Capsule Review: 2000 Hyundai Tiburon

Posted on 16. Nov, 2010 by in Auto News

You could at the scene to look for possibilities of two. The first way was to look at it, that the excavator was wrong. It backed out over half the northern exit to Bethel Road from Ohio SR-315, forcing my brother to quickly take on an evasive maneuver, turning his pristine Porsche 944, and crashed into a lamp post, causing the street lights fall under the highway traffic.

The second way of looking at it – and, in fairness, I must note that this view which was entered by the Columbus Police – was that my brother, Mark, had been perhaps 100 miles per hour on the road ("More like a 20, "he sniffed me as a result), and that therefore the backhoe operator had no reasonable expectation that the red Porsche + Audi would arrive well before he could move away from the road.

Either way, it was time for the punishment car.

If I was my 200SX at the tender age of sixteen, my car was a penalty Mercury Marquis Brougham. Mark, on the other hand never crashed a car into his teenage years. What he deed To do comprehensive waste management was a new Jetta and a new Infiniti G20 in series, the latter so badly that the lease-end damage report to seven thousand dollars and ran several pages. Dad decided he should have a used car, but "used car" somehow ended up as "absolutely pristine 2.7-liter-944 previously owned by the local TV news princess".

"There's good news and bad news," my bro said to me on the phone. "The good news is that I have a Porsche, and I'm six years younger than you are, the bad news is that your Shitbox Land Rover line left no factory options.." I looked out the window, saw the "SD" – logo on my '97 Disco five-speed, and hung my head in the appropriate level of shame. Six months later, I have the same crappy truck to pick him up at the accident site.

The next day, two proposals before our Father, who art were placed in New York. Mark suggested replacing the 944 with a Boxster. I suggested replacing it with a Hyundai. The old man must have gotten, not only that he agrees to my proposal, he told Mark that his role co-signer of the loan would be limited. "Hyundai," he said, "are for the day strippers no longer have particularly on the current Grand Am styling." I thought it was ironic, because he saw two daytime strippers at the time, but I had to admit that he was speaking from experience.

Objections aside, the next day we went to see the four headlights Tiburon. At $ 13,900 or so (in my distant memory), it was surprisingly well equipped. In a straight line it is not, most of the 944, and if it had a slightly sinister black plastic interior, it also had a strong, clear sound system. Like the Elantra and Accent of time, the control measures were a bit surreal. The clutch has fixed the impression that no spring, it offers the gentlest of pedal resistance. The shifter waved around the room, occasionally releasing easily into a slot, when the stars are aligned just so. The brakes approximated Citroen famous rubber button, go to "NO STOP" to "full stop" in a soggy inch. Steering was far from the road, and the column shook gently.

At six foot two, I found the roof is too low, at five foot eight, Mark found the window sills too high. The silver color for accent throughout the interior used looked like it would fade and rub, and that appearance was not fooled. The rear seats were a cruel joke closely, and the tailgate are very oddly shaped cargo area, threw the full minute of my brother and tenor sax gig bag appeared there.

On a fast back-road test drive showed the Tiburon an odd quality. Although all Felt thin, the car was really not at all weak. There had been some torsional stiffness and was trustworthy in the turns. Once the shift characteristics entered their kinesthetic memory, it was easy to operate fast enough and the clutch was abuse-proof. Best of all, it seemed to have enough brake. Mark said something that probably will be repeated nationally thousand times a day, even now: "Hyundai's are much better than I thought they would." We closed the transaction upon receipt of invoice and on the road.

Something happened to my brother. He held his new car clean and free of dirt. Over the next few years, the Tiburon was looking good, even if the odometer climbed 70,000 miles. I do not have to write, to make its own payments, because he forgot to take them regularly, sometimes for months at a time. I think the car just earned his respect.

The daytime strippers gone, replaced by a graduate student of clarinet performance. She arrived in a Nissan Sentra, but was soon driving a new Elantra, Hyundai-Mark per zeal converted. The Tiburon more a loaded Santa Fe. For years, my brother told everyone to hear of it, which would make a big damn car the Koreans. His friends have Hyundais. He began to wonder why I had no Hyundais.

"Your new Land Rover, all options," he used to say, "but the Santa Fe 3.5L offers more for less." Finally, the death angered by his conversion of jazz artists to Seoul man, I pulled him to a Mazda dealer and made him drive a RX-8. He got out of the car and announced his intention to buy it. "Great car," he said, and then wistfully,

"It reminds me of my Tiburon."