Smooth and Stealthy, Toyota’s Prius Does Gas-Electric Technology Proud

A Cyclopsian video screen, mounted dead center in the dashboard, welcomed us to Prius.

“On-board Nintendo,” breathed Mrs. Dean, knowing nothing about this algae-green sedan that met her at LAX. “Donkey Kong in the Kingdom of Prius?”

Not quite.

Prius, as may be remembered by graduates of arcane academies, is Latin for “to go before.” It says the Toyota Prius, its concept and technology, goes before any other clean, green motoring machine by virtue of a gasoline-electric propulsion system aimed somewhere in time between “Star Trek Visits Oz” and the fin de siecle. Pardon my French, but you’re probably sick of the M-word by now.

And if General Motors’ EV1 electric vehicle is supposed to represent the dawn of a new era of mass motoring, then the Toyota Prius may well represent the generation after tomorrow.

“I’m glad to be so old I won’t be around to see it,” sniffed Mrs. Dean.

Why?

“This car is too plastic. No soul. No quality. No buttons that speak English.”

True. But looks, as in my case, aren’t everything. Toyota wants to show America what makes Prius run. The car sells well in Japan--more than 10,000 units last year--and will be happening here sometime deep into next year. Hence Toyota’s decision to ship a few Priuses--with right-hand drive, instruments measuring speed in kilometers and radio and heater buttons that don’t speak English--to America so future customers can get used to the idea of driving hybrids.

“High-whats?”

Heads up, m’luv. Cyclops has changed channels. Watch the screen as we drive. See those icons for engine, motor, wheels and battery? Follow the flow lines. Power from the internal-combustion engine is driving the wheels, also a generator that charges a nickel-hydride battery pack that feeds an electric motor.

Travel slowly, and Prius moves on electric power alone. It’s an EV, pure as anything hugged tight by Ed Begley Jr. Increase speed and the gasoline engine takes over. Now it’s a standard compact well up to the demands of Jenny Commuter.

Really stand on it, and the gas engine works in tandem with the electric motor, which kicks in as a 30-kilowatt supercharger, and you’ll be looking at 95 mph. Which should be enough to satisfy the road warrior in most of us.

All this interplay of engine, generator, electric motor and battery pack is fully automatic and supervised by computers and a power splitter. The battery capsule--no bigger than Southwest Airlines’ outer limit on carry-ons--is stored between the rear seat backs and the trunk and remains charged as long as the gasoline engine is running. Everything gets into the act when it comes to saving gas and keeping the high-output batteries powered up. On those rare occasions in the Los Angeles Basin where you might be stuck in traffic, the gasoline engine shuts down and the electric motor takes over the dawdling and idling. There’s also regenerative resupply, the collection of kinetic energy from braking or coasting that is converted into electricity and stuffed into the batteries.

Prius’ electric power steering system only uses energy when the steering wheel is turned. The cabin is double foam insulated like a Palm Springs condo to keep air-conditioning inside the car. Tires are low-friction and wheels are light alloy for lightening the load, which stretches the energy and improves the performance that lives in this car that Jack built.

Add it all up, subtract a natural reluctance to believe anything that hasn’t been approved by agencies of these blessed and sometimes unimpeachable United States, and we have a car that delivers more than 60 miles per gallon with a range in excess of 850 miles. Which is Los Angeles to Boise, Idaho, nonstop for anyone short on time and large of bladder.

And Prius feeds itself. It does not have to be plugged in. No more 400-foot extension cords or driving to Marina del Rey for groceries because that’s where Ralphs has a pair of EV charging stations.

And that, m’luv, is the new age of hybrid power.

“Cool,” said Mrs. Dean. “I may decide to live longer.”

As a looker--and we’d love to brag about anything penned by designers at Calty, Toyota’s Southern California design studio--Prius isn’t something you’d take home to mother. The hood is snubbed, the back bobbed and elevated, suggesting a Honda Civic spooning a New Beetle. It’s not attractive, just ordinary; not ugly, just weak broth and dumplings.

The interior is part-concept car, mostly space camp. There are digital readouts for speed, odometer, warning lights and Mr. Spock’s body temperature. Interior surrounds and furnishings are minimalist. We are not sure what Toyota means by door trim panels with “fabric ornamental swatches that seem to float in the air” but presume they won’t disturb a driver’s depth perception.

Gear positions are indicated by letters shining in a second liquid-crystal screen mounted at the bottom inside edge of the windshield. The gear shifter is a pump handle sticking out from the dashboard and rising high and diagonally. Pull the handle, line up four watermelons and 50,000 yen falls in your lap.

Prius changes direction adroitly, holds its poise in turns and tromps road bumps about as well as a Toyota Corolla. The downside is that it isn’t as quick. Witness that top speed--which drops to about 75 mph for a minute or three should incessant flogging leech too much juice from the battery pack--and acceleration is semi-comatose, or 16 seconds from rest to 60 mph. Most mailmen run from dogs faster than that.

But styling and handling aren’t the principal appeal of Prius. It’s the concept that amazes, and the implementation is equally astounding. With this car, Toyota has burnished experimentation into viability with none of the lurching and jury-rigging that typically accompany fledgling technology.

This really is the first electric car whose drivers have no need to chew nails until the next recharging stop. Turn the air conditioning on full blast. Pump up the CD. This is an EV with amps to burn, watts to waste and no charging sessions to chew up more hours than a good night’s sleep.

Power is handled via a “continuously variable transmission,” or CVT, a system of belts constantly hunting for the smoothest way to deliver the energy. It has been around for years. Honda couldn’t make it popular, but it seems to adapt well to the relative stealth of Prius.

With such smoothness comes conclusions. Prius feels closer to perpetual motion than a leaky faucet. Whizzing about, purring one moment, humming the next, you are the Energizer Bunny.

Then there’s the deeper significance of Prius, which has to do with its role as a bridge vehicle.

No matter the size of your global conscience, production electric vehicles has shorted out. EVs are expensive, have failed to attain the range of makers’ claims, will not work in cold weather and American cities have more police stations than recharging stations.

The radical alchemy of fuel cells, the system of producing electricity from hydrogen, seems to be the future. But they are a decade away, maybe more.

Meanwhile, as a compromise that apparently works, Prius is alive and well. Certainly up and running. It doesn’t have the grunt of an internal-combustion car. It doesn’t offer the ecological salvation of an electric vehicle.

But it is almost as good as both. It is certainly a happy commuter’s righteous, all-clime medium and is expected to sell for around $20,000. If Toyota is to be believed, Prius’ battery pack should toil for 250,000 miles and cost $6,000 to replace. Range is an odyssey, gas consumption beats everything on wheels, including rider mowers, and Toyota has measured what Prius spits up and ruled it breathable, just below California’s ultra-low emissions standard.

In easier terms, it breathes out 90% less carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons and nitrogen oxide than a conventional gasoline-powered compact.

In cruder terms, that’s not enough to allow you to end it all by staying in the car with the engine running and the garage door closed.

Which effectively removes Dr. Jack Kervorkian from the automobile business.

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Times automotive writer Paul Dean can be reached via e-mail at paul.dean@latimes.com.