Can’t abide the Rangie’s wallow: sure, it doesn’t handle like a Cayenne, but mechanical grip is strong, and the steering stately but supremely accurate. Drivers like Volker need the effective Dynamic Response switchable anti-roll bars, only fitted to V8s.
The 254bhp V6 diesel echoes the ride refinement, murmuring at 2200rpm on the motorway, smooth under hard acceleration. Kick down and the weight rocks backwards, before surging forward like a Mississippi steamboat: with 443lb ft, it feels quick enough, punchier than its 7.9sec 0-62mph time, your instincts saying that this leviathan couldn’t, shouldn’t, be hammering along so quickly. At motorway speeds, the wind gently rushes along the sides, tyre noise is a murmur not a roar. It’s a very civilised way to travel, not unlike how I’d imagine a Rolls or Bentley SUV.
Trunk roads are where the Rangie accumulated most of its 27,885 miles, being the default choice for long family trips. The Range Rover attended the Belgian grand prix, holidayed in Devon, the Lake District and the Dordogne, and slogged through eight months of my 130-mile daily round trip. Fuel economy improved as time wore on, with the Rangie often surpassing 500 miles on a tank and returning 31mpg, though that’s 21% off the official figure. And, contrary to Land Rover perception, it proved a reliable, robust companion, though some things niggled. The centre console developed a muted creak, and the dual-view screen designed to allow passengers to watch TV on the move once or twice displayed nothing but darkness.