Driven: Mercedes' military-inspired 4WD
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Mercedes-Benz G55 AMG
Mercedes-Benz's G55 AMG comes equipped with a supercharged V8 engine.
The G-Class sold here throughout much of the 1980s, but buyers spurned it. Part of the reason was the uninspired, asthmatic diesel engine that produced only 65kW and 172Nm, while another big part was the hefty premium the car commanded - at the time of its launch a V8-engined Range Rover cost about $4000 less than the Benz's almost $10,000 sticker price.
Benz is having another crack at the Rangie - even if it has more in common with the Land Rover Defender - pricing its diesel-engined G350 Bluetec at about the same level as the $160,000-plus commanded for the base model Range Rover Vogue TDV8.
It's had a crack at the upper end of the spectrum, too. The G55 AMG, with its supercharged V8, is considerably more expensive than the range-topping Range Rover Sport Autobiography with its supercharged 5.0-litre V8, and significantly undercuts the Porsche Cayenne Turbo that uses a twin-turbo 4.8-litre V8.
Unlike the Porsche and the Range Rover, the G-Class is a bit of a characterless box on wheels. It's not a bad thing, because the unchanged design has been a large part of what has made the largely hand-built off-roader - only the barnstorming SLS AMG and uber-luxurious Maybach can claim a similar amount of hands-on attention - such an icon in Benz-loving circles.
At a drag coefficient somewhere up around 0.5cd, it has some of the worst aerodynamics of any passenger car on the road, which is unusual in an era when slipstreaming and flowing design aimed at eking out even more marginal fuel savings dominate. Still, the Austrian factory where the G-Class is built can turn out about 6000 of them a year, so the demand is still there.
Let's start with Benz's diesel-engined G350 Bluetec, then. Is it better than a Rangie?
Even before we turn the ignition key, it's a tentative no. The biggest problem for the G-Class - please don't call it a G-Wagen; that's the name given to the more hardcore military version, the first 60 of which were delivered to the Australian army last week - is its poor ergonomics for everyday city driving.
It's a wonderful, high seating position, and it's easy to get comfortable behind the steering wheel that smacks of last-generation E-Class, but a flip-up drink holder mounted in the driver's footwell is awkward, and the brake pedal is offset much further forward than the accelerator, making it a big step across.
There's a 12-volt outlet mounted in the passenger-side footwell, but nowhere convenient to store anything that you plug into it unless you stuff it into the drawer hidden under the seat. Where's the cargo net?
Then there's the centre console, which is a bit last-generation E-Class even if it's smartly presented in its unique G-Class layout. However, the LCD screen is set far too low to be practical, and the small buttons mean the driver needs to drag eyes off the road for a long while to find the right one. In some respects, it would have been better to have moved the three top-mounted controls for the diff-locks to the bottom of the console, as you're more than likely travelling slowly when needing to activate them.
Crank the engine, and there's a muted diesel patter from the V6. It's 155kW of power does well to gloss over any turbo lag, giving the impression of immediate power, while the 540Nm of free-revving torque produces plenty of overtaking ability.
The ride is good, with the long-travel suspension happily absorbing most of the road's irregularities without too much fuss, and cornering with minimal body roll. The steering, too, has decent on-road feel but can feel heavy at lower speeds.
But you don't bring a donkey to a horse race. For that, buyers have the G55 AMG.
Is it as good as a Porsche Cayenne, or even a Range Rover Vogue? Again, it's a tentative no.
The G55's 5.5 litres of supercharged fury develop 373kW and 700Nm of pulling power with a howling, supercharger wail and booming exhaust each time the accelerator is mashed into the deep carpet floor mat.
But on-road dynamics must give some leeway to off-road ability, and nowhere is this more apparent than cornering.
The stiff ride is quite smart for 2.5 tonnes of G-Class, but turn the steering wheel into a corner and there's an awkward moment as the vehicle shifts its weight to the outside front wheel.
It will bite suddenly, and then you need to wind on a bit more steering angle to make it around the corner - a lot faster than you'd expect, too.
The reticulated ball steering struggles with the AMG's weight over the front wheels, requiring a significant amount of opposite rotation of the steering wheel just to counteract the road's camber.
It doesn't corner with anywhere near the ferocity of a Porsche Cayenne, but that's not say it can't be entertaining.
So the diesel version of the G55 is not as luxurious or city-friendly as a Range Rover, and the AMG is not as performance-focused as a Porsche Cayenne or as practical as the Rangie Sport.
The one place the G-Class is likely to trump them all, though, is when you turn off the bitumen.
The three dash-mounted diff locks and the console-mounted low-range gear switch are easy to operate on the fly, but they're nowhere near as intuitive as the Range Rover's system that just requires the driver to match the scenery outside the vehicle with one of five pictures on a dial.
The diesel - no, we didn't try the G55 off-road - climbs steep, broken and rutted roads like a mountain goat, showing some wheel scrabble only if none of the diff locks are in. Pointing downhill, there's no fancy anti-lock brake based system, with first or second gear providing enough engine braking to shimmy down comfortably.
Wheel travel is quite good, too, and the softer suspension setting on the G350 is supple enough to take the edge off any hard knocks. The only occupants who won't enjoy the off-road ventures are the rear-seat passengers. There's no centre armrest, so the short, upright and quite flat back seats mean they will slosh around as the G-Class pitches and yaws.
The G-Class's strengths, then, rest off the bitumen rather than on it. It's a quirk of nature, but one that has endeared itself to enough buyers to ensure the moniker has survived longer than any other Mercedes-Benz nameplate in the company's 125-year history. It just won't be for everyone.
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