merrion13
Member Since: 16 Jun 2020
Location: Denver
Posts: 17
![](templates/vbnew/images/spacer.gif)
|
Is Land Rover’s New Defender SUV More Trouble Than It’s Worth?
With overlanding power and a three-foot wading depth, the handsome Defender can conquer the Andes. But the brand has well-documented reliability issues. Dan Neil on whether the benefits outweigh the risks
BY THIS TIME in a normal year, I would only be testing vehicles from the following model year, e.g., 2021. Our guest this week, a 2020 Land Rover Defender 110 P400 SE, is about six months late to my party due to delays in production, trans-ocean logistics and overland delivery. The new Defender can climb a wall but it can’t get over Covid-19.
Four-door 110 models are now arriving at U.S. dealerships, but production of the two-door 90 models at Nitra, Slovakia, has been set back. Making matters worse: The 90, on a shortened wheelbase, is the cutest damn thing you ever did see—funky fresh and coltish, the SUV preferred by Serengeti game wardens who are also boy-band heartthrobs.
Defender’s issues are well known—yet in every market people are throwing money at dealers to get one.
The new Defender is a triumph of industrial design, a big, beautiful box of postcolonial nostalgia, if not amnesia, evoking the primitive overlanders of empire while being nothing like them internally. It is to the old what BMW’s New Mini (circa 2000) was to Sir Alec Issigonis’ postwar tobacco tin. Defender’s heritage cues—the blocky volumes, the upright windshield, chamfered horizontal shoulder lines, shoebox greenhouse, white-capped roof with alpine windows—have all been redrafted here in a kind of eight-bit, Minecraft modernity.
The anatomy is familiar. Defender shares engines and drivetrain components with the Discovery and other Jaguar Land Rover products; the chassis comprises heavy-duty versions of JLR’s long-travel multi-link suspension, adaptive dampers, and ride-height adjustable pneumatic springs. Defender does get its own, new and prodigious platform, a bonded aluminum monocoque that feels like it could shake off a land mine.
It’s easier to list what’s lovable about the Defender—hose-able floors, sharkskin-like cabin trim, optional frontbench seating—than to explain why, exactly, anyone would buy one, especially in the first year. I’d be terrified. Jaguar Land Rover (JLR) products have some of the worst reliability scores in the industry; and some Defenders already in-country have manifested serious problems.
Whatever doubts I may have had about the authenticity of our tester were dispelled when the Check Engine Light came on. Honestly, JLR should just ditch the green oval badge and go with the CEL. It’s more on-brand.
Here we confront one of life’s little mysteries. JLR’s reliability issues are well known; yet in every market people are lining up to buy Defenders, practically throwing money at their dealers, knowing what they might be in for. They are that far gone.
I get it. Driving the Defender around town, I like what it seems to signify about Moi. Not as rustic as a the Jeep Wrangler Rubicon nor as outlandish as Mercedes-Benz G-Wagen, and not as alpha-aggressive as either, Defender presents as something different: an amiable, nonbinary rescue droid, with lively LED eyes and a determined expression, as if biting its lip. Give it a bash, Roger!
Land Rover quotes a maximum climbing angle of 45 degrees. The best I could find was a hill of about 40 degrees, a 20-yard uphill scrabble over roots, ruts, rocks and loose red soil, with a tight turn at the top, between two trees. Plenty spooky. With the air springs on High (11.45 inches ground clearance) and transfer case in Low, the Defender dug its nose into the hill (38-degree approach angle) and began pulling itself skyward—the turbo-supercharged hybrid I6 engine whirring, the suspension pumping its long legs, the all-terrain tires stuttering, kicking rocks and catching traction—like it was nothing.
Later that hour, the thoroughly buried Defender managed to work itself out of a pit of moist yellow sand. I didn’t even have to shovel. Among the overlanding tricks is Wade Mode, for water crossings, that lifts the vehicle 3 inches, closes the HVAC’s fresh-air blend door, and smothers throttle response. Officially, the maximum wading depth is 35.4 inches. Just keep that swiftwater helicopter on standby.
So if you happen to run a spread of timber in the Northwest Territories, the Defender might be a good fit (how’s the service center in Yellowknife?). But if you mean to drive it like a minivan, know there will be trade-offs. The 110 lives large because it is large—82.9 inches wide and 77.4 inches tall. It’s always an effort to park, always an effort to see out of, despite the available 360-degree camera views and video rear mirror. The headrests, grab bars, window trim, and spare tire block the rearward sightlines. The side mirrors are dinky. Great turning radius, though.
The side-swinging rear hatch, with the spare mounted on it, is beastly heavy and takes up a lot of space. If the car behind you is parked too close, you can’t open it. There is no hands-free opening option. There is no step integrated into the rear bumper, making it hard to reach the roof without the optional ladder. The hard-plastic panels on the hood, that are meant to remind us of steel foot trends, are No Step areas. The plastic squares glued to the 110’s C-pillars? Unfathomable and unforgivable.
Defender goes well enough down the road, for inflatable watercraft. On highway asphalt, the 110’s ride is comfortable, gently pneumatic, and body motions reasonably well contained. But throw some cornering energy at it and it will start to feel trucky, top-heavy and rolly-polly—not unexpected with 19.7 inches of suspension travel.
The base engine is a turbocharged 2.0-liter inline four (296 hp and 295 lb-ft). Ours enjoyed the robust services of a turbocharged, electrically supercharged and hybridized 3.0-liter inline six, with a belt-driven 48-volt starter/motor-generator (395 hp/406 lb-ft)—I mean, what could go wrong? Both pair with an eight-speed automatic, two-speed transfer case and full-time four-wheel drive.
And both engines deliver awful fuel economy. Ours was averaging 16.5 mpg in mixed driving. This, mostly on account of the 110’s unsparing weight (5,035 pounds), rolling resistance, and falling-refrigerator aerodynamics.
For the undeterred, Defender’s trim walk is like the march up Kilimanjaro. There are six trim levels, four “accessory packs” and a whole ecology of lifestyle-enhancing options, including a dog kennel with safety restraints, onboard compressor, roof racks, even side-mounted panniers, reminiscent of Jerrycans.
I must say, the price is right. Our tester, in Tasman Blue, included niceties such as the Cold Climate Pack (heated windscreen and steering wheel) and Comfort and Convenience Pack (console refrigerator). From bare bones two-door ($46,100) to fully loaded four-door, Defender prices will range more than $50,000. That’s trawling with a pretty broad net among premium SUVs, many of which haven’t a fraction of the chops or charm of Defender.
You just have to ask yourself, Do you feel lucky?
|