Skoda Karoq Edition
Never meet your heroes. Isn’t that how the saying goes? Unless you are happy to meet them at any cost. Disappointment being the ultimate price for most people.
In my job, not meeting people I admire and look up to is not an option. ‘Paul McCartney’s booked to come on the show next week’ is not exactly the perfect invitation to say: ‘Actually, I’d rather not, if that’s OK, just in case. You know how it is.’
There is one way around this dilemma, however, other than perpetual avoidance. I know, because it happened to me last week, completely by accident. During my first proper training run for the London Marathon (11 weeks today and counting), I was halfway across Hampstead Heath when who should I find myself running directly towards but none other than David John Moore Cornwell, aka John blimmin’ le Carré? My new literary hero, as documented in this very column a fortnight ago.
When it comes to driving, there is precious little at all to gripe about. The gearbox is tight and obedient, there’s plenty of power and the steering is surprisingly precise and nicely weighted
What are the chances of that? I don’t even live in London, haven’t done for years. I was only running on the Heath because I had a meeting in town later that I had to stick around for. Plus, I wouldn’t even have recognised him had I not seen a recent lecture of his a few nights before on television. Surely too spooky simply to be a coincidence.
‘No way,’ said Mrs Evans when I told her what had happened. Precisely the same words I’d blurted out to the great man himself. Well, when I say ‘to’ him, I mean more in his general direction. Accompanied by a spontaneous double thumbs-up and an involuntary manic smile. But nothing that required a response from him. Which means we both won. He could quite clearly see I was a fan without having to give anything of himself, which meant I was none the wiser as to what he’s actually like as a real person. Phew.
It’s not dissimilar when it comes to encountering hero cars, or hero car brands, mine currently being Skoda, of course. Which this week sees me therefore somewhat conflicted between disguising my gross partiality while attempting to come up with a fair and reasonable review.
Fate, however, has given me a helping hand in curbing my enthusiasm. The Skoda Karoq is the replacement for the Yeti, a fact that immediately cooled any pre-review zeal. I have long had a soft spot for the Yeti, with its quirky, boxy rear end and often jolly two-tone colour scheme. Almost exclusively always driven by decent-looking, respectable folk.
On a more positive note, the Karoq is much bigger inside than it appears from the outside. Again, Skoda has raised the bar all round to assuage those non-believers yet to be converted
Whereas the Karoq not only has a silly, far less charming name but has been designed to fit in with the rest of Skoda’s fleet. Which is all a bit Kia, if you know what I mean.
On a more positive note, the Karoq is much bigger inside than it appears from the outside. Again, Skoda has raised the bar all round to assuage those non-believers yet to be converted.
Big, chunky, firm leather seats, a widescreen infotainment fascia with gesture control (that actually works!), a panoramic sunroof, a nice combo of different textured finishes and plenty of head- and leg-room, even for us tall guys, are also part of the new Karoq ‘offer’.
Skoda has even sorted out one of the most fixable faux pas of recent years when it comes to cars and cold mornings. On Tuesday, when it was freezing, I set off for work at 5am, having cranked up all heating systems to the max. The sexy, leather-clad steering wheel, alas, remained sub-zero to the touch.
‘Damn,’ I thought, after a quick scan of the controls. ‘No heated steering wheel icon. Never mind, at least everything else will be toasty soon enough.’ Except, to my pleasant surprise, a few hundred yards down the road the steering wheel began to get warmer, seemingly of its own accord.
Hallelujah, my friends. Skoda has hooked up the driver’s heated-seat switch to simultaneously turn on the heated steering wheel. Furthermore, one then has the option to switch either off independently. So simple but so overdue (a feature that swiftly made up for the undersized wheels in the oversized wheel arches, which was still playing on my mind).
Cargo-wise, there are plenty of cubby holes and storage bins of all shapes and sizes, including a semi-secret dash-mounted fliptop bits-and-bobs tray. For the bigger stuff, how about the removable VarioFlex rear seats as an option? A nice twist, but one I’m not sure many people would employ on a regular basis. You need a van? Hire one and enjoy the much more practical 60/40 fold-down seats.
When it comes to driving, there is precious little at all to gripe about. The gearbox is tight and obedient, there’s plenty of power and the steering is surprisingly precise and nicely weighted. Much more than I thought it would be. The ride is relatively smooth and quiet, while visibility all round is excellent.
The Karoq has many rivals in this sector, including the handsome Peugeot 3008, Kia Sportage and Nissan Qashqai, as well as two of its own corporate siblings in the VW Tiguan and Seat Ateca. All of which means it’s going to take a fairly determined pair of sharp elbows to tough it among that lot.
Does the Karoq have what it takes? Without question.
Mrs Evans liked: the oceans of storage and the fold-up (not down!) laptop trays in the back.
Kids liked: being up high.
I liked: more or less everything, apart from the price, which didn’t give me my usual ‘best-ever value for money in the world’ feeling. I also wish it was a little more sporty and a bit more fun-looking. That said, I should mention the range starts at a more modest £20,875.
By the way, in the interests of full disclosure, I’ve never actually driven a Yeti. But I know a man who has. Yellow with a white roof. Wife in the front, two chocolate labs in the back. Woof woof.