The Mercedes G: the systematic denial of the untenable

The Mercedes G-class, now the Schwarzenegger of all-terrain vehicles for fifty years, should have been dead long ago. The least they could have done is make it smaller and more practical. Excluded. The Germans simply stuck 12 centimeters wide and 5 centimeters long. Yes guys, that was their culture before Merkel: everything bigger and better.

He’s going upmarket in the style of Indiana Jones. Mercedes preserved all the anachronisms that mythologize its raw shell. The door locks lock with the staccato blast of a pistol shot, the doors with the old-fashioned handles and the hinges on the outside slam shut with a vicious militaristic slam. The front turn signals are still Beetle-like next to the hood, the round headlights invariably give too little light. He is what is at Alfa de Giulia, the motley evening of Jurassic Park, the systematic denial of the untenable.

The recalcitrance is impressive. He is above the law there. A concrete wall is more aerodynamic. Fuck air resistance, no storm can stop 585 German horses. Man pays. I burned 72.66 liters of petrol on 400 kilometers, one in 5.5. Didn’t even get to 220, which he really can do. Never even been in the terrain, where with all-terrain acceleration and three limited slip differentials, it seems to be more invincible than ever. I canceled the sprint to 100 in 4.5 seconds out of concern for the tires and the clean body. At 160 you can feel it getting floaty, as the wind pounding against the upright windscreen and the biturbo eight-cylinder in the sport and individual mode of the ‘Dynamic Select drive program’ thunders gothic, now even more debauched. Übermensch lifted up. The madman who is going to drive it at top speed can go straight to the Pieter Baan Center.

The G-class stands for everything that is wrong in the car industry, a colleague rightly says. A brand that urgently needs to go green, which will have its hands full working to get rid of years of lag behind Tesla, is emptying a slurry tank full toxic masculinity in the dying ecosystem. Here is a 2,460 kilo dinosaur with an environmental label G and a CO2emissions of 299 grams per kilometer all ethical concerns. How wonderful to hear Mercedes-Benz boast of a weight saving of 170 kilos. The slimming cure is of course not deducted from the price, although it no longer achieves the astronomical level of the twelve-cylinders in a previous top model, which were killed by the environment and BPM. For a mere 250 mille you are completely the gentleman with Burmester surround stereo, trim parts in ash wood anthracite open-pore and 21 inch AMG rims. Shame? Supply and demand. For the Saudis, it’s loose change.

master villain

But the G63 AMG equally stands for everything the German car industry was good at and wanted to stay on. That warlike technique, the uninhibited megalomania of the motto the best or nothing. No other brand has something so crazy on offer. That appeals. He has the repulsive allure of the master villain. The hatred of the policor morality drips from him. He is the yellow vest of the right upper class.

He is the kamikaze flight into a lost time and at the same time correction of history. The G was never as good as its reputation. The engines were too weak or uncontrollably powerful. The bodywork was from the Stone Age and as an all-terrain vehicle it had fallen off; the increasingly luxurious G’s were used exclusively for casual commuting between Riad and Al-Diriyah. Mercedes could have just given up on him, but then you underestimate the German attachment to symbols. The G is the Titanic that had to stay afloat. Purely for the glory, he would shine one more time. And he’s gotten shamefully good. The steering position has been improved and the space increased. The digital dashboard has the screen width of two MacBooks. With a fording depth of 70 centimeters, it can enter a river ten centimeters deeper than before. For the first time, it is comfortable, thanks to ‘active multicontour seats’ which, according to Mercedes, hik, are ‘recommended by specialists from the German ‘Aktion gesunder Rücken’”. Finally, he is finally controllable. With its independent suspension, the G-class gets through before a fast bend without tipping over. In the elbow in the A6 near Emmeloord, maximum speed 70, I reached 120. I had not retold that joke from the previous one. In twenty years or so, no Tesla grandchild will believe me. Fairy tales, grandpa!