90 SV or Series I Classic Landies in an old-time face-off from back in the day

Separated at Birth?

Back when the Defender 90 SV was new, someone from our office managed to persuade Land Rover that it would be a good idea to let him pit one against his slightly knackered Series I on Solihull’s legendary Jungle Track

One of the most remarkable features of the Land Rover is the amazing similarity between the very oldest examples and those rolling off the line all those decades later. Perhaps nowhere is this more visible than when comparing the Series I with the lifestyle special from 1993, the 90 SV.

Crazy? Not quite. The standard Defender station wagon, whether in 90 or 110 form, features acres of plate glass and a stance that positively towers over the earliest models. But the SV, with its folded hood and roll cage, is distinctly reminiscent of all those black and white pictures you see of Land Rovers from the 1950s. Look through the gleaming new paint job and past the trendy upholstery, and a lot of Solihull traditions are there to be seen.

So in many respects it still looks the same. But what about performance? Surely the new 90 would wipe the floor with earlier offerings, leaving only a glowing tail-light and glimpse of metallic green-over-blue?

The answer? Give it a try. We happened to have a 2.0-litre 86” Series I from 1955 lying around, and the people at Land Rover happened to have a 90 SV that hadn’t yet been shipped off to the dealership that was presumably rubbing its hands at the prospect of receiving it. It would be rude not to…

Now, the people at Land Rover weren’t going to let the 90 out of their sight. Not a problem, we’d take the Series I to them. They had the famous Jungle Track for us to play on, after all. But what was a bit of

a problem was that with the 90 SV literally waiting to be loaded on a transporter later that day, we weren’t to get it muddy.

Fortunately, large parts of the Jungle Track resembled a jungle in name alone. So with plenty of man-made obstacles to take on, we set out to test our theory that despite all the mechanical odds, the back-breaking seats and the brush-painted bodywork our little Series I would win through.

As theories go, most of the guys back in the office said it was stupid and doomed to failure. But, well, we couldn’t resist. There’s a distinct and pleasurable inverted snobbery derived from pitching underdogs against the high and mighty, and a very definite satisfaction to be had by squeezing every last drop of ability from a machine rather than simply throwing a hydraulically assisted switch and having it all done for you. It’s a pleasure whose appeal will resonate with anyone who’s driven an early 4x4 of any kind, be it a Jeep, a Land Rover or something Japanese – a small, light vehicle with leaf springs, a modest engine and nothing in the way of power steering or modern driver aids will always make you work for it offroad, but nothing matches the sense of achievement you’ll get from it.

So there we were at Lode Lane. The sun was out (for the first time in weeks) but the ground was sodden, meaning there was no end of lovely mud for us to… avoid, at least in the 90. Behind the wheel of the Series I, though, we stopped to engage low range and four-wheel drive then its skinny tyres started cutting their was down through the thick clag to find traction in the firm ground down below as we picked our way gingerly yet unfalteringly to the top of the Jungle Track. The occasional chirp of wheelspin slowed us down, but we never lost our grip altogether.

The 90’s minder wasn’t about to lose his grip, either. Not in the mud, because he didn’t take that route in to the Jungle Track, but of the vehicle itself. His job was to enforce a preservation order more stringent than the one on St Pancras, and since a large security barrier stood between us and freedom we didn’t much fancy the consequences of not doing what we were told.

So we started casting about for a route, finally picking one featuring opposing side slopes and an exit across twenty or so railway sleepers. The first step was to swing the Series I over a series of humps so, having walked them first to try to pick a suitable line, I engaged low second and edged forward, feeling my way and expecting at any moment to become powerfully and permanently stuck.

Pushing forward, the skinny steering wheel swung wildly for a moment between my loosely gripping fingers. But the Landy’s momentum carried her onwards and, avoiding the ruts, she gained some smoother, scrubby ground and all was calm. But now the ground was set to become rougher. My right foot hovered over the accelerator as the Series I scaled up a sharp crest – only for the engine to do all the work for me on tickover, hauling itself up and over with surprising ease.

The vehicle was now leaning to the left at a pretty severe angle, with me inside straining to keep in my seat. It doesn’t have any belts and the squabs are completely flat, so lateral support was provided by little more than my clenched backside! But then suddenly we were down and level again… only then, almost as suddenly, for the ground to throw us over to what must have been 45 degrees to the right.

And this time, she was having none of it. Despite me keeping my feet off all three pedals, the front end began to slide downhill. I steered into it and applied slight pressure on the throttle pedal, and for a brief moment she gained traction – but then she hesitated and all was lost again. Maybe I had given it a little too much on the way up, reacting the whole way to what felt like an impending stall, but it was a lesson learned. We drove out at the end of it, after a battle to keep the Series I under and kind of control; it was messy, but we were through.

Now for the sleepers. These were arranged at intervals of a few feet for twenty yards or so — just the kind of obstacle that stops a stubby little leaf-sprung Land Rover in its tracks. You can’t simply chug over them as you would in a coiler – at least, not unless you want to suffer concussion at the hands of the roof.

Fortunately, and despite the amount of standing water elsewhere, the sleepers were quite dry. The Series I climbed into the first of

Let me make it clear: I adored that Series I. But in comparison, driving the 90 SV was like a breath of fresh air

them, again in second low, and we were off. The effect was like being in a boat on a stormy sea, causing it to pitch and roll until I felt as though I was about to be violently sick. The steering wheel lashed viciously from side to side, too – in today’s world of modern 4x4s with damped steering, you don’t always think about keeping your thumbs to yourself, but this would have broken anything that got in the way of the spokes.

And then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. I was clear, and the Series I had made it. I opened the door, lurched out and went staggering off to the waiting 90 SV.

Let me make it clear: I adored that Series I. But in comparison, the 90 was like a breath of fresh air. Suddenly, everything was where you’d expect to find it; my fingers were wrapped around a fat, grippy steering wheel, my posterior was cossetted in an excellent seat and the low rumble from under the bonnet sounded as though it was ready to carry me across the Sahara.

I slid the transfer lever across to engage diff-lock, pushed it gently forward into low range and just like that, away we went. I didn’t even have time to wonder when someone would next do that (would it be months, years, decades before this SV next went off-road…?), because the Tdi engine needed nothing more than just to be started up and the hills before me were shrinking as if cowering in fear.

It was so, so easy in comparison. Brand new tyres helped, of course (those on our Series I had seen better days at this point), and the fact that I wasn’t slipping across the seats several feet at a time meant I wasn’t having to use the steering wheel as a grab handle and pulling it the truck course in the process.

Little details make all the difference. Details like seat belts, and indeed actual seats. Details like being able to tackle a side slope without sliding so violently to one side that you end up using the steering wheel as a grab handle. The Series I was wonderful for all that, but this comparison really brought out just how much Land Rover learned about covering terrain between the two vehicles’ respective eras

The textbooks suggest the best action on a side slope is to allow the vehicle to fi nd its own way. You can steer into any slides, and wind in a little power if necessary, but with a lump like the Tdi there’s hardly any need. Just keep hold of the wheel in case it grabs the ground and sets off up hill, and you’re in business.

Minutes later, I cleared the humps and the sleepers were staring me in the face. This time, I was more than prepared. Second gear, foot down and we shot across them, with the springs absorbing everything. No thrashing wheel, no lingering feelings of queasiness, just smooth, assured progress.

It was marvellous to drive these two vehicles back to back. Our brief tinker with the SV proved that it is a superb vehicle – a fabulous fi rst foray into the lifestyle market for Land Rover, but primarily a modern Defender 90 and what a wonderful thing that is. We wanted more time, more freedom – we wanted to take it home and keep it!

But we did get to keep the Series I, and that’s hardly a poor substitute. And our little session on the Jungle Track proved our theory – the old 86” really IS is as good as the 90 SV. As good, that is, at providing sheer seat-of-your-pants entertainment. Two very different examples of Land Rover’s fi nest – and between them, a perfect reminder of the similarities between every one of Solihull’s oldshape motors.