Wonderfold L4 vs W4 in a Kia Telluride: Which Wagon Actually Fits in the Back?
The first time I tried to put a Wonderfold W4 into the back of a Kia Telluride, I was alone with a toddler, a half-eaten bag of frozen raspberries, and no plan. The rear hatch was open. The cargo area was empty. The wagon, folded, looked like a mechanical dog that had fallen asleep on its side. The wheels stuck out at odd angles. The handle refused to lie flat. I pushed it in anyway.
It didn’t fit.
I tried again, turning it diagonally. It caught on the plastic trim by the seatbelt anchor. I lifted the front end. It caught on the bumper guard. My daughter started tapping the side of the car with her shoe. A woman walking into Target gave me that particular look of sympathy that means, I have absolutely been there, and I’m not stopping to help.
That was our life for a while.
The Telluride is not a small car. That’s why we bought it. But most of us who buy three-row SUVs are choosing passengers over storage, even when we think we’re choosing storage. With the third row up, the back of a Telluride holds groceries, a double stroller, and maybe one of those foldable camp chairs if you play your cards right. A Wonderfold W4 is not a double stroller. It’s a wagon that happens to have a stroller handle. It folds, but it doesn’t fold small. I could get it in, but only with the third row folded down, and even then I had to angle it like I was parking a boat.
I told myself it was fine. We were a third-row-down family anyway.
Then a friend let me test her Wonderfold L4, and I realized the difference wasn’t just about weight or fabric. It was about shape.
She had the same Telluride, same color, same seats. She pulled her L4 out of the back like it was nobody’s business. No tugging. No re-positioning. No muttered count to ten. The wagon looked similar at first glance. Four seats. Same chunky wheels. Same kid-containment energy. But when she folded it, the whole thing stood upright on its end. That changed everything.
In my car, an upright wagon slides into the cargo area like luggage. A sideways wagon fights you like a tired animal. The L4 wasn’t dramatically lighter—I’m not going to pretend I could lift it with one hand—but the fold was flatter and more rectangular. I could load it in under a minute without using the third-row seatback as a ramp. The W4 eventually fit, too, but it always required a specific sequence: wheels up, handle turned, canopy tucked, one last shove. The L4 just went in.
I tried it myself. It took about twenty seconds.
What surprised me wasn’t the wagon. It was my daughter.
She was two and a half at the time. She had listened to me wrestle with the W4 for months. She had watched me sigh, turn the wagon sideways, and say, this doesn’t fit over and over. When the L4 slid into the back without a struggle, she clapped and said, “It fits!” And then she said it every time we loaded any wagon into any car, even the ones that took me three tries.
That’s when I realized the wagon loading wasn’t just choreography. It was a lesson.
For a toddler, putting an object into a space is spatial reasoning. It’s the same skill she uses when she tries to fit a block into a shape sorter, or when she stacks cups inside each other, or when she decides her doll should ride in the dump truck next to the actual rocks. She wasn’t just waiting for me to finish. She was watching me solve a physical problem. She was learning that objects have shapes, that shapes fit into certain spaces, and that sometimes you have to turn things around before you can push them in.
I used to work with kids, and I know that sounds obvious. But in the parking lot, it felt new. Because I has been treating the loading struggle as an obstacle between us and the grocery store. She was treating it as a puzzle.
I started changing the way I talked about it. Instead of saying, “Let me just get this in,” I said, “Okay, I’m going to turn the wagon on its side so the wheels don’t hit the bumper. Can you watch and tell me when it clears?”
She didn’t always understand. But she watched. Sometimes she said “bumpy” when the wheel caught on the trim. That was her making a prediction. That’s a big deal at two.
The practical part is simple.
If you’re choosing between the Wonderfold W4 and the L4 for a Kia Telluride, I’d say this: The W4 works if you plan to fold the third row down and don’t mind a little wrestling. The L4 is easier to load every single day, especially if you’re doing it with a baby on your hip or a preschooler melting down next to you. The L4 doesn’t fit with the third row up either—let’s be clear about that. The Telluride cargo area is tall, but the opening isn’t a magic portal. The difference is that the L4 leans and slides into that space without needing a second person or a deep breath.
The Montessori teacher in me also wants to tell you this: make the wagon part of the learning. Don’t just load it for your kid. Let them push the button that releases the handle. Let them help turn it sideways before you lift. Let them stand on the bumper and tell you if they think the wheel will catch. You can do the same thing at home with a laundry basket or a bin of toys. Ask, “What happens if we try it the other way?” before you solve it for them.
That thirty-second pause is where the thinking happens.
We still own the W4. I didn’t switch. The L4 is nicer to load, but not nice enough to justify buying a second wagon when the first one still rolls. Some mornings it goes in on the first try. Some days it doesn’t. Last week, I tilted it at the wrong angle and the whole thing slid out and hit the driveway. My daughter didn’t cry. She said, “It doesn’t fit,” and I said, “It’s okay. Let’s try turning it.”
And we did.
She’s starting to do that with her toys now. She turns a puzzle piece around before forcing it. She tries to fit a cup inside a bowl, notices it’s too big, and reaches for a smaller one. She’s learning to stop, look at what’s in front of her, and adjust.
I think that’s more important than which wagon we own. But I won’t lie—having a wagon that stands upright would make the parking lot easier.
For now, we’re keeping the W4. We’ve got the third row down, the wheels up, and a toddler who knows that sometimes you have to turn things around. That’s enough. Some days it works. Some days it doesn’t. We try again.
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