Elantra: empress of the road
EIGHT GEARS FOR TURBOCHARGED POWER IN THIS SEXY HEAD-TURNER
‘Can you fly a Boeing?” – and I instantly get a condescending lesson on the 243 buttons inside the spanking new Hyundai Elantra Sport. I don’t mind: I’m a woman; I can multitask – and did I learn to multitask …
Being of the fairer sex, my directions are “up” and “down”, not “left” and “right”. I get hopelessly lost within five minutes of sinking into her red leather seat. But I’m a woman and won’t be intimidated by a big-ass automatic. I fiddle with button number 126; tried 158; punched here, pulled there – and got the GPS going.
An hour later she brings me safely home, albeit through back streets you’d rather avoid in darkest Africa. But that’s what she does, this beauty, I learnt over the next week.
After daytripping to Magaliesburg a weekend later, all I wanted to do was get back to Joeys. The day was long … SavNat on and she took me home: first through two pay-up toll roads and Pretoria. Sigh.
“Must be a design fault,” from my sarcastic male colleague. “My female friend always blamed the fact that she took out her car’s side mirrors on a design fault.”
So the SavNat is like me: a bit motherless at times. But for the rest she fitted me like a glove. I even started dressing for her. No more hippie pants; rather that cerise top today that matches her colour perfectly. I got used to cops pulling me over. “No, Ma’am. Put your licence away. Look at the trims! The seats …” And the solitary time I had to top up her tank a little bit, I had a choir of men around me. And the car. She’s a show-off. Everything is automatic – if you choose. The lights go on when you enter the dark parking basement; the wipers swish slowly through the drizzle and read a Gauteng thunderstorm quicker than I can flick a switch; and you never have to touch her eight gears – unless you want to. That’s switch number 169 on the steering wheel, by the way.
Our motoring guy is trying to explain how I must gear up and down for the turbo to kick in. “But she’s automatic,” I say, lifting an eyebrow. “Ah well. Turbo’s sorted.” And he walks away. I understand. I felt it at 170km/h on the toll road, thinking, of course, I’m cruising at 120.
If I ever thought I was a queen, I’ve now met an empress. Yes, the Elantra has a hefty price tag, but is “quite a bargain for what you get”, the guys at the office tell me. She has all the bells and whistles, or knobs and a broomstick, I call it.
She is elegant, sauve and sexy, but she knows how to have fun – and reminds you constantly not to mess with her. She’s bigger. And better. I don’t argue. Pity her colour doesn’t match my fridge though…