Adventure-ready truck debuts
Toyota Tundra i-force MAX is a mean, green fightin’ machine
The Detroit News
THE best pickups are Swiss Army knives. From towing utility to off-road fun, today’s trucks offer a tall toolbox of capability. Add the 2022 Toyota Tundra i-force MAX to the list. MAX as in maximum hybrid performance.
I usually get my grins in the Carmel Valley, California, region from driving sports cars at Laguna Seca, one of the country’s premier racetracks. But with a whopping, bestin-class 583 pound-feet of torque and an independent rear suspension — specs you’d expect to find on a Dodge Viper SRT, for goodness sake — the Tundra hybrid was a hoot to drive through the surrounding hills.
Barreling along Carmel Valley Road, the 6,000-pound four-wheel-drive beast gulped asphalt, its composed chassis predictable as my left foot dipped into the 3.5-liter twin-turbo V-6 hybrid’s deep lake of torque.
“Did you try Sport-plus mode?” asked Toyota truck chief engineer Mike Swears after returning from a day of misbehaving. Yes, I did, its quick shifts belting me in the back like — well, a Viper SRT — in order to Max-mize torque.
Pushing the envelope of performance modes shows the expectations Toyota has for i-force MAX. The first clean-sheet Tundra since the 2007 Stone Age, the light-duty truck is a comprehensive remake learning the best Swiss Army features of pickups from Ram to F-150 to Silverado to Sierra.
This is a mean, green fightin’ machine.
Like GMC, Tundra brings a muscled bod with meaty fenders and upright fascia — all snapped together in a bold style that will make Lego fans drool. “Outta my way” shouted the big grille as I bore down on a line of traffic like a Humpback whale swallowing a school of fish. Toyota has been on a mission to get your attention with polarizing mugs (seen a Lexus RX grille lately? Yikes!) but cowcatcher grilles work on macho, locomotive-sized pickups.
Macho has been the name of the game in pickup bed wars. After Ford rolled out its first all-aluminum body in 2015, Chevy Silverado threw down the gantlet. The bow-tie brand claimed its steel beds were tougher with hard-hitting ads that included dropped toolboxes and bears ripping apart aluminum cages. There was more testosterone in the air than a WWE bout.
With the added weight of hybrid batteries in his Tundra, engineer Swears looked long and hard at aluminum for weight-saving — but lost sleep over those dropped toolboxes. Toyota customers had already complained of scarring in their steel beds.
So Toyota went a third way: composites. Composites — though pricey — offered a handsome veneer, the strength of steel, the light weight of aluminum. And Swears’ team had years of experience with them in Tundra’s little brother Tacoma’s bed.
Tundra has also learned a thing or two from GM brands’ bed accessibility. The signature corner steps on Chevy Silverado and GMC Sierra are a 10 — easy, accessible. In the macho truck wars, no one can copy anyone else without losing face (F150 for example, offers a complicated, stick ’n’ step option). But Tundra offers a simple step that swings out from below as soon as the gate drops. Give ’em a seven out of 10.
From Professor Ram, Tundra learns a smooth, multilink rear suspension.
Climb inside (at 6 feet, 5 inches even I needed the A-pillar handles in the high-riding Tundra TRD Pro trim) and the interior follows Ford with a digital tour de force. Starting at $35K, Tundra trucks get Toyota’s typical standard suite of features, including wireless Apple Carplay/android
Auto, blind-spot assist, adaptive cruise control and auto headlights.
By the time you ascend to Limited trim — where the hybrid engine kicks in — the Tundra is slathered in goodies including hydraulic chassis mounts and crisp 12.5-inch instrument and 14-inch console displays. They anchor an interior that echoes the exterior’s Lego look. I opened the panoramic roof to let the California sunshine bathe the cabin.
The Toyota, true to its meat ’n’ potatoes QDR mantra (Quality, Durability, Reliability), doesn’t match the Ford with luscious full-screen graphics and show-me toys like disappearing gear shifter and fold-down console desk. The cockpit is comfy, easy to navigate with cubby storage everywhere.
Toyota prides itself on QDR, but it could use some of Ford’s obsession with detail. Six-footers like me sit close to the rear ceiling — a negative if a frisky TRD Pro driver takes to a country road — and the head-up display was difficult to read in bright sunlight.
The breakthrough here is the hybrid powertrain.
Squeezing the throttle, I shot past traffic with the 1.87 kwh nickel-hydride battery under the rear seats negating turbo lag with instant, diesel-like torque. Unlike a diesel, the twin-turbo V-6 kept howling at high RPMS. Grille like a Sierra AT4, performance like a Sierra 6.2-liter V-8.
Federal mpg mandates have put automakers in a vise. Toyota can weather the storm with its deep bench of hybrid Camry and RAV4 powertrains, but diesels have become a liability with their high-sulfur emission requiring the construction of an onboard chemical scrubbing plant.
So Toyota fashioned a one-motor (as opposed to two-motor in the Camry) system that does it all: low-end towing/fuel economy/ open-throttle joy in one package. The system begs comparison with Ford’s hybrid F-150 offering, but the latter is more tech- and mpg-focused with its 25 mpg and onboard, 7.2-kw inverter so you can fire up the barbie at a tailgate party.
The Toyota mill is focused on good old-fashioned performance with a nice 45 percent torque boost over the outgoing V-8. I miss that V-8 roar, but the V-6 makes a nice song under the cane. What I missed more was the lack of sub-rear-seat storage since that’s where the battery is stored.
Tundra clean-and-jerked a 4,500-pound Airstream with ease. Then it got dirty off-road in TRD Pro trim with 33-inch Falken tires, three skid plates protecting the underbelly and eye-catching orange paint.
Trucks are the new luxury, and Tundra Hybrid plays in a space more familiar to Lexus buyers. Not to mention F-150s, Silverados and Rams. The Limited Hybrid starts at $54K, nearly 20 grand north of the standard twin-turbo-v6 model. Want to TRD Pro? Get out $68,500 for my tester. At $75,225, you can have a Tundra Capstone.
Pricey, yes. But so is a $50 Swiss Army knife compared to the $12 pocket variety.