Don’t read this if love letters to a car are uninteresting to you. I get to be self-indulgent here, just for a little while.
You see, I continue to find things to love about my car. And I’m going to spill them here. You have been warned.
The 2004 Jaguar XJ8 I’ve been driving since October has been a great choice. It came to me in such pristine shape, thanks to the previous owners. Judging from the condition (everywhere from the seats, to the trunk, to the lack of grime under the hood) this car has been pampered. Almost 70,000 miles on the odometer, but lightly used.
I’ve been putting 1,500-2,000 miles per month on the Jag so far. My daily commute is 25 miles each way, you see. We tend to use the Jag whenever we can to slow down the miles on the Odyssey and prolong the warranty. Pristine as the Jag is, its the car on which the miles really aren’t going to matter. So, I drive it. And I enjoy it!
The V-8 delivers 294hp to six forward gears. The body AND FRAME are all aluminum, meaning it weighs a minimum of 700 pounds less than earlier XJs. The two-program computer, with a Sport mode and a “comfort” mode, mean that I can cruise it, then pop up to a more aggressive shift pattern and firmer suspension. The difference is indeed noticeable – the kids call Sport mode “ROCKET MODE”.
The cockpit experience is simple. Luxurious, but simple. The automatic windshield wiper mode means that the wipers decide when to run; somehow the wipers sense water on the windshield and ‘just take care of it.’ The headlights have an automatic mode, too. They come on just before I need them, and turn off when conditions are bright enough. The climate control runs off a thermostat. Just set the temperature, and the car makes the appropriate adjustments. Shoot, the Jaguar even senses when the rear window defogger is required and turns THAT on for me, too.
There’s nothing left to do but twiddle the knobs on the stereo, keep my eyes on the road, and DRIVE! So, I do!
A few weeks ago, I drove solo from Portland to the family compound in Pacific City. The next morning, I drove the car fully loaded from Pacific City to Newport and back, then drove solo the day after that, straight to the Portland Airport. The route to/from the beach takes me over a curvy mountain pass. With the 290 hp and a snappy Jaguar gearbox, passing is super easy over any terrain constraints. Just groove the wheels over to the passing lane, goose the accelerator and feel the car immediately pop down a gear before BOUNDING forward like a …. like a Jaguar on the attack. Really!
Going to the beach this weekend, the roads were unusually traffic free. As I left the Tualatin Valley and entered the mountains, I set the cruise control for 70 mph, and wondered how long I could go before the curves got too tight for the speed. I got my answer: never. The Jag glided along at 70 through curves marked 35mph, through sweepers marked 45 mph, and along the long straights where the cops usually sit. Traffic behind me kept up fine on the straights, but give me two curves and they would all be gone in the distance behind me. NOT ONCE did the Jag’s traction control system kick in to assist me. Aggressive as such driving might seem, it was well within the Jag’s capabilities. When I found myself following traffic, I’d drop the cruise control.
Most of the time, working the gas at highway speeds requires a constant tap-and-coast foot action. I don’t hold the accelerator down most times, instead I have to back off often to keep speed down.
I did love the two Mercedes-Benzs. They, too were a pleasure to drive. I must admit, though, they drove like a train in comparison: they handled like they were on rails; they’d drive all day at incredible speeds; but their relatively slow acceleration meant that you had to plan well ahead to have the speed or power you’d need. The Mercedes’ were undoubtedly the finest cars I’d driven up to that time.
The Jag, though, is just different. SO high performance; and so beautifully refined.
I regularly have strangers approach me, as I’m parking or filling up at the gas station, just to comment on how beautiful the car is. The previous owner had swapped out the factory wheels for some chromes that clearly say 21st century-style but still evoke the classic spoked wheel look from mid-century Jaguar classics. Coupled with the gleaming silver paint and the elegantly creased and curved body styling, the car seems to ooze class. Truth be told, it's not the men who comment me on my car, its the women. (Don’t tell C that, okay?)
The kids remark that the S-Class Mercedes smelled better. They’re right; the S-Class, even though it was 14 years old, still smelled so heavily of leather upholstery that you could smell it on your coat for the rest of the day. The olfactory sense of luxury and pampering in the S-Class was just massive. But that was the point of the S-Class – comfortable travel. Think express train club car.
The Jag, for all its performance, delivers a cabin that’s just as spacious, with just as much leather and wood trim. But the atmosphere is not that of a club car – it hints too strongly of the ‘pounce’ waiting under the hood.
So, I’m grateful for the opportunity to own and drive this particular Jag. It’s a luxury car that performs better than my own driving skills. So I get to have fun, comfort, and a bit of peaceful quality during my commute. It’s a good thing…
