Audi RS7 - long-term review

You may have heard of the North Coast 500 – the epic 500-mile self-drive loop that lassos the stunning coastal scenery of the Highlands in the far north of Scotland. It’s incredible – and if you haven’t done it already, pin it to your mental corkboard. Though, it’s far from flawless.

The NC500's magnificence has turned against it. Thanks to its viral allure and sublime grandeur, there’s a tedious conga line of caravans chugging around. Trust us, if you go to the NC500 at peak times, you’ll be throwing up so many thank-yous from passing places that your left arm will be twice the size when you return to Inverness as when you left.

More crucially, it’s bloody miles away. To even get to the start of the NC500 takes 10 hours from London. Step forward an undiscovered gem closer to home in God’s Own Country: Yorkshire.

With the help of the same mastermind behind the NC500, its tourist board has stitched together its own scenic tapestry and called it Route YC. That’s ‘Yorkshire Coast’, for those who don’t speak marketing.

Unlike the NC500 which struts its stuff as one continuous loop, Route YC is more of a spider’s web – a 250-mile network of overlapping concentric circuits that stretch from Withernsea which clings to the county’s southern hem and Humber, all the way to Whitby, where Dracula once holidayed.

The pamphlets promise Yorkshire’s finest coastal treasures, wildlife, and fish and chips. So, to see if it lives up to its billing, I packed our RS7 with wellies and Gore-Tex and headed north for a winter recce – because if a route can charm you in January, with the wind chill peeling the flesh from your bones, then it’s surely worth its salt (and vinegar) in summer.

Having made our way up the A1 with the new and incessant squeak that’s appeared behind the Audi’s lower second screen for company, crossing the Humber bridge covered in new year road grime, we arrived in Scarborough to the sounds of slot machines cashing out and the smell of freshly fried hot doughnuts.

British seaside towns have, sadly, been relegated to the shadows, eclipsed by the temptations of £18 Ryanair flights. But there’s magic to a glinting promenade on a clear night – a warmth, a simplicity, and an innocent charm so distinctly British in its refusal to try too hard. It’s the kind of modest beauty that doesn’t seek approval; it just is.

Scarborough is a prime example. A town of faded Victorian grandeur and unapologetic old school technology like seawater-fed funiculars. Crashing waves flirt with its two sandy beaches that are fringed by a mixture of lush green coastline on one side, and neon on the other. If you squint very hard, it’s pretty much Monaco of Yorkshire.

For our first two days, we set up camp at the Bike & Boot, the multi-hyphenate hotel that seems to serve everyone. This funky terraced hotel has a bar-cum-restaurant-cum-cafe and is the perfect accommodation for tired dogs, walkers, bikers and surfers.

I wake the next morning to winter’s cruel embrace and the joys of frozen frameless doors. The kind where the glass, refusing to drop, seems determined to shatter with every tug of the doorhandle. But this minor inconvenience is a sideshow compared to the ultra-high-performance Continental SportContact 7 tyres. On dry, warm tarmac, they’re glorious and it must be said infinitely more usable than Michelin’s capricious Cup 2s when the temperatures start to drop. But in heavy rain and standing water, they develop an alarming affinity for aquaplaning. When it drops below freezing, it’s another ballgame.

With stiff sidewalls and the RS7’s tightly wound differential, with full lock you’re left wrestling with the Ackermann effect – that odd disparity in the turning radius of the front tyres. In winter, it’s less a quirk and more a dance of the front-end chopping, hopping, and skipping across the road as you coax the car out of parking bays and slow speed manoeuvring, looking and feeling a bit ridiculous to passers by.

Still, undeterred, my wife and I set off to tackle the first of many possible loops, winding through the North Riding Forest and its lesser-known, postcard-perfect countryside. The scenery is sublime, but the Contis are out of their depth on snow and ice. The RS7, however, isn’t. With ESC, TC, quattro, and ABS all twitching and spasming to find a solution, the two-tonne super saloon somehow holds its line, while 620bhp does its best to find some traction to the gritted tarmac beneath.

But the weather and roads aren’t obstacles – they’re a stage for the RS7 to show off its often-forgotten competence compared to an RS6. As rear-wheel-drive cars falter and front-wheel-drive ones are abandoned, the Audi storms through, navigating undulating lanes and storybook landscapes that no six-figure V8 has any right to conquer. To the sheep frozen solid in the fields, it’s absurd and utterly brilliant.

The following day, we sling our bags back in the RS7’s boot (jealous of the RS6’s wider aperture) and head north towards Robin Hood’s Bay, a postcard-perfect fishing village perched between Whitby and Scarborough. The Route YC favours the flowing, faster roads as we carve through the countryside, skirting the Yorkshire Moors. The RS7’s firm ride struggles to settle on the broken roads, but it’s the dynamic steering that really grates. Each corner requires a second stab at the turn, as the changeable rack and four-wheel-steer system mean identical inputs yield wildly different results.

Descending into Robin Hood’s Bay, you’re not sure whether to base jump down to the beach or drive given the gradient tips to a heart-stopping 1:3. Hopping out for a quick pic, the RS7’s auto hold handbrake starts binging and bonging in distress. On reflection, leaving the car – and my wife – clinging precariously to the hillside probably wasn’t the best idea.

The village itself is a maze of narrow, cobbled streets, brimming with the ghosts of smugglers singing sea shanties – or possibly modern-day influencers filming TikTok trends. Either way, Robin Hood’s Bay remains unapologetically picturesque.

The RS7 doesn’t give too much arse ache, but wanting to stretch our legs, we go on one of the most spectacular hikes imaginable. Beginning with a stroll across the beach, we climbed the coastal path that offers sweeping views of the hillside town, before looping back along the Cinder Track – a disused railway line that delivers you right back to where you started. It’s the sort of walk that makes you stop, breathe, and silently thank Yorkshire for existing. And make you wonder why we don’t come here more often.

We spend the night at The Stables, a former 17th-century farmhouse that wears its history lightly. Its charming courtyard – once home to horses, now converted into cosy rooms – looks out over a cascading view of the moors on one side and Whitby on the other. As the big, iridescent winter sun melts into the hillside, we retreat indoors. Games, dinner, and a roaring fire in an ancient pub. This is what road trips are really about: hurtling through places yet finding moments to stand still and slow down.

Our final day begins at Runswick Bay, but not before the RS7 guzzles yet another five litres of screen wash. Unsurprisingly, a 4.0-litre V8 makes for a thirst as I’ve averaged 20.9mpg over 8,000 miles. But its insatiable appetite for screen wash at this time of year might be even worse. Each pull of the stalk sets off a miniature firework show of water – sluicing not just the windscreen but the headlights and, inexplicably, streaming down the bonnet like a car sobbing into its own chassis.

We watch surfers – who must be part human, part penguin – wrestle themselves into neoprene before entering the icy North Sea. With the tide out, an extraordinary natural patio of Jurassic rock is revealed, apparently littered with fossils: ammonites, belemnites, and fragments of marine reptiles, all frozen in time. It’s the sort of place that makes you wish you’d remembered to add a pickaxe to your packing list.

Leaving the dino bones we go rogue, heading west into the North York Moors. It’s a place of wild, brooding beauty, where the roads twist and the landscape grows in scale. It’s not the highlands but it ain’t half bad. Dipping south at Castleton, we pick up Blakey Ridge, a ribbon of road that seems purpose-built for the RS7.

It begins with a few tight corners to test the torque split and catapult yourself out to the main event: a ridge that steadily rises, unfurling into an ever-opening spine across the Moors. With off-camber bends and fast, sweeping curves it can really test the chassis and available grip. As we climb we pierce the cloud line, emerging above it all as though we’ve stumbled into some surreal Mario Kart level. Only thing is Lakitu and his fishing pole isn’t here to put you back on the road if you fall off.

Descending the other side, we roll into Hutton-le-Hole, a chocolate-box village so quintessentially English its stream should flow with Yorkshire Tea. We rejoin the Route YC and make our way to the world-famous Magpie Café in Whitby for some Grade A fish and chips. Bathed in beef dripping and fried to perfection, the fish is fresh and flaky and chips both squishy and crispy.

The brilliance of the Route YC is its elasticity. It can be as short or as sprawling as you like, tailored to whatever you like via its interactive online map. It’s a choose-your-own-adventure of great food, captivating activities, history, great roads and scenery.

As for the RS7? It’s the perfect winter machine. Comfortable, characterful and – most importantly – endlessly toasty, thanks to its heated Alcantara wheel and stitched leather seats. It devours the motorway with serene composure yet comes alive when the roads demand it.

Route YC proves that an epic UK road trip doesn’t need to be the NC500. So, what are you waiting for? Plot your course, pack your snacks, and set off.

For more information, visit routeyc.co.uk, Bike & Boot Scarborough and The Stables (part of the Inn Collection Group)