I wish to get your view on the Land Rover Discovery 3 or 4 and the Toyota Prado 120 series. I reside in Kampala and make regular drives to Kenya.
I am looking for a car that can accommodate my family comfortably, hence prefer a seven-setter. When I travel to Kenya from Kampala, I often go off-road in the regions of Bungoma.
I am torn between getting the Discovery 3 and Prado 120 series - both cars YOM range is 2007 to 2009. Should I go for a petrol or diesel version of either?
Such questions usually land me in trouble with the respective sellers of whichever vehicle loses the contest, the vehicle in your case being the Discovery. I guess I have already put my foot in it, huh? Let's continue then...
The Discovery 3 is well known for having a fickle air suspension system, and given the age a prospective unit would be by this point, it is more a matter of when than if the suspension goes into early retirement. You could swap out the air suspension and install coil springs but two problems arise from such a measure:
1. The vehicle loses its legendary off-road capability, and I do mean legendary. For something so fancy, the Disco can go places only a wild goat would dare access.
2. You still have other well-known issues to deal with in the car, such as wonky electronics, thirst from the petrol version and turbo failures from the diesel version.
The Discovery 4, handsome vehicle that it is, is horrendously expensive even when used. It is even flashier and fancier than the 3, which means dings, scrapes and repairs will be fiscally eye-watering.
I got one from the dealership and took it to a quarry in Lukenya just outside Nairobi - 5.0 V8 motor, sweet, sweet driving, but that nonsense was quickly put to an end when the cluster flashed some warning lights I had never seen before and couldn't understand.
I also know of one that was taken into the Chalbi Desert shortly after it was imported, and it never made it out of there under its own power.
Listen, what I'm saying is the Discovery is a very good car, briefly. If you have the cheese to pony up for one, then by all means go for the 4. It is a massive upgrade of the 3 and is an excellent vehicle... when it's working, which may not be often.
Land Rover Discovery 4.
Photo credit: Pool | Nation Media Group
The 3 is getting on a bit in age, and for devices running more on electronics than hydraulics and mechanics, age is not their friend.
Or you could get a Prado. It feels cheaper and more down-market (because it is), the 2.7 petrol is a beginner's car, the tarmac handling is not trustworthy and clean 120s are getting fewer and further between, but by God, is that truck ruggedly dependable!
I have had Great Run-related adventures with the 120, incidentally both incidences occurring during the recce phase and I must say I was impressed by how fairly easy it is to maintain this vehicle.
First time was in the Chalbi Desert (haha!) late last year when the 2.7 liter (hehe!) we had, long overdue for service (don't ask), had the crankshaft pulley seize and threaten to chew the serpentine belt into several small pieces, but thankfully it didn't.
What do you know, out there in the middle of nowhere, after disassembling the engine ourselves and fruitlessly trying to jury-rig an AC pulley onto the crankshaft, and ending up towing the invalid vehicle for several kilometers at high speed trying to distance ourselves from the general insecurity of the area, we found a mechanic who not only had the exact pulley replacement we needed, but also had the engine running in short order.
If you can bring an almost dead Prado back to life in the Great Northern Nothingness, you can bring it back to life anywhere.
Like we did the second time earlier this year. This time round I was slinging diesel power, the venerable D4D 3.0 liter 1KD-FTV.
The engine ran fine, a little too well if you ask me because it refused to empty its tank no matter how hard I tried.
Don't ask why I wanted to empty its tank, the reasons are selfish. The problem wasn't the engine, it was the transmission, and what happened was entirely my fault.
The scene is the Mau Forest, the situation, grim. Deep ruts and slippery mud means I have to summon all my off-road training to the fore, keeping in mind the vehicle is not mine, so it behooves me to be circumspect with my assault against the unruly landscape. Fine. This is Baraza, who did you think you are talking to?
One spectacularly gnarly section had me wedge the vehicle diagonally against some ruts, two opposite wheels (front right and left rear) squeezed deep into the wheel wells against the bodywork, the other two opposing wheels swimming in dark brown slime, rotating uselessly as they searched for traction that did not exist. No biggie. That is why we have locking diffs.
Engage the diff-lock (4HL if you have been reading my second advisory column), gentle on the power, feel the torque converter slowly engage lock-up control and... creep out of the ruts. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezie. Edge forward and pick a less traumatic path through what is now the official Great Run route through the Mau (muahahaha!) and a while later, we finally hit tarmac.
What a relief! The tension had built up to critical levels, I could now relax my shoulders a little.
The free-revving got progressively worse over a few short seconds before I realised the vehicle was now in neutral, or rather was behaving like it was in neutral. Check the gear lever: it's in Drive. Push it into 3. Rev. Watch the needle soar as the vehicle slowly loses speed. Wait, what? Engage 2... same result. Yo, don't tell me the gearbox is gone! Not now!
The gearbox was fine, something I established when I tried to engage reverse, nothing happened but got a very nasty noise when I tried to put it in Park. OK, so Park is out of the question. Neutral, handbrake up, turn off the vehicle. Call my colleagues: Houston, we have a problem.
A black Toyota Land Cruiser Prado.
Photo credit: Pool | Nation Media Group
It was when I glanced down at the smaller gear lever that I realised what I had done: my diff was still locked. I had forgotten to unlock. On tarmac. At highway speeds. Through tight turns. There exists something called transmission windup, and while I was lucky that phenomenon had not snapped the half-shafts in the axles (ouch!) because it happens, I had not gotten away scot-free.
The transfer case had heated up and seized. Mau - 1, Baraza - 0.
No amount of combined bicep action could move the 4WD lever, it was firmly stuck in place, and that was the confirmation that the transfer case had seized. My biggest worry: how much is a replacement transfer case for a Prado?
Second biggest worry: dusk was falling, we had no idea how far we still had to go, curfew is real and here I was with a bunch of people I had either convinced or conned outright into accompanying me on what was now starting to look like a failed expedition. Guilt is not a good feeling to have.
Crank the vehicle, gear lever in neutral, whip out a tow rope and lasso the other J120 Prado in front of me then bark orders on the walkie-talkie to gun it until we see civilization, by that point I should have figured out the next step.
What followed was the most stressful drive of my life. The towing vehicle acted as the engine while my dysfunctional SUV acted as the brakes in this twin-operated Toyota mini-juggernaut of ours.
It was a master class in driver coordination the likes of which you may never see (thanks Andrew!) as we illegally but successfully manhandled and maneuvered that pair of SUVs over bumps and through busy-ish evening traffic using a tow rope that is the exact opposite of social distancing. Got to Nakuru long before curfew.
One problem solved, but I still have to deal with the transfer case. The next morning, we waylaid a mechanic on his way to church and forced him to carry some spanners.
He patiently listened to me guess wildly about the cause of the seizure before asking me to kindly shut up and please let him work in peace, a request I granted and which resulted in the Prado regaining full loco-motor ability half an hour later.
All it took was a pair of spanners and a man who knows what he is doing plus a very grateful payment of Sh2000 to save me from having to buy someone a new transfer case which I'm sure would not be cheap.
I want to buy a Benz, but I can’t decide which one to get…
I cannot decide which car buy - the C180 kompressor, C200 kompressor or the E320. Which car is a better buy when you consider durability, maintenance cost and fuel consumption?
You could do the Benz ownership thing properly and go big. E320 or bust. It fails on two out of three counts - winning on durability only - but take it from the owner of one: Mercedes-Benz ownership is not about counting coins, it is about selling fear and projecting dominance. Take no prisoners, the best or nothing, their slogan goes.
A black Mercedes-Benz C180 coupe.
Photo credit: Pool | Nation Media Group
The C Class won't do that (unless it's an AMG), but the E Klasse will. If you want an economical car that is cheap to maintain, well, then, Japan beckons...
Anyway, for your parameters, go for the lowliest and get a C180, but not a Kompressor. The K badge on a Mercedes means "supercharged" and maybe you don't want to go down that path if things like maintenance and consumption keep you awake at night.
