Jeep Wrangler Rubicon - gas guzzler v spark nibbler: what happened when EV light-saber went head-to-head with Thor's hammer

There. I’ve said it. I won’t mention it again. Except to say that in the week or so that I had it, I could not achieve an MPG that started even with a two no matter how gently I encouraged it along on our trip that took in St Ives in Cornwall as well as taking in for the weekend parts of South Wales. 16mpg is the reality.

In short, this is not an everyday car. This car is as special as it is a specialist, proudly displaying its DNA, tracing right back to the Willys Jeep – the iconic military workhorse favoured by the United States.

I hadn’t had it for five minutes when, as I was introducing it to my two boys – it was their choice of holiday car – I heard a voice: ‘Mitchinson, you absolute bandit!’ It was the local councillor, head sticking out from his electric VW, agog at the sheer audacity of the Jeep.

What he’d actually caught us doing was taking the roof off, which clips away in no time at all, leaving the two people up top with wind in their hair and smiles on their faces. I had an errand to run, the sun was shining and so, roof off, off I went with the whole family wanting to tag along (that never happens with press tests). When I arrived at our friends’ house a few streets away, a local builder was on site. ‘Are you sure you’re not some sort of drug dealer?’ he sarcastically (I think) enquired.

And it kept happening. Refuelling at Exeter: ‘Crikey, mate. That’s some piece of kit – I love it!’ came the next compliment from a chap hanging out of his camper van, eyes on stalks. Then, as we unloaded into our accommodation in the heart of St Ives: ‘Ask your fella how much he wants for that thing, love’ – a man bellowed at Mrs Mitchinson - ‘I’ll take it off his hands!’ Note, he assumed it must belong to me, and couldn’t possibly belong to a woman. Cute.

The entire trip, along which we took in around 800 miles, I saw just one other Wrangler Rubicon on the road. That’s what I mean by special. As I approached him from behind on the M5, he’d already clocked me in his mirrors, firing my way a huge cheesy grin and a thumbs up. We burbled along together for several junctions before he peeled away and waved as he went. What other cars do that to people? Fair enough, the running costs are ownership prohibitive for most, however, I have a little ditty for you: our St Ives trip has become an annual one. One that we share with my brother-in-law who also brings his family to the Cornish Riviera so that young cousins can make memories together. His trip, give or take a dozen miles or so, is almost exactly the same distance. Both of us set off with full tanks. We travelled in one of the least efficient petrol machines money can buy, and he travelled in a Mercedes EQB – an EV. It was a straight shoot-out. He had, if you like, a light-saber and I was wielding Thor’s hammer, however, my fill-up at Exeter cost me £90 and took minutes. He had to stop twice, for hours, and parted with £82 all told. Granted, this wasn’t a scientific Top Gear experiment, but it got me to thinking that if Governments the world over want us to ditch gas guzzlers for spark nibblers, something has to be done to make EVs make sense in the wild, away from their dirt-cheap home chargers.

The Rubicon itself makes no sense at all on the road, especially a long-haul trip. The whine from the differentials as well as the monster truck-esque tyres is incessant, and the beeps and bongs so varied and nonsensical that you feel like you’re in a penny arcade. Seriously, when one goes off, the car keeps secret the cause of the issue, so you have a quiz to solve whilst trying to circumnavigate the motorway closures around Birmingham caused by the installation of HS2. You can turn most of them off, but you have to do that each time you fire her up.

Yet, it is clear that Jeep knows this thing makes little sense on the road – even on the smooth-as-a-baby’s-bottom A465, EU-funded (what did the Romans ever do for us, eh?) £2bn Heads of the Valleys road, which we took up to the old Tower Colliery, now a zip-line park and an awful lot of fun, with views of the valleys so beautifully glorious that it’s worth the trip alone – so they’ve worked damn hard to make you feel looked after. In the Rubicon, you get nappa leather and a premium Alpine sound system. You get ambient lighting and plush carpets; premium, anti-glare Gorilla glass; a plump, sturdy leather+steel gear knob; lumbar-supporting seats. The list goes on and on; a comfier off-roader you’ll struggle to find for an OTR price of £65,000. And, despite what some of the reviews suggest, you get ample boot space. We managed to cram in two 22KG suitcases, two large rucksacks, two smaller rucksacks, two enormous Berghaus beach chairs, beach bag, body board, skimboard and all of the other gubbins you’d expect for a British seaside holiday with two little boys in tow.

Where it all makes sense, though, is off road. I only managed a wee jaunt across some loose, challenging stuff, not nearly enough to put this thing through its paces, but it became immediately clear that the Rubicon is not so much a car as it is a tool. As I heaved the second lever into low-range 4x4 mode, locked the differentials and felt the car rock-and-roll as it prepared itself for its specialist subject, it was as if it was telling me that was where it belonged. On a farm or working estate; in a forest or on a beach. Being useful to someone – pulling stuff, moving things, doing jobs; not having its relatively meagre in capacity, yet eager in reality two-litre engine revved hard along the highways.

Would I buy one? The moment I retire into being a Park Ranger for the National Trust, absolutely. It is a joyous thing.

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The Jeep Wrangler Rubicon, 2l petrol, is £65,000 OTR. Its claimed MPG is 23.7 – the reality is more like 16-18mpg. 0-60mph, 7s.