route one? And why is the Wrangler steaming like someone’s smoking a brisket under the bonnet? Can’t be good. JR: Why do Americans have to be quite so. Gonna test the HydroGuide intake that claims it can process 57 litres of water per minute. There’s a crackle and Bondy’s on the radio: “Go in slowly Ollie, you want a gentle bow wave.” Nah mate. Wow the lever takes one heck of tug – none of your namby pampy electrified buttons or dials for the Jeep. So far I haven’t needed to do anything besides breathe in – but hey, look, the first major wading point. Squeezing the Jeep down here is like using a combine harvester to mow your front lawn. Bit narrow along here isn’t it chaps? And that sheer slope a tyre’s width to my left is peppered with tree stumps like battlefield tank traps. The Wrangler appears to believe it’s a Trophy Truck, but what I need is precision. Quite want a bit of G in my life right now.
Nice touch whoever switched the ambient lighting to purple for the full nightclub vibe. The others are rugged enough to feel part of the scenery, this is like driving Boujees through the boondocks. But it is very nicely trimmed, all glossy screens, subtle tones and burnished metalwork. It is super robust, built like a brick outhouse. OM: I’m nervous about the G for entirely different reasons. But I’m hiding at the back as I can’t help but feel a little timid in comparison to the jacked Raptor thanks to skinny tyres, small arches and a sopping canvas toupee. He’s leading in a Ford Ranger which *nerd facts* shares the same fully boxed, high-strength steel chassis as the Bronco. He’s usually found wearing shorts and wellies year round. Have you been swotting up from our secret weapon? Simon Bond, the Top Gear office’s off-road enthusiast. Long way to go, but with my snorkel and departure angles, I can’t see anything getting in my way, besides a puncture and running out of crisps. OK, yes, I just twisted the twisty thing to ‘Auto’ and off I went. JR: Absolutely not, you just witnessed years of practice and white hot skill in action. The Wrangler looks fearsome, pitching, rolling and roaring, but then the Defender calmly eases through. Ah, stand by, first obstacle: rocky stream bed. Even down this first section of lightly roughened track they appeared to be making mountains out of molehills. Our American cousins are clearly so eager to be off-road that they’re jouncing and lurching over smooth tarmac. No concerns onboard the Merc though – what a machine this G400d is. The Bronco feels a bit ‘My First 4x4’ and compared with the ridiculous crenellations of your Falken Wildpeak tyres, these Bridgestone Duellers look and feel anaemic. I’m pretty sure rivers are meant to run under bridges, not spew over them. Should someone call the water people? Wales appears to have burst a pipe. If this water gets any deeper I imagine I’ll be able to simply drive across the surface like those Icelandic drag buggies. The 35-inch balloon tyres mean I’m comfortable over the potholes, which is just as well given its remote steering offers few clues where they’re pointing. OK: How can there be so little elbow room in something that’s wider than an entire Welsh village? The Wrangler’s first impression is one of being sat on your dad’s lap pretending to drive the family car. Doesn’t feel ridiculously oversized on these narrow lanes either, unlike our American friends I suspect. The Defender does roads very well, and this 90 is more nimble than the 110. JR: This is the way to start the day – mug of tea, a breakfast of bowel blocking Welsh cakes and now the Defender humming along serenely. We have five miles of roads before the fun begins. A metaphor coincidentally repeated indoors. dark, heavy clouds are blurring across the sky and dripping like a wrung towel. The weather is as bleary as we are next morning, yet we’re up and out. Your cottage is half a mile down that way. RH: Not that I’m bitter or anything about your Sock of Destiny, but you’re the last to arrive and there’s no room at the inn. I’m looking forward to a massage as we go round tomorrow, but I could do with a bed right now – where am I sleeping? Probably more displacement than the rest of you combined. I’ve got the rural romance you’d hope for: 392 cubic inches of Jeep Wrangler Rubicon V8.
This ‘Outer Banks’ looks a bit weedy compared with the Broncos I’ve been lusting over online. The one that I wanted, until I saw it outside. verruca! Only joking, I’ve got the Bronco.