From the May 2023 issue of Car and Driver.
After three full years of hemming and hawing, I did it: I bought a Jeep Gladiator. I am now legally required to wave in the general direction of any vehicle with round headlights and a seven-slot grille. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I’ll refer you to the upside-down vinyl graphics on my truck’s back window, which read, “It’s a Jeep thing. You wouldn’t understand.” I think that’s supposed to say something about flipping my truck back over on its wheels, but cut me some slack. I’m new to Jeep culture. At this early stage, I’m not even sure what kind of suspension lift and oversize tires I should get. I just know I need to get them soon, or I’ll be ostracized by the JL community. Sorry—JT is the model code for the Gladiator. Luckily the guys at my local Jeepers Creepers Sunday Suspension Flex-athon thought I was joking when I asked what Justin Timberlake had to do with anything.
This isn’t my first Jeep. That honor goes to the crusty 1987 Cherokee 4.0 I bought from a woman who signed the bill of sale under the watchful eyes of her pet boa constrictor. But it is really my first new vehicle—as in not a family car but something I’ll use for various truck-related jobs. So I was surprised by how cavalier I was about its specifications. I considered scouring the country for my ideal Gladiator, road-tripping home from California just to get the right interior color or option package. Instead, I found one that was close enough and just got it over with. Because once you decide you want a Gladiator with the 3.0-liter diesel, your choices narrow considerably.
Oh yeah, I got the diesel. It was a leftover 2022 Sport S that sat on the lot throughout the summer of desperately low dealer inventory. Then it sat through the fall and most of the winter until Stellantis threw $5000 on the hood and the dealer knocked off another couple grand. I mean, at that point, how could anyone resist? Don’t answer that.
I may have suffered a moment of self-doubt—specifically when I pulled onto the highway and discovered the tires were flat-spotted. The truck had 10 miles on it, meaning nobody was even interested enough to test-drive it in all those months on the lot. The dealer agreed to pay for new tires, so all good there. But I wondered if my esoteric tastes were a little too esoteric. I might have to leave this thing to my kids because nobody else will ever want it.
Well, fine, because I love it. The diesel Gladiator has the makings of future Bring a Trailer gold: low production numbers, too pricey, and uses expensive fuel that’s not at every station. Jeep management will probably cancel it next year, and I hope they do. Really, who would want a convertible pickup with an Italian engine and a German transmission? It’s like they built this just for me, and I bought it, so now we’re done. This must be how the Sultan of Brunei felt whenever his latest Ferrari wagon got delivered.
My Gladiator is strangely spec’d, I would say. It has the “Technology Group,” which includes no technology except proximity door unlocking. It has LED headlights but no bed liner. It has the Trac-Lok limited-slip rear differential that comes standard with the diesel and makes itself known every time you turn across an intersection on wet pavement—that 442 pound-feet of torque ramps up, the diff starts locking, and suddenly you’re doing a sweet drift until the stability control chimes in. I’ve learned to mind the accelerator in corners.
To my surprise, the Gladiator gets tons of compliments. When I dropped my kid off at school, the principal said, loudly enough for me to hear, “Tell your dad that’s a cool truck.” I enjoy the waves, the feeling of being part of a like-minded band of drivers. For some reason, this live-axle diesel wiener dog speaks to me. And if you think I’m crazy, all the better.
Senior Editor
Ezra Dyer is a Car and Driver senior editor and columnist. He’s now based in North Carolina but still remembers how to turn right. He owns a 2009 GEM e4 and once drove 206 mph. Those facts are mutually exclusive.
