Land Rover Defender 110
The arrival of this new Defender will doubtless provoke the full panoply of emotions amongst those who have lived with, or still use, the original. Because I can’t think of any other basic, bolt-together workhorse that has either survived for so long or elicited such extraordinarily powerful affection amongst its owners.
Confession: our divorce enforced by a chassis crumbling like a sand castle at high tide, which I simply could not afford to replace, I have only just parted company with my beloved 1984 110 V8. And I still miss it every day…
Sitting voyeur-high above the Mudfordshire walls and hedgerows that hem in the average road user; a gear lever throw so long that you can plan a really quite complex chess move between ratios; a steering wheel in which you could wedge a baby and rock it to sleep with absolutely no danger of the car deviating from a straight line; the rumble of all-terrain tyres on tarmac and the muted grumble of a lazy V8 utterly disinclined to move three and half tonnes at anything much over 60 mph. Even the gently disastrous ride had a way of winning you over; it simply fitted the bill.
On reflection, though, what I miss most about it is the thinking time. No radio, no telephone, no air-conditioning, no connectivity, no distractions apart from your own thoughts and the occasional diced wasp spraying in through those lovely hinged vents at the foot of the windscreen…
Real character, then, and strangely engaging for a car whose only real claim to fame is a propensity to rip the seat out of your trousers with the door catch as you dismount.
Interesting, then, to note that, despite being hallmarked by the ever-present aroma of antiquity, rot and grot, the original Defender made it onto the shortlist of cars benchmarked by the engineers developing this new upstart. Will anything of that (and I think use of word actually appropriate here) iconic DNA, one wonders, have made the cut?
Well, with the notable (and disappointing) exception of the bows, a first glimpse of the new couture identifies any number of carry-over styling cues: from the horizontal shoulder underscoring the side glazing to the shape of the wheel arches; the elongated porthole glazing cut into the rear roof edges to the guillotine-crisp cut off astern. And I somewhat doubt there’d be a full-sized spare hanging off a side-hung tailgate unless both harked back to days of yoke.
A closer look, however, reveals that nothing is a straight steal; the shoulder line is no longer ruler-straight, and the once flat back end now carries the faintest whiff of convexity. Neat touches… Unlike the external promise of the roof portholes, which is almost entirely eradicated by a ludicrously diminished interior aperture filled with heavily tinted glass.
On board, the new Defender fails to please quite so readily. Don’t get me wrong; it certainly looks the part -a well-considered, Richmond Park rufty-tufy meld of exposed bolt heads, stout surfacing, aluminium panels, soft furnishings and appropriately techy consoles. But the traditional nose bleed-high driving position is let down by a long-haul comfort-liquidating seat, and there’s much on offer which isn’t particularly well thought out, suggesting something of a triumph of style over content.
For instance, although it’s good news that switchgear has been reduced to the extent that the entirety of the horizontal centre console may be given over to storage, the design of that storage is dubious. Cupholders dominate the top deck, and gang up with stylishly stout side rails to make access to the lower tier tricky for all but contortionists. Ironically, you can replace the centre console with a fold-down centre seat, but you can’t replace the cup holders with a bin in which something other than a giant Slush Puppy might actually fit.
The front footwells are moulded of a piece a la shiny plastic hose-down bucket befitting a working farm vehicle. Alas, this is a conceit, since no other finishes on board readily lend themselves to assault by chilly winter hose. And there’s a viciously hard floor finish to the rear loadspace. At least old Landies used rubber matting to prevent the excessive slithering of muddy Spaniels.
Then there are myriad little things: The buttons on the key fob lack a crisp action; no definitive click or even feeling of the button depressing beneath your finger. The steering wheel heating works faster on the left than the right of the rim. The temperature adjustment dials double not only as further HVAC controls but also, via adjacent dashboard buttons, as the off-road settings menu, which scrolls along the bottom of the centre screen. But only briefly, so if you dither it’s gone, and you have to call it back; surely dithering over off-roading is part of the pleasure? I’m told. The burying of all off-road set-up controls in a sub-menu speaks volumes for where this car’s priorities lie.
In truth, I’d rather the door mirror puddle light graphic was a little less perfect and other details a little more so. Drive for show and putt for dough they say on the golf course… Still, at least the new Pivi Pro infotainment system is, in terms of speed and intuitive use, light years ahead of anything JLR has previously produced. And the ClearSight rear-view mirror and front camera are both worth a mention; the former allowing you to see what the spare wheel is obscuring, the latter using the infotainment screen to show the terrain hidden under the car’s nose when the off-road going gets tough. Oh, and, best of all, you no longer have to wind down the window to give your right arm elbow room when steering.
Under the bonnet lurks a 2.0 litre, four-cylinder diesel (though by the time you read this it will have been replaced in the model line-up with a mildly beefier unit) mated to an eight-speed automatic transmission. You’d be forgiven for feeling that a relatively humble four-pot might not cut much mustard when it comes to hauling a two and a quarter tonne car around, but the unit develops 237 bhp and 317 lb ft of torque, which equates to a respectable 0-62 mph time of 9.1 seconds, and a maximum whack of 117 mph.
Better yet, the Defender has become something of a pleasure to drive. Air suspension provides a well judged combination of ride quality and body control, the steering’s accurate and nicely weighted, and the car corners faithfully and with surprising composure. Indeed, the whole driving experience verges on the imperious -something we’ve come to expect from all Range Rovers, if not every Land Rover…
I haven’t had the opportunity to drive the Defender off road, though I’m told that, armed with low-range transmission, locking centre and active rear differentials, and the company’s proved Terrain Response and Hill Descent technology, it acquits itself with no little honour when mud plugging. Even if it does ultimately all come down to tyres and ground clearance.
Elevating the ride height of air-equipped models will raise ground clearance to as much as 291 mm, approach, departure and ramp breakover angles are 38, 40 and 28 degrees respectively, it’ll climb a 38 degree slope and descend one of 40 degrees, and wading depth has almost doubled to 900 mm.
Moreover, we’re told the electrical system can be submerged in water for up to an hour without damage; news which will somewhat startle Range Rover owners I know whose cars’ electrics struggle to survive an hour of fresh air undamaged…
All in all, then, those concerned that this car is too focused on looking the part rather than actually being the part should fret not. They may, however, fret at will about the price which, relative to the namesake vehicle it replaces, is astronomical. So, yet another vehicle with a Land Rover badge establishes itself in the premium market, in the space once occupied by Range Rovers until they became 100 grand propositions. But that’s fine, you’ll just have to go and buy a pick-up for serious farm work like F Giles’ everywhere. As for me, I’d take this over a Discovery any day.