Somehow, when I’m in the Wrangler, I want to start every conversation with, “’sup!” It brings out my inner bogan, and I want to climb cliffs, ford streams, and barnstorm beaches. I want to do it not because I have to, but because I can.
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Though Jeep may not want to admit it, Wrangler is the automotive equivalent of waving your hands in the air like you just don’t care. It is a gay icon that has weathered the passing of time, taste, and fashion to endure. I drove down Oxford Street and got the wave and nod, with one twink taking a pic. Yeah baby!
Our Wrangler has the fancy new fabric electrically-retractable roof. Although you can drive on the highway open to nature, not that you’d want to because the wind noise is a bit much, you can’t operate it. If it is open and rain starts, you have to slow down a smidge, as if you were in a convertible ragtop.
We haven’t used the trick sway bar that can disconnect itself for extra articulation, we thought we were articulate enough.
We took Wrangler to the farm. The auto-4WD function is handy on questionable surfaces, and Australia has that in spades. We’ve had some washouts at the farm, with a track to Big Tree Hill pitted with ruts you could lose a school bus in. Wrangler just stepped over it, as if to mock the posh soft-roaders following it.
1 ноя 2023
