The Equus has as many or more luxury features as its competition. The base car gets everything from HID headlights and LED footlights to a 17-speaker audio system and Hyundai’s Blue Link telematics system. The Equus that I drove got the $7000 Ultimate package (my colleagues drove the Signature series) with 12.3-inch LCD, heads-up display, multiview camera system and enough rear seat adjustment, massage and entertainment to keep even the most grumpy ceo calm and content, or at least distracted.
You can line those features up against the competition and see if there’s anything missing. I didn’t think there was. But I wasn’t in the back seat, I was driving, and that’s where the Equus falters. While the 429-hp 5.0 V8 has adequate power and torque for the task, and while the car launches and cruises just fine in a straight line, riding on that air bag suspension, once you turn the wheel to round a corner you see where it differs from the competition.
You could throw a BMW 7-Series around on a curvy road and feel happy doing it, almost like a more mid-level sports sedan. The Equus is very good in a straight line – soaking up bumps like a bump sponge – but is all-too-eager to flop around on its door handles in tight corners. Hyundai is betting that no owners are going to autocross their Equii and Hyundai may be right. And no one’s going to argue about the big savings the Equus offers.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is no mere Hyundai, or even no mere Equus: Mark Vaughn and I drove the Equus Ultimate, and any car that comes saddled with such a lofty appellation must have something to reflect it. Step up to the plate, Equus. Because names like “Signature” and “Ultimate” are today’s subtle distinction between “Royale” and “Brougham,” “Fleetwood” and “Talisman.” Names lost to history, forgotten by lesser men than Equus buyers. But Hyundai, knowing the importance of a trim level beyond “GLS” and “SE,” has so imparted such royalty to its finest product. It must be spoken after a pause: “I drive a Hyundai Equus…Ultimate.” Anything less would tarnish the very meaning of the word “ultimate.”
So, the Equus Ultimate. It’s a sleek-looking car, one whose size defiantly makes itself felt. (Perhaps a longer hood would better proportion the car.) The V8 engine is silky smooth, possessed with commodious torque at any given moment. Like a well-behaved child it is not heard. Double-pane acoustic glass and layers of insulation ensure that. There’s a SPORT mode, as is de rigueur these days, but all it appears to do is to turn the digital gauges red. Please. 429 horsepower comes with its own SPORT mode. One can safely cruise to Las Vegas, as I did, at semi-legal speeds and not cop to a thing. “But officer!” I’d protest, if I had been caught. “It’s a Hyundai! Remember, these people gave us the Excel!”
