Toyota Land Cruiser - long-term review

The 67-mile A3 isn’t exactly celebrated as one of Britain’s great driving roads. It’s better known as the ‘the bloody A3’, a vital artery linking London and Portsmouth. The sort of road you take because you have to, not because you’ve read about it on car websites.

Yet it does have its place in motoring history. In 2011 the A3’s route celebrated a momentous day in its centuries of history: the opening of the £370-million Hindhead Tunnel. At 1.2 miles, it’s the longest non-estuarial road tunnel in the UK, which means it doesn’t dive under an estuary. It’s an engineering feat that finally sent the road under the Devil’s Punch Bowl rather than skirting the edge of this bizarre natural crater.

The result? Less traffic and pollution in Hindhead. Somewhere for Gordon Murray to sound-check his V12 supercars. And above, the Punch Bowl restored to something approaching tranquillity. Until I turn up.

Satisfied the Land Cruiser is a worthy family car, I wanted to explore its other side. After all, Toyota insists this is the vehicle which will take you anywhere and everywhere and bring you back safe and sound.

What better challenge than a spot of green-laning? It sounds quaint but isn’t for the faint-hearted, and the phrase do not try this at home definitely applies — unless you’ve driven the route before or got an expert like TG’s tame 4x4 guru Simon Bond on hand.

Simon has brought me to one of his local trails near to the Devil’s Punch Bowl. These tracks are now mainly used by walkers and cyclists, but that’s the curious thing about green-laning: it can feel like you’re breaking the law when in fact it’s entirely legal. In fact, if these old rights of way don’t get used, local councils can reclaim them for alternative purposes. So, in a sense, we’re doing our bit. I’m forging a path for freedom! Like Braveheart, with a spare wheel.

The Land Cruiser offers a couple of apps — Trailwise and Smart Trail — that show where you can legally drive, and even rates the difficulty of routes. Hard to imagine doing this with just paper maps. Simon assures me he’s been this way before, though he does spend a worryingly long time finding the entrance. He’s brought along his tweaked 1990s Defender 110 with tyres that are considerably knobblier than the Toyota factory-spec rubber on the Land Cruiser. As we finally reach the starting point I think to myself, 'can we go through there? In a car?' and begin to question what I’ve gotten myself into.

Still, I trust the Land Cruiser. I engage the locking differential and low range transmission by prodding buttons near the gearstick, then nose onto a “road” barely wider than the car itself. Every parking sensor is screeching in protest, but the drivetrain ignores the tech and smoothly ambles on. The ride quality that sometimes jostles on the road suddenly makes sense — it’s tuned to soak up punishment. Even photographer Jonny Fleetwood, hanging on in the back, is impressed.

Deeper into the woods, my road-biased mind becomes paranoid. What if we hit an obstacle I can’t clear? Do we just reverse all the way back? What happens if I get stuck? Do I have to forage for dinner and live with a tribe of the Tree People?

Soon enough, proper ruts appear. It’s a real test. The Defender bucks and rocks violently, slipping and scrambling for grip. I follow in the Land Cruiser with far less drama, the independent chassis keeping things composed. Simon looks impressed, if not a touch jealous. He even gets me to reverse into one of the ruts again, lifting one wheel clean off the ground, to prove the Land Cruiser hadn’t fluked its escape. Handily, an overhead camera gives a ghosted view of the car, so you can check if you’ve driven over anything worrying.

Then comes a side slope. Simon wants to test roll stability. As I edge across, the off-road display shows the angle climbing. We hit 30 degrees — the max. Luggage slides across the boot, the engine note shifts, but I feel strangely calm. The further we go, the more the road twists, undulates, and muddies. Puddles test the brakes, which jitter uncomfortably underfoot — the one weak link in an otherwise flawless performance.

Eventually, the trail spits us out onto a more solid track, where we can clearly see the abandoned route of the dear old A3. The second half of the lane winds tighter still through the trees. I fold in the burly door mirrors to squeeze past, creeping along until the track finally opens out. Relief washes over me — and admiration too. The Land Cruiser has breezed through without fuss, living up to its reputation of taking the novice family man as deep off-road as he’s ever likely to go.

Much like the Hindhead Tunnel several feet underneath us, it’s a rugged, seamless feat of engineering that seems built to last.