Jeep Grand Cherokee Trackhawk
Finding meaning in the world’s most powerful SUV
IF YOU think the old “where do babies come from?” question brings a challenging conversation to have with a small child, give yourself an uppercut. It’s nothing compared to explaining to a curious kid the rise of the ultra-performance SUV.
Dad: “We’ve bought the world’s most powerful SUV, son. We’ve got 522 killa-whatsits under that hood...”
Boy: “Oooh goodie, so we can go camping?” Dad: “No, son. It’s not designed to go off-road.” Boy: “Oooh, so can we go to the race track?” Dad: “No son, it weighs two and half tonnes. That’s not so good at the race track.” Boy: “So what will we do with it, dad?” Dad: “Umm…” The correct answer is more like: “Silence, my child! Buckle up and pp prepare to have y your tinyy soul
rearranged as I deploy seven hundred of Satan’s most unhinged horses!”
Okay, you may not speak in a God-like tone when kicking the Jeep Trackhawk where it loves it most, but I promise you will not sound like your regular self. Things change when you drive Jeep’s beast. Your walk will become a strut. Your head may wobble, just a little.
OUR drive starts by pointing the bluff, more air-hungry snout sedately towards the Interstate out of Maine, in the northeast corner of the USA. It’s a chance to see how well the Trackhawk can do the daily stuff, and what compromises come with the transition to the World’s Most Extreme SUV.
Not surprisingly, the low-speed ride is pretty lumpy, and the steering, no thanks to the massive 295-section front P Zeros, is a
bit inert at the straight-ahead, without much nuance or detail just off-centre.
The powertrain, though, does docility superbly. There’s a resonator to minimise blower whine on a light throttle, and the exhaust flaps keep things to a peaceful burble as you stroke it around. The shifts in default mode from the reworked eight-speed auto are slurred and unobtrusive, and as we settle into a 120km/h highway lope, the wind noise is well contained, and surprisingly, there’s minimal vocal intrusion from the tyres. This thing does family cruising without an issue.
Then we turn off down a gently twisting backroad through the woods heading towards New Hampshire. A chance to bury the throttle, and it’s like we’ve driven into a war zone. The blown Hemi erupts straight off the bottom, and cannons up through the rev range with an enraged fury. There may be blower whine, but you’ll struggle to hear it over the thundering exhaust note. It’s even more percussive than the sound from HSV’S LS9; more old-school street muscle than the more strident, motorsport-inspired intensity of the GM engine.
Pluck gears if you want, but the auto’s mapping, even in Sport (with Race still up your sleeve), is suitably aggressive. This thing may weigh 2433kg, but it forgets that once on the move, so the kick-down acceleration is properly savage. It may not feel quite as demonic in the 80-120km/h zone as an AMG GT C or Porsche 911 Turbo, but I suspect the difference is marginal, and something like BMW’S X5 M now languishes in a performance category below.
At a brilliant, wildly undulating private racetrack in New Hampshire, the Trackhawk is a hoot for the handful of laps it will cop before the brakes and tyres start to hate you. Set it to Race mode to almost fully disarm the ESC, get the adjustable Bilstein dampers nipped down hard, and bring in ultra-fast shift mapping that thumps each ratio home with more back-jolting ferocity than anything this side of a Lambo Aventador S.
Then drive it like a giant allpaw hot hatch. Turn in early with plenty of trail-brake to get the rear pivoting and minimise understeer. Then power down hard; there’s 70 percent drive sent to the rears in Race mode, so it hooks up eagerly and bolts with just a hint of squat. The steering comes good on track, and the huge Brembo brakes hang in manfully, up to a point.
As a novelty act, it’s great fun, like ballroom dancing with a silverback gorilla. But as dad told son earlier, will anyone actually take the Trackhawk to trackdays?
But let’s also be clear: the Trackhawk is no over-engined mutant. It’s more like that very loud band room you first set
foot in – your first reaction is, “Whoa! Ear bleed!”. But then, after a short acclimatisation, the Trackhawk quickly starts to form a more cohesive whole.
Yes, you can mount any number of arguments against Jeep’s flagship, but let me attempt a case “for”. Your partner favours an elevated driving position. You wish you could own a muscle car; maybe a blown Mustang, but your family requirements mean you need five seats and a generous cargo area. You can’t afford a $290,000 Porsche Cayenne Turbo S.
Still, plenty of people won’t understand the Trackhawk. But in a world on the verge of being swamped by eco-weeniness; where we’re being worn down by incessant messages of efficiency and autonomy, surely it’s something to celebrate. It’s like one massive middle-finger to the movement that’s sweeping over us; a defiant, supercharged stand of obstinacy and outrageousness that, oddly, elevates it to a position of relevance.
So in creating perhaps the world’s most pointless SUV, Jeep has actually delivered a vehicle we need now more than ever.
As a novelty act, it’s great fun, like ballroom dancing with a silverback