Why do Canadians even bother with convertibles? We get to enjoy open air driving for maybe four months of the year. But then again, when the warm weather hits, there isn’t much point driving anything else.
And the minute I laid eyes on the 2013 Volkswagen Eos convertible, in Salsa Red, no less, I knew I was in for a treat. Not only did it look adorable, it smelled great, with ivory leather interior. Kind of like a guy who knows how to wear fragrance, and wears it well. One whiff and you go weak in the knees.
With the Eos, there’s no design detail left to chance. Every corner is tucked, stitched or molded into a pleasing contour. It’s a handsome vehicle, inside and out, with conservative curves that are echoed throughout the silhouette. Rakishly slanted headlights, generous side-view mirrors and a surprisingly wide windshield swoop back into a neatly symmetrical cabin.
But it’s the hard-top convertible roof that commands centre stage. It’s nothing short of a Busby Berkeley production number when this baby opens and closes. Cue the dancing girls, jugglers and elephants. There are eight motors and over 400 moving parts choreographing the roof – the trunk flings itself open, mysterious side hatches jete out, robot arms gracefully reach back, the roof cleaves into several pieces and glides back. And remains exquisitely sequestered until you summon it. Should you only want to unfurl part of this sublimity, you can opt to slide back a generous sunroof. Egads.
A true drama queen, the Eos refused to perform this pageantry in my tiny cramped underground garage. It protested with beeps and flashing red lights. No, it needed wide open spaces, where the flamboyance of this spectacle could be on parade. And for a week, I didn’t need to go to the movies. I didn’t need entertainment. I just sat there, pushed a button, and the Eos put on a show, just for me. Chris Hadfield would have felt right at home. He might be the only person cool enough (except for moi) to be sitting front row centre at this production.
And so for a week, the Eos delivered me around town on my errands. I would inhale, run my hands over the leather, push buttons, and sigh. It was my Teutonic metrosexual , nattily attired, with every circuit in place. Never mind that the satellite radio wasn’t hooked up. I listened to my iTunes dreamily, trolling around with Brian Ferry, the metrosexual who started it all.
Oh, there was a navi system, backup camera, and of course, every girl’s favourite – keyless entry. No more fumbling in the purse when you want to get going! That’s how I know God is a woman – keyless entry. Could a man have thought of anything that clever?
And lots of pep in that flawlessly executed engine. Looking under the hood, I wanted to applaud. Could anything have fit more seamlessly? Only the Germans could design a Bauhaus engine block. I could have charged admission.
We’ll meet again, the Eos and I.
But next time, both of us will be wearing Gucci.