As this instrumental routine swings on, the flatlands of England pass by in a barely noticeable blur for there is no doubt I am literally dancing through the door marked progress. Take it to the max? No. Today it is time to take it to the C-Max.
Yes, my stoic steed in this balls-forward headbutt on the twisties of the East Midlands is nothing less than Ford’s newest attempt to seduce the procreating peddler. A cursory inspection this a.m. revealed standard seats that can do a flip/fold riff to satisfy even the most demanding dad or multi-purpose mum.
But what really matters is how this baby bus dances when the shifting gets twisty. I’m literally pointing it face first into the blacktop and if it shats its nappy we will know Ford has failed.
As the revometer rides its lonesome curve once more there are certainly no gripes in the grunt department. This 1600cc motor may sip from the black bottle but when talk turns to torque, diesel do nicely. Question is, can the chassis deliver the legs to match those lungs?
First impressions reveal a ride that’s as firm yet flexible as a blob of new Blu-Tack yet despite that roll has no role when a righteous right hander rears its head. Time to see if the grip becomes gristle when I turn it up to ten-tenths.
I pile hot and hard into a series of switchbacks, reading the messages through transparent steering that supplies literally fistfuls of feedback. Still the C-Max doesn’t blink, slicing through every successive corner like a five seater knife. Poking my fingers deeper into the dynamic envelope I dive into a particularly nuggety curve and slam shut the grateful gas tap. All at once the tail steps wide, I catch it with a dab of oppo and I’m away.
The Ford C-Max 1.6 TDCi Zetec is a bitch. And I spanked it.
Troy Queef is Executive Associate Editor-At-Large for DAB OF OPPO magazine