Pick of the bunch
It’s not exactly what we need in this wee country but this ute stands out
TEN years ago, I took the Ghan train from Darwin to Adelaide, a two-night, 2,979km trip from the Top End to the bottom, crossing the rugged but beautiful terrain of Australia’s Red Centre. The population density of the island of Ireland is 78 people per square kilometre; in the Northern Territory, by contrast, every inhabitant theoretically has five square kilometres all to himself.
I saw one of them from the train. He was travelling on an unsealed road in a pick-up truck (or, as the Aussies call them, a ute, which is short for utility vehicle) and I have no idea where he was coming from or where he was going. I could see to the horizon and there was little sign of vegetation and no sign at all of habitation, and I took my hat off, metaphorically speaking, to anyone who could live in such a vast wilderness utterly reliant on the set of wheels beneath him. If he got into trouble, he hopefully had a satellite phone, because I had no mobile signal at all for most of the trip.
That is a man (or a woman, because I was too far away to make out who was behind the wheel) who absolutely needed the reassurance of a pick-up, a high-torque vehicle that can take all sorts of terrain in its stride and instil that unique confidence that shouts, ‘it’s OK, mate, I’ll get you home safely’.
Here, I’ve never been convinced they make all that much sense, unless you’re a farmer, or work in maintenance, or for the emergency services. Many of those people still need a car too, though, which is why the double-cab style, with two rows of seats for four adults, or two with three children in the back, has become more popular. The downside of that, of course, is that you reduce the cargo capacity in the open boot (or, as was the case with my test car, one with a sliding concertina-style cover, vital during Ireland’s more usual rainy weather).
It did pose a problem for me, though. A friend who recently renovated a kitchen had a length of countertop left over, and I had a use for it, but it was too big for the XClass cargo area, and I’ll probably have to hire a van instead. In short, anyone contemplating buying would want to have a long think about exactly what purpose they need it for, because you’ll fit longer loads in an estate or large SUV with the rear seats dropped.
That consideration aside, I found a lot to like. There are those who have dismissed the X-Class as a posh Nissan Navara, and while it is true that the Merc is based on the Navara chassis and shares transmissions in the manual version – and uses the same Renault-derived 2.3-litre diesel engine – that really is about the size of it. The XClass is 70mm wider than the Navara, and the track is 70mm wider too, and different panels, springs and dampers have been added.
My test car came with the flat bed-style cargo area that can carry a 1,031kg payload. You also can opt for a hardtop dome with roof rails (they can take loads up to 150kg) which is the same height as the passenger cabin, allowing for extra cargo capacity.
There also are LED lights to help you find what you’re looking for in the dark. For anyone who needs to tow the likes of a horsebox, the X-Class will pull 3,200kg.
It’s very comfortable inside, too. My car came with full leather upholstery, privacy glass, running boards, 19-inch alloys, 8.4inch touchscreen, and lots of deep storage pockets.
For safety, you get LED high-performance headlights, cruise control, reinforced side panels, hill start assist, active brake assist, downhill speed regulation, and the Mercedes emergency call system.
As for driving the X-Class, well, you have to bear in mind that it’s long, at over 5.3 metres, so it doesn’t fit neatly into most parking bays and also took up most of my driveway, so the reversing camera was very welcome.
The driving fun doesn’t come from nippy acceleration, or from handling – it’s just too big for that – and it’s not exactly economical on juice either. Where it does score is in a certain romance.
I might only have been driving between Dublin and Wexford, but in my mind’s eye, I was on an unsealed road in Australia, not sure where I had been or where I was going, but still without a care in the world.