Jeep Trackhawk vs Range Rover Sport SVR
Jeep Trackhawk vs Range Rover Sport SVR £89,999 vs £101,145 WE SAY: SUPERCHARGED SUVS AHOY. WHICH MONSTER PLANET SPINNER WINS?
You won’t believe what the Jeep Grand Cherokee Trackhawk does when you engage launch mode. I couldn’t. It was bloody hilarious. Afterwards. Fairly shocking during it, if I’m honest.
So you come to a halt, apply as much pressure as possible to the brake pedal (my left leg maxed out at 108bar), wallop the throttle and note that you are already moving forwards. Yep, the Trackhawk is that eager for the off. Or, to put it another way, 400mm Brembo stoppers aren’t man enough to prevent 707bhp of supercharged V8 getting going.
You release the brakes. The rear wheels spin, the nose heaves into the air, there’s a furious bellowing and out of the windscreen you note that the horizon line has skewed. The front left tyre must now be flat, you deduce. It’s not. The rotating masses of the 6.2-litre V8 have rocked the chassis to one side. While your brain is processing all this, 2,429kg of prime US beef is determinedly hurling itself onwards. It does so in a moderately loose and wayward fashion that brings to mind actual bulls. Rodeo ones.
0–60mph in 3.2 seconds, the on-board performance app tells me. It’s lying, but not much – 3.44 is what spills out of our timing gear. Faster than Jaguar’s ultimate F-Type SVR. The fastest SUV we’ve ever tested, not only to 60mph, but far beyond: 100mph in 8.00secs, the quarter-mile in 11.81secs at 119.3mph.
The Range Rover Sport SVR (4.5secs, 10.1 and 12.8 at 112.2mph) can only look on in dejected misery as the macho Jeep thunders about, supercharger wailing. But it’s not like the SVR is a complete weakling, is it? Both are muscle cars, aren’t they? The connection is physical for the Jeep – the engine is lifted straight from the mighty Dodge Challenger Hellcat. Both feed power from supercharged V8s to all four wheels permanently via 8spd auto ’boxes. Each has a
rotary controller to adjust set-up. Both are utterly thunderous. Of the two, the Range Rover delivers the more traditional V8 burble and roar, the Jeep a slightly cleaner, higher note, overlaid almost permanently by shrill supercharger whine. Both can be heard across many multistorey levels.
From there on, things separate out. Only one can be described as sophisticated. The Range Rover Sport has a stunning cabin, all soft leather and flush-fitting touchscreens. The surroundings make the noise, when it comes, seem naughtier, dirtier. It pulls like a locomotive, responds urgently to the throttle, makes mincemeat of 2.4 tonnes. Back off and it cruises calmly. The ride’s not soft, but the biggest refinement disrupter is the firmness of the front seats. The car’s pretty handy around corners too. The steering is a heartbeat slow and ever so slightly sticky, but it will get itself down a tricky road with stability and control. Yes, it might lack the bite and crispness of a Cayenne, but against its rival here…
No contest, really. Even in a straight line, the Trackhawk rides as if all four wheels are failing to communicate. It feels unsettled. And stiff. It’s not really the right tool for a cross-country charge. The steering is inert and only gets worse when you add lock, there’s a bit of chassis shake and the sense is of a car not fully in control of itself. Which, if you’re in the mood for it, makes it an absolute hoot to drive. Yes, it’s all a bit ramshackle, but after coping with every corner you get to hoof it up the next straight, nose in the air, supercharger shrieking, gearchanges smacking clumsily home. And, for all the flaws, it’s bloody amusing.
But then you remember it’s £90,000. Yes, the Range Rover is over ten grand more, but it actually feels like a £100k car. The Trackhawk doesn’t. The cabin is as messy as the dynamics. The Trackhawk is mad, a proper riotous, holdtight-here-we-go blast, but it’s difficult to recommend, even in TG land.