Climbing every mountain…
A Landie in it's natural habitat
I was ready to hate this car before I even so much as saw it. Belonging to Harry Seager, a friend of mine who uses it daily, I’d been taking the mick out of it for months. I’d even sent him extracts from a (false) pre-written road test, implying it was heavier than a tank full of lead and slower than a dead glacier. I make no secret of my dislike in general for 4x4s on the public highway – though Harry to his credit does go off road – and being something of a human cat I value my comfort and appearance too much to really feel comfortable in something so agricultural as a Land Rover Series 3 88″ Hardtop 2.25 diesel, formerly the property of Woburn Safari Park (Although it did spend time in a big cat enclosure – so it’s not all bad).
Being a passenger in the chipped, dented machine with remnants of it’s former orange visible through the army green coachwork for a quarter of a mile didn’t help matters, I had pins and needles in both feet and shins after such a short ride. And being a passenger in the car it was following once confirmed my fears of ultimate lethargy. On a journey of maybe 2 miles through the centre of Bristol in a Rover 620 diesel, we had to wait for the Land Rover to catch up four times.
But he’s been saying I should try it for months, so we found a decently sized car park and swapped seats. Despite the abuse it’s had all the way through this article so far, I have a healthy respect for proper and honest machines like the Land Rover because they’re not trying to be something they’re not. It’s loud, shaky, and very agricultural, but doesn’t dress itself up in walnut and leather to hide the fact. The pedals are huge, the steering wheel like the tiller of a pirate ship, and the gearbox notchy as hell. I’d mention the toys, but there are none. No, I tell a lie, it has a horn that sounds like an asthmatic mouse coughing, and it has a heater. The sliding windows are also just in the wrong place to rest your elbow on the door. Slam the door to ensure it shuts, find the static seatbelt, and start what sounds like the opening of the doors to Valhalla. Stick the lever where you think first might be, and lo and behold you can set off.
Even in low range it doesn’t feel quick. It doesn’t feel like a driver’s car either – no, scrub that – it feels like no car I’ve ever driven. It’s noisy, not comfortable, heavy (Though the steering is lighter than I’d thought), and slow. It’s biggest failing, however, is visibility. When I’d swapped back to another mate’s car for the convoy back, Harry moved off first, having missed the skip lorry that was in the Land Rover’s blind spot. In the nick of time he spotted it and stopped, but from trying to reverse the thing I really can understand how the error came about. Rear visibility in a Land Rover is abysmal. Combine this with the user-unfriendliness of the controls on a long term basis and the sheer lethargy , and you start to see why using one every day is not on.
Yet, despite this list of faults – and I’m aware that thus far the article looks like I hated the thing – it’s an endearing experience. One I heartily recommend every petrolhead should try at least once. Despite the fact that every sensory organ in your body is telling you that it’s not pleasant, you find yourself wanting to drive it more. Your mind pushes you on, where your body is pleading with you to just give it a rest. I would have loved to take it up the side of a mountain or something similar – because that’s the Landie’s raison d’etre. That diesel lump in the front may have sod all in the way of power, but it’s very torquey indeed. The other appealing thing about a Series Land Rover is that they’re completely classless – you could either work the land or own the land and not look out of place in a Landie – the Queen loves hers, and so do the many students who run them on a budget. Off-road, I think I could grow to love the Land Rover Series III – fit for purpose it most certainly is. As a daily hack on tarmac roads I could never recommend it. As a fun car though, it’s the ultimate Tonka toy.
