Driven: Range Rover in Iceland
At this point, Ingó and I are plotting another trip to Iceland, to the western part of the island, to some places he regards as very serious off-road. He shows me some pictures. It's basically Mars with snow.
We drive up a cliff, past signage that becomes increasingly hysterical about the severity of the climb, to find that the Range Rover - surprise, surprise - manages to clamber its way to the top without feeling like it's really trying. The photographer jumps out of the car and promptly falls over, having no sense of the severity of the slope from inside the car. There's a data screen buried in the Terrain Response that shows exactly what the car is doing - activating diff locks and the various acronyms (HDC, GRC, HSA, DSC, ETC and RSC to name but six, and I'm pretty sure the last one has nothing to do with Shakespeare), but you look at it from inside the car with a kind of detached wonder. As the sun boils its way into the Norwegian Sea, I pop open the now fully electric split tailgate, arrange myself a little picnic on the back of the RR, ponder a view usually only seen by the kind of hikers that carry ropes and crampons, and come to an important conclusion.