Get a group of men together and the conversation inevitably comes around to cars. Some like them all showy and flashy, even if their engines would struggle to power a supermarket shopping trolley. Others prefer the adrenalin rush of brute power. And reality often blurs under the weight of personal preference or nationalistic pride.
This is the stuff of conversations the world over and I’m the first to hold up my hand and be counted. With a cup of Earl Grey in one hand and an Eccles cake in the other I will defend the 1960’s Healey against a Cobra in a Brit v Big Mac munching American battle of words. Perhaps that’s a tad unfair because if the going gets tough I can always remind Burger Man that when Shelby created the Cobra he dropped a big V8 into an AC Ace, so even the Cobra is a Brit design anyway.
But sometimes it spills over into print, like the test drive of a British sports car compared to an altogether different American vehicle. This is a challenge. My hackles are rising and the tea is brewing.
By jingo (how’s that for a true Brit term?), I even agreed with some of the points made. Yes, the rear seat of the Jaguar XK8 is too small to warrant the term (better to call it a parcel shelf), while the Yank Tank with which it was compared does seat four or five in relative comfort. But calling the XK a convertible or branding its hand brake obsolete really isn’t on. Redressing the balance though was never going to be more than burger against tea without a true benchmark, so in true Brit style I lined up in the queue to bide my time until Jaguar sent me an XK to drive.
By definition, convertibles are versions of standard vehicles that can be converted to open top cars for when the weather is good. If the base vehicle seats the whole family and eats up the miles effortlessly but is less capable around corners, then ditto the convertible. Chopping off the roof also means that strengthening needs to be put back in, which can make the convertible heavier yet less rigid.
The word convertible doesn’t feature anywhere in Jaguar XK8 terminology. The hard top is a coupe and the drop top a roadster. Both are performance sports cars. Point made. Benchmark set.
The XK8 is descended from a long line of performance sportscars that were successful at Le Mans and on the world’s racetracks. My esoteric memories of the curvaceous C-Type and all conquering D-Type of the 50’s suggest something special and I am not disappointed. Free from gimmicks, strakes or styling excesses it is smooth, sensuous and subtle. In anybody’s eyes it is a class act. Some say it is the most beautiful car ever.
The XK8’s beauty is more than skin deep, for dynamically the car is as perfect as a manufactured product can be. Through the winding lanes of its UK home territory it was faultless. Being rear wheel drive, the fronts only have to steer. No front wheel drive car even comes close — whether open top or closed.
No mere styling cue, the long bonnet (hood) is a product of positioning the engine well back in the chassis to give near perfect weight distribution. Steering is precise and handling is neutral. Finely tuned suspension and tire widths glue the car to the road and over steer is difficult to induce, even with a heavy right foot.
The V8 engine is a worthy successor to the old straight six that gave the XK its name. With Ford heritage in the block it delivers massive torque that peaks little more than half way through the available rev band, giving instant mid range acceleration and making overtaking safe and effortless. Relatively unstressed for its power, the big cat burbles with an evocative deep bass baritone growl instead of the tiresome screaming histrionics of high revving counterparts.
Knocking spots off mere convertibles through the bends and country lanes, the XK8 delivers its power so smoothly and — dare I say it — refined. It is also smoother and less tiring to drive on long straight highways but that in no way defines a compromise.
It may have gained power operation for its soft-top roof but the XK8 isn’t for poseurs. Its button-down tonneau cocks a snook to whimps and while on a true sports car that’s not a fault, Jaguar has not spurned modern technological advances either. The obligatory sat-nav nestles in the dash and adaptive cruise control continually measures distance between cars. Approach a roundabout at 120kph with the car in front braking and the XK8 will automatically slow right down to walking speed.
Undeniably, foot operated or under-dash mounted parking brakes of many sedan based convertibles score in supermarket parking lots. Despite its excellent luggage capacity, shopping isn’t the XK’s forte and far from being obsolete, its race derived fly-off handbrake affords fast starts more akin to a rocket launcher than a family tourer.
With acres of leather upholstery and handcrafted wood trim, the interior of the car is sumptuous, Build quality is exceptionally high and unlike mere convertibles there is little or no evidence of scuttle shake.
Sitting at traffic lights I know that I can drop the fly-off and out accelerate near anything that’s alongside me — whether German, American or Italian. On the motorway I can floor the throttle and disappear into the sunset. And when a hot hatch with its engine screaming cuts me up on country lanes, I can leave him for dead.
But the XK8 exudes confidence and I don’t do any of them. There is nothing to prove. Sure, I enjoy myself when the road is clear and safe, but the very nature of the XK8 — smooth, understated, sensuous and subtle — seems to wash over the driver too.
There’s one disadvantage, it only seats two. Regrettably, Mother-in-Law will just have to stay at home. Beat that Big Mac.
