Jeep Wrangler Rubicon - long-term review

Amy, Benjamin, Claudia, Bram, Goretti and Chandra. Not the line-up for a doomed dinner party, but the names of the storms that have battered the UK – and the Jeep – this alphabetical storm year, or however the Met Office now gamifies weather nowadays. But every time the BBC News app pings with another amber warning, I feel the urge to grab the keys and drive directly into it. So far this winter the Jeep has been unstoppable.

It's also wearing winter well as the Jeep hasn’t been cleaned for three months, which, paired with wider wheels and tyres that actively plaster mud up its flanks, makes it look magnificent. But it also means side visibility is now more a matter of faith than optics. Still, that was always the plan. To never clean it all winter, and thus avoid being unmasked as a London street-Jeep poser with a Patagonia gilet.

However, this plan has been scuppered by recent events. I sent the Jeep away for ANOTHER modification. No, not more lights, but to be fitted with a tow bar. Not a modern one, mind – none of this electrically deploying origami nonsense – but a vast, unapologetic lump of metal. It’s oversized, so that it can clear the rear-mounted spare wheel. It also unlocks all sorts of new possibilities. Trailers. Boats. Regret. And catastrophic fuel economy.

However, I’ve had two thoughts while driving recently. The first arrived courtesy of Instagram, during a midnight doomscroll, and stated that a cow has a better aerodynamic profile than a Jeep Wrangler. This is the sort of information that once learned cannot be unlearned. I have since fallen down an aerodynamics rabbit hole and I’m determined to prove it. So, if you have either a cow or access to a wind tunnel, please get in touch. I have the Jeep. Actual science can happen.

The second thought came having spent a few weeks at the Dakar Rally. If you didn’t know, there’s a new class this year, called the Stock Class, which does exactly what it says and, in doing so, has become one of the most interesting things at Dakar. These are production-based cars. Properly production. Same engine, driveline and gearbox. Same bodywork and chassis as the thing sitting in a showroom or on your driveway.

In many ways, it feels like the purest expression of Dakar. Recognisable machines doing something borderline insane, rather than the big spaceframe, silhouette racers that now resemble mobile concept sketches. This year it was Defender versus Land Cruiser, which felt right. But watching it, I couldn’t help thinking that Jeep would be the perfect next contender. There is no better way to prove the strength – and the mettle – of a vehicle than blasting 8,000km across Saudi Arabia for two weeks battling landscapes so hostile they can break cars instantly.

Over the years, privateers have hurled Wranglers at Dakar with predictable bravery. But Defender has shown that factory efforts are not only possible, but credible. And Jeep is the original go-anywhere brand. The Wrangler feels born for this sort of punishment. Especially when you remember that in the US you can buy a 392, with a 6.4-litre HEMI V8 and 35in tyres as standard. Given how convincingly this Jeep embarrassed others in our small but vicious hardcore group test in Wales the other month, it doesn’t feel like a stretch. A Dakar win? Why not. Win on Sunday, sell on Monday. It’s an old cliché because it works. And to me, at least, it makes perfect business sense. C’mon Jeep, you know you want to.