Your support helps us to tell the story
From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it’s investigating the financials of Elon Musk’s pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, ‘The A Word’, which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.
At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.
The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.
Your support makes all the difference.
Getting on in years, a friend looking for a bit of reliable transport with easy access asked me what I’d recommend. Almost instinctively I replied: “A Toyota”. Yes, I’m mentally lazy but, not wanting any “comeback”, telling anyone a Toyota is a good idea least likely to cause a rupturing in personal relationships.
Specifically, and not just because it was the last car I’d tried, I prescribed a Toyota C-HR to assist with his incipient arthritis. (Indeed, the SUV/crossover boom of recent years can be at least partly attributed to demographics.) For purposes of clarity and brevity, because I was keen to get on with slagging off Donald Trump, I described the C-HR as a sexier-looking version of the Toyota Prius, so familiar to the world – but taller and easier to get in and out of.
Which it is – but it’s much more than that. The C-HR press car I was lent is the later of the two versions to be released, the “plug-in” petrol-electric hybrid, the standard hybrid having already been in the showrooms for some months, and there as yet being no petrol or full-electric battery-powered versions (though there is a proper battery-electric only Lexus sibling).
If used as intended, using battery power for the great majority of your driving with charging at cheap domestic tariffs overnight, your C-HR will justify the admittedly high list prices that Toyota demands – about £40,000 and upwards. “As intended” means a narrow clientele – the plug-in works best if most of your driving consists of a 20-mile commute to work each way; or around 40 miles if you can charge while you are at work (at non-premium rates). Otherwise, settle for the conventional hybrid (“self-charging” in Toyotaspeak), and save £10,000 instead (enough for plenty of pilates sessions).
There’s a wide choice of trim levels and the conventional hybrids come with a choice of petrol engines; all the plug-in ones have a two-litre petrol unit. A clever touch is the way the model name is fully integrated into the rear light “bar”; it’s another way of reassuring its owners that they’ve bought themselves a hi-tech package; and for others, a reminder that “the car in front is a Toyota”, as the ads used to say.
It’s a fairly enjoyable car to drive around town and on suburban routes, but it’s a bit noisy when you put your foot down on a fast A-road or motorway. The Toyota’s habitual serenity is rudely intruded upon by the traditional flaw of the hybrid system – a kind of moaning from the single-gear transmission as the electric motor and petrol engine struggle to build up momentum. As I say, it’s a shame because I thought Toyota had sorted this out; it may be because the plug-in version does carry some extra weight, and battery packs tend to be heavy anyway.
There are few other such disappointments. The cabin exudes high quality and the controls are delightful to use, though the steering is, if anything, overly light. It has a comprehensive suite of driver assistance – these days, extending to a reminder to take a break – and, as the law rightly dictates, bleeps when you try to exceed the speed limit and corrects your steering if you stray out of lane. Most people hate this, but I find it reassuring.
This the second generation C-HR, and it’s an even more dramatic-looking thing than its predecessor, though now the designers haven’t bothered trying to make it look like a coupe by “hiding” the rear door handles under black appliqué at the tops of the back doors – which also made them trickier to open. Now we have handles that pop out to greet you – plainly an improvement.
The C-HR puts looks first and it’s not the most space-efficient, and would indeed suit retired folk more than young families who’d be better off with, say, a Skoda Karoq or MG HS (both outstanding value). But I found this C-HR comfortable company. Its biggest flaw has to be the fact that the steeply raked rear screen has no wiper. It’s supposed to be self-clearing because of aerodynamics, but of course that doesn’t work if you’re pottering around the city.
Such a flaw in no way fully compensates for the nonetheless delightful fact that the rear parking sensors sound like the first distinctive notes of Jackie Wilson’s 1968 hit “I Get the Sweetest Feeling”. Which is appropriate, given the C-HR’s target audience is well-heeled pensioners who will remember that song from the first time round. Sweet.
