The CLK Waits Patiently

If you're lucky enough to have enjoyed a holiday abroad in the post Covid-19 era, returning to the UK in the autumn is to many people an unappealing prospect. In Britain, we're lucky to have our drinking water fall out of the sky on a regular basis. The downside is it tends to land on our heads as we go about our daily business - making us feel slightly uncomfortable and heaven forbid, wet. It's also starting to get cold, with temperatures of 13°C causing Game of Thrones inspired mutterings of 'winter is coming'. 

As I boarded the budget airline's cramped Boeing 737 in 27 degree heat however, there was something I was looking forward to on my return...

The Mercedes-Benz CLK, a car that has been out of production for 12 years, still feels like a high quality and luxury product. As someone who throughout my 20's was a huge fan of Japanese cars, I'd always looked down on luxury German offerings as too much style and faux-quality over substance. The industry favourite phrase 'perceived quality' (meaning quality or luxury feeling, but not necessarily robust or reliable) was my go-to phrase if someone was waxing lyrical about the merits of their BMW 325i or Audi A5 Sportback. 

It may be that now as a 30-something I yearn for comfort and luxury, or perhaps I was blinkered by the admittedly high-quality and precision of Japanese mechanical engineering. Whatever the reason, a year ago I purchased my first German luxury car - a 2006 CLK 200 Kompressor. Though by no means Daimler-Benz' highest or most expensive offering at the time, the general luxury ethos had made it at least as far as the Coupe Luxury Klein (Klein meaning small - which I suppose it was when compared to its stablemate the huge S-Class based coupe - the CL).

Sitting there on the drive, covered with a smattering of early autumn leaves, the CLK was waiting. Having driven a tiny Fiat 500 for the week away, walking up to the car felt more special than usual. The car unlocks with a muted sound - after all, crass noisy locking systems should be reserved for budget cars. On opening the door, the window glass drops slightly, pulling down from the channel it was resting in, and the wing mirrors do their folding out dance - the old car feels ever so slightly alive.

Inside, the familiar smell of old leather is present and correct, and the instrument cluster lights up, revealing three elegant dials. The engine fires without hesitation and the seatbelt is handed to me from behind my shoulder by the seat belt presenter.

Shifting the auto transmission into reverse, and releasing the somewhat unusual parking brake with my right hand, the CLK quietly creeps backwards. The engine is quiet and distant sounding -  it's just me and my thoughts about the drive ahead. 

My bubble of tranquility however, having lasted all of 10 seconds, suddenly bursts!

Shocked back to reality, I remember the faulty parking sensors, which are now on full alert, screaming their electronic cacophony into the cabin. Not a small beep or two, the car has gone into full-on panic mode, shouting "stop stop stop, you're going to hit something you blithering idiot!". I know there's nothing behind the car, so, as quickly as my reactions allow, I hit the button to silence the geriatric sensors. 

Seconds later, I've already forgiven the car's misdemeanour, I'm on the road and the automatic gearbox has done its thing and shifted smoothly into second gear. After all at 15 years old, many of the CLK's 2006 automotive cohort have already long been residents of car heaven - their earthly bodies having been recycled into washing machines or other white goods. 

With the automatic windscreen wipers sweeping away the light autumn rain, some of my favourite music playing via a cheap bluetooth adapter, the post-holiday blues have all but melted away. I'm not even driving to a destination, I'm just driving to feel better. Petrolheads and Car Nuts will know exactly what I mean.

See my in-depth video review of the CLK here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rpg66n18XZc