Land Rover Discovery Proves Its Winter Chops
I don’t know what to call January’s “state of emergency’’ from the “triple threat’’ of winter weather across the Northeast. The “crippling, potentially historic’’ storm was no more intense than anything I’ve shouldered during my last 10 years in Boston. Twenty-four inches of snow? Seen it, shoveled it. And next to what I’d encountered after a week in Iceland, really, it was cute.
With a shuttered Logan Airport blocking my return home, I downed a beer and chatted up a couple in a Reykjavik bar, who proceeded to laugh at how every single mode of transport was either shut down or banned. “That’s every day in Iceland,’’ they said. Except in Iceland, nothing closes, bread and milk never run out, and most importantly, no one stops driving. As I read the Juno headlines from my hotel, it was hours after having my face pelted with volcanic ash and hail. It was a day after my friend had driven our rented Land Rover through a whiteout blizzard that was wailing like the opening scene from the Wizard of Oz. Three days before that, I cruised across solid, sheeny sheets of ice that were inching thicker by the minute.
Icelandic winters are a terrifying spectacle. While considerably warmer than ours, the country’s gale-force winds and unpredictable storms—plus the world’s highest concentration of active volcanoes that leave most of Iceland uninhabitable—leave little room for civilization. But from the ninth century onward, the Vikings shipped over their horses, thrived, and beat the climate for generations. It’s no world wonder that modern Islanders, even without a military or any interest in firearms, are the toughest bunch you’ll find in the northern hemisphere. Want the perfect place to show off your new SUV? Come here and ride with these people.
I joined Land Rover and heaps of journalists to drive the 2015 Discovery Sport, the long-awaited successor to the saggy LR2, a vehicle I said “should be buried in the Vermont hills.’’ Indeed, there’s no trace of LR2 in the Discovery Sport. This compact, three-row SUV is based on the Range Rover Evoque, a MoMA-worthy exhibit in its own right. But while the Evoque’s chiseled physique and gun-slit windows have been too extreme for many American buyers, the Discovery Sport will hit them with golden ratio proportions: a tailored, upright body, lots of glass, and plenty of elbow room. Compared to the company’s sportier Range Rover line, Land Rovers tend to maximize interior space and pamper them for less money. When the Discovery Sport arrives this spring, the various trims will base between $38,000 and $46,500, or roughly seven to 18 percent off the Evoque. It’s $1,400 above the current LR2, as it should be, since it’s about 14 times better.
Like the Evoque, the Discovery Sport is a relative lightweight among other Rovers, and not by size alone. The Discovery Sport doesn’t carry low-range gearing (considered essential for true 4x4s) and employs extensive use of high-strength steel and aluminum, which is liberally stamped for the hood, roof, and tailgate and cast for the hollow suspension. The 2.0-liter turbocharged four-cylinder engine and nine-speed automatic transmission are also carryover from the Evoque, and they’re a friendly couple in most settings. Sometimes, the transmission is rather sleepy to downshift and so it takes a moment before all 240 horsepower comes to the boil.
Some tweaks—a new engine slated to replace this Ford powerplant, plus a diesel—will no doubt save the marriage. An EPA-estimated 21 mpg city, 28 mpg highway is a healthy figure for an all-wheel-drive box, although I wasn’t watching fuel on this trip like I was the edge of the road, which often plummets into the country’s famous black beaches and moon-like valleys. One unlucky driver rolled his car down an icy stretch that proved a bit too slippery for the aftermarket studded tires on our vehicles. He and his passenger walked out unharmed, curtain airbags deployed, if only because they’d picked a nice flat place to crash.
Shiny side up, the Discovery Sport is a pleasant place to ride. Every vehicle in our convoy was the top-level HSE Luxury, which included 19-inch wheels, full-leather trim, and navigation that was entirely useless in backcountry Iceland. The interior design is rather austere, with lots of plain black plastic and dash rubbers, but the materials are well-crafted for this price. A redesigned infotainment system in the central eight-inch touch screen is far easier to use and quicker to respond, and there’s a maximum of seven USB ports strewn across all three rows. That third row, a $1,750 option, is a last resort for all but five-year-olds. The second row slides back and reclines, and when equipped with heated cushions and a front-to-back panoramic moonroof, the Discovery Sport makes a mighty fine shuttle—if, that is, you didn’t just step out of a Range Rover.
What about off road? The Discovery Sport can do that, although it’s not much better equipped than a Subaru Forester. Ground clearance, at 8.4 inches, is actually behind a few tenths. The Forester could probably match the 23.6-inch wading depth, too. Land Rover would argue the Discovery Sport has superior approach and departure angles (at which you can climb grades without scraping) and that its terrain-mapping all-wheel-drive is a more perfect companion. They may be right, but I wouldn’t know.
Land Rover staff were remarkably timid over our three-day itinerary, although I suspect rising glacier rivers across many of Iceland’s unpaved, unplowed “F-roads’’ were to blame. They also ticked off the government in December when a British journalist tore up some protected land in one of these cars, hence the British ambassador to Iceland tagging along for our drive. Diplomacy and strong Earl Grey tea kept the trip in order, to say nothing of those pretty luxury SUVs that got all of us out of Iceland’s crushing winter, alive.
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