Automophoto.com
Suite Rides
June 1, 2007
We begin by playing a game I call, "Can we drive over that?" I point at a
3-foot high sandy berm, and Meyers steers the Unicat up and over it. No problem.
I point to a nearby hill, and soon the view through
the windshield is filled with sky. "This can climb a 60-degree slope," Meyers
says. "What’s scary about a 60-degree slope is the trip back down. You’re
hanging against your seatbelt."
Basic capabilities demonstrated, I take the wheel. This is
easily the biggest truck I’ve ever driven. It weighs 24,000 pounds and can carry
an additional 9,000 pounds before the chassis reaches its weight limit—it’s
intentionally overbuilt. The trick of driving the Unicat off-road is learning
how to use its momentum. When 950 ft lbs of torque sets 24,000 pounds in motion,
you need to be smooth on the brakes to ensure you don’t get a bigger head of
steam than you bargained for. I try some rock-crawling, and I’m anything but
smooth—I tend to panic as soon as the truck exceeds roughly one mile per hour,
at which point I slam on the brakes and the whole thing obediently halts with a
great hiss from the air brakes. It takes practice, but Meyers, standing guard as
spotter, helps me navigate a rock-strewn gulch better suited to a lifted Jeep
Wrangler. And that’s when we get a little cocky.; function voidFunc() { } voidFunc();)
Even in as outrageous a setting as the Vegas
Strip,
the Unicat
looks conspicuous. (Click image to enlarge)
One of my buddies in the military tells me that when Army guys
get a Hummer stuck, it tends to be in ridiculous situations that require a
bulldozer or other heavy equipment to resolve. They call the Hummer "God’s RV,"
and when you’re driving God’s RV, who’s to tell you that you can’t drive right
through a 4-foot-deep mud pit? I’ve quickly developed a similar confidence in
the Unicat, and keep an eye out for terrain that might truly give it a workout.
Soon enough, I find it: a small mountain of such steepness that when I get out
and climb the slope, I need to step from rock to rock to find footholds or I’ll
slide back down.
The problem isn’t the angle—perhaps 45 degrees—but the surface,
loose sand that offers little traction. After spinning to a stop in low-range
first gear, Meyers decides to try another trick: reversing up the slope, since
reverse gear is an even lower ratio. He builds some momentum near the bottom and
is fairly charging up the hill in reverse when a jarring smash emanates from the
rear end. Despite using the rear-view camera and my shoddy spotting, Meyers
backed the truck into a mammoth boulder jutting from the hillside. The tubular
rear bumper now sports a huge dent, but it did its job, protecting the
equipment-filled cabinets mounted behind it.; function voidFunc() { } voidFunc();)
Playing the "Let’s drive over that"
game. (Click image to enlarge)
I feel awful for having goaded Meyers into this stunt. I am the
bad-influence kid, just like my friends’ moms always said. "Shit happens,"
shrugs Meyers. This comes with the territory, I suppose. If you never put your
Unicat in harm’s way, then you may as well buy a regular RV, park it on the
infield at the next NASCAR race and call it a day. At least, that’s what I’m
telling myself.
Back on the pavement, we reinflate the tires using the onboard air
compressor. That done, Meyers gives me a tour of the living quarters. He begins
by lowering the hydraulic foldout stairs, which you retract into the body once
aboard, restricting access to any local whom
you might not wish to meet in the dead of night.
Inside, there are the usual necessities you’d expect to see in
an RV—bathroom with full shower, queen-sized bed, fridge, oven, microwave and
satellite TV. The difference is in the quality of the components. Everything is
built to marine standards. For example, the silverware drawer locks shut, and
nothing is amiss, even after our off-roading session.
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