Jaguar F-Type S. DRIVEN. On the Prowl in Spain

Circuit shenanigans are limited to a few laps and only a fool would judge a road car on its track merit. It’s time to hit the open road and see how this Jag struts its stuff on the Spanish touge. Helmet is exchanged for a wooly hat as the roof will most certainly be staying down even though it continues to drizzle. The sound of the 3.0-litre V6, especially with active exhaust muffler-bypass mode selected, is addictive – especially on upshifts – and I want the full quadraphonic experience. It may just be the V8 with a couple of cylinders lopped off but it sounds like a Merlin powered Spitfire hunting down the Luftwaffe. Maybe that is intentional or maybe I am just getting carried away with similes, but at no stage am I going to mention products from Stuttgart.

While we are on the subject of aircraft it is worth mentioning the interior. Even in Jaguar’s own design language the driver environment is described as a cockpit and the F-Type’s configuration is classified as a ‘one plus one’. Normally I would ascribe this to pretentious bumpf but it rings true on this application. There is a definite separation betwixt driver and passenger that goes beyond the normal divide created by the transmission tunnel. The passenger grab handle sweeps down from the dashboard and wraps behind the gear selector. This serves the dual purpose as a barrier between the passenger and driver controls – hands off! – and also gives a cocooning effect for the man in the Captain’s chair.

The F-Type’s perfectly balanced chassis inspires confidence in attacking these Spanish mountain roads. Poised like the cat it is, it shares little family traits with the rest of its Jaguar siblings. This comes at a price, since the roadster is less wrapped up in super luxurious comfort, but the trade off is worth it. There is no detachment from the environment. The Jag connects you to the road the way a true sportscar should, but again, I am getting much of the feedback through the seat rather than steering feel. It’s not as absent on real world surfaces as it was on the silky smooth Circuito de Navarra. There is communication between road and driver via the steering wheel; it is there. I just wish there was a little bit more. Or maybe I am just trying to find fault with an otherwise amazingly sharp and direct steering system that allows the F-Type S to be hustled around and placed with precision like no other roadster I have driven.

The F-Type is a stunningly beautiful car and I could waffle on about how it looks even more desirable in the flesh than in photographs. I am not going to though. Real beauty has six cylinders with a strap on supercharger and delivers maximum torque to the rear wheels from 3,500rpm while screaming like a banshee. And any doubt that the eight-speed ZF gearbox would be the weakest link has proven completely unfounded. The gears bang through fast and true when in dynamic mode accompanied by an aggressive growl on upshifts that would awaken any slumbering Spaniard from his siesta.

The F-Type sees a welcome return of genuine sportiness to the marque and places the driver firmly back behind the wheel of a roadster that can wear the Jaguar badge with pride. It is a package that exceeds expectations which, for a car that has been as hotly anticipated as the F-Type, is about as complimentary as one can be. The Big Cat is most definitely back.

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