Category: Muscle cars
Test drive: 2026 Dodge Charger Sixpack Plus
The first performance car I ever drove was my mother’s daily driver — a 1970 Plymouth Barracuda 383 convertible, yellow with a black top and black interior.
I was 16, and that car left an impression that has never really gone away. So reviewing the all-new 2026 Dodge Charger Sixpack Plus feels especially timely.
It doesn’t pretend to be the cars I grew up with, but it proves there’s still room for performance, personality, and attitude.
This isn’t a throwback, and it isn’t powered by a V-8 — though I’ll admit I wish it were. Instead, Dodge has reinvented its most recognizable nameplate as a modern, gas-powered performance sedan, blending contemporary technology, standard all-wheel drive, and serious straight-line speed. The question isn’t whether this Charger is fast enough. It’s whether a muscle-car icon can evolve without losing its soul.
Room for V8
Power comes from a 3.0-liter twin-turbo inline-six offered in two configurations: a 420-horsepower version producing 469 lb-ft of torque and a more aggressive 550-horsepower delivering 531 lb-ft. Both pair with an eight-speed automatic transmission and standard all-wheel drive — a major departure for the Charger. Dodge has clearly left physical room under the hood for a possible V-8 revival someday, but for now, this turbo six carries the performance torch convincingly.
On the road, the Charger Sixpack Plus delivers numbers that still feel worthy of the name. Zero to 60 mph takes just 3.9 seconds, the quarter-mile passes in 12.2 seconds, and top speed reaches 177 mph.
Fuel economy is rated at a respectable 20 mpg combined. An active transfer case with front axle disconnect allows the car to change personalities, while a 3.45 rear axle ratio, mechanical limited-slip differential, performance suspension, and Brembo brakes keep this nearly 4,850-pound sedan composed.
Launch Control, Line Lock, and an active exhaust make it clear that Dodge still expects owners to visit the drag strip — an idea reinforced by the complimentary one-day session at the Dodge/SRT High Performance Driving School.
Modern muscle
Inside, the Charger blends muscle-era cues with modern tech in a way that feels deliberate. The leather-wrapped pistol-grip shifter, flat-top and flat-bottom steering wheel, paddle shifters, and 180-mph speedometer nod to the brand’s roots. Uconnect 5 with a 12.3-inch touchscreen, a 10.25-inch digital driver display, wireless Apple CarPlay and Android Auto, and available navigation bring it firmly into the present. The standard nine-speaker Alpine audio system sounds good, while the optional 18-speaker upgrade delivers serious volume and clarity.
Optional packages push the Charger noticeably upmarket. Leather performance seats, heated and ventilated fronts, heated rear seats, a head-up display, surround-view camera system, wireless charging, ambient lighting, Alexa built-in, and a power tilt-and-telescoping steering column all add comfort and convenience.
Despite its performance focus, the Charger remains practical, with seating for five and up to 37 cubic feet of cargo space when the rear seats are folded.
From Bludicrous to Black Top
From the outside, the Charger Sixpack Plus still looks like a modern muscle car. Trims range from R/T Sixpack to Scat Pack and Scat Pack Plus models in both two- and four-door configurations, all with standard all-wheel drive, rear-drive mode, Launch Control, Line Lock, and dual-mode active exhaust.
Options like Bludicrous blue paint, the Black Top Package, available 20-inch wheels wrapped in massive 305-section tires, and a full glass roof let buyers dial in the look. Details such as bi-function LED headlights and key-fob-activated window drop add a layer of polish.
Safety tech is well covered, with standard automated emergency braking, lane-keeping assist, blind-spot monitoring, and adaptive cruise control. Optional front and rear parking sensors and side-distance warning make daily driving easier.
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Plenty to like
Pricing for the 2026 Dodge Charger Sixpack Plus ranges from $51,990 to $64,480, with my test vehicle climbing to $68,355 when fully equipped. Warranty coverage includes three years or 36,000 miles bumper-to-bumper and five years or 60,000 miles on the powertrain, though complimentary maintenance isn’t included.
There’s plenty to like here. The 550-horsepower turbo six is genuinely quick, the rear-drive mode adds real fun, and straight-line performance remains a core strength. The downside is weight — the Charger doesn’t feel like a true sports car in corners — and traditionalists will miss the sound and character of a V-8.
Still, in a segment increasingly defined by electrification and downsizing, the 2026 Dodge Charger Sixpack Plus stands as a modern interpretation of American muscle. It doesn’t pretend to be the cars I grew up with, but it proves there’s still room for performance, personality, and attitude in a changing automotive landscape.
American muscle-car culture is alive and well … in Dubai
One of the first things I did when I moved to Dubai was buy a Dodge Challenger. Not the volcanic Hellcat or the feral Scat Pack — the SXT, the V6 base model.
Nevertheless, for those nine months in 2023, the car carried itself like it had seen things it couldn’t legally discuss. I miss it the way a grounded teenager misses his phone — painfully and often. The car was, in many ways, gloriously pointless. But to me, it was absolutely perfect. Nobody buys a Dodge for practicality. You buy one because fun is a dying art and driving is supposed to feel alive.
America insists this is why we can’t have nice things. The UAE shrugs, inhales some shisha, and says, ‘Great, we’ll have them instead.’
What fascinated me then, and still does now, is how the Middle East has quietly become the last stronghold for real American muscle.
Dubai drift
While America agonizes over emissions charts and frets about carbon neutrality, Dubai is out there treating a supercharged V8 like a household appliance. You hear them everywhere — echoing off glass towers, screaming down Sheikh Zayed Road, prowling through parking lots like metal predators looking for prey. It’s the sound of a culture still in love with combustion, unashamed of horsepower, and utterly allergic to guilt.
The region adores these cars. Worships them, even. In the West, muscle cars are increasingly treated like contraband with headlights, monitored by regulators the way principals monitor school corridors. But in the UAE, they’re symbols of power, freedom, excess, and the simple joy of pressing a pedal and feeling physics panic.
The numbers back it up. The UAE’s classic-car market is projected to grow from roughly $1.23 billion in 2023 to nearly $1.83 billion by 2032, with collectors routinely paying well above American estimates. This is particularly true for rare models, such as the 1971 Plymouth Hemi ’Cuda convertible that sold for about $4.2 million in Dubai, roughly 35% above its American estimate.
Men in flowing robes and sandals race around industrial estates with the confidence of emperors and the cornering ability of a wardrobe on wheels. Somehow, by the grace of God (not Allah), it all works. There’s something delightfully surreal about watching a man dressed like he stepped out of the book of Exodus drift a Challenger with monk-like serenity.
Combustion cosplay
Back home, Dodge now calls its new EVs “muscle.” But that’s like a woman getting very expensive surgery in a very private place and calling herself a man. Without the roar, the vibration, the combustion, it’s cosplay — an impersonation that fools no one except the marketing department. You can’t call something a muscle car if it sounds like a dentist’s drill.
Real muscle needs rumble. It needs that primal, throat-deep growl that shakes your sternum and announces your arrival three zip codes away. Take that away, and you’re just a sad sack who should have bought a Tesla and called it a day.
When muscle cars disappear, the loss isn’t just mechanical but cultural. For decades, when the world pictured America, it didn’t picture Washington or Wall Street. It pictured steel, cylinders, and a V8 rumble rolling across a desert highway.
Hollywood hardwired that association into the global imagination. “Bullitt,” “Vanishing Point,” “Smokey and the Bandit,” even the “Fast & Furious” franchise, for all its awful acting and cheese thick enough to insulate a house. I still remember being 8 years old, watching “Gone in 60 Seconds,” and thinking, Yes, this is what adulthood should look like.
You could grow up thousands of miles away, never having set foot on American soil, and still recognize the sound of a Mustang firing up. It was the unofficial anthem of the greatest nation on Earth, a national ringtone encoded in exhaust fumes. It symbolized everything the country loved about itself: rebellion, possibility, the belief that any man with a heavy foot and enough premium gasoline could outrun his problems. It was an identity as much as a mode of transport.
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Revvers’ refuge
And that’s the tragedy. A silent America isn’t an America anyone recognizes. The muscle car was more than a vehicle. It was a character, a co-star, an accomplice. Kill it off, and the whole story changes — and not for the better.
And oddly, it’s the Middle East that seems most intent on preserving that myth. It’s as if the region has been appointed the accidental curator of America’s automotive soul. The UAE, in particular, feels like the final refuge where these cars can run wild. Environmental regulations exist there, but only in the same way that scarecrows exist — present, decorative, and cheerfully ignored. The country is spotless, the air somehow clearer than cities that run entire marketing campaigns screaming “sustainability!” And yet it’s bursting with Challengers and Chargers. America insists this is why we can’t have nice things. The UAE shrugs, inhales some shisha, and says, “Great, we’ll have them instead.”
It makes you re-think the demonization of muscle cars. We were told they were barbaric, dirty, irresponsible — rolling catastrophes portrayed as personal hand grenades lobbed at the atmosphere. Meanwhile, Dubai keeps its streets cleaner than half of California while simultaneously hosting enough horsepower to make a U.N. peacekeeper reach for the radio. The contradiction is almost poetic. The place accused of excess manages to be pristine, while the places preaching virtue can’t manage basic cleanliness without a committee and a grant.
Selling sand to a camel
A quick disclaimer for anyone feeling inspired to follow my lead. Dubai might be paradise for muscle cars, but it’s also the Wild West of used-car dealing. A shocking number of “mint condition” imports arrive after being wrapped around a tree somewhere in North America, are given a light cosmetic baptism, and are relaunched onto the market as if they had spent their lives humming gently down suburban streets.
Half the salesmen — greasy, fast-talking veterans from Lebanon, Palestine, and everywhere in between — could sell sand to a camel. You need your eyes open. Fortunately, I knew the sites where you can run a chassis number and see the car’s real history, dents, disasters, and all. It saved me from driving home in a beautifully repainted coffin.
Even with this dark underbelly, Dubai’s affection for American muscle is entirely authentic. You see it on weekend nights at the gas stations, which double as unofficial car shows. Dozens gather, engines idling like caged animals, while men compare exhaust notes with the seriousness of diplomats negotiating borders. Teenagers film everything, because why wouldn’t you document a species this endangered? The entire scene feels like a sanctuary, a place where mechanical masculinity hasn’t been entirely euthanized.
Muscle migration
Some of the funniest moments came from watching Emirati drivers — men dressed in immaculate white garments — exit their cars with Hollywood swagger, as if the Challenger were simply an extension of their personality. And in many ways, it was. It was part “Need for Speed,” part Moses at the Marina. And somehow, without irony, they pulled it off.
Living there made me realize that muscle cars aren’t dying everywhere. Rather, they’re migrating. Fleeing the jurisdictions that shame them and settling in regions that still celebrate joy. The Middle East has become the last refuge for these beasts. Not because it rejects the future, but because it refuses to surrender the past for a machine that feels clinically dead on delivery.
And that’s the real tragedy. America built the muscle car, mythologized it, exported it, then surrendered it to paper-pushers in Priuses, armed with clipboards and calculators. The UAE bought the export and kept the myth alive. My Challenger is gone now, sold to a man who claimed he needed it for “family errands.” But the fond memories of tearing around the city have never faded. America may have abandoned its automotive adolescence, but Dubai, thankfully, hasn’t.
Someone has to keep the engines roaring. And right now, it’s the men in sandals.
