I’ve always liked the look of the A3 Sportback, so I had to try one. The local VW/Audi dealer got in an automatic one for me to try. Mrs. Tones has to have an automatic, and, I must confess that, in the 20 years with an Astra automatic, I’ve come to quite like it myself, as befits an elderly Quad pipe-and-slippers type, I guess.
The dealer pointed out where things were. “Do you know about the handbrake?” “Of course, I know about the…er, what handbrake? – THAT’S A HANDBRAKE???” There’s this funny wee switch where a lever ought to be. He explained how it worked, and left me to it. So key in, turn and …nothing. Once more with feeling…no feeling. I was about to exhibit my total incompetence to the world by getting him back to start it, when it occurred to me that this handbrake thing might have something to do with it. So, I pressed the brake pedal, turned, and the tacho needle jumped as a muted noise came from somewhere up front – and we were off and running.
Well, almost. When the motor started, out of the dash majestically arose this black monolithic object (I could hear the “2001” music in my head). Instead of whirly patterns on its surface, as per the Clark novel, the monolith produced a list of local radio stations, one of which started to play very non-Zarathustran noises at excessive volume. So, being a traditionalist, I reached for the volume knob in the traditional place, and changed from the radio station “20°” to the altogether cooler station “18°”, but both continued to play the same uncool tune at the same uncool volume. Where was the on-off switch? Eventually, by trial and error (mainly the latter) I located the volume knob, hiding beside the apology for a handbrake and turned it right down.
When whatever-it-is comes chez Tones, I’m going to have to learn to brake all over again – you blow on the pedal of cars these days and the things stand on their snouts. Apart from that, the A3 felt, well, Astra-like, in that within a very short distance, I felt completely at home in it. The seat was comfy, the driving position was nice, the steering had nice feel (the wheel itself was covered in switches of indeterminate function, which I avoided in case one operated the ejector seat). I only scared myself once – at a set of traffic lights, when the thing appeared to turn itself off. I sat there wishing fervently that I’d worn my brown trousers – considering how much fun I had starting the thing in the quietness of the dealer’s car park, how was I going to cope with a bunch of impatient, horn-happy Swiss behind me? But all was well – when I pressed the loud pedal, off it went.
Because the dealer was busy, he didn’t have the time to accompany me, so he sent me off in it alone. This meant that I could have a decent run. So I took it up to the village where we live, over the wiggly-waggly road from the village to the autobahn in the next valley and then down the autobahn to the dealer. It felt very nice on the wiggly-waggly road, except with the 1.4 engine hardly murmuring on the steep hill whereas the Astra’s engine would have been much louder (accentuated by a loose baffle in the exhaust that I was too mean to have fixed). Swooshing down the autobahn at 120 (k!), it was commendably quiet – but surprisingly not THAT much quieter than the Astra. Different quality of noise – wind noise almost completely absent, but more low frequency stuff, presumably from the big tyres. Also surprisingly, when I hit the loud pedal for acceleration, there was a noticeable lag before anything happened (turbo+automatic?), then the muted hum became much more purposeful and the speedometers (there’s a digital readout too) shot up like the needle of a bathroom scale stood on by Mr. Creosote.
So I left it back and headed off to Zürich in the Astra, where I had a delivery to make to the younger ladies. I marvelled again at how (from my point of view), those Opel engineers had got so much so right 20 years ago, and how much I was going to miss this car. But I’d be very happy with an A3 as its successor. On the other hand, this is essentially a tarted-up Golf sold at a premium price and presumably with premium prices for service and spares. It will be a Company car, but then the company in question consists of me, and I’d be doing the pa
in(g). Might a Golf be just as good? That’s next week’s episode…
The dealer pointed out where things were. “Do you know about the handbrake?” “Of course, I know about the…er, what handbrake? – THAT’S A HANDBRAKE???” There’s this funny wee switch where a lever ought to be. He explained how it worked, and left me to it. So key in, turn and …nothing. Once more with feeling…no feeling. I was about to exhibit my total incompetence to the world by getting him back to start it, when it occurred to me that this handbrake thing might have something to do with it. So, I pressed the brake pedal, turned, and the tacho needle jumped as a muted noise came from somewhere up front – and we were off and running.
Well, almost. When the motor started, out of the dash majestically arose this black monolithic object (I could hear the “2001” music in my head). Instead of whirly patterns on its surface, as per the Clark novel, the monolith produced a list of local radio stations, one of which started to play very non-Zarathustran noises at excessive volume. So, being a traditionalist, I reached for the volume knob in the traditional place, and changed from the radio station “20°” to the altogether cooler station “18°”, but both continued to play the same uncool tune at the same uncool volume. Where was the on-off switch? Eventually, by trial and error (mainly the latter) I located the volume knob, hiding beside the apology for a handbrake and turned it right down.
When whatever-it-is comes chez Tones, I’m going to have to learn to brake all over again – you blow on the pedal of cars these days and the things stand on their snouts. Apart from that, the A3 felt, well, Astra-like, in that within a very short distance, I felt completely at home in it. The seat was comfy, the driving position was nice, the steering had nice feel (the wheel itself was covered in switches of indeterminate function, which I avoided in case one operated the ejector seat). I only scared myself once – at a set of traffic lights, when the thing appeared to turn itself off. I sat there wishing fervently that I’d worn my brown trousers – considering how much fun I had starting the thing in the quietness of the dealer’s car park, how was I going to cope with a bunch of impatient, horn-happy Swiss behind me? But all was well – when I pressed the loud pedal, off it went.
Because the dealer was busy, he didn’t have the time to accompany me, so he sent me off in it alone. This meant that I could have a decent run. So I took it up to the village where we live, over the wiggly-waggly road from the village to the autobahn in the next valley and then down the autobahn to the dealer. It felt very nice on the wiggly-waggly road, except with the 1.4 engine hardly murmuring on the steep hill whereas the Astra’s engine would have been much louder (accentuated by a loose baffle in the exhaust that I was too mean to have fixed). Swooshing down the autobahn at 120 (k!), it was commendably quiet – but surprisingly not THAT much quieter than the Astra. Different quality of noise – wind noise almost completely absent, but more low frequency stuff, presumably from the big tyres. Also surprisingly, when I hit the loud pedal for acceleration, there was a noticeable lag before anything happened (turbo+automatic?), then the muted hum became much more purposeful and the speedometers (there’s a digital readout too) shot up like the needle of a bathroom scale stood on by Mr. Creosote.
So I left it back and headed off to Zürich in the Astra, where I had a delivery to make to the younger ladies. I marvelled again at how (from my point of view), those Opel engineers had got so much so right 20 years ago, and how much I was going to miss this car. But I’d be very happy with an A3 as its successor. On the other hand, this is essentially a tarted-up Golf sold at a premium price and presumably with premium prices for service and spares. It will be a Company car, but then the company in question consists of me, and I’d be doing the pa
in(g). Might a Golf be just as good? That’s next week’s episode…
