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I’ve done something that I never thought I’d do. I recently purchased
an Alpine White 1993 Range Rover Classic short wheelbase. How
exciting, until you hear what I paid for it. It’s an $1,100 Range Rover
Classic. “I thought those were expensive, Mike.” A 175,000-mile
Range Rover Classic. “That’s no spring chicken, Mike.” A Range
Rover Classic that’s spent it’s entire tour of duty in the northern
reaches of Vermont. “Good from far, but far from good, Mike.” With
its leather seats and walnut dash, it still presents proudly enough
to take a date out to a respectable restaurant. For years, I’ve
been interested in Series Rovers; vehicles that are somewhat
straightforward to repair with simple hand tools, don’t have to be
plugged in to a computer to be diagnosed, don’t depreciate faster
than a concert Steinway falling from a skyscraper.
Speaking of which, Range Rover Classics are certainly attainable
these days, but you should scrutinize over each example you look at
because a so-called value may end up costing you down the road. Are
Range Rover Classics a better value now than ever? In 1993, mine
had an MSRP of about $44,500 when it rolled off its showroom floor
(literally, it was the display model). At the time of registration, the
local Department of Motor
Vehicles taxed me based on
its book value, roughly
$3,500. (remember to
watch out for the falling
pianos...) How on earth
did these cars depreciate
so much?
Let’s take a look at
what it takes to keep one
of these discreet status
indicators on the road and
in service. According to my
rudimentary calculations,
after commuting in it
everyday for about a month, it gets a magnificent 12.5 mpg. A Range
Rover Classic will never be mistaken for a Prius. Thankful, for the
planet we live on, I’ve been militant about my recycling chores lately.
The Range Rover’s so-called fuel economy is a “value” in a distorted
way. I like to think about it like this: it has twice the number of
cylinders than my Series and multitudes more horsepower and speed.
The Range Rover cruises effortlessly at 70 mph, whereas my 109”
once saw a record speed of 62 mph on a steep downhill, a
frightening experience altogether. The Range Rover is all-wheel-drive
all the time, whereas the Series is in rear-wheel-drive during most of
its travels. What are some of the more expensive parts to replace? An
ABS pump retails at about $1,200. What about the ABS valve block,
which retails at around $1,500? (I hope that doesn’t decide to stop
functioning, especially since this Classic weighs in at 4,401 lbs.!) The
viscous unit in the Borg Warner transfer case retails at about $1,600,
not counting labour and other items that should probably be replaced
at the same time - like the chain, gears and seals. At which point, it
typically pays to replace the entire transfer box instead of fixing what’s
broken. Corrosion is a constant battle in New England, especially
when owning a Range Rover Classic. Perhaps 1993 is the best model
year for the short wheelbase, as it has the benefits of ABS and ETC
without the troublesome aging EAS. I’m trying to come up with a
figure on a repair that would potentially send this car to an early
grave. When will we reach the point of diminishing returns? How
much do I love this Classic?
Immeasurably. So, what’s it all about? What does this Range
Rover bring to my life other than high fuel consumption and the
dreaded question of “what if?” It’s like no other car I’ve driven or
owned-and I’ve owned quite an embarrassingly high number for a
man of my age. What I like the most about driving it is the way it
makes me feel while driving it. When I drive my Range Rover, I feel
like entitled royalty. It has that certain “je na sais quoi” of making its
driver feel superior to other motorists surrounding him or her. While
speaking to some fellow Classic enthusiasts the other night, we all
agreed, that until you drive one on a regular basis, you really can’t
grasp the aura this car beholds. I’ve heard the following: “All Range
Rovers are cars, but not all cars are Range Rovers.” Narcissistically, I
admire my reflection while driving my Range Rover past those shiny
glass-faced contemporary
office buildings in town.
“Make way for the king of
‘Vermontistan’ in his 1993
Range Rover Classic!”
Enough about my
overly-inflated ego while
driving the Range Rover; it’s
also great for loading up
with friends and heading
out to dinner in style.
This late Range Rover
Classic just might be my
favorite Land Rover.
From its formidable
driving height, I feel like I’m towering over all the other motorists on
an imperial level. Like riding in a palanquin on the back of a
pachyderm, I feel safe. All nonsequitors aside, the Classic’s timeless
design looks “just right;” think of it as Goldylocks. The other night,
I parked it in front of my Burlington condo and stood admiring it for
almost five minutes. My neighbors must consider me mad. The
Classic looks smart, and its exterior styling remained largely
unchanged from its debut in 1970 till the end of its production in
1995! There’s no mistaking my Range Rover for any other SUV
resembling a melted cough drop, in any parking lot.
It is chock-full-of-amenities. I routinely appreciate it’s factory
fitted 120-watt a/d/s stereo with 6-disc CD changer (and
weatherband), walnut dash, heated windscreen, glass sunroof,
puddle lamps in the bottoms of the doors, ABS, ETC, power windows
(the three that work), power locks, and leather heated power seats
(more on that later). One of my favorite luxuries is the auto-dimming
rearview mirror; it perfectly cuts the glare from those bothersome
HID headlamps. Its uprated suspension was genuinely put to the test
the other morning as I swerved to avoid a motorist even less awake
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