The five-speed manual R380 gearbox has a long throw and although it snicks into place nicely, there’s no rushing it. You have to take your time; take it out of gear, let it settle, push it into its new place and release the not-too-heavy clutch. Thankfully, with a wide power band and plenty of torque, it’s easy to keep changes to a minimum. At this point I’ve only taken the V8 up to about 5000rpm, and while the Wildcat isn’t slow, it’s not the rocket I expected. But I have a feeling that when we go off road, that’s when the QT will show its cards.
The creature comforts are pretty nominal. There’s leather glued to the dashboard, some carbon fibre parts for effect. The air conditioning struggles in the Middle Eastern summer, but would likely be fine for the winter. There’s a stereo and a reversing camera (much needed), but that’s about it. No power windows, just sliding glass, no power mirrors. It’s a very raw piece of kit, and while I wouldn’t want to do a cross-country cruise in it, I’m very much enjoying the simplicity.
But now comes the real test. In the desert outside Dubai is Big Red, a monstrous, rust-coloured dune that‘s a favourite for local off-roaders. It’s an ideal playground for the Wildcat. Luca and I load up on clubs and a handful of old balls taken from Al Badia and start thumping them up the dune while Mark runs through some pre-thrash checks on the Wildcat. They go on for longer than I expect. In fact, I start to fancy that I’m getting the hang of this ball-thwacking lark, helped by Luca’s tutelage. But my smugness is shattered when Mark admits that there’s a problem in the form of coolant dripping out of the engine. The Arabian summer heat has taken its toll on a hand-made car that isn’t really intended for use in these extremes. No one rallies in 50-degree heat.
A handy tap at a nearby abandoned shop provides a temporary top up and gets us a run in the sand, but I’m under strict orders to take it easy. I tighten the harness and switch off the AC, which really isn’t coping too well. Instead, I open the window to get a cool breeze, dip the clutch, engage first and move away. We’ve already deflated the off-road BF Goodrich tyres and they spread themselves over the grains below, giving just as much traction as on the road.
There’s enough torque to cruise around at low revs but I venture higher towards the redline, all the while conscious of the coolant trying to make its escape. As the tacho needle rises the pull from all four wheels grows as power takes over from twist. A rough, industrial roar emanates from the V8 with a high-pitched whine at the top; a cross between a whistle and a supercharger, and it gets louder as the revs rise. The noise is only interrupted by the lengthy gear change, which resolutely refuses to be rushed.
I’m already travelling at the same speeds as I’d achieved on the road, and with the same minimal effort. Blasting up Big Red presents no obstacle at all and I skim towards the smaller dunes below to play, feedback tickling my hands through Alcantara. I tug of the wheel right and the fronts bite into the sand like slicks into asphalt, but despite the high centre of gravity there’s no roll or pitch from the body. It’s a strange experience, a sense of gliding in amongst the ruckus; sort of like a stiffly sprung race car but much softer, the big Fox dampers soaking up the uneven surface better than any Land Cruiser, but at three times the speed. As the front grips I keep my foot on the throttle, waiting for the back end to slide out, but it remains remarkably neutral despite the loose surface. Carving runs into the side of big dunes result in a shower of sand across the side of the car and a hurried shutting of the window as the grains stick to my increasingly sweaty skin.
My off-road experience is largely limited to big, powerful SUVs; a Range Rover Sport has more than 500bhp to power out of turns, but not so in the Wildcat, which has around 260bhp. My tight turns kill the momentum and even having downshifted to third the engine wallows as I try to power out. Despite being immensely capable, this is a proper car for proper drivers, rewarding smoothness and precision and discouraging cack-handed buffoonery like mine.
I’m beginning to plan my lines a bit more, keeping the momentum going through corners and anticipating my gear changes, but then I notice the digital gauge in behind the wheel warning once again of overheating. It’s a disappointingly premature end to the Wildcat experience, but it’s been enough to give me a flavour.
That taste confirms several things. Despite its new accoutrements, the Wildcat is still a rally car. It’s not a replacement for a Land Cruiser; it’s an (expensive) winter weekend toy that you can drive to and from the dunes while retaining a touch of the luxury of a road car. Off road is where it comes alive; I barely scratched the surface of what I know it can do from TV clips and visits to rallies in the past. I’m unsure whether the Middle East has an appetite for such an uncompromising bit of kit – those that buy one for a Thursday night corniche cruise will find it far too hardcore – but the wealthy few that take the plunge will have one hell of a time. It’s nice to know the the golf clubs can fit in the back, but as a Wildcat owner, my clubs would be back in the wardrobe and the membership cancelled. This is the only drive I’m interested in.
* ORIGINAL POST DATE: July 2011
– FULL GALLERY OF SHOTS AVAILABLE HERE – CLICK –
Full technical specifications on page 3
