This week, the highly detailed but rather cranky Consumer Reports organization served up a stunning blow for the vehicle I profiled in my last column—and offered quite the gift to another company, albeit one with not much of a mountain town presence.

According to its annual predicted reliability reports, CR says that Chrysler finishes absolutely last out of 33 manufacturers profiled. And the Town and Country minivan is at the very bottom of that bottom of the list. Yikes.

Surprisingly—or, perhaps not so much—the company at the very top is the odd and iconoclastic Scion, maker of three strange, inexpensive little cars. Their austere nature typically precludes mountain-friendly perks such as all-wheel-drive and … seat warmers, but if you equip them with killer snow tires and drive with considerable courage (or find yourself spending most of your time in the Front Range, and not on Hoosier Pass), they can be quite cool.

Just before the calamity of this week's Denver snowstorm, I spent a week in the 2010 Scion tC, best described as the small, round and most directly Toyota-looking Scion of the bunch.

Unlike its brothers, the boxy xB or the angular xD (which shares much of its components with the tiny Toyota Yaris), the tC borders on normal in its design, and might even be considered a tad sexy.

And its $17,000 base price (one wonders how this includes seats or a steering wheel, though) also makes it a popular starting point for the largely Southern California-based cruiser/tuner lifestyle the cost-conscious machine was created for in the first place.

With just 161 horsepower revving out of a 2.4-liter four-cylinder, the tC is no speed machine. But looks can be deceiving. My test model was tarted up considerably with a sporty spoiler wing on the rear trunk lid, beautiful blackened-out 18-inch TRD custom wheels and low-profile, high performance tires (which I thank the powers that be I was not attempting to drive through this week's snow); total price with the add-ons, including a fancy, visual effects- and bass-heavy Pioneer stereo, some ground effects moulding and a metal shifter knob, was still just $21,636.

And the spoiler and wheels suddenly caught the eyes of all of the racer-boy types in their Mitsubishi Evos and Subaru WRXs, constantly gunning their engines at red lights and asking for “Fast and the Furious” throwdowns. I was, happily, totally unable to comply.

The resulting, rounded, well-built but not earth-shattering machine is a quiet compromise between soulless econobox and expensive-to-insure rally machine.

Acceleration is decent but gets mighty revvy mighty fast; the lightweight disc brakes can't quite seem to keep up with aggressive driving on dry mountain roads, so don't mistake it for a Brembo-equipped racer. I was pretty impressed with the steering and road feel, maybe just a bit too pronounced on those performance tires, but it can be fun.

The low roof means that even medium-sized drivers will find the tC just a tad claustrophobic, unless you're able to cruise Magnum P.I. style with the two-part sunroof open (deployed, plates pop fore and aft of the roof, making it look like you have a fancy Subaru roof rack in action); rear seat riders get a small moonroof of their own to brighten the experience.

There are also several instances where that bargain-basement window sticker will sting you, including fantastically uncomfortable, fabric-covered seats, a flinty shift sequence (that pretty-looking custom shift knob was also either freezing cold or super-hot, which I found annoying) and a generally too-plastic-for-its-own-good feel to the interior.

Customization is indeed the name of the Scion game and what the tC and its fellow, low-to-the-ground machines lack in all-season prowess (I passed an xD rather severely stuck in the snow on my way to work today), they offer in owner-inspired individualization.

And, according to Consumer Reports, ridiculously bulletproof reliability. Something to think about, indeed.