Last week we spent some time looking at several cars that could have been seen as being ahead of their time. Not necessarily through being radical, outrageously complex or using technology from far-distant galaxies, but through pre-empting what consumers might have demanded in the coming years.
We looked at the Renault Vel Satis, which proved to be both ahead of its time and an answer to a question that nobody was really asking. Also French, though, is the car we discuss today.
The Matra Rancho.

Born at a time where all wasn’t well for Simca and The Rootes Group, all of which had been swallowed up by Chrysler and would soon be moved on to the French PSA consortium, the Rancho was a very interesting confection at its launch in 1977. Keen to capitalise on the demand for sturdy but comfortable town & country vehicles that the Range Rover had provoked, the Rancho offered a comparable machismo for much less money.
And the main reason that the admission fee was so much lower was down to what could be found at the heart of the package.
“Rancho can tackle tough terrain, tow your boat and pack in a mountain of gear”
It could, but it all depended on just how rough your terrain was to be. Trenches, ruts and rocks were all met with a disdainful “non, monsieur” from the Rancho. You see, the rugged looks disguised a front-wheel-drive chassis and mere 1442cc four-cylinder engine.

More than that, peel off the manly addenda and the entire front section of the car, including the doors and much of the interior, was taken straight from the extremely humble Simca 1100, which could only really be described as an off-roader if it understeered off the blacktop in damp weather. Actually they did do this, frequently.
“….in saloon car comfort, at speeds up to 92mph”
You wouldn’t really want to be in the Rancho at 92, that engine was very tappety at idle and would probably sound like Riverdance being performed in a metal dustbin at that kind of speed. Furthermore, you wouldn’t really be very interested in being involved in an accident at any speed; the whole rear section of the car including that commodious luggage compartment was made from GRP and polyester.
“Rancho’s sturdy body is protected by massive bumpers, side mouldings and wheelarches, and there’s a font crash bar.”
Yeah, that “sturdy” body. Actually, aside from the initial little white lie re. sturdiness, the rest of that list of accessories are as relevant today as they were back then. They were all made from black, bouncy, deformable materials (except the crash bars, obviously) which were great for fending off urban dings and dents. Three decades later, almost every single off-road or pretend off-road car has body-coloured bumpers which can no better shrug off damage than they can make an omelette.

“Halogen headlamps and auxiliary driving lights are augmented by wing-mounted moveable lights for when the going’s rough.”
These were so cool! Even real off-roaders don’t come from the factory with these! For a while when I was little every single one of the fantasy cars I drew hd these bonnet-mounted searchlights. With grilles over them. Awesome.
“Rancho is ready for anything you demand of a specialist vehicle”
Well, yes. It most certainly was specialist, if only for the fact that no quasi-off roader had ever been so paradoxically well-suited to urban life. And, of course, keep it in town and you don’t so much notice the weediness of the engine.

The Rancho went on until 1984, waaaaaay longer than the little 1100 lived for, then Matra went on to produce the Espace, not really ever looking back. Three decades later, though, there are loads of pretend SUVs out there which couldn’t venture off the beaten track if their life depended on it. With road-biased tyres, front wheel drive and delicate executive accoutrements, thee majority of them appeal solely on image and presence. It’s almost ironic that the Rancho actually did make itself useful as an Urban Survival vehicle s. In my mind, today only the new Dacia Duster manages to do what the Rancho did thirty years ago.
The vast majority of these have now turned into piles of orange and brown dust with  plastic panels laying on the top. The few that remain are kept by extremely fastidious and slightly fanatical owners, and their values are akin to a Stradivarius Violin, an undiscovered Monet original, or at least a decent plate of pie and chips. Hence, I’m extremely unlikely to ever own one. But at least I own the brochure.
(Disclaimer:- All photos were taken by the author and are of genuine original manufacturer publicity material, photographed in random locations around the house as the weather is too revolting to venture outside. All copyright rights remain in the possession of the manufacturer)