My rental car reservation was for a Toyota 4Runner, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to get one. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten the car I reserved, only an “equivalent”. So when the silver Hyundai Santa Fe pulled around the building for me, I wasn’t surprised. I was a little bit excited, actually. Surely this thing was going to be terrible, right? And ripping into terrible rental cars is more fun than driving a good one. At least I think so. I think the last good rental car I had was a Euro-market Ford Fiesta in Italy in 2003.
So I hopped into the Hyundai just as the world turned into a life-size snow globe, the flakes falling so heavily that the headlights turned themselves on. I like to handle some tasks myself though, so I moved the switch from Auto to On. OK, grab the steering wheel, shift to Drive, and… aaaah! Why are the wheel and shifter made of plastic?!? Maybe I’m spoiled, but I haven’t seen that in a while. Jeez, this car is going to be terrible!
But then, I began to drive. Within a quarter-mile, I could feel it- the unmistakable aura of a Pretty Good Car. It just felt competent. The body felt stiff. Road imperfections were dealt with and dismissed, utterly without drama. The suspension was just right- firm enough not to be wallowy, but compliant enough for comfort. It was devoid of squeaks and rattles, and the controls all felt natural. I was impressed. Then it started to get too warm in the cabin, so I reached for the climate control knob… and realized that it had manual HVAC controls. It might be a good car, but it was a good car with no options.
When I had gotten it home, I was curious to look up its specs. I went to the Hyundai website and discovered that what I was driving was not a Santa Fe, but a Santa Fe Sport. It’s pretty cynical to call anything in the low-priced, midsize SUV class “Sport”, but Hyundai doubled down by endowing the Sport with an engine that makes 100 horsepower less than the one in the standard Santa Fe. The other main difference is that the Sport only has 2 rows of seats.
Complaints aside, the 190 hp that the 2.4L 4-cylinder makes is adequate for the job. It delivers all of the performance you need, and none that you don’t. As a benefit, it can return some very good fuel economy numbers if driven sympathetically. We rented the car to take us to Florida, and I saw 30+ mpg indicated on the display in several sections of the trip where speeds were in the 40-60 mph range. Some of tis fuel economy can be attributed to a very aggressive transmission shift schedule which allowed significant lugging. At 38 mph, I could induce a 1200 rpm boom like nothing short of a CVT-equipped Nissan. But honestly, the lugging was never excruciating. More interesting than unpleasant, even as my hands and feet got massages from the vibes.
Where this powertrain really showed its warts was in the mountains. We were pretty heavily laden for the long trip, and generally traveling around 80 mph. This resulted in a serene 2000-some engine RPM when going downhill or on nearly level ground. But throw a typical West Virginia interstate grade at it, and the transmission would downshift not once, but twice, and scream up the hill around 5000 rpm. Like the lugging, it wasn’t excruciating or anything, but after about the 37th hill I did begin to wonder what the 390 hp V6 would drive like. The engine got thirsty in this workout, too, showing about 25 mpg. But it’s only rated at 27 mpg on the highway so I can’t complain about 25.
So we drove to Florida, did some theme park stuff, the Hyundai mostly sat in parking lots. Then one day the group were were with didn’t have any plans. They all just wanted to sit by the pool. I don’t really like to just sit by pools, especially when there is interesting stuff to explore. OK, we were in Florida so nothing was particularly interesting, but at least there was stuff to explore. So I bid my 13 fellow travelers adieu and headed for Ocala National Forest, about an hour and a half north of Orlando. [Side note: Florida uses SunPass for tolls, not EZ Pass. I learned that they are incompatible systems after I had driven through several. Will they ever catch up with me? I don’t know.] I “hiked” the St. Francis Trail. I put hike in quotes because when the land is totally flat, it’s more of a walk than a hike. But who says they walked a trail? I don’t know, Florida is weird.
I noticed during my hike that the forest was criss-crossed with forest roads. Nice, packed sand roads just wide enough for, say, a midsize SUV. I got back to the rental a bit ahead of schedule, and decided to go explore some of the forest roads. I picked one that Google maps knew about, though there seemed to be many others that Google had missed. It turned out to be a fun road- just bumpy enough to exercise the suspension, and as I gained confidence, I gained speed too. Soon I was in Rally Mode (me, not the car. It doesn’t have modes besdides Drive and Reverse). This is probably a good time to mention that my particular Santa Fe Sport, being devoid of options, was also devoid of all-wheel-drive. But who needs it, I figured? The road is flat and traction is good, and worse come to worst, I have cell phone service for a tow. Some of that was actually said by a devil on my shoulder as I careened through the palms and pines.
After some dozens of minutes and about 8 miles of sand roads (never having seen another soul), I steered toward the pavement again so I wouldn’t be late for dinner in Orlando. There was a quick way out without having to backtrack, but I did notice that the trails were a little wilder in this part of the park. Ruts appeared in places, some so deep that the car’s belly pan glided across the sand in the center at times. I came to one intersection that looked especially soft. So much so that I got out and scouted it. Yeah, the sand was unusually churned up, I guess because of the traffic in multiple directions,but it didn’t seem much more troublesome than some of the other sections I had been through. So I hopped back in and carefully crawled into the intersection. And slowed to a halt. The front wheels had sunk into the soft top layer of sand and were now just taking turns spinning uselessly. This would have been a good time to get out and do some simple recovery steps, but the sun was hot, I was tired from hiking, and I had more than enough adrenaline flowing from the rally-car vibe to make me feel invincible. So I tried to shake it off. Maybe some reverse? How about wheels turned? No? More throttle!
But it was all in vain. I was stuck. And now I was really stuck. When I finally came to grips with the situation and got out, I found the front subframe sitting on the sand and the tires basically hanging with little weight on them. I did some digging and tried to drive out. Then some stick-jamming. And lots of angry yelling. But the silver SUV only sank deeper. I knew it was time to face defeat. I texted Raina to tell her I wouldn’t make dinner, then called the local towing company.
The man on the phone was nice. He said my kind of thing happens now and then, and he’d personally be out within the hour with the 4WD truck with a winch. No sweat. I relaxed with the problem now out of my hands, and began to realize that I was thirsty. I had long since finished the water that I had brought for the hike. And the bottle I found in the trunk when I had gotten the jack out. But I knew I could count on my kids to leave half-finished water bottles in the back seat. I found some of those and drank whatever they offered, but then I began to wonder about the future. What would I drink next time? The sun was still bright, but much less hot, and unmistakably headed for the horizon. I paced around a bit, straining to hear the engine of my rescuer.
Then he called. He said the trail he tried to come in on was too soft and he was risking getting stuck himself. He was going to try to come in from the north. I shut the engine off, thinking about the future. I pulled up the forest website and studied the map. There were only about 4 ways to get to where I was from a paved road. They all looked the same on the map though.
The tow driver called back, an hour after the last call. This other way was too narrow, he couldn’t fit between the trees. He said these trails were the most extreme he had ever been on. He wanted to know how I had gotten in; he would just retrace my tracks. The entrance to that road was an hour from where he was. I hung up the phone and started digging. Really digging. What I had done before was noting like this. This was digging to save myself. From what, I didn’t know, but probably from at least a night in the forest. There was no way the tow driver was going to get to me.
S and is good stuff to get stuck in. It moves readily without a shovel, and stays where you move it to. I knew that all I had to do was dig in front of the tires enough that they weren’t in a hole anymore, then dig out from under the car so that the tires would have weight on them again. It was a lot of sand to move with just my hands, but I dug fiercely and it went more quickly than I had expected. I ignored the rocks and twigs mixed with the sand and the cuts they made on my hands. I ignored the thirst, and the jeering text messages of my compadres, now eating dinner without me. After an hour with my face in the sand, I felt like I had a good chance. One final detail- airing down the front tires to 10 psi, for some more traction. Then I wiped the blood off my hands and started the engine. If this didn’t work, what would I do? Start walking? Cry? I don’t know. But I never found out, because my efforts paid off and the Hyundai rolled forward as easily as if it were on pavement.
I got well free of the intersection and called the tow driver. He couldn’t get in the way I came in, no surprise there. He was happy that I had gotten out, but I could tell he was thinking he had just worked 2+ hours and was going to get stiffed on the bill. I assured him I’d pay him. He suggested I retrace my route so I was unlikely to get stuck again, which would also meet up with him. That all sounded good to me, I was just happy to be out. It was starting to get dark enough that I needed headlights now, but the elation of freedom meant that I was absolutely bombing the route this time. Upwards of 50 mph at times, with palm fronds smacking both mirrors on the narrow trail. There was a section of whoops, maybe 2 feet high, that had barely been interesting on the way in, but I hit them so hard that the suspension bottomed jarringly and I was sure there had to be body damage. But I didn’t care, I just wanted to go back to the hotel and sleep in a bed free of sand. I stopped at the intersection with the main road where the tow driver was waiting. I paid him and we used his flashlight to inspect for body damage but found none. I crawled to a gas station about 5 miles away and restored the tires to 40 psi and the gas tank to full. I bought a six pack of the best beer they sold, Miller High Life, and aimed the Santa Fe for Orlando. Santa Fe Sport, I should say. I think it earned it today.