I have pretty solid control over a lot of aspects of myself – I’m slow to anger, I tend not to panic when things go sideways, I try to be patient – but it seems that if you put me behind the wheel of something quick and fun in just the right way, I become a complete moron. It’s so fast and grippy and precise and rewarding to really wring out that I found myself, shamefully, driving like an absolute maniac. I would love it! But it would be a terrible idea, which I learned from the week I had one. But not because I don’t want one, because I do. If I sold my middle kidney tomorrow and had the roughly $45,000 needed to buy a Golf R, would I? No. Lots of the others were fine, even pleasant, but it was this Golf R that ignited some gleeful, moronic spark of visceral joy deep in my lizard brain and made me do ill-advised things. Out of that parade of modern, advanced, luxurious SUVs and crossovers that glided in and out of my driveway, it was the only one that I can say I genuinely reveled in driving. The reason why this car, the 2023 Volkswagen Golf R, is the one I started with is pretty simple: it’s the one that’s still parked in my brain. Recently I’ve had a good sized chain of press cars to review, and thanks to my near-superhuman procrastination abilities, this is the first one I’ve gotten around to finally writing. It’s been a while, but I remember the Way of the Hot Hatch.
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