The reveal of the new GMC Hummer electric pickup had us digging through the archives for more Hummer stories. Here’s one of our favorites, a 1999 Death Valley torture test pitting the AM General Hummer (also known as the Hummer H1) up against the Ford Excursion, GMC Yukon XL, Jeep Grand Cherokee, Land Rover Range Rover, Mercedes-Benz ML430, and the Toyota Land Cruiser. Enjoy it; we sure did.—Ed.

Our premise for this test is simple: Today’s mega-dollar, leather-swathed, SUVs are as prevalent as BMWs in Beverly Hills, but are they any good when the road turns to rocks and scorpions outnumbering Starbucks a million to none? Simply put, are luxury SUVs merely tarted-up wimps or the vehicular equivalent of James Bond outfitted in his best tux?

To put seven pricey SUVs to a thorough off-road test, we decided to go to hell, literally. Against several staffersʼ better judgment, we hit the trail at the height of summer and returned to the devil’s blast furnace that is Death Valley. Under flesh-cooking heat, across 200-degree blacktop, and over craggy rock-strewn trails, this is an environment that quickly separates the wannabes from the right stuff. A year ago, we tried it in pickup trucks and got stranded, sunstroked, and food poisoned all at the same time. You’d think we’d learn, but no. For this expedition, we ventured forth with the stratosphere of the SUV hierarchy, gathering a group as diverse as it is impressive: the brand-new giants, the Ford Excursion and redesigned GMC Yukon XL (formerly known as the Suburban), the $66,000 Range Rover 4.6 HSE and $83,149 Hummer, the high-tech, thoroughly modern Mercedes-Benz ML430, and the descendants of the legendary 4×4 pioneers, the Jeep Grand Cherokee and Toyota Land Cruiser. It was the who’s who of luxury SUVs. Beverly Hills would be impressed, but would Death Valley let us out alive?

In hurricane country the storm might have seemed normal. Thick sheets of rain and fierce wind pelted our vehicles at angles that seemed to defy gravity. Meanwhile, a violent series of lightning bolts crackled down from the sky in frighteningly close proximity, as if the local gods were playing a game of darts—with us as the bull’s-eye. Welcome to Death Valley, the desolate California desert, where it’s supposed to be scorchingly hot and Sahara-dry this time of year. Moreover, this freakish weather had caught us 50 miles from the nearest paved road, high in the tall mountains surrounding the valley, a place where a 2-inch-per-hour downpour can quickly turn into a life-threatening flash flood. And as we wove through the canyon, dodging rockslides, we knew it wasn’t just a question of if, but when the water would rise to dangerous levels. To hell with the photos left to shoot, we had to do some serious driving.

We can’t say we hadn’t been warned. In the week before our trip, in Las Vegas, less than 100 miles from Death Valley, a freak storm dumped 3 inches of rain—equal to what the city normally gets in a full year—in only two hours. The onslaught turned the famous Las Vegas Strip into a lake, and a rushing river of runoff swept away mobile homes, shut down the airport, and forced scores of motorists to require rescue from their cars (it didn’t, however, interrupt gambling, we’ve been assured).

Floods in Death Valley? Nah! Bleached bones, overheated engines, heat-stroke delirium, and lizard jerky, maybe. We hadn’t expected to worry about drowning.

But deadlines don’t wait for the weather. So the word was “go.” Just as last year, our guide for this adventure was “Death Valley Perry” King, better known for his acting roles in such TV shows as Riptide and Melrose Place, as well as various films and mini-series. Far from being just another Hollywood type, though, Perry is also an excellent race driver and an insatiable explorer who regularly spends days by himself tooling around the desert in his well-broken-in ʼ67 Land Rover, poking into new canyons and overturning fresh rocks.

Now Perryʼs finger was tracing a line on our topo map that stretched over the towering Panamint Mountain range west of Death Valley. This is the route that some of the stranded ʼ49ers (as in 1849) used to narrowly escape the baking valley (and unintentionally gave it its name). Here, near a particularly dense maze of contour lines, is a cabin where the Manson family not only hung out, but where the notorious sociopath himself was captured some 30 years ago, ending one of the strangest manhunts in history. This was to be our route on our second day out.

What nobody had to remind us was that this was the same route we’d attempted last year in pickup trucks, only to be stopped dead in our tracks only 30 miles up the trail by two simultaneously shredded tires on a single vehicle. This forced half of our group to stay put in the over-115-degree heat for most of the day while a rescue team made a 150-mile-plus round trip to get a new tire (we settled for the only 17-inch tires in the desert, a Mustang-spec street radial that lasted all of 2 miles before growing a sidewall bulge the size of an eggplant). It should go without saying that this was an experience none of us wanted to repeat.

The mantra of our trip was “tire-pressure appreciation,” as the most vulnerable point of any off-road vehicle is a tire’s sidewall. A simple, seemingly innocent scrape against a sharp rock is all it takes to sideline an otherwise manly SUV, and there’s no way to do a trailside repair of a sidewall. This was especially important to remind everyone because—just as with many SUVs you’d buy off a dealer’s lot—several of our vehicles wore highway-spec car tires, designed for a cushy ride on asphalt, not for trailblazing.

The four-hour drive from the outskirts of Los Angeles to Death Valley—with gleefully empty roads and miles of visibility—is always a good opportunity to test high-speed comfort and stability. The Panamint Valley, in particular (one range west of Death Valley) is a sprawling wasteland of scrub brush, sand, a 20-mile-long dry lake bed, and a lonely stretch of two-lane blacktop along its length. It is, in fact, a favorite place for military fighter pilots to practice their low-level attack maneuvers and scare the bejeezuz out of unaware motorists.

Driving impressions began to form quickly out there. The Hummer, for instance, seemed a beast from another planet, with its growling turbodiesel and huge size. Itʼs an intimidatingly wide vehicle that barely squeezes into a single lane yet has to be controlled through a seating position and steering system that feels as weird and numb as an arcade driving game. Even without military camo paintwork, it’s guaranteed nobody will try to cut you off.

In its first comparison test, the massive Ford Excursion, with outside dimensions roughly equal to a wooly mammoth’s, proved a cushy cruiser on good highway; but, once on rough surfaces, it became more easily unsettled than the others. Adjusting our velocity, we soon discovered speed can drastically affect the ride quality. On a ripply washboard dirt road, for instance, speeds of about 35 mph created such harsh vibrations, the whole cabin seemed as if it would shake itself apart, while taking the same stretch some 20 mph faster smoothed things right out to produce a thoroughly livable ride. This was obviously a function of the Excursionʼs wheelbase, suspension tuning, and hefty curb weight, because on no other vehicle did we notice this type of widely varying reaction to road surface.

On the other hand, the redesigned GMC Yukon XL (formerly called Suburban and formerly America’s largest SUV) offers a better-controlled ride that, overall, drivers found more comfortable and responsive than that of the larger Excursion. Meanwhile, the finely tuned suspensions of the Land Cruiser, ML430, Grand Cherokee, and Range Rover were largely unperturbed by the changing road surfaces. A twisty paved section of mountain road singled out the Jeep and Mercedes as the most nimble handlers of the group, blessed with the most sprightly engines for handling uphill mountain driving. Though not as agile, the heavier Toyota and Land Rover isolate their passengers in an environment of highway-friendly plushness, while the Range Rover gets the nod for its feature-rich environment, and the Land Cruiser pleased all with its better ergonomics and surprisingly light feel.

Even after only a bit of mild off-roading on day one, the second day started bright and early with a tire change. This was not a good omen. One of the Grand Cherokeeʼs rear car-spec tires had a small piece of stick protruding from the sidewall. Then, with tanks full, ice chests topped off, and 10 gallons of Spare Tank—a new safe-to-carry “nonflammable” fuel—stashed away, we headed out from the historic Furnace Creek Inn to place our fate in the hands of the desert devils once again.

After some 30 miles of asphalt past busloads of German tourists on “extreme” vacations en route to sample Badwaterʼs below-sea-level, well … bad water, we followed Perry onto a trail. The initial stretch into the hills was typical desert fare: sand and hard-packed dirt, with a liberal sprinkling of small rocks. As we gradually rose out of the lowlands, though, the rocks became larger and more abundant, requiring us to exercise more care. As perceptive senior editor Chuck Schifsky blurted into the two-way radio, “Wow, thereʼs really a lot of rocks in this desert.” Already, off-road attitudes were apparent. The Hummer—a beast on the highway—was now in its element. It simply motored along with its massive tires and boulder-swallowing ground clearance, seemingly oblivious to obstacles. As long as it would fit, the 6,710-pound Hummer would just roll over anything in its path.

The 7,688-pound Excursion, on the other hand, was out of place in the rough stuff. Its suspension delivered a harsher ride that suffered in comparison with the better-damped, more refined suspensions of the Land Cruiser, Range Rover, ML430, Grand Cherokee, and Yukon XL. Still, all proved surefooted on the rocky trail, although we kept a close eye on the low-mounted accessory running boards on the Excursion and Yukon XL.

Dotting the landscape were numerous abandoned silver and talc mines from 100 years ago—visible as gaping holes in the hills—as well as an assortment of ramshackle buildings that accompanied them. As we continued to climb, we made a pit stop at an amazing abandoned oasis tucked into a wide canyon. Aside from a rare natural spring, this site also contained a small empty house and, bizarre amid the bone-dry rocks, sand, and scrub brush, an in-ground swimming pool—with diving board—full to the brim with sickly green water.

As Schifsky and Mac DeMere donned their skivvies for a dip, the rest of us (obviously addled by the heat) decided to explore a nearby mine. Perry and Brad Long wasted no time and clambered into the silty opening with lanterns aglow. Several others followed, armed with flashlights, shovels, and two-way radios. The refreshingly mid-60-degree air helped pique our curiosity, and we began wandering along a large, pitch-black tunnel that angled downward and split into several side corridors. All around us was evidence of where men had once ground out their living, digging, blasting, following veins of precious ore. And the scary stuff: wooden rafters older than Strom Thurmond, vertical mine shafts appearing out of nowhere, a gazillion rat droppings, snakeskins, and two very creepy people who emerged from the depths covered in dust and wanting to be our best friends. Aieee!

We turned and ran back to the surface, where we hopped into our ʼutes and laid tracks. Farther up into the mountains we began hitting seriously rocky terrain—in some places requiring spotters to watch the underside of each vehicle as we inched over the tough stuff. It was here the optional running boards on the Excursion and Yukon XL proved woefully limiting, and rather than risk damaging one on any of the hundreds of boulders that lay ahead, we decided to park them beside the trail. To be on the safe side, we also parked the ML430 because of its limited front air dam ground clearance and continued in the purebred off-roaders, the Range Rover, Land Cruiser, Grand Cherokee, and, of course, the Hummer.

Climbing higher and higher into the mountains, we stopped to investigate a couple of small, empty cabins that Perry knew about. To our surprise, each had been stocked with survival essentials and were intended to be emergency shelters for travelers in the area. Both had a homey feel in a Spartan sort of way and included makeshift guest books loaded with cheery, uplifting messages from passers-by. In one cabin, we left an autographed MotorTrend license plate and a gallon bottle of Spare Tank, which one day could be a lifesaver for someone low on fuel.

A couple miles farther along, the trail became even more ragged. Perry led us off the beaten path and through a thick covering of vegetation that provided good camouflage for the side trail we were now following. This was clearly not a route that would be found by the casual off-roader. A short stretch around some tall rocks and through roof-tall grasses and there it was:

The Manson cabin. The compound (officially known as the Barker Ranch) was bigger than the others we’d seen, and it was roughly furnished, yet it had a dark, eerie feel. Inside were beds where the group had slept. There was a table and stone-and-plaster bench where they probably sat and planned who knows what. There was the sink heʼd hidden under when the FBI came looking for him. And, as the story goes, they might not have found him, except for a snatch of hair hanging out from behind the dirty cloth. Like the others, this cabin also had a guest book, but this one was filled with disturbing missives rambling on about death, murder, and other dark maundering. One entry summed it up: “Scary, very scary. We wonʼt be coming back.” The place was musty, filthy, oppressive, and haunting; it clearly had the smell of death. Still, a few of us might have lingered longer except that the sky had turned black, thunder had begun, and small drops of rain dotted the windows. It was the sign weʼd been dreading. And it was definitely time to start the four-hour trek back.

At first, we thought weʼd have plenty of time. Silly us. After working our way back through the worst of the rocky sections and reaching the high pass where weʼd left the other vehicles, we could see a massive thunderhead before us, crackling with lightning and dumping rain onto the very canyon into which we were to descend. Waiting it out wasnʼt an option because sundown was just around the corner. So we started down with as much speed as possible, knowing that a flat tire now could be a major problem.

Fortunately, by the time we reached the canyon, most of the rain had already passed through, and water levels in the canyonʼs stream bed were manageable. Weʼd lucked out—or so we thought. The pressure off, we moseyed downhill at a comfortable pace. Then, as we rounded a wide bend in the canyon, we suddenly came face to face with another, even larger thunderhead planted directly in our path. In no time, we were being pelted with the first sheets of rain and soon were in the midst of a full-scale monsoon. Wipers rendered nearly useless, it was nonetheless a race against time, as the water level in the stream bed was rising noticeably. As we hurried through the canyon, the road itself was filling with muddy water that, combined with the growing darkness, made it even harder to focus on the rocks waiting to sideline us with a smashed oil pan or ripped-away brake line.

Finally, the canyon opened up into the lowlands, but here the accumulated water was even higher and seemed to rush at us from all directions. We splashed along the trail as fast as we dared, slipping and sliding from one side to the other on the slick mud. Lightning was still striking the area immediately ahead, making the hair on our arms stand up and giving the air “that smell.” As the front vehicles stopped on a plateau to let the rest of the group catch up, it became soberingly clear that our seven tall metallic vehicles were now the highest points around, and we were still heading straight into the belly of the beast. Hmmm. Whose idea was it to go on this trip, anyway? Meanwhile, the previously dry gullies weʼd crossed on the way up were now hub deep in rapidly moving runoff, and we were keeping a nervous eye out for “the big one,” a massive wave of flashflood water that can appear from nowhere and carry a vehicle away.

Courages collected and low-ranges selected, we knew we had to go on. With Perry leading in the Range Rover, throttles down, and steering wheels clenched, it was the wildest 15-minute thrill ride of our lives. Amazingly, we crossed the low point of the valley, and with the water now funneling off toward Death Valleyʼs salt pan, we left the surging rapids behind and climbed the gentle rise up to the paved road. We weren’t out of the storm yet—lightning was still flashing all around us—but with asphalt under our tires, we could make much faster progress. Again, however, our sigh of relief proved premature. The heavy storm had left great swaths of mud, rocks, and dirt across the road, creating wide bars of mud sometimes a foot deep and 20 yards across. Alternating with this were oozing mudflows in low dips that also waited to catch us by surprise. We watched an oncoming Suzuki Samurai crest a rise, see the mud flow too late, brake too little, and go sliding sideways through the dip while becoming totally immersed in a tidal wave of mud.

Still one more surprise awaited us. With only about 20 miles to go but still in the midst of the torrential downpour, the Mercedes got a flat tire, its sidewall cut by a rock. Unfortunately, the ML430 only carries a space-saver spare, which struck us in two ways: It was very fortunate the flat hadn’t occurred high in the mountains where we would’ve had to limp a mini-spare out over 40 miles of rocky trails. On the other hand, we were still in the middle of nowhere, and, if you remember last year’s adventure, the nearest tire store was some 60 miles in the wrong direction.

Once finally back to our hotel, out of curiosity (and as suggested by Mercedes-Benz) we called Mercedesʼ toll-free roadside assistance number to see if they could arrange to bring a new full-size tire to us. But no, they couldn’t be out until the next day, and even then would only change the damaged tire to the space-saver spare. Well, weʼd already done that. So, while the other vehicles still had one more day of driving and photography waiting for them, we had to send the three-legged Mercedes home.

Yes, our band of luxury SUVs carried us ably to hell and back. In real life, of course, most owners paying from 40 to 75 grand for a luxury SUV will probably be more concerned about tackling the swirl marks in their finish than the kind of serious off-road terrain we did. Still, it’s nice to know that amidst all that leather, electronics, and pampering accoutrement is a vehicle that really can keep going when the going gets rough. Or if all you demand is the assurance of being able to get through adverse weather conditions when they unexpectedly catch you out in the open, everyone on this trip (including our Litʼlest Donkey mascot) can vouch for that, too.

—Rik Paul and C. Van Tune

by Perry King

I’m an actor, so I’m a sucker for things like this: The Hummer has to be one of the most impressive and unique-looking vehicles in the world. Unfortunately, what you see is not what you get.

Iʼll happily concede that, militarily, the vehicle is probably perfectly suited to its various search-and-destroy tasks. But in the real (read: civilian) world, itʼs a pain in the butt and doesnʼt do anything special enough to make up for it. Itʼs noisy and awkward on the highway, pretty much tops out at 75 mph, and requires real care when changing lanes. City driving is stressful because of its enormous width (just barely contained within a lane); parking in close quarters (thatʼs everywhere) is such a challenge youʼll soon just start heading for the outer reaches of every parking lot; using the circus-tent-size canvas soft top is such a complicated exercise it should never be attempted; and for all the Hummerʼs gargantuan outside dimensions, it holds very little inside—in fact, rear-seat passengers (sitting atop single buckets separated by 40 acres of wasteland) are downright cramped. Compared to the other vehicles in this test, the Hummerʼs on-road performance puts it firmly in last place.

In an off-road environment the Hummer is more effective, as would be expected considering its origins. However, the width is still a liability unless youʼre traversing slopes, and its huge mass makes soft earth or sand potentially more treacherous. Rock-crawling seems to be this SUVʼs forte, thanks to its super-wide tires, excellent clearance, and neat assortment of underside tubular skidplates. In fact, unless your idea of off-road fun is swamp buggy racing, a Jeep Grand Cherokee with tall, aggressive, off-road tires is capable of going most every place the Hummer could (or should) go, while cushioning its human cargo in luxurious, almost Cadillac-like comfort.

The Hummer does have some trick features Iʼd like to see on all serious off-road vehicles, however luxurious. The best of these is the Central Tire Inflation System that allows you to raise or lower pressure in all four tires (in pairs, or all at once) from the cockpit, even while driving, with just the push of a button. This is a superb feature on-road as well as off and makes it a breeze to air down to 20 psi for sand dune running, then air up again for highway use. In addition, the earth-mover-size tires (37×12.50R16.5LT, load range D, Goodyear Wranglers) feature a run-flat inner liner that provides the get-out-alive safety of traveling up to 20 miles at 30 mph on a flat tire with zero pressure.

Another excellent off-road feature is the Hummerʼs geared hub design portal axles, which increases torque to the wheels and also raises the ground clearance to an impressive 16 inches. The Star of Desert Storm also has superb approach and departure angles, a fording depth of 30 inches, and a new “Torq Trac 4” ABS/traction control system that uses brake intervention to slow a spinning wheel. Also important when youʼre far from civilization, the Hummer features two fuel tanks (37 gallons total) to give you the capacity to tour off-road from Kuwait City to Baghdad without refueling.

Sure, the Hummer is a wholly unique and amusingly quirky utility vehicle (there frankly isnʼt much “sport”) guaranteed to get you gawked at and/or saluted most everywhere you go. But before you rush out and plunk down your $83,000 (ouch!) for this paramilitary leviathan, you need to conduct a bit of serious soul searching. All of this machineʼs specialty equipment could come in handy during World War III or a major natural disaster but would go unappreciated during a trip to Kmart. What is noticeable is the Hummerʼs horrible interior space utilization, atrocious ergonomics, and wind-tunnel noise levels. Performance from the 6.5-liter, 195-horsepower GM turbodiesel V-8 is pretty good 0-30 mph thanks to its ultra-flat torque curve (430 lb-ft at only 1,800 rpm!), but from there on up to highway speeds, you have to drive flat out most of the time. We discovered that, after one or two stints behind the  Hummerʼs weird Atari-driving-game-style wheel, the novelty wore off. And during three days in the scorching hot desert, what everyone really wanted was a comfy interior and great air-conditioning.

However, having said all that, when we very nearly got trapped by a raging flash flood in Death Valleyʼs Warm Springs Canyon, and the muddy waters were traveling down—and up—hills with us at over 20 mph, it was very comforting to be firmly ensconced in AM Generalʼs off-road sledgehammer.

by Mac DeMere

It was like something from George Lucasʼ supercharged imagination. Bounding over landscape as arid and magnificently desolate as Luke Skywalkerʼs twin-sunned home planet of Tatooine was a toweringly tall, massively long, incredibly wide vehicle. Nothing like it had been seen on this side of the galaxy. Slogging through Death Valley was a 2000 Ford Excursion, the largest SUV on this, or any other, planet.

While Fordʼs now-smaller Expeditionʼs family tree sprouts from the F-150 pickup, the Excursion is based on the larger F-250 Super Duty. Itʼs 6 feet 9 inches tall and, at its big-screen mirrors, is 8 feet 9 inches wide, 5 inches more than the big-backed Hummer! In traffic, you pick one lane and stay there, lest you overlook something small—like a stretched limo—in the next lane. Suitably sized parking spaces are as rare as desert rainstorms. Not only will it not fit in my garage, at 19 feet long (at the trailer hitch), it comes within 2 feet of filling my entire driveway. During our off-road venture, its 6-foot-8-inch-wide flanks were quickly streaked with scratches, as if keyed by delinquent wildlife. Filling its gargantuan 44-gallon tank nearly equals a monthly car payment and is too frequent, considering its less-than-10-mpg real-world mileage. Even with power going to all four wheels, the Excursion is too wide, long, and, at 7,688 pounds, heavy to venture far from graded roads, especially since its 50-foot turning circle approximates the Arctic Circle. Rather, the 4WD option is for pulling yachts up slippery boat ramps and dragging 10,000-pound horse trailers out of muddy pastures.

The optional 6.8-liter 310-horsepower SOHC V-10 is smooth and potent, producing a fairly impressive (for its weight) 10.1-second 0-60 mph performance. However, its 167-foot 60-0 mph stopping distance is different story. After a long 140 feet of pedal-bending braking, the Excursion is still going 20 mph, while virtually every other vehicle would be at rest. Combined with its soft 0.69g cornering power and weak 52.4-mph slalom speed, the Excursion will be hard-pressed to dodge trouble.

Its extra size doesnʼt translate directly into usable interior space. With a giant 3-foot liftover height and a short 37-inch vertical rear opening, even the 48.6 cubic feet—twice that of most minivans—behind the third-row seat is difficult to use and awkwardly shaped.

On anything but smooth pavement, this truck rides like one. Chassis flex and frequency vibration are irritatingly common. When outfitted with three rows of bench seats, the Excursion seats nine, though the third row is best reserved for limber youths. Still, the Excursion has something over every other SUV: Its drivers can truthfully say, “Mineʼs bigger.”

by Chuck Schifsky

At the outset of our Death Valley trip, we felt the 2000 GMC Yukon XL wouldn’t be the most able 4×4 of the group. In fact, many predicted it would be the first one stuck while trying to navigate the boulder-strewn “roads.” However, by the end of the three-day desert sweatfest, the Yukon surprised us all. It managed every trail the 2000 Ford Excursion did, rubbing the top of some large rocks with its optional running boards, but otherwise emerging unscathed.

For 2000, GMC has dropped the Suburban name it shared with Chevrolet and adopted the Yukon XL title for its largest SUV. Our test vehicle was a four-wheel-drive half-ton fitted with the new coil-spring rear suspension and AutoRide real-time damping system. It was powered by the smooth and willing 5.3-liter Vortec OHV V-8 producing 285 horsepower and 325 lb-ft of torque. On the highway, most of us felt the XL was one of the best-riding vehicles in this test. Off-road, it benefited from 8.4 inches of ground clearance (a 1.5-inch increase over the ʼ99). At the test track, the XL also excelled compared to the Excursion, making it to 60 mph in 9.1 seconds and running the quarter mile in 16.8 at 82.0 mph. The Excursion could manage only 10.1 seconds to 60 mph and 17.5 seconds at 77.7 mph on the dragstrip. The big GMC wheeled through the slalom at 56.7 mph and pulled 0.74 g on the skidpad, compared to 52.6 and 0.69 for the big Ford. The Yukon XL came to a stop in a respectable 142 feet compared to the Excursionʼs 167 feet. The XLʼs numbers were also notably better than the last ʼ99 model Chevy Suburban we tested. However, more important for Ford and the marketplace, the Yukon XL (with only the 5.3-liter engine, not the 6.0-liter) soundly beat the far thirstier V-10-powered Excursion in acceleration.

If youʼre serious about towing, then you may want to consider a step up to the three-quarter-ton Yukon XL. It comes standard with the 6.0-liter 300-horsepower V-8 and a beefier leaf-spring rear suspension. The result is the expected harsher ride, compared to the half-ton. However, you also get more power and an increase in towing capacity (8,800 for the half-ton 4WD versus 10,100 for the three-quarter-ton 4WD). The Excursion looks like it’ll tow more but is only rated at 10,000 pounds. Another strike against the Excursion is its mammoth 7,688-pound base curb weight compared to the 5,123-pound GMC. Inside and out, the Excursion is slightly larger, but at the expense of garage ability. GMC says its 75.7-inch-tall vehicle will fit in a standard 78-inch garage door, while the 80.4-inch-tall Ford wonʼt. The Yukon got bonus points for its front/rear air-conditioning system (with ceiling air ducts) that could keep the interior meat-locker cool on 120-degree days. Despite idling in the sun for hours, the Yukon also won praise for its superb cooling system. However, there is a downside: Cargo volume with the seats folded down has dropped by more than 17 cubic feet compared with the ʼ99 Suburban.

In the wilds of Death Valley we learned this: If youʼre a serious off-roader, the Yukonʼs not for you. Itʼs just too big and heavy to really get to the outback. But if you seek a vehicle to load the family into and pull your boat to the lake, then the XL will get you there in comfort and style without overheating your bank account.

by C. Van Tune

Go to any shopping center this weekend and count the SUVs in the lot. Know how many ever go any further off-road than driving over a curb? Less than 5 percent. Despite the manly brush guards and Kilimanjaro-conquering image, most SUVs slog through life as a “mall-terrain” vehicle.

So, even though plenty of new Jeep Grand Cherokees never tackle anything more challenging than a speed bump, to fully appreciate this excellent SUV, you have to really use it like a serious off-roader. Go up scary hills, snick through narrow hollers, plod through soft riverbeds, even experience a flash flood or two. Then as a reward, go play in the mud. We did all that and more on this torture-test trip and were continually impressed by the overall abilities of this popular machine. Clearly, those people at the mall donʼt know what they’re missing.

The Grand Cherokee was completely redesigned in ʼ99 and carries over into 2000 mostly unchanged. The major news is that a 2WD version of the V-8 engine option is now available, which should be quite a screamer. Other changes include front seat belt pretensioners, sun visor extensions, new colors, and “Royale” soft leather upholstery.

Forget aesthetics, the single most important thing to outfit your SUV with when youʼre going off-road somewhere like Death Valley (where you can easily be stranded on a 120-degree day, 50 miles from the nearest road—like we were last time) is good tires. Jeep offers a Rubicon Trail-proven Up Country equipment group that delivers increased ride height, high-pressure shocks, underbody skidplates, and (perhaps most important) 245/70SR16 Goodyear Wrangler all-terrain tires. Although we requested this package, our test vehicle didnʼt come so equipped, and it showed: We had a flat tire (a small twig through the sidewall) on our first day. Fortunately, Jeep provides a full-size spare tire on a matching alloy wheel as standard equipment, so we could keep on exploring.

During our three days in hell, we decided the three best things about the Grand Cherokee are its:

But one of the Grand Cherokeeʼs best features is completely unappreciated as you climb a craggy ridge. At its base price of $33,890, the top-drawer Jeep is also quite a value. Which will obviously give you more to spend at the mall.

by Chris Walton

Is this a yuppie SUV? No way. Regardless of its West Coast image, the Range Rover model line of the 50-year-old Land Rover parent company has been producing exceptional off-road vehicles without compromise for more than 10 years; and this year, little has changed. Thatʼs why the only substantive additions are driver/passenger side airbags, a new Bosch engine management system (the same as BMW 7 Series sedans), a new intake manifold, and dual exhaust pipes. The last three refinements boost the engineʼs torque output a much-needed 15 percent over the ʼ98 modelsʼ to a maximum of 300 lb-ft, good enough to tow up to 7,700 pounds. Thatʼs a lot of brie and crackers.

The Range Rover certainly works well, both on- and off-road. Granted, the 4.6 HSE is not as athletic on the highway as others in this test, turning in modest, though not embarrassing, performance numbers—0-60 mph takes 9.5 seconds. Unfortunately, the only way a Range Rover is going to become noticeably quicker is if it abandons its venerable designed-by-GM 4.6-liter 222-horse aluminum OHV V-8 in favor of something more modern and muscular like, say, a DOHC V-8 engine transplant from the company that owns Land Rover, BMW. (Now thereʼs an idea: a BMW SUV. Oh, wait—never mind.)

The ride is soft and compliant, a bit tall in the saddle, but not uncomfortably so. It runs the slalom course at a confident 59.5 mph and gets around a skidpad undramatically with 0.72 g of grip. Excuse the oxymoron, but the Range Rover really shines when it gets dirty, and itʼs as brilliant as its heritage promised. Its supple (height-adjustable) air-spring suspension soaked up rocky and rutted off-road trails that relentlessly threatened to shake the othersʼ dashboards loose. Approach and departure angles of 34 degrees each and two widely articulating live axles afford the Range Rover consummate rock-crawling abilities. A long-travel throttle linkage, normally annoying on the highway, proved valuable in touchy off-road situations requiring precise pedal control. Plus, the overall talents of its Pirelli Scorpion ST 255/55HR18 radials make this a great all-weather performer. It seemed as if each mile traveled off-road in the Range Rover was a lesson in the art of subtle refinement—to the point where weʼd occasionally forget how rough the trail was until someoneʼs voice would interrupt our CD musical selection by saying, “D-d-does anyone else n-need a kidney belt?”

Its list of comfort, audio, safety, convenience, security, trim, and color selections reads like that of a custom home. And these features arenʼt frivolous things, but clever refinements built into a vehicle that someone actually drove for more than an afternoon. Which makes one of my criticisms of the Range Rover all the more ludicrous and nit-picky: I just canʼt get my head around the illogical actuation procedure of the power window controls that are between the two front seats.

All things considered, yes, itʼs relatively expensive, but it works, really well. Itʼs better than pleasant around town and so loaded with amenities it will make you feel oh so special. But if you dare take it off-road, youʼll be surprised at where it can go and how comfortably it will get you there. Without compromise? Well, at its as-tested tally of $66,625 it might compromise your account balance, but thatʼs about all—and those enigmatic power window controls do need getting used to.

by Chris Walton

The Mercedes-Benz M-Class is perhaps one of the least conventional and most tested SUVs ever to appear in MotorTrend. Least conventional because, among other things, it uses an unusual electronic four-wheel-drive system and a sport sedan-sourced V-8 engine, and is often criticized for its minivan-like looks. Itʼs the most tested because, since we named it MotorTrendʼs 1998 Truck of the Year, weʼve put it up against everything from a Volvo V70 XC to a Jeep Grand Cherokee and all the others between. Each time, the V-6 ML320 or V-8 ML430 never failed to impress, earned the respect of some skeptical editors, and more often than not turned in a winning performance. To say we like the M-Class is to understate our position. In our eyes, there was only one test left: the Death Valley torture test.

Comparing the cost of each vehicle in this test, the ML430 falls about mid-pack; in brand cachet, as well, about in the middle. However, when it comes to street performance, the ML430 muscles its way to the top with only one serious competitor in the quick and nimble Jeep Grand Cherokee. All the editors considered Mercedes the sport sedan of the group, and with good reason. From its husky 24-valve voice and firmish ride, right down to its low-profile, wide footprints, the ML430 means business.

At our test facility, the 4.3-liter 268-horsepower V-8 propelled the all-wheel-drive ML to 60 mph in a mere 8.2 seconds on its way to a 16.4-second/86-mph quarter mile—not bad for a sport sedan, er, SUV. Credit four-wheel independent suspension and anti-roll bars, because handling was equally impressive: dodging the slalom cones at 60.1 mph and sticking to the tarmac with a 0.75g grip around the skidpad. When the dirt started to fly, however, we found the ML had lost a bit of its favor among our group.

Actually, right when the pavement ended (and not yet to the rough stuff), the ML430ʼs ride was superbly smooth and isolated on a hard packed dirt road with a nasty washboard surface—no doubt attributable to 10 rubber body-on-frame mounts. Also, we discovered what annoys us on the pavement with the M-Classʼ lack of caster in the steering gear proved to be very well suited to off-roading, sufficiently eliminating steering wheel kickback and rut tracking. Other things we particularly thought clever and off-road-appropriate include: three “open” differentials allowing torque to be routed to a single wheel if necessary, push-button 2.64:1 low range, adaptive five-speed electronic transmission, fully independent suspension, short front and rear overhang, and rugged body-on-frame construction. All great stuff but useless if you donʼt want to break a front spoiler (nearly did), high-center your rig (did that), or get a flat tire (did that, too). At this price ($46,965 as tested), youʼll want to keep it in good shape.

But despite outstanding technological measures and clever hardware that could make the ML a competent off-roader, its moderate ground clearance of 8.4 inches, lack of suspension travel/articulation, and low-profile street tires conspired to make the ML430 less likely to be chosen when the trail got tough—and that it certainly did.

by Rik Paul

When you buy a Land Cruiser, you sign into a colorful heritage that extends back 49 years to when Toyota first introduced its rugged, go-anywhere answer to the American Jeep and British Land Rover. Like those legendary 4x4s, early Land Cruisers were the trailblazers of the world’s wilds, places like Borneo, the Kalahari, or anywhere primitive roads—or lack thereof—stopped conventional vehicles dead in their tracks. Fast-forward to the eve of the new millennium, and the Cruiser is still going strong, although, other than the nameplate, todayʼs version bears little resemblance to that small, boxy, utilitarian, tinbox-on-four-driven-wheels predecessor.

The 2000 Land Cruiser stands as one of the truly elite SUVs in a world that now expects much more from an SUV than simply taming a jungle. In addition to its proven all-weather, all-terrain capabilities, this Toyota blends in one of the most comfortable, livable, and well-balanced packages on the road. Like its ancestor, the Land Cruiser will still tackle the gnarliest of trails, except that now at a starting price of $46,618, youʼll probably want to be a little more careful about scratching the paint.

Thoroughly redesigned for ʼ98, this fifth-generation Land Cruiser is the first Toyota vehicle to pack a V-8 engine. Its ultra-refined 4.7-liter 32-valve DOHC V-8 is shared with the Lexus LX 470 and based on the engine used in the Lexus LS 400 and GS 400. Smooth, quiet, and well-mannered, this engine delivers 230 horsepower—middle of the pack in this group—although the real strength lies in its 320 lb-ft of torque, which gives the over-5,000-pound SUV a spirited launch, good hill-climbing power, and the oomph to tow up to 6,000 pounds. On the test track, the Toyota hustled from 0 to 60 mph in 9.4 seconds, better than all in this group except the Jeep Grand Cherokee (7.2), Mercedes-Benz ML430 (8.2), and GMC Yukon XL (9.1).

The V-8 routes power through a seamlessly shifting four-speed automatic transmission and full-time four-wheel-drive system with a low-range transfer case and optional locking center and rear differentials to help out in the tough stuff. Weʼre happy to say Toyotaʼs sophisticated four-channel ABS attempts to address some of the problems weʼve had off-road with other ABS designs. In low-range, this system automatically decreases ABS influence both as the road becomes rougher and as a downhill slope becomes steeper.

Of course, the majority of the Land Cruiserʼs life will be on pavement. And here, too, it shines. Toyota engineers have tuned the independent-front, coil-spring-rear suspension to deliver a plush, well-controlled ride, without the floatiness of the Ford Excursion. Plus, despite its large size and considerable weight, the Land Cruiser handles a snaking mountain road with the confidence-inspiring control of many smaller SUVs.

Inside, the Land Cruiser is about comfort, refinement, and the roominess to carry up to eight passengers (with optional third-row seats). Considered a “small” full-size SUV, the Toyota strikes a comfortable balance between the compact cabins of the Jeep and Mercedes and the imposing exterior dimensions of the Excursion or GMC Yukon XL. It feels spacious yet wonʼt give you fits in a tight parking lot.

Shortcomings? When those same third-row seats are being used, storage room behind them shrinks to a meager 20.8 cubic feet, so donʼt plan on carrying seven or eight people and luggage, too (at least, inside). Ergonomics are a mixed bag of fair to very good. And like other full-size SUVs, the Land Cruiserʼs size and height compromise its agility in quick-response handling situations. At the test track, its slalom results are right where youʼd expect them: not as good as the smaller vehicles but better than the larger ones.

Like its ancestor, todayʼs Land Cruiser still draws a cult following, allowing Toyota to sell nearly every one it brings into the country. Still, if you balk at spending in the mid- to upper-$40,000 range for a Toyota, consider that this is the bargain version. For about another 10 grand, you can pick up the ultra-luxe Lexus LX 470, basically a Land Cruiser upgraded in features, luxury quotient, and exclusivity. Of course, that one doesnʼt come with the pedigree name badge.

Depression-Era Motoring Sticks and stones are time machines. The razor-sharp stones and iron-stiff flora of Death Valleyʼs trails transported us back in time, back 70 years to when multiple spare tires and regular flats were an expected part of travel. In the ʼ30s, it took my grandmother between eight and 10 hours—due largely to unscheduled pit stops to change punctured tires—to make the 100-mile drive from her home in Memphis to her birthplace in Yalobusha County, Mississippi. On this trip, we suffered two flats: one from a stick in a Grand Cherokee sidewall and one in the ML430. Since the Mercedes has only a space-saver spare, a nick in a sidewall—which, thank god, happened within sight of the asphalt—ended its adventure early. Youʼd be a fool to venture off paved roads in Death Valley alone without either two full-size spares or a dirt bike (or, better, both) strapped to your vehicle: Get stranded, and youʼll learn itʼs not Inconvenience Valley. This was enough Depression-era motoring to last me a while. —Mac DeMere

Size Matters… but How Much? In the game of “whoʼs bigger” now being waged among certain SUV makers, how much does size really matter? Choosing an SUV based only on its dimensions gives you as much of a one-dimensional perspective as making a choice based solely on which has the most cupholders.

Yes, Fordʼs new mammoth Excursion wins the battle of the measuring tape, both inside and out. Plus, it provides Fordʼs typically well-designed and inviting interior and is a plush highway cruiser—kind of like driving your living room down the interstate. However, the Excursion feels like a big vehicle, and its general floatiness, vague steering, and harsh, choppy ride characteristics at certain speeds on rough or washboard road left me wondering if the everyday cost for those extra cubic feet is really worth it. With the slightly smaller GMC Yukon XL (how strange it seems to call the former Suburban “smaller”), you trade a little volume for a much better-tuned suspension and a vehicle that, from behind the steering wheel, feels smaller than it is. For my tastes, though, that debate is one for Texans and Montanans; the ideal size for me is perhaps the Toyota Land Cruiser, which feels pleasantly roomy inside without the bloated exterior dimensions. Then again, after getting out of the Excursion land yacht, the nimbleness, control, and performance of the Mercedes ML430 made it feel like a Porsche 911 Turbo by comparison, which might just convince me to downgrade the whole size issue in favor of a higher fun factor. —Rik Paul

Reality Check In the off-road carnival that is Death Valley, youʼve just gotta love the Hummer. As ridiculous as it is in the city (we see plenty of them in Beverly Hills), the big, bad Hummer takes on a wholly purposeful (and pretty darn cool, if I do say so) “bomb them back into the Stone Age” attitude. Itʼs huge beyond reason, slow as a donkey cart, and as ergonomically inefficient as anything designed to government standards could possibly be (which probably also explains the $83,149 price tag!). It was also the one vehicle everyone clamored to try. All it needs is a 50-caliber machine gun turret in the cargo bed. But in the realm of real-world SUVs, itʼs the Grand Cherokee that best fits my needs. It isnʼt the biggest or the most powerful, it wonʼt carry the most people or yank the heaviest trailer, and it certainly isnʼt the most intimidating to other drivers. But judge them all on performance, handling, off-road prowess, garage-ability, and value, and itʼs the JGC for me. —C. Van Tune

To Hell and Back Traveling through Death Valley during the summer is not exactly my idea of a luxury vacation. It is, however, one of the best ways to test SUVs. After several days of oppressive heat and conquering trails that a pack mule would struggle to navigate, I was truly impressed with the off-road capabilities of each vehicle. Driving the Ford Excursion reminded me of piloting a Kenworth big-rig. Itʼs giant and uses plenty of roadway but sure does garner respect from people in mere cars. On the other hand, the Hummer is just plain weird to drive. It seems wider than it is long, but, boy, can it go off-road. Driving it almost made me want to join the Army. The Land Cruiser, Mercedes, and Range Rover feel as much at home scrambling across a riverbed as they do cruising Rodeo Drive. Each is nice, but a little too pricey for me. However, the Jeep Grand Cherokee impressed me the most. I like the Yukon better on the highway, but give me anything with a Jeep badge when the pavement turns to dirt and the dirt gives way to rocks the size of Dodge Neons. —Chuck Schifsky

Roll Playing In my opinion, the result of our Death Valley torture test is a real anomaly: The cheapest vehicle is the best. If the point of an SUV is to be good at more than one thing, then the Jeep Grand Cherokee is the champion. I’m already a fan (I own a ʼ94 model that spends a lot of time off-road), but familiarity could just as easily breed contempt. However, the Jeep actually seems to me to be six cars in one. Itʼs very quick, and with a little left-foot-braking racing technique (while staying on the gas), the handling can be pretty good. Off-road, itʼs nimble, surefooted, and rarely limited by more than its ground clearance. Rear seats down, it swallows as much as a small pickup can, but clean it up, and itʼs acceptable to drive to a swank party. Finally, itʼs not a bad camper; itʼs just long enough so you can sleep stretched out in the rear (as I often do during long treks into the desert). Years of refinement have turned the Grand Cherokee into a beautifully honed tool for its intended use. Itʼs an excellent all-purpose vehicle that can also take you far, far away from the civilization that created it. —Perry King

Best of Both Worlds As strange as it may seem to you, I actually look forward to our annual summer torture test trip to Death Valley. Not because I particularly like 110-plus-degree heat—in fact, itʼs like pretending youʼre an astronaut who canʼt get out of his vehicle because the outside environment is too hostile. No, itʼs because we never know what’s going to happen, and it always does. From last yearʼs sighting of the yet-to-be-photographed BMW X5 SUV in full camo, to this yearʼs unusual thunderstorm and finding the old Manson place, Death Valley was as enigmatic as ever.

What inevitably happens to our group of test vehicles is that each one shows its true nature, strengths and weakness are revealed, and ultimately, we find the story writing itself. Also, the discussion at the end of each day always turns to the subject of which vehicle we would choose if we were buying, or if someone else were paying. I had trouble selecting only one luxo/ute this year because my SUV of choice varied with its price tag and the terrain. On the highway, Iʼd have to call it a three-way tie of Jeep, Toyota, and Mercedes-Benz. Granted thereʼs roughly a $30,000 price swing, so whoʼs buying would matter. The off-road choice is equally tough. I have to admit the monster trucklike Hummer with its ability to make molehills out of mountains still makes me laugh out loud. And the Ford, Chevy, and M-B felt like fish out of water, while the Jeep and Range Rover ate up mile after dirty mile. That means the only one on both lists must be the winner, right? Is the Jeep Grand Cherokee the best of both worlds? Yes. Is it the one Iʼd buy? Probably. Is it the one Iʼd take if any were given to me? No. That’d be the Range Rover. Call me a snob, I donʼt care.

—Chris Walton