Over the past couple of months I’ve had a happy time once more paddling in the shallows of the motoring journalism world after a long sabbatical.
I’ve dabbled with Fiats, for a start, which led me to wonder why the little Panda is such a marginal seller. I suppose it has something to do with pricing that could be more aggressive (almost R126 000 for the base model on a current special) matched to poor marketing.
Fortunately a “realignment of the range,” as Fiat SA terms it, should take place in early 2011, and were I to look for a small car, it would probably be a Panda, which is unique in its class for offering that rare and elusive thing called character.
Then I went on the launch of the 2011 Land Rover Freelander 2, my first overnight launch in almost two years, and enjoyed not only the company of old colleagues and the verdant KZN Midlands, but a comprehensively facelifted and upgraded vehicle. It’s now priced well in premium league and sits in a busy segment, yet deserves to succeed.
I drove two boyhood icons, too. One, an original 1970 Mustang Grande that I hope to one day add to my dream garage, especially as it’s finished in a wonderful hue called California Coral, the other a lurid red 1983 Ferrari 308 GTSi QV as immortalised by Magnum PI (Tom Selleck).
And guess what? Neither of them disappointed, as I feared they might, given my stratospheric expectations and the fact that they’re now old cars.
Indeed, both are the sort of machines that if I owned I’d regularly wake at 3am just to drink in their timeless lines, the Mustang epitomising American machismo and the Ferrari Latino elegance.
Then a calming, balming week with a new Mercedes C200 CGi reignited my love affair with the three-pointed star, and I’m delighted that the W204 is maturing so well.
Given my infatuation with all things Benz, I was prepared to wax lyrical about the new R-class, tested in entry-level R300 guise.
For a start, it’s far better looking than its awkward predecessor, which always reminded me a bit of something from a Dr Seuss book.
It’s beautifully built, too, and comprehensively equipped, while even the 3,0-litre, 170 kW petrol plant propels the big beast with ample urge. Top trot is listed at a claimed 222 km/h and zero-to-100 km/h in less than 10 seconds.
It’s also happily mated to a 7G-TRONIC gearbox (that’s Mercedes’ capitals, not mine), which makes me once more wonder why anyone ever bothers with manual transmissions, unless they’re buying a budget econo-box or a rare and desirable classic. The only drawback to the ‘box is that under certain conditions it slams down by not one but two ratios and gets a bit flustered.
Like its predecessor, the R-class is also a consummate cruiser and its ride quality reminded me of nothing so much as the Lincoln Town Car I had on loan last time I visited America, although it’s a bit better in the corners. Indeed, an upcountry trip of a few hundred kilometers was punctuated only by the contented snoring of my passenger.
In standard form, the R-class swallows up to 1 950 litres of luggage with the seats down, which translates to an awful lot of golf bags.
But it’s also almost completely pointless.
The R300 and its sibling the R300 CDi now come standard as two-wheel-drive, five-seaters (which makes them only slightly more practical than an average sedan), while the R500 remains a seven-berth with standard 4MATIC all-wheel drive.
For the R577 400 that the R300 requires, I’d far rather buy a C220 CDi estate for almost R200 000 less, and spend the change on the pristine, ice-white, SL500 (R107) that I’ve hankered after for two decades.
Unlike the R-class which is so cumbersome that trips into urban areas
involve pre-planning, an estate would be far more wieldy.
After all, the R300 is almost five metres long (and the long-wheelbase R500 just under 5,2 metres) so docking it in your average parking bay takes much concentration and pious pinging from the PARKTRONIC system (Merc’s capitals again).
Alternatively, another hundred grand plus would get an ML350, which is far more attractive and versatile than the R300.
The only thing I can really imagine the R-class excelling at is as an upmarket hotel shuttle. Or a hearse, in long-wheelbase guise.
Lord knows, I’d far rather make my final journey in one than a Ssangyong Stavic.
Another car that should have been brilliant was the Suzuki Swift Sport.
It looks pleasantly cheeky in three-door guise, especially with its beefy bodykit, 17-inch alloys and twin exhaust tailpipes, while the fact that I like Suzukis – my favourite being the understated SX4 range – should have helped.
So should the fact that recalibrated steering, modified spring rates, and damper settings mated to a 1.6-litre generating 92 kW at a busy 6 800 r/min help make it a happy little terrier of a car.
Around town it romps through traffic with all the energy and abandon of Milo, my Jack Russell, chasing the cat next door, and hits 100 km/h in about 8.9 seconds, although subjectively it feels much quicker.
The cabin is well-equipped, too, with body-hugging bucket seats, stainless-steel pedals and a leather-wrapped steering wheel, while at a whisker under R200 000 it isn’t too obscenely priced.
But on the open road the fun rapidly comes to an end – for the simple reason that the Swift Sport cries out for a sixth ratio.
In top, at 120 km/h, it’s pulling a wearisome 4 000 r/min and on a long trip an almost Pavlovian response keeps you hunting for another cog.
A new six speeds Swift should be here in the first quarter of 2011 and a Sport variant will hopefully follow.
So yes, rather than buy the current car I’d exercise a bit of delayed gratification and wait for the new model.
And I look forward to seeing just how many of the new R-class Mercedes sell locally – and to whom.