trunk space. And a power moonroof to let the outside in.

Lots of glass and fast roof line pair well with sculpted body-side “shoulder” character lines.

Out on the highway, the Solara impressed with its muscular powertrain and notable refinement. Handling was definitely not its strong suit, and the car overall lacked road feel, but that appeared to be solvable with some items from the Toyota Racing Development, or TRD, catalog.

(At this point, it seems appropriate to note that T-R-D also translates as “turd.” More on that later.)

Making the Move

It was hard to trade in the Probe. As my first new car, its purchase was a reward for returning to, and graduating from, college. My wife and I had many dates, and traveled many places in it when we were “a-courtin’” in ‘97 and ‘98. But, I don’t like being a three-car guy with a two-car garage. So, I traded it on the Solara.

I struggled to move on, as the Probe languished on Hoselton’s used car lot. As the price dropped, part of me wanted to buy it back.

Head-on shot shows a bit of “mean headlight” so in vogue today. Overall look is clean, if a bit tame.

I held firm, and eventually, the Probe disappeared from the Saturday newspaper car ads and the used car lot.

The more I drove the Solara, the more I learned. For example, I learned that if I:

  • Accelerated too aggressively while turning, the inside unloaded front tire would fry itself to a husk unless I got out of the gas.
  • Was unsure whether I really had the hang of the Solara’s gearbox and clutch, I should have continued to test drive the car until I was sure I had the hang of the Solara’s gearbox and clutch.
  • Hit the crown of a cross road (such as at an intersection) at too high of a speed, the Camry-based suspension quickly cried “Uncle!” as it fully compressed, then fully rebounded. As the road at the other side of the intersection quickly pitched downhill, all those unsettled ride motions made me feel as if inertia would bounce us both down the hill, cartwheeling end over end in a stylish, two-door fireball.
  • Bought a car with excellent build quality and a ton of refinement but absolutely no “feel” at all (it had graduated from “lacking feel” to “no feel” by this point), that “feel” was pretty important to me.

The Beginning of The End (Again)

It started with the shifter and clutch (again). I had trouble getting that last 15% of the hang of driving the Solara smoothly. Coming from the Probe, with its high-quality linkage and near-telepathic clutch, the Solara’s action was clunky and artificially notchy, like “shifting” a wooden spoon in a jar of pretzels.

Could TRD save the day with its shifter? I doubted it, just as I doubted the TRD suspension kit and 17-in. wheels resolving the handling deficiencies. So, TRD, to me, became “turd” as in, “I hope those TRD parts fix my turd Solara.”

TRD body kit, wheels, and badging that says (wait for it) “TRD.”

Having just experienced, in the Mustang, a related experiment that delivered little in terms of improvement, I was not anxious to repeat that adventure on the Solara.

The Clincher

My father and I went out for lunch one day in the Solara. I may have been grousing about my dissatisfaction with the car; it’s too long ago to recall. But, I do recall my father telling that, while he thought the Solara was nice, he thought it seemed a car more suited to someone his age than a younger guy.

Oh, no! The cardinal sin of younger guy car purchases: I bought an old man’s car!

An “old man’s car” in TRD makeup.

Honestly, I never saw it as an “old guy’s car.” The exterior was sleek and, to my eye, attractive. Tasteful, even. Not baroque or overwrought. TRD updates added a veneer of youthful appeal but didn’t give the exterior a supreme makeover; it worked with what was already there.

So, I skipped the whole TRD treatment and just toughed it out for almost a year, gradually losing interest in driving it at all. Other than going to and from work, I rode with my wife in her snappy, fun-to-drive, 2000 Accord EX 5-speed coupe, which was an excellent car; less substantial-feeling but much more athletic than the Solara.

The twin of my wife’s San Marino Red 2000 Accord EX 2.3L coupe. An excellent car until, after seven years of years of exemplary maintenance, it started singing the “dead-cylinder oil consumption blues” at under 100k miles.

Calling It Quits

By the time June 2003 rolled around, we’d sold our townhouse (located on a hill) and moved to a ranch house situated on a hill that, ironically, faced our townhouse. We could see our old place from our new one.

Figuratively, I could also see my Solara days were coming to an end. I’d spotted my next car. As a June baby, I wanted to splurge a little for my birthday that year. And though I didn’t know it then, I was about to make, without a doubt, my best car purchase decision ever. Tune in next time.

 

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Classic CARmentary: 1999 Toyota Solara SE V6 (by Adam Dixon)