BY ALAN VONDERHAAR
The Cincinnati Enquirer
The motor companies have recently discovered the big spaces of both Montana and Alaska. They do press trips and much of their photography there, although in the winter months Arizona still gets some of the action.
Alaska is a top locale for showing off giant sport-utility vehicles and rightly so, for where do they make more sense than in a place where it's merely prudent to be able to bring along a week's worth of supplies?
GMC one-upped the rest of the crowd in naming its luxe competitor to the Lincoln Navigator/Ford Expedition the Denali, after the national preserve that is home to Mount McKinley.
The Denali is, to put it rather crassly, a GMC Yukon for people with too much money. It's the same basic platform, given a monotone exterior and specific chrome-plated wheels and packed to the gunwales with nearly every option from the GM parts bins.
The four-door, four-wheel-drive Yukon starts at $32,604. If you ask nicely, dealers will let you add thousands of dollars' worth of options. The Denali permutation starts at $43,495, and even GM's open-handed PR establishment couldn't find anything to add to the poor press-fleet beast. (The one thing you might add is GM's OnStar navigation system, which combines a cellular phone with a global positioning receiver in a very useful, operator-assisted package.)
The Yukon (called Tahoe over on the Chevy side of the aisle) is considerably smaller than the all-conquering Suburban, but it's bigger than almost everything else. What are loosely referred to as sport-utilities (the familiar Explorers, Grand Cherokees, Blazers) are put into context by the Yukon class large as they may seem in comparison with a passenger car, they are compact sport-utes, while Yukon and Tahoe are full-sized. (In the world of swift cuisine the Suburban would be called super-sized, I suppose.)
Denali gets respect
Standing 6 feet 7 inches tall and pressing the earth with nearly three tons of mass, the Denali gets a wide berth on the road. Only a Suburban ranks higher on the intimidation scale. The Lincoln Navigator, the most direct competitor, is two inches less tall, but has a slightly longer wheelbase (119 inches vs. 117.5) and is longer (204.8 vs. 201.2).
Neither Denali nor Navigator would fit very handily in a typically cluttered suburban garage, and they both are a bit of a challenge in the tight confines of commercial garages, too and be sure to check for headroom before entering.
Denali has a wall-to-wall turning diameter of 44.6 feet (cars typically score in the mid- to upper-30s). You don't park it so much as dock it.
It's obviously at its best in wide-open spaces, and there, it's a fairly comfortable platform. The interior noise level is as low as many sedans' and that extended wheelbase pretty well negates any pitching motions.
The roll axis is reasonably well controlled (not that I tried any slalom activity) and the great beast holds its line resolutely at freeway speeds. It rolls on 16-inch 265/70 tires, which felt none too big for the weight involved.
The week of the test we had monsoons, and some of my running was through standing water several inches deep. The Denali took little heed of such tiny puddles, although it did throw up dramatic plumes of water.
The soggy conditions provided ample opportunity to test the Denali's slick four-wheel-drive mechanism. In addition to the (pushbutton-actuated) part-time high and low range modes, it can be used as a rear-drive machine or left in what GMC calls Auto 4WD, which sends power to the rear wheels until they begin to slip and then directs some to the front.
This is different from some all-wheel-drive setups, which apportion power on a roughly 50-50 basis, absent slippage, but makes sense for a vehicle that's likely to be towing a boat or trailer (up to 6,500 pounds' worth). In that situation the load is bearing down on the rear wheels and that's where you want most of the traction, most of the time.
The system worked splendidly in the mixed (slick/not so slick) conditions we had. There was very little tendency to "crab," or scrub the front tires in tight turning maneuvers. The part-time settings wouldn't be needed unless one encountered heavy snow or severe off-road conditions, in which case the generous 8.6-inch ground clearance would also be a comfort.
The motivator is the familiar 5.7-liter V-8, tuned for 255 hp and 330 foot-pounds of torque. There's 250 foot-pounds available at idle and at redline, with the peak coming at a modest 2,800 rpm, well-suited to launching such a dray horse. No dragger, the Denali nonetheless felt competently powerful in ordinary service. If I were serious about towing three tons very often, I'd probably choose something with a big turbodiesel, but no such option is available for this luxo-boat.
The best thing I can say about fuel economy is that it ran fine on regular a gallon of it every 13.3 miles, with no towing but in rough service nonetheless, what with the foul weather and demanding driver. EPA estimates are 12 mpg city, 16 highway. The tank holds 29.5 gallons, yielding a worst-case range of better than 300 miles, a good stage between fill-ups.
The Denali's interior is tarted up with real wood and yummy-smelling leather, and there's enough space to make the modest five-passenger rating extend even to fairly large humans. With the rear seats up, cargo capacity is 66 cubic feet. Get rid of the passengers, and you can tote 118 cubic feet worth of stuff or camp out.
This luxury-class sport-ute is as feature-packed as many a pricey sedan, and then some. In addition to all the usual power assists and cosseting touches, it has a locking rear differential, alloy wheels, Bilstein shocks, dual air conditioners, power driver's and passenger's seats, heated seats for not only the flight deck but also the outboard second-class denizens, electrochromic rearview mirror with built-in outside temperature gauge and compass, a Homelink remote control replacement, and a six-speaker Bose AM/FM/CD entertainment system that really shines in this concert-hall-on-wheels.
Second generation (depowered) air bags are used up front. Four-wheel antilock brakes (discs/drums) are standard. They felt rather mushy (rear discs would help that), but were up to the task of stopping the big fella in a reasonable distance. The antilock mechanism merely purred when I jammed on the binders on wet pavement and performed as it was meant to.
To return to my original thesis: this is a very competent machine, which feels as if it has had some luxury touches brushed on. The Lincoln Navigator, by contrast, feels more refined and purpose-built. If you buy into the paradoxical concept of luxury "utility" vehicle, check out both of them.
With freight and luxury tax, total price on the test machine was $43,974.
Alan Vonderhaar welcomes email at avonderhaar@enquirer.com and snail mail c/o The Cincinnati Enquirer, 312 Elm St., Cincinnati OH 45202.
VONDERHAAR ARCHIVE
