Story by: Mike Koch Photos by: Matt Martin

The Range Rover Classic has a presence.
It possesses a certain flair, a standing.
It is so much better than anything I expected.

Since purchasing my 1993 Range Rover Classic on 10 October 2007 there has only been one repair bill. It wasn’t even a “bad” one, costing me the equivalent of four tanks of petrol. If I had to nitpick – which I won’t because I am so in love with my Range Rover – I might mention a few oddball electrical issues and point our some corrosion but nothing significant.

At fifteen years of age, it is still a remarkable machine with an equally remarkable thirst for petrol. It’s currently ranked as the most reliable yet least efficient vehicle I’ve ever owned and I’ve owned well over a dozen. Although, after recently adding a bottle of Amsoil Performance Improvement Gas Additive, my fuel economy has increased by two miles per gallon, truly a blessing. While this doesn’t astonish Prius drivers, as a percentage, it is an admirable achievement. Keeping a keen eye on tyre pressure also helps to maintain optimal fuel economy in a vehicle that was never designed with economy in mind. In the Rover community, it’s common knowledge that if you balk at V8 petrol bills, you’ll never be able to afford the maintenance costs. My Classic and I have just debunked this theory; pour the champagne.

In addition to being trouble-free, I genuinely enjoy driving my Range Rover even though our “honeymoon” has been over for some time. While I could go on and on inventorying the little annoying items wrong with my Classic, gazing over at my girlfriend and asking, “Shall we take the Range Rover?” has such a nice ring to it. The other night, we were headed to a dinner party on the other side of Burlington, a distance I would normally walk. The humidity levels were inhospitable and the rain was coming down in sheets. While other guests braved the storm wielding umbrellas and arrived saturated, at a dozen miles per gallon, we arrived unflustered, cool and collected, having ridden in the air-conditioned comfort of my Range Rover. All this was grand until I stepped out of my Rover and into an ankle-deep puddle wearing my new brown loafers. Brilliant Michael, brilliant. On the topic, New England seems to be slowly turning into a rain forest, at least in the summer season. With regular violent thunderstorms and frequent rain showers, the weatherband (WB) button on the radio of my Classic gets exercised regularly.

My Range Rover doesn’t spend an awful lot of time in the woods, because at 178,000 miles I am providing it with a somewhat comfortable retirement. It’s still looking sharp, both inside and out, and I intend to keep it that way. These days, aside from its regular commuting duties, it has been playing the role of my noble Porter, hauling everything from antique writing desks, to the occasional case of cabernet, to the Series cylinder head being dropped off at the machine shop. Some days, I feel like I’m living in a 1993 Range Rover dealer brochure.

Reliability has been impressive, especially when compared to my black 2003 German executive sedan, whose manufacturer shall remain anonymous. In the last two months, this devil has cost me $1,999.00 spread over four separate repair bills, not including its most recent ailment, an ill-behaving coolant temperature sender, making British Leyland look like they had their act together. It’s plagued with countless electrical demons, has a penchant for flatbeds, and leaving me stranded on the roadside. While my sedan is in the shop nearly every other week, I drive my Range Rover confidently, knowing if something breaks, I can probably fix it myself.

I continue to recommend buying a properly looked after Range Rover Classic before they get any longer in the tooth. You’ll be visiting petrol stations frequently, but it’ll be worth every single burnt-up penny. My Classic gets more looks than a Porsche Cayenne and is never mistaken for a drug dealer’s SUV. Recently, a friend said to me “driving the Range Rover isn’t just for special occasions Mike, driving the Range Rover IS a special occasion.” Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, I asked, “Shall we take the Range Rover?”

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