Jab your finger hard into the button emblazoned Start on the 2018 Jaguar F-Type R’s dash, and the car takes a figurative swill of the firewater, kicks down the door, and belches, “let’s get this party started!” What kind of a party does the wild cat throw when it’s guzzling premium? I’d love to find out, but I had an adventure worthy of a Top Gear intro. “Your host drives through a parking lot, passes a police station, and idles through a mixed-use commercial district.” Such was the sanctioned test route at the Silicon Valley Jaguar Electrifies tour.
The Jaguar Electrifies tour is traveling to major cities in the United States and introducing consumers to the company’s new all-electric I-PACE SUV. And while the tour focuses on this new EV offering from Jaguar, most of the vehicles from the Jaguar lineup are on hand for test drives. Like a fruit fly within sniffing distance of a banana, I feel an intense attraction to a bright blue 550 hp F-Type R and fly straight to it.
I’ve always loved the sleek, streamlined shape of the F-Type coupe. To my eyes, it nips at the heels of Aston Martin for well proportioned, muscular elegance. The flush door handles pop out of the bodywork as I approach with the key, and I pull the door open and slide into the F-Type’s cabin. The F-Type has a fighter jet theme to its cockpit, with all of the controls tightly wrapped around the driver. The shifter is shaped like a flyboy’s flight stick, and the drive-mode switch appears ready to let loose a pair of Sidewinder missiles. Ian Callum may have watched a bit too much James Bond before penning this one. Nah, I’ll take it back. I like that Jaguar doesn’t take its fun cars too seriously.
My test drive chaperone gives me the go-ahead to fire up the 5.0l supercharged V8. The coupe starts with a bassy bark then settles into a low growl. No doubt about it, there are eight lobes to this Jag’s heart.
I drive just 500 feet in the parking lot when memories of my first F-Type drive flood back into my mind. My first drive was five years ago in the 2014 F-Type V8 S convertible. Today’s coupe and yesteryear’s convertible have the same light steering—lighter than most sporting German fare—exuberant exhaust note and eager throttle. It’s a good recipe, and I am glad Jaguar hasn’t changed it as the F-Type matured. The model’s joie de vivre remains.
The bumpy parking lot reminds me that this cat is tightly wound. The chassis feels stiff and flex-free, but the car is getting rocked and shimmied as the suspension deals with the lightly wrinkled pavement. My M3 would traverse this ground with similar jitters, my CTS-V would smooth the bumps with its more compliant mag-ride shocks.
Finally out of the parking lot, my chaperone talks up the engine, noting that Jaguar is one of the few manufacturers to offer a supercharged V8 these days. He is right, and I am in a great position to sample this 550 hp supercharged V8. I arrived at today’s event in my 2014 CTS-V, a car powered by a 556 hp supercharged V8 of its own. A short burst of acceleration in the Jag proves that the two engines are as similar as chalk and cheese. (That’s the British way to make a comparison, right?) Jag’s V8 revs quickly and freely, spinning smoothly to the redline. GM’s V8 is slow to rev and feels coarse as it passes 4k RPM. For feel and best sound, the trophy goes to Jaguar.
Most of the lap around the block is either approaching or departing the San Bruno police station. Shenanigans are kept at bay. I have time to consider non-accelerative aspects of the F-Type R. I like the fanciful, jet-fighter interior. I find the sleek exterior styling sexy, but it compromises my outward visibility. When stopped at intersections, the short windscreen and forward-reaching roof force me to slouch to see the traffic light. The short windscreen also puts the rearview mirror at the level of my eyes, making a blind spot in front of the car for me to duck around. And if you think the teardrop profile of the F-Type coupe compromises the car’s rear visibility, you are completely right.
With my proximity to the police station, I can’t play the engine’s song by doing pulls to the redline. So I attempt to blow the trumpets by downshifting via flappy paddles. Nothing happens. The transmission’s normal mode is fully automatic and nothing more. I slide the gear lever into its manual position, and then the paddles come alive. Upshifts and downshifts at in-town speeds are disappointingly slow, lacking the crispness found in a good dual-clutch gearbox. I am surprised because Jaguar uses the heralded ZF 8-speed automatic, which delivers near-perfect shifts in BMWs and Alfas. Maybe Jaguar granny shifts when you are driving like a granny? I’ll assume the shifts are sharper when the F-Type R is being heartily flogged.
I lift off the throttle in anticipation of a stop sign, and the V8 entertains me with burbles. But the machine gun cracks I remember from the 2014 F-Type V8 S convertible are absent. I assume some Mortal Kombat worthy combination of button presses on the center console would unlock the F-Type R’s tommy-gun soundtrack. That soundtrack was the F-Type’s signature party piece; it would not have been binned by Jaguar in the last few years!
My chaperone toggles the drive mode into the checkered-flag mode for the final straightaways of the test route. I peg the throttle in second gear, feel the F-Type surge forward, and then feel the car reduce power as the engine blasts into its otherwise potent mid-range. Who stole my power? I don’t see the traction control light blinking. (Plus, the car is AWD!) I try a run at the horizon for the second time and cleanly pull to redline. Now the F-Type R feels light and ready to rocket!
My two-mile test drive is complete. Today is the second time I’ve dipped a finger into the tasty entree that is the F-Type, and, damn it, I just want the full meal already! The F-Type R feels eager to turn, sprint and roar. Brim it with firewater, throw me the keys, and I’ll see you in a few hundred miles!
Mike's Steering Column 