F ive in the evening, 15 km to Rohtang top, six hours spent more or less stationary and this story almost gets canned. The radio crackles: “Shall we turn back?” Usually that’d be welcomed with howls and noooos. After all we’re heading for Ladakh, remote, inhospitable, but still the most heart-achingly beautiful part of the country. Not this time though. We aren’t ensconced in big fat SUVs, boot packed high with enough fuel and supplies to last a nomadic tribe through the winter. We’re in cars designed and built for city commutes; cars that are usually bought when budgets are tight, families are small and adventure-seeking a distant dream. Now, with dark clouds looming over scraggy peaks, the unpleasant prospect of abandoning cars and walking down to Manali is staring us in the face. There’s too much at stake, too much invested in this story. In desperation we do what comes naturally to us Indians: Nine hatchbacks and our back-up Outlander jump queue and charge to the head of the pack, to the landslide being cleared by the Border Roads guys and come to an ‘agreement’ with the GREF guys. And almost immediately regret it. There are some hideous moments in the film we shot for Overdrive, but every car made it up. How, we’ll never know. Candid admission: I couldn’t see the point of this comparison test. As my wife said, she wouldn’t dream of driving her Hyundai i10 up to Ladakh. Fair point; but then again, if you could, wouldn’t you? Ladakh isn’t what it used to be. The first time I came here, eight years ago, it was a proper adventure — tents, cooks, meat packed in Manali, the whole nine yards. Things have improved dramatically, to the chagrin of those who like their rides rough, but to the benefit of softer city-types. Accommodation is more upscale than basic parachute tents, the place is getting greener, fuel is available at dhabas and the roads are a million times better. We start our journey at Chandigarh and I start with the Hyundai i20 1.4CRDi, the newest car in this lot and the one I’ve spent the least time in. First impressions are positive: Tonnes of space, lavish equipment levels, good ride and handling balance, six airbags, full five-star EuroNCAP crash safety rating and, best of all, a brand new diesel engine. In my mind this car had won even before we started. On the highway, things only got better with the diesel engine churning out enough grunt to keep ahead of fast highway traffic. I’m also pleasantly surprised to note how competent the chassis is at keeping her stable and planted on the highway and delivering that grown-up big-car feel that’s all the rage among hatchbacks today. But. It suffers so much turbo lag it’s almost undriveable at these high altitudes. To get going we have to rev her nuts off, slip the clutch, spin the tyres. And pray. In slushy patches, spinning front tyres would drag the car all over the place (and very close to 1,000-foot drops). It was so hairy that our producer excused himself from the i20 and went searching for a less exciting car to make the climb up Rohtang. It does have excellent seats, though. Which I only appreciate when I switch to the less-endowed Fiat Grande Punto Multijet 1.3, and realise its driving position is ridiculously Italian; all short-legged and long-armed. It has the best looking steering wheel in the business, which hints at (and delivers) excellent steering. Up the hills she feels alive and responds beautifully to hard cornering; everything topped off by fabulous ride quality. What is a bother is the engine. The same 1.3-litre Multijet common-rail diesel unit which Suzuki manufactures under license (from Fiat!) but somehow isn’t as refined or responsive when Fiat makes it. Same with the interiors: Attention to detail is lax and fit and finish not up to scratch. |



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