Road Test
In the cosmos of full-size pickups, size matters. That's one reason Nissan chose the name Titan-a mythical earth giant characterized by brute strength and primitive appetites. Today, our only remaining earth giants are Dick Butkus and the former governor of Minnesota.
Last January, we suggested Nissan name this truck the Whopping Colossus Carnivore. The marketing guys said the name didn't matter-they had obviously been drinking-as long as no one perceived this truck as anything other than "as full as full-sized gets." That shouldn't be a problem. The Titan is 2.5 inches longer than Chevy's Avalanche, 2.9 inches taller than a Silverado SS, and 11.5 inches more endowed of wheelbase than a Toyota Tundra. Plus, the Titan's got enough fake chrome on its nose to outfit a Roppongi sushi bar. Still, the Nissan bloodlines shine through. If you could get the Titan's high-school yearbook photo, you'd notice its resemblance to a little Frontier.
This truck comes in two-wheel-drive and four-wheel-drive layouts, in XE, SE, and LE trim. There's a King Cab, whose bed is six feet, six inches long, and a crew cab (as tested here), with a bed one foot shorter.
Buried below every Titan's surprisingly short hood is a mighty wangdoodle of an all-alloy 32-valve V-8, built in Decherd, Tennessee, of all places. It produces 305 horses at 4900 rpm. That tops the Toyota Tundra's multivalve V-8 by 65 horsepower. Truck buyers have historically pooh-poohed twin-cammers for their peakiness. Nissan insists this one isn't, producing 90 percent of its torque below 2500 rpm. But it's still a gentleman at step-off. Throttle tip-in is far gentler than in two previous preproduction Titans we sampled; now it's refined, subtle, never hot-roddish. The power builds rapidly and smoothly, with a throaty V-8 whoop that will mesmerize Pro Stock fans. Around town, it feels a little like the Northstar V-8 in Caddy's SRX. Which isn't a bad thing to feel like. The real fun begins at 4000 rpm-yeah, a little high-and from there to the automatic-shifting redline (5800 rpm), the Titan is a Titan rocket. Hold your foot flat and, at each upshift, revs return smartly to 4000 rpm, ready again to make the most of that meaty third of the band. It means the Titan is a champ at passing slower machinery on back roads. Notice its 3.5-second 30-to-50-mph top-gear time-only 0.1 second behind the 345-horse hot-rod Silverado SS.
In fact, our 5030-pound Titan clobbered 60 mph in 6.9 seconds. That's 0.9 second quicker than either a Dodge Ram 2500 Quad Cab with a 345-horse Hemi or a GMC Sierra Denali with a 325-hp, 6.0-liter Vortec V-8-two of our favorite trucks. It's odd to find yourself at the helm of a full-size pickup with such squeeze-and-squirt prowess. Heck, the Titan rolls through the quarter-mile at the same velocity as a Mercury Marauder, and it's a 10th quicker.
We found the rack-and-pinion steering a little heavy at parking speeds, though it lightens acceptably by 25 mph. It's always somewhat leaden, though-perhaps the price paid for filtering out kickbacks so nicely. Tracking at freeway speeds is exemplary. At a 70-mph cruise, the Titan is as quiet as a Tundra Limited. The greatest audible irritant is wind tumbling around the huge F-250-like twin-boom mirrors.
Cockpit ergonomics are close to flawless. The window and door-lock switches, for instance, are on a lone, flat, up-facing panel perched at the base of the A-pillar, always within reach of a left finger. The steering wheel is fat and grippy. The three rotary climate controls are a paradigm of intuition, as are the radio's rotary volume and tuning knobs-a modern rarity. Even while wearing gloves, you can operate virtually all the secondary controls. The huge gauges feature bold white numerals on a black background, the wipers are Lexus quiet, and the A/C's max setting should be labeled "Resolute Bay." Overhead are five of those ubiquitous plastic swing-down sunglasses holders-the Titan clearly has a future with optometrists. Plus, there are seven grab handles, about what you'd expect in a restroom at Bill Knapp's.
As far as we could tell, there are two ergonomic quirks only: a liquid-crystal PRNDL readout that fades in sunlight, and a column shifter that won't let you shift manually. To do so, you instead must depress an overdrive kill button at the column's tip, then shift up or down by flicking your thumb banjo-style across a tiny toggle. You'll get used to it in a few days. And shifting in this manner does allow you to delve 700 revs deeper into the redline, though it doesn't yield quicker 0-to-60 sprints. But the system requires more focus than your average trucker will likely care to summon. If you order the optional captain's chairs, you'll get the more familiar gated console shifter that solves both problems. But it eats a lot of floor space and spoils the middle perch on that otherwise fantastically useful front bench.
