Nissan Urvan 2008 review.
I’m piloting a vehicle with a mid-mounted engine coupled to a close ratio transmission. The steering feel transmitted through the chunky helm is sublime, matching Bimmers of yore. Wearing a maniacal grin, I [hypothetically] pitch my whip into a corner at an [allegedly] injudicious speed, listening to the engine, passengers and tires scream. As I clip the apex, I punch the throttle. The powerplant howls as the chassis adopts hooligan-induced oversteer. I saw at the wheel, maintaining a sideways slide. Audi RS4? Chevrolet Corvette? Nope. I’m driving a tall, skinny, eight-passenger Nissan Urvan.
I’m piloting a vehicle with a mid-mounted engine coupled to a close ratio transmission. The steering feel transmitted through the chunky helm is sublime, matching Bimmers of yore. Wearing a maniacal grin, I [hypothetically] pitch my whip into a corner at an [allegedly] injudicious speed, listening to the engine, passengers and tires scream. As I clip the apex, I punch the throttle. The powerplant howls as the chassis adopts hooligan-induced oversteer. I saw at the wheel, maintaining a sideways slide. Audi RS4? Chevrolet Corvette? Nope. I’m driving a tall, skinny, eight-passenger Nissan Urvan.
I recently spent some quality time with the Urvan as part of Operations Iraqi Freedom and Enduring Freedom. Normally, the United States Air Force (USAF) favors Ford E-Series vans. In this theater, though, they purchased a fleet of Urvans for USAF flight crews, aircraft maintainers, security forces and anyone else in the service needing a cheap, reliable carryall.
Despite resembling a rolling refrigerator (especially in heat-resistant white), the Urvan (a.k.a. Homy I kid you not) sports a Spartan yet elegant, almost European look. The blacked-out window surrounds set the pace. Nissan offers several options to spruce-up its workhorse (e.g. a brush bar with large spotlights and alloy wheels). Of course, the Air Force favors the basic box.
Inside, hard, GI-resistant plastic abounds. Heavy-duty blue and black-striped cloth covers the seats. And yet the emphasis on durability and utility doesn’t detract from Urvan cabin’s ambiance, well-thought-out ergonomics and welcome details. For example, the driver’s and front passenger’s seats feature 350Z-style thigh bolsters; perfect for eight hour treks across parched sand dunes. The Urvan’s pedal placement lends itself to easy combat boot heel-and-toeing, despite requiring a vertical movement more suited to stomping on camel spiders.
While raked at a very un-Porsche-like angle, the Urvan’s steering wheel falls readily to hand. The cupholders don’t interfere with the operation of the very effective air-conditioning nor the gearshift lever.
In short, Chrysler should take notes from the Urvan on how to create an inexpensive, easy-to-use plastic interior that conveys durability without screaming “cheap!”
While European and Far Eastern Urvans tend towards a 3.0-liter oil burner, Uncle Sam’s desert-plying Urvan’s sport a 2.4-liter 148hp, twin-cam four-cylinder mill. The gas engine is life-or-death reliable while delivering acceptable power and reasonable fuel efficiency. Coupled to a precise yet long-throw five-speed shifter, the Urvan ambles to 100kmh in about 12.5 seconds. (Bonus! An 80’s Toyota Supra exhaust note.) Terminal velocity arrives at 180kmh (112mph); a daunting prospect considering the 190mm of airbag-free crumple zone immediately ahead of the driver.
The Urvan lacks a tachometer in all but the highest trim levels, but the a/c belt squeal lets you know when to shift. Engine access is via a hatch beneath the driver’s seat, shading desert drivers who might, say, repair the shift linkage with a coat hanger or patch the water pump with window sealant.
The Urvan’s handling displays true genius. Drivers can use the standard rack-and-pinion power steering to thread through Abu Dhabi traffic like a local, albeit without Range Rover cachet. The Urvan’s body leans like an Oklahoma fencepost in the wind, yet the chassis’ stability– featuring independent double-wishbones (front) and semi-elliptical leaf springs (rear)– could serve as a model for the Arabian Peninsula. The body bobs on bumps but never feels out of control. The Urvan’s skinny tires are able to cope with all but the most extreme maneuvers.
Despite the Roman chariot-style rear leaf springs, the Urvan’s ride presents an excellent compromise between durability, comfort and handling. Stomp on the brakes, and the Urvan nosedives like Britney Spears’ career, yet manages to stop in an amazingly short distance.
And there’s drifting. Yes, drifting. It is entirely possible (if highly improbable) to treat an Urvan’s passengers to a view of the road ahead coming at them through the side window. Just get up a lick of speed, tap the brakes, flick the steering wheel and voila! Tokyo drift, for a LOT longer than you’d ever imagine. While I would never, ever recommend this behavior for anyone charged with the safety of U.S. government property, it is, in theory, a hoot.
The Urvan has an unpretentious connection with the mechanicals very few vehicles possess any more. While the Urvan hardly rivals the Mazda3 for cheap thrills, the Nissan lives up to the design requirements of its demographic perfectly, while providing sufficient dynamic pleasures to keep a sports car driver entertained. To drive an Urvan, nay, to FLOG an Urvan stirs feelings of hooliganism in all but the most cold-hearted Marine sergeant.
The Urvan is a van that refuses to die, runs on pennies, puts a grin on a pistonhead’s face and boasts a distinguished U.S. Armed Forces combat history. Will Nissan bring the Urvan stateside to tussle with the Econoline? Probably not. For that, Ford should be thankful.
[Captain Mike Solowiow is an Air Weapons Officer on an E-3 Sentry AWACS jet. The opinions expressed here are his and not those of the U.S. Air Force, nor do they constitute a product endorsement by the USAF.]
