You’ve had a new puppy, I assume.
You wake up and the first thing you think of is, “What’s Rover doing?” You get up and go in the kitchen or wherever the cage is and there she is, wiggling and squirming and overjoyed to see you. You smile and lift her up and she pees. That sucks but it’s a puppy, so you clean it up and then put her on your lap and play, throw a ball, give her some food, take 100 photos and…you’ve got a puppy.
The F-Type didn’t pee, obviously. But it was the same feeling. Look out the window several times a day – there she is. Busy with other, more important things? Yes, but you’ve got to go to the store. Yeah, that’s it, the store. Because you’re out of – um – blue stuff that cleans the toilet bowl. All right, let’s go for a drive. Let’s go sit in that leather. Let’s put the top down.
The push-button starter on the F-Type blinks. It’s sexual, man. It’s (politely) PUSH ME. PUSH ME. PUSH ME.
Doesn’t know what my name is, doesn’t care.
You push the button and it’s like Robert Plant at the end of “Whole Lotta Love.”
It’s @#$@#$ LOUD. 8 supercharged cylinders loud. Jaguar has a reputation, which Jay Leno put well, as a “country club car.” This isn’t a country club car. Jay says it and I say it. In fact, it’s smaller, dimensions-wise, than a Porsche 9-11.
The F-Type rumbles and growls. It’s fast, it handles like cream and is a thrill, again and again and again and again.
A few things –
It comes in 6 cylinders, too, starting at around $60,000. My tester had 8 cylinders, starting at $92,000. It’s over $100,370 by the time you’ve got all the ketchup, mustard, sauerkraut and so on. The V-8 makes 495 horsepower via a 5.0 liter and has eight gears, two of which aren’t that necessary, but they don’t hurt, either. All gears seamlessly mesh via a QuickShift tranny. I was glad to see the end of that ugly, country club wheel Jaguar used to have to shift gears.
A superperformance braking system, of course.
Anything I didn’t like?
The Nav system is crap. I had forgotten about how frustrating Jag’s nav systems can be. The F-Type’s nav system was, at all times, 10-20 seconds behind any turn I made or needed to make.
Kind of like “Hey, Jack, I think I see a guy in the depository window!” on November 23, 1963.
Other than that, Good God, what an angry, gorgeous little gem. More on the F-Type here.