2015 Jaguar F-Type and 2014 Chevrolet Corvette Head to Kentucky

We haven’t seen a Chevy and a Jag nip at each other’s heels since the early 1960s, when the original Stingray competed with the beautiful E-type.

The Jag makes the most of its assets, though. The supercharged engine responds instantly to throttle inputs, like a dog straining at its leash. Both cars have a sport exhaust mode, but the Jaguar is louder and more maniacal, playing a constant soundtrack of pops and snarls. When I tell a curious local at an Ohio gas station that a 3.0-liter V-6 is making all this racket, he replies with an incredulous and appreciative expletive.

This F-Type S also pairs a lot more luxury with its sportiness than the Chevy does. You’ve probably heard a lot about how nice the C7 Corvette’s interior is. The Jaguar snorts with disdain at such a notion, as if to say, “Yes, old chap, we’re sure that is genuine leather. And what an interesting shade of red you’ve chosen for your seats.” Materials, switchgear, and the way the panels fit together have all improved in the new Corvette but still don’t compare to a Jaguar. The Corvette’s cabin is also louder than the F-Type’s and has become more so in recent months, as worsening squeaks and rattles have joined wind and road noise.

That said, we’ve packed most of our gear in the Corvette, which boasts a precious 4 cubic feet more of cargo space than the F-Type. The Chevy is also easier to see out of and has more intuitive controls. We initially kept getting lost in the seven-speed manual gearbox, but after many months, we can guide the shift lever through its gates with smooth flicks of the wrist. Not the same for the F-Type’s automatic shifter, which we often put into neutral when we intend to be in drive.

Both cars are lookers. We’ve garnered more attention in them than in any Four Seasons car since we had an Audi R8 in 2008. On this journey through the Midwest, however, the Jaguar receives far more stares. At a McDonald’s in Kentucky, an employee walks right past the Corvette to ask how much the Jaguar costs and seems unfazed when we tell him it’s $92,575. “You’ve made my day,” he says, before going back to work.

The next morning, mechanics at Campbell Chevrolet in Bowling Green determine that their counterparts in Ann Arbor had replaced the fuel pump during our previous episode of fuel system failure but not the computer that controls it. In Michigan we had to wait a week for parts, but here the supply lines are considerably shorter. After only a few hours, our Corvette emerges from the service bay primped and ready to return to the party.

We pick up a winding thread of asphalt about an hour north of Bowling Green and follow it as long as the light holds. The Jaguar feels a bit more eager and more accessible. Its steering, still hydraulically assisted, feels sharper than the Corvette’s electric power setup, and its rear end rotates sooner in a corner. But the Corvette ultimately tolerates more bad behavior and even encourages it. The faster you go, the harder it sticks, daring you to stay on the gas. When you finally say uncle, the brakes stop the car with more authority than the Jaguar’s. As Weiner notes, “There’s something intense and brutal about the Corvette that makes me forgiving of its shortcomings.”