We’re holed up in a lone cottage deep in the trees, and the pizza and beer have already gone. To be fair, Ollie Marriage arrived with kegs that had been vigorously rattled about in the boot of a Defender. Releasing the pressure caused a small culinary incident in the kitchen, but it would’ve been churlish not to raise a glass to making it to a place known mainly to lost walkers, wrong ’uns, and people who can actually read an Ordnance Survey map.
This is motoring beyond the civilised world: winches full of grease, trousers full of grit, and a strong whiff of army surplus. Waiting outside are four of today’s most able off-roaders. Europe fields the Land Rover Defender and Mercedes-Benz G-Class; America counters with the Ford Bronco and Jeep Wrangler.
The usual drill would be a quarry and a stopwatch to see who tips over first. That feels a bit timid. And far too safe. So we’ve headed for the lonely lanes of mid-Wales, specifically the Strata Florida off-road trail: the sort of terrain where camouflage is everyday wear and even Land Rovers think twice. That’s for tomorrow. Tonight, though, the wind is howling, the cottage is cosy, the stove is roaring, and we need to decide who drives what. Ollie Marriage has come prepared… with socks.
[Themed image carousel]
Ollie Marriage: It’s not Christmas. Not quite. But I’ve hung up socks, each with a key inside. Pick one.
Jack Rix: Smells like these haven’t been washed since Christmas 1987... but who cares because I’ve got the Defender! Shall we pack up and
go home now gentlemen? insert smug face emoji
Rowan Horncastle: I’ve got a... verruca! Only joking, I’ve got the Bronco. The one that I wanted, until I saw it outside. I’m sorry, but I’ve been catfished. This ‘Outer Banks’ looks a bit weedy compared with the Broncos I’ve been lusting over online.
Ollie Kew: Hands off my sock, mate. I’ve got the rural romance you’d hope for: 392 cubic inches (6.4 litres) of Jeep Wrangler Rubicon V8. Probably more displacement than the rest of you combined.
OM: Which leaves me with the G. 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?
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. Your cottage is half a mile down that way. And we forgot to turn the heating on. Soz.
Next morning the weather looks as washed-out as we feel. Still, we’re up, packed and rolling… thick, dark cloud is smearing across the sky and dripping like a towel that’s been wrung out. A comparison that’s unintentionally repeated once we’re back indoors. There are five miles of road to get through before the fun starts.
JR: This is exactly how you want to begin: a mug of tea, a breakfast of bowel blocking Welsh cakes, and the Defender purring along contentedly. Very happy. It’s genuinely good on the road, and this 90 feels handier than a 110. On lanes this tight it doesn’t come across as comically oversized either, unlike our American contingent, I suspect.
OK: How can something wider than an entire Welsh village offer so little space to swing an elbow? The Wrangler’s first vibe is like sitting on your dad’s knee pretending you’re driving. Those 35-inch (889 mm) balloon tyres make potholes a non-event, which is fortunate because the vague steering doesn’t exactly broadcast where the wheels are aimed. If the water rises much more, I’ll probably just skim across the top like an Icelandic drag buggy.
RH: Er, should we ring the water people? Wales seems to have sprung a leak. I’m fairly sure rivers are meant to flow under bridges, not blast over them. The Bronco has a bit of ‘My First 4x4’ about it, and next to the aggressive crenellations of your Falken Wildpeak tyres, these Bridgestone Duellers look-and feel-pretty anaemic.
OM: No stress: we’ve got tow ropes. The Merc, at least, inspires no worry-this G400d is something else. Our American cousins seem so keen to be off-road they’re managing to bounce and wallow on perfectly decent tarmac. How? The G just glides. Even on this first stretch of mildly rutted track, they’re acting like every ripple is a mountain. Right, stand by: first proper challenge, a rocky stream bed. The Wrangler looks menacing-pitching, rolling and bellowing-then the Defender simply wafts through. That felt as easy as it looked, Jack?
JR: Absolutely not-you just saw years of practice and white hot skill in action. OK, yes, I turned the twisty thing to ‘Auto’ and it did the rest. It’s almost idiot-proof. And it does it all with such polish. We’ve got a long day ahead, but between my snorkel and departure angles I can’t see much stopping me, other than a puncture or a shortage of crisps.
RH: Listen to you, throwing the jargon around. Have you been revising with our not-so-secret weapon? Simon Bond, the Top Gear office’s off-road obsessive. You’ll usually find him in shorts and wellies whatever the season. He’s up front in a Ford Ranger which nerd facts shares the same fully boxed, high-strength steel chassis as the Bronco. I’m skulking at the back because, next to that jacked-up Raptor, my Bronco feels under-tyred, under-arched and under-dressed with its soaked canvas toupee. It just seems flimsy. Flimsy doors. Flimsy roof. Flimsy mindset.
OM: My G-based nerves are the opposite. It’s immensely tough-built like a brick outhouse-but the cabin is so polished: glossy screens, muted colours, burnished metal. The others look born of the landscape; this feels like taking Boujees into the boondocks. Respect to whoever dialled the ambient lighting to purple for maximum nightclub energy. I’m leaning into it.
OK: That was me. And I’m suddenly quite tempted by a G in my life. The Wrangler seems convinced it’s a Trophy Truck, but what I’m craving is accuracy. This bit’s tight, isn’t it? And that drop a tyre-width to my left is dotted with stumps like tank traps. Threading the Jeep through here is like mowing the lawn with a combine harvester. So far my main tactic has been holding my breath-but here we are: the first serious wading point. Low range time. Blimey, that lever needs a proper heave-none of your polite electric buttons or dials here. The radio crackles and Bondy chips in: “Go in slowly Ollie, you want a gentle bow wave.” Nah mate. I’m testing the HydroGuide intake that claims it can process 57 litres of water per minute.
JR: Why do Americans have to be so… route one? And why is the Wrangler steaming like someone’s smoking a brisket under the bonnet? That can’t be ideal. Very funny, though-every splash turns it into its own fog machine. The Defender’s unbothered, helped by the raised intake. As these trenches get wetter, it’s obvious the Defender has become the guinea pig: first in, measuring the risk for the rest. Right then-this looks trickier. A wide, black river crossing. Bondy pokes his patented umbrella measuring stick into it; it disappears to his elbow. The snorkelled Defender might manage, but we can’t gamble the others. So now we’re backing down a narrow trench, doing Austin Powers-style shuffles and turning round.
RH: This is not an ignominious retreat. OK, it is. But I’m not unhappy, because we’ve had no phone signal since yesterday afternoon and my socks are wet-those Bronco door seals gave up at the first crossing.
OM: Diff locks off, everyone-we’ve got a road section coming. Strata Florida is actually the straightest, quickest cut through this part of Wales, so approaching from the far end means a massive detour. More time for me to sit smugly in the Merc, and for Rowan to look progressively more bedraggled in the Bronco. I can’t get over how spec-sensitive that car is, dynamically and visually. The Sasquatch I drove in the summer felt unstoppable. This Bronco feels like it’s about to be stopped. Along with the rest of us. Bondy’s waving us on, but first in line at this end is a slick, black, lumpy rock face.
JR: Defender, reporting in. I did actually switch Terrain Response into Rock Crawl for that one. And I used the clever ‘see-through bonnet’ camera.
I could see what was under the car. Mostly rock, as it turns out.
RH: The Bronco simply hasn’t got the kit. Yes, it’s got low range, but the Goat modes aren’t goaty enough. To be fair I’m amazed it crested it at all, but it was sketchy: crashing, bucking, hopping and wobbling while the electronics decided what to do with the power. Which seemed to be either ‘Give All of It’ or ‘None of It’. I nearly launched myself into the scenery.
OM: Lovely view down that side-one crumpled Bronco would’ve wrecked the calm. Once you made it up, I knew the G would be fine. What’s striking is that even without the articulation or clearance, it just keeps going. Despite the shorter suspension travel, it’s so well controlled. No lurching, no rocking-just a steady climb over and around obstacles.
OK: I tend to solve problems with tyre and torque. That cross-axle section where the Bronco looked like a terrified lamb? The Jeep just bounded through. Didn’t even graze its undergussets. I’m beginning to see why Americans feel invincible the moment they climb into a Wrangler.
RH: What’s this place called? The bumhole?! I don’t think I have that mode in the Goat selector.
SB: The bomb hole...
RH: Sod that for a game of soldiers.
JR: That does look quite senior. Look, it’s getting dark, and if we’ve got to backtrack and then take the road home we’ll be at it for hours. What about that forestry track we spotted?
OM: It must lead somewhere, mustn’t it? I’ll go first. Raalllyyy! Oh. Dead end.
JR: Pfffft. Ollie’s meant to be the proper rally driver, but I’ve got a trick up my sleeve-my phone’s found signal and Google Maps is showing the route home. Light’s dropping, Ollie’s gone too far, I’m somehow leading, Defender for the win!
RH: This is my kind of off-roading: quick, loose, and with a strong chance of a massive accident. The Bronco suits this far better-more composed, and the steering is clearer thanks to independent front suspension. Mind you, its wheezy four-cylinder petrol is louder than either diesel.
OK: Hang on-that’s tarmac. Honestly, I’m relieved. For a minute it looked like we’d be spending the night stuck in black woodland, but it’s actually campfire o’clock. Homeward!
Logs snap in the hearth, drinks disappear, stories grow, and a pilgrimage to Beulah for phone signal (yes, really) reveals tomorrow’s forecast is much brighter.
RH. Anyone up for a swap? Somebody needs to try the Bronco-especially with that flapping canvas roof. At 30 it sounds like a skydiving gazebo. If the weather holds we might even be able to take it off.
OM: We’ll never fit it back on, but fine-I’m in. I’ve had it easy so far. In the G you feel slightly insulated from the scenery, so this should be more immersive. But-hang on-why am I getting wheelspin already? I’ve barely turned the first hairpin on the Devil’s Staircase. There are 25 per cent slopes ahead! Ah. 2WD mode. Should’ve checked that.
OK: Amateur. But when it’s icy, tarmac is nastier than trail, isn’t it? Gorgeous up top, though-the road glazed white-and did you notice the water is going under the bridges today?
JR: I did. And I’ll say this: the G is even simpler to operate than the Defender, and this diesel is genuinely far more suitable than the Kensington-special G63, isn’t it? I like the logic: slot it into D, then there are three chunky buttons for locking diffs once the ground turns awkward. In the Defender, Terrain Response is run off the driver’s heating dial. Still, that’s better than the Wrangler, where mysterious buttons appear to have been stuck anywhere there was a spare square centimetre of console.
OK: Running yesterday’s route again is revealing. The Defender is far easier to position than the Jeep, with its massive bonnet and wheelarches like hidden pontoons. And I trust this old-school snorkel on the A-pillar more than the Jeep’s Gillette ProGlide plumbing-whatever it’s called. Ro, you should try this. That section where jagged dino teeth poke up out of the surface is coming up.
RH: Good grief, this Defender is outstanding. Short wheelbase, stubby overhangs, smooth straight-six diesel, brilliant packaging-tiny boot, mind-and it’s both fiercely capable and oddly modest. It’s the well-read guest at an off-road dinner party. The Wrangler is the loud one who wants beer pong immediately after the bread course.
OM: The Defender made dropping into the bomb hole and then clambering out via the 45° waterfall exit look utterly effortless. The Wrangler went in all guns blazing, and as we don’t fancy roping up, we’re not sending the Bronco into that. The G doesn’t look like it has the angles or clearance, but I’m determined to have a go. With Bondy’s diligent arm-waving, I’m lined up, the Merc tips back, then climbs. Have some of that!
OK: Bloody children. This Bronco is only the second toughest Ford in this test. The body shudders, wind whistles through the gaps in the structure, and it lacks that sense of ‘unstoppability’. In the UK it’s a fish out of water, but what a setting. And from the back I get a front-row seat watching the others inch through the trail, one diff lock at a time.
RH: It’s an obstacle course in the middle of nowhere. Anyone else feel exposed? In places like this you’re utterly dependent on your vehicle, and in plenty of regions 4x4s are lifelines. The Defender is the one I’d trust to take me anywhere. Shame that 95 per cent will live as school-run taxis.
OM: If anything, the Land Rover flatters you by making it all feel too easy-which might be the ultimate off-road compliment. I’ve just had a turn in the Wrangler. It’s got a lot of self-belief, hasn’t it? But it doesn’t deliver the same effortless polish as the Land Rover. It’s more like a V8 headbutt-charging into problems with a shout. It sounds brilliant, but it feels old and strangely out of step. And this one’s £110,000!
JR: The Wrangler and Bronco are both imports, and we didn’t get to be picky on spec, so each is hamstrung in its own way. The Wrangler is a tough sell at that money, and the Bronco is missing the bits it needs to sparkle here. That said, the Wrangler absolutely understands its crowd. The Bronco needs careful speccing, and the G-Wagen (still can’t get the hang of calling it the G-Class) is basically a luxury Terminator with strip club lighting... expensive and a bit too flashy for me. So I’m voting Defender again.
OM: The sun’s nearly gone and I’ve not much more to say. The Defender is simply so intelligently tailored to this terrain. The Wrangler belongs in Moab and-once it matures-the Bronco wants to be a surf truck. The G knows what it can do, but wraps it in a layer of glitz. Right, I’m nicking the Defender and doing something daft: a night run back across the full 10 miles of Strata Florida. Bondy, you in?
RH: Maniacs. It’s been a brutal couple of days-we’ll take the roads like grown-ups.
Postscript: Fast-forward 45 minutes and Rowan and Jack, in the Wrangler and Bronco, are parked up on a single-track lane glazed with black ice, staring at an abandoned van wedged across the road at the bottom of a steep slope.
JR: This is fun. No signal, we can’t get past the van without hitting it, there’s barely any fuel left, the tow ropes are in the Ranger, and we’re 10 minutes from home if we can squeeze through... an hour and a half if we can’t.
RH: Wait! Look! Lights coming down the hill over there, must be Ollie and Simon at the end of the Strata Florida. Quick flash your lights! Yes... I think they’re stopping. Nope, nope, they’ve sodded off.
JR: Brilliant. So it’s the world’s biggest detour on fumes, then. And the moral is, if you want to get somewhere quickly in Wales, off-road is the best road.
MERCEDES-BENZ G-CLASS
By Ollie Marriage
Officially, Mercedes now insists this is the G-Class, but to us it’ll always be the G-Wagen. In truth, there’s no sensible reason for it to exist in the range any more: if you want a five-seat 4x4 with a large boot, Mercedes will happily sell you a GLE.
The G-Wagen survives for one reason: it has cultivated a cult following. Having evolved from utilitarian military surplus into a Chelsea school-run chariot, it was judged worthy of a from-the-ground-up re-engineering-modern underneath, yet still comfortingly box-shaped to look at.
It slices the air about as well as a wardrobe. The glass remains satisfyingly flat and old-fashioned. The door locks still clack like a firing squad readying itself. And inside, amid the multi-colour ambient lighting, hi-def widescreens and quilted leather, the dashboard’s proudest feature is still three (beautifully knurled) buttons that lock the G’s front, centre and rear differentials.
Strangely, for Mercedes’ least sporty model, the G has become inseparable from AMG-577bhp G63 AMGs with twin side-exit exhausts feel more common in the capital than black cabs. But there’s another way to do G-Wagen… this: the G400d. Its bumpers are-believe it or not-softer in appearance and more rounded than the square-jawed 63.
This is the entry point to the range, replacing the discontinued G350d, yet it uses an uprated version of the familiar 3.0 twin-turbo straight-six. No tri-turbo party trick and no V8, but you do get a worthwhile boost of 43bhp and 74lb ft (100 Nm), taking totals to 325bhp and 516lb ft (700 Nm), with that torque arriving at just 1,200rpm.
That’s the crucial bit. With so much shove available so low down, the performance meets expectations. It hits 0–62mph in 6.4secs, which is plenty brisk-quicker than a Range Rover D350 (7.1secs). And if you choose turbodiesel power, giving up two seconds on the G’s 0–62mph time is compensated by a £55,000 saving-bringing it down to £108,815. It remains eye-wateringly expensive, but at least this one might manage 20 to the gallon.
FORD BRONCO
By Rowan Horncastle
Before we dive into the figures, you might be asking why this Bronco looks a touch softer and less aggressive than the bulging, bull-barred examples you’ve seen. That’s because Ford made the Bronco endlessly configurable. You can pick two or four doors, seven distinct trim levels, three roof styles, and five separate packages-before you even open the options list, which is about the size of the Argos catalogue.
There are two engine options: a 2.3-litre 4cyl EcoBoost with 270bhp and 310lb ft (420 Nm), or a 2.7-litre V6 with 310bhp and 400lb ft (542 Nm). We’re in the smaller four-pot paired with a 10spd auto. You can also have a 7spd manual with a crawler gear for when things get properly gnarly. Could’ve used that.
As you’d expect of a modern off-roader, the software is serious, including Goat modes (Go Over Any Terrain): seven drive modes, among them Sand/Baja, Mud/Ruts and Rock Crawl. The satnav even serves up topographical trail maps… in the USA. Less handy when you’re in Wales.
Ford quotes 295mm of ground clearance, breakover and departure angles of 29˚ and 37.2˚, plus an 851mm wading depth. Independent front suspension (and an optional semi-active front stabiliser bar disconnect for more axle articulation) works with a five-link solid axle at the rear.
Unlike the Mustang and Mach-E, the Bronco isn’t coming to the UK. Well, it isn’t supposed to. Fortunately, we know a man called Clive. He’s selling this very car for £75,000-which is serious new-Defender territory. It’s also a long way from the Bronco’s US starting point: $29,995 for a 3dr and $34,695 for a 5dr.
JEEP WRANGLER
By Ollie Kew
I’m a sucker for history. The current Mercedes G-Class nods respectfully to the Geländewagen military vehicle first offered to the public in 1979. The Bronco tips its hat to a basic American truck born in the mid-Sixties. And the Defender is the spiritual heir to an icon whose empire-ranging lineage can be traced back to a sketch in the sand at Red Wharf Bay, Anglesey, in 1947.
But none of them would exist without the Jeep. The car that won the war. Since 1941, it has been shorthand for reaching places where failure isn’t an option. Which makes it fascinating that the Wrangler-the one that most clearly follows in the tyre tracks of the Nazi-conquering Willys-is also the daftest vehicle here, by ooh, a good three litres.
This generation has been with us since 2017, and it’s still an unapologetically old-school, body-on-frame, solid-axle truck. In the UK you can buy a Wrangler that looks much like this-proper ‘Rubicon’ trail-ready spec-with a sensible 2.0-litre 4cyl petrol. Jeep reckons it’ll crack 20mpg if you behave. You get an 8spd auto with low-range, front, centre and rear locking diffs, plus hill descent control. That’ll cost you £55,000.
In the USA, $75,000 gets you what you see here: the Rubicon 392. Same tech, same toys, but instead of a modest 272bhp, this off-road reference point comes with a 6.4-litre, 470bhp V8, producing 470lb ft (637 Nm) and capable of 0–60 in 4.5 seconds. Over anything.
It represents a different off-roading philosophy. Rather than tiptoeing over each rock and through every puddle, what happens when you throw Porsche 911 GTS-worrying power at the terrain? This import is also here via our mate Clive, who’s asking £110,000. America, truck yeah.
LAND ROVER DEFENDER
By Jack Rix
When we crowned the Defender Car of the Year in December 2020, the backlash-swinging from “How can you award something that will break down every five minutes?” to “They’ve totally cocked up the design”-was deafening. Now the kneejerk reactions have faded… sorry, internet, we were right. There’s something profoundly right about how the Defender looks, how it works, and how it goes about its business that makes you trust it.
It isn’t only a warm glow of heritage, either-the detail work is plain to see. Our test car was a 3dr 90, D250 SE (£61,125 as tested) with the 246bhp straight-six diesel (our pick of the range) plus all the off-road extras: raised air intake (£649), front underbody protection (£844), off-road tyres (£255), air suspension (£1,615), electronic active differential (£1,020) and folding fabric roof (£1,800). Fine, that last one isn’t strictly essential for off-roading, but it’s perfect for sticking your head out and shouting at whoever’s closest when you’re stuck in rising water.
Where the Defender really moves the goalposts is with its electronics. The 360˚ cameras are witchcraft, and the front feed can build an ‘invisible’ bonnet view while projecting the exact position of your front wheels on the screen. Wade sensing shows how near you are to its 900mm maximum depth. Best of all is Terrain Response: leave it in Auto, engage low-range, lift the air suspension for maximum clearance, and it’ll stroll over obstacles that would skewer other members of this group. But if you don’t want the computers running the show, you can disappear into the sub-menus and open/lock the diffs yourself-just so it feels like you’re doing something, even though the car is clearly the star.
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