I don’t like the Mercedes G wagon, and I especially disdain the twin-turbo V8 G63 in front of me. I see it as the automotive embodiment of everything distasteful about showy Los Angeles wealth: It’s an eye-smacking truck that says I can flaunt luxury toys and destroy the planet. And its wallet-flattened price says I buy access to things you can’t possibly afford. Yeah, to me, the G wagon makes a statement that is as subtle as a brick through a pane-glass window. (The G63 is shaped like a brick, too.)
The G wagon’s champions like to boast of the truck’s off-road chops. “It’s as good on a trail as a Land Cruiser,” they say, referencing another showy, wasteful super SUV. So what if it is? The only off-roading the $179k G63 is going to see is the fairway parking lot at The Quail: A Motorsports Gathering. You want to bash around like a sheep? Buy a Jeep.
Simply put, I think this SUV’s theme song is Taylor Swift’s Anti Hero: “It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me…”
But what I hate most about the G63 is that I know, just know, I’m going to love driving it.
I’m the first guy clambering for the keys at Mercedes’ Pebble Beach Concours pavilion. I swing open the flat, military-style front door and climb up into the driver’s seat. (I rarely am in any vehicle tall enough to require a step up.) Although the raised entry has me thinking of pickup trucks, the cabin has the familiar AMG steering wheel, comfortable seats, a handsome dash, and a slightly dated COMAND system from the AMG coupes and sedans I know so well.
The engine, too, is familiar, shared with my AMG GT S. Once I start it up and put the G63 into motion, the bassy voice of the biturbo V8 fills the cabin, and it never shuts up.
This is a good thing; the 577 hp/627 lb-ft V8 delivers a monologue that is so entertaining, so giggle and guffaw-worthy that it deserves a regular slot at The Comedy Store. Driving fast or slow, I know there’s a V8 monster under the hood.
How much of a monster? Think Jack Nicholson mob boss Frank Costello from The Departed. It’s smooth enough to take you to the opera on Friday and brutal enough to bash you with a lead pipe on Saturday. Like Frank, it’s got many bad habits, and some of them are wicked fun.
Like stomping on the go pedal when the road straightens. Do this, and the G63 tosses its weight rearward (5842 lbs), lifts its nose to the heavens, and charges like a bull after a matador’s cape. The G63’s alarming pace is made all the more spectacular by the way its steering lightens as hundreds of pounds are shifted off the front axle. Yet you still feel in control of the monster’s direction…mostly.
Yet, drive it calmly, and the G63 moves smoothly and surefooted down the road. The nine-speed transmission shifts as serenely at slow speeds as it does swiftly at high, and there’s little noise penetrating the cabin, save for the exhaust’s rumble. It is as quiet and comfortable as a Mercedes should be and as fleet and agile as an AMG needs to be.
Do you like playing Minecraft? Then, the G63 is the truck for you. The blocky styling and upright windscreen mean the G63 feels tightly wrapped around the driver; the outward visibility is excellent. The dash is just a foot deep, and the cabin feels reasonably narrow for something with such massive lane presence. Glance in the rearview mirror, and even the back window feels close at hand.
My only quibble with the G63 is its small sports steering wheel. Keep the AMG wheel for the cars; a larger hoop would better fit this truck’s cadence.
This is a big truck that drives small. The seats are spacious, the trunk is huge, and the ride is oh-so-comfortable. Your perfect kids, your purebred pup, and hottie wife will love riding in the G63.
Well, I do, anyway.
“It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me…”
When I slam the G63’s door at the end of the test drive, there is a muffled thud accented with a metallic clink. I can only assume this is the G wagon equivalent of the Porsche ping, a heritage sound from the older, more utilitarian G wagons of yore.
Shit. I love this truck, its relaxed do-anything swagger, and its sophomoric sense of humor. I’d probably even like the LA guys and gals who drive them, even though they’re ten times as sexy and wealthy as me.
Come to think of it, what I hate most about the G63 is that today’s unfair and on-fire world leaves me no guilt-free way to afford or enjoy this incredible SUV.
Mike's Steering Column 