#Nissan Hyper Adventure

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Nissan Hyper Adventure concept, 2023. The second vehicle in Nisan's series of EV concepts for the Japan Mobility Show on October 25. It features Nissan’s e-4ORCE all-wheel-control system. Its large-capacity battery can double as an energy source, allowing users to power up gadgets and light up campsites. The rear bench seat can rotate 180 degrees to create a comfortable sitting area that faces out of the vehicle’s rear.

[gaycarboys]

Nissan Hyper Adventure to Debut at Japan Mobility Show

[mensfactory]

Nissan Hyper Adventure

[umichenginabroad]

Week 3: Holy Car-noli

Howdy y'all, it's me Connor back after a week full of automotive adventures.

(Picture of me, just chilling at the train station)

Classes continued on this week in their same rigor. Japanese is always a blast and although I am happy with the amount I have learned, especially in regards to everyday phrases. I am quite disappointed with the lack of Hiragana and Katakana we are learning. I would love to be able to read Japanese , so to supplement this I am doing some solo studying.

Engineering class is engineering class. The lectures are long and super technical but I would by lying if I said it wasn't interesting and I wasn't learning a ton. Homework are starting to pick up also so I have had a bit less time to just goof off but I am here for the classes at the end of the day.

Continuing on the automotive train, this week has been chock full of many automobile adventures:

The first and arguably my favorite stop of the trip so far was Liberty Walk Garage. Liberty Walk is a custom build company founded in Nagoya and has built itself to be arguably the most famous and well renown custom built company in the world. They work with all sorts of different cars from 1980s-1990s JDM classics like the Nissan Silvia to modern day hyper cars like their numerous Lamborghini Huracán. I even got to see one of the cars that got my interested in custom builds in the first place. In the middle photo you can see a wide-bodied full carbo-fiber Nissan R35 GTR. I remember when I was younger watching Youtube videos of this exact car and being able to see every inch of it in person was fantastic. After spending a bit too much money in the giftshop my friends and I were actually offered a semi-private tour of their Miami Showroom, a garage with all of their most recent and most famous cars. We even got driven there in a luxury van for free. On the right you can see the driveway to the garage and another one of my all time favorite cars the Datsun Fairlady Z (I GOT TO SIT IN IT, IT WAS SO COOL).

On the left is a photo of myself Infront of a Ferrari 458 and one of Liberty Walk's numerous Lamborghinis. On the right is within the Miami Showroom.

These two photos might be the biggest flex photos I have. I got to sit in THE Liberty Walk Ferrari F40. This is well over a million dollar car and you could even see the racing wear on the tires. It was one of the coolest experiences I have had and I could not stop smiling the entire time.

This is a video I took inside of the F40. It was certainly a squeeze (I almost didn't fit) but it is so cool. And yes there is a set of keys in the ignition, but I didn't get to start it :(

I also got to visit two different Toyota Museums. The photo on the left was taken in the Toyota Company Commemorative Museum, which surrounded the history of the company back when the made cotton looms. The photo on the right was taken at the Toyota Automotive Museum (As was the photo below) which simply showed off famous cars throughout history. The Commemorative Museum although not my favorite had a ton of interesting exhibits, specifically it had an EV swapped 2000GT which caused quite a stir in my tour group because why would you turn such a beautifully built car into an electric vehicle. If you are especially observant you might also notice that the two photos I chose for these museum are of the same car, and you would be right. That is because the Lexus LFA is the peak of the Toyota Company and there are almost no stock cars that exist better than it.

This is a first run 1990 Honda NSX, another absolute beauty of a car.

This is a photo in front of Paradise Road, a wonderful hidden gem of a garage. It is well know for its work on lowriders and had some legendary machinery. I mean in this photo alone you can see not only a pimped out Harley Soft tail but an original Chevrolet El Camino. We almost missed out on this stop but I'm so happy we went.

On the left is a photo of Me, My friends, and the head of the garage and one of the coolest people I have ever met, Junichi. He has won countless competitions due to his masterful low rider builds (And yes that is his El Camino on the right, he is planning on building it out more). He was the founder of The Pharaohs, the oldest car club in Nagoya. We talked to him for hours and it was amazing.

My last adventure of this week was something I was excited to do since day one. I got to practice with the Nagoya University Rugby Team. These guys were a ton of fun to play with. The practice was tough but fun, and I made two pretty close friends the three times I went. We even traded gear that I cannot wait to show off to my team back in Michigan. But that just about closes up my adventures for the week.

NOW IT IS TIME FOR WEEKLY FOOD REVIEWS:

I went to two very excellent spots this week:

This was a small food cart called Curry Girl. Sadly I didn't take a picture of the food but it was amazing. Sweet and slightly spicy, the meat was tender and they offered huge portions. We walk by this cart every day to class so Ethan and I figured it was time for a stop.

This was the other big food stop I had this week and I wish I could tell you the name but I could not find it on google. This was a real hole-in-the-wall restaurant recommended by a Nagoya University student we made friends with. The seats and floor were dirty, the windows unwashed, but this was by far and away the best bowl of ramen I have had in Japan.

I am really settling into the culture here and having the time of my life. I have experienced and seen things completely unique to Japan and made memories I will never forget.

Until next time, さようなら, また 来週

Connor Gilfillan

Mechanical Engineering

NUSIP Automotive Engineering in Nagoya, Japan

[phonemantra-blog]

It's called the Nissan Hyper Tourer Concept. Nissan has unveiled a new concept for its electric vehicle, which will appear at the Japan Mobility Show 2023 next week. The latest creation is called the Nissan Hyper Tourer Concept and is an electric minivan. [caption id="attachment_70363" align="aligncenter" width="780"] Nissan[/caption] Like the Hyper Adventure Concept and the Hyper Urban SUV Concept unveiled by Nissan over the past couple of weeks, the Hyper Tourer Concept features a futuristic design that is completely unlike any other Nissan model currently in production. [caption id="attachment_70364" align="aligncenter" width="780"] Nissan[/caption] The use of a fully autonomous driving system means the front seats can swivel 360 degrees to face the rear seats, Nissan says. Additionally, those sitting in the second row can install a portable display that allows them to view and control navigation and audio on the main infotainment screen up front. The concept even comes equipped with an advanced artificial intelligence system that can monitor the brain waves, heart rate, breathing, and sweating of passengers and adjust the music and lighting accordingly. Nissan unveiled that can monitor passengers' brain waves, heart rate and breathing [caption id="attachment_70365" align="aligncenter" width="780"] Nissan[/caption] Nissan says the Hyper Tourer concept is "aimed at people who appreciate the finer things in life and enjoy the company of friends and colleagues on a casual trip or business trip." The spacious interior is achieved through compact powertrain components, including solid-state batteries and the e-4ORCE all-wheel drive system. [caption id="attachment_70366" align="aligncenter" width="600"] Nissan[/caption] The concept features Vehicle-to-Everything (V2X) functionality, meaning the battery can be used to drive a home, store, or office.

[smsmstar80]

NISSAN INTRODUCES THE HYPER ADVENTURE CONCEPT

The Hyper Adventure Concept stands out with front doors that open in the traditional way, but at the rear, we are entitled to butterfly-style deployment doors. Nissan claims that the SUV is intended to be the ideal companion for the outdoor enthusiast, whether for a weekend getaway in nature or for an extended road trip far from civilization. Such an exercise would make it possible to take…

[actualidadmotor]

Nissan Hyper Adventure: Ir de aventuras y ser ecológico molará…

La celebración del Japan Mobility Show 2023 está a pocos días de tener lugar. Este es uno de los pocos... http://dlvr.it/SxFBYZ

[daily-revs]

2023 Nissan Hyper Adventure Concept | Nissan Unveils Sports SUV Concept !

[jesusvasser]

The Wonder of Off-Roading

I call him my brother, but we share no blood. We’ve just known each other long enough to matter. We spent our young days trying to kill ourselves together by feat or dare, ripping around the county I now call home in a pair of hand-me-down sedans with the throttles welded to the floor and our collective sense of self-preservation somewhere behind us. Neither Sam nor I expected to live much past 18. By luck or grace, we did.

Our lives have wandered far. Me banging around the southeast, building a family, chasing work, and him settling on Florida’s Gulf Coast to be near his father and pursue a nursing degree. It’s been long, arduous years of study and internship, and while we were never farther than a phone call away, we’d go months between sitting down at a table together or raising a little hell.

He passed the last of his exams this month, landed a job up north, and celebrated by finally putting his ragged Accord out to pasture, replacing it with a 2009 Nissan Frontier Pro4X. It is the perfect machine to ferry him to his new life in New Hampshire, fully kitted for abuse and adventure by the previous owner. There’s a modest lift, a stout bumper, plenty of underbody protection, and a winch should the factory rear locker and low range prove insufficient.

It is one of an army of such vehicles. You see them sometimes, the Jeep Wrangler Rubicons and Toyota Tacoma or 4Runner TRDs, the Ram Power Wagons, seemingly outfitted for the apocalypse with antennas, lights, and armor. It is easy to dismiss them as cosplay for CPAs, as grown men and women playing dress-up with their daily driver, but they offer something that no sports car or family sedan can deliver: the excuse to explore and the serenity that comes from a barely worn trail.

The Frontier is an impressive tool, but one Sam doesn’t have much experience using. When he came through town on his way north, I pried a few hours out of the mid-week slog and pointed us toward the Jefferson National Forest for a little light off-roading. Virginia isn’t as flush with forgotten two-track as the open deserts of Utah or Texas, but there are gems to be found. Roads that wind you up and away from the towns that dot the Shenandoah Valley, paths that wander into the gorgeous and lonely hills.

The weatherman swore a winter storm was on its way. On any normal evening, I’d be putting dishes away and trying to decide what to do with myself before bed. Maybe turn on the porch light and eye the dark, waiting for the first flakes. It’s strange how quickly the night slips from your grip. How gladly you yield the dusk to younger men.

Sam’s headlights flickered along the boulders and ice that lined the road, the springs that welled and sweated from the ridge now beautiful and ornate displays in the cold of winter. We cracked the windows to listen to the creek to our left as it rushed through the forest. In the daylight, the water’s as clear as the air in our lungs, but our high beams only shone on the snow that still sat in the shadows, the currents running like ink between the banks.

I aimed us at Shoe Creek, a forest road that once wandered all the way to the Blue Ridge Parkway. Now it comes to a stop at a gate where it crosses private land, but it’s still a perfect playground for someone new to the vagaries of four-wheel drive. It constricts and climbs, dives through the water and up and over wide stones. Nothing about it looks like a place you’d willingly take a vehicle, and yet, the Frontier worked its way through it all without so much as spinning a tire. I gave Sam a few pointers on when to be in four-high, when four-low’s best, and how to use the rear locker as a get-out-of-jail-free card. By the time we wormed our way back to the main track, he was grinning wide with new-found knowledge, with the glow of capability and where the truck could take him. I could see him hungry for the winding tracks of the White Mountains.

It’s a different type of driving, but not so far from the thrill of chasing a redline or bending the limits of tire adhesion. The lessons Sam has learned from a lifetime of slinging a car around serve him well here. Spatial relation, grip awareness, and tire placement all play a role. Everything just happens more slowly. Those delicious and perfect moments when you do not know whether you’ll overcome the obstacle in front of you, whether you’ll sail through without a scratch or go tumbling off course, they hang in the air like a pent breath. It’s a perfect thrill at walking pace.

But there were other lessons to be learned. Like how quickly the easiest trail can snap your confidence. On the way home, we took one last diversion, bouncing up a simple cell tower service road that clung to the side of the ridge. To our left, the land fell away, the driver’s window full of nothing but sparse tree branches and the occasional flicker of light from the valley below. To our right, the slope climbed its way to the Appalachian Trail. When we turned a corner, our eyes didn’t quite know what to make of what covered the ground: a dark blanket, three inches thick and spread across both wheel ruts. Asphalt? No. Ice.

There was no backing the truck out. No turning it around, either. We simply had to inch forward in low range and hope the slick stuff was broken enough for the BFGoodrich All Terrain KO2s to get a bite. The cab went silent, the two of us staring out into the darkness and praying for a patch of gravel. For a moment, it seemed fine. The Frontier edged its way down the small dip, towards a kink in our path. That turn was our undoing; the truck snapped sideways in the width of a breath. Sam turned into the slide and grabbed a boot full of brake in time for us to come to a stop perfectly perpendicular to our intended path of travel.

I looked at him, his jaw set and his breathing shallow, his knuckles blanched against their skin. His eyes were wide with the knowledge that we’d nearly slid his truck off the mountain and into the trees below. He hadn’t managed to put 1,000 miles on it yet.

But we were stopped, we were safe, and we had time to contemplate our next move. This is the brilliance of off-roading. It is a mechanical game of chess played against physics and water and weather and the very land beneath you. There was a tire’s width of gravel ahead of us. If Sam could coax the Nissan to that patch, we’d be home free, at least until we had to turn around and come back up the hill.

At first, Sam couldn’t understand what I was saying, but as the haze of adrenaline lifted, he saw what I was working towards, and he eased us forward. There was a brief slide before the tires gripped and the truck worked its way up the bank, through a bit of brush, and around the worst of the ice. He was ecstatic, laughing and cursing as we continued on, up to the crest and the towers there. The valley spilled out below us, a dozen hamlets glowing in the dark and shuttered tight against the coming storm. We could smell the snow, the air sharp with the promise of it. Neither of us wanted to be up there when it hit.

The way out had us retrace our steps, and when we came to the ice sheet, we parked the truck, got out, and walked the road, searching for a line that would carry us up and over the worst of it. I hadn’t taken two steps before my feet went out from under me so quick I couldn’t get my hands up. I bashed my face off the ice, my tongue full with the taste of blood as I struggled to stand. As I did, I caught a glimpse of the source of our woes: a natural spring pouring warm, clear water out onto the ice, where it immediately refroze. Now it was my turn to laugh and curse, my lips already swelling to a bruise.

We made a plan, Sam got back in the truck, and I guided him up the slope, working to keep him on as much dry ground as possible. It worked fine until the very top, where the ice spread wide across the trail. No matter our approach, we couldn’t get the Frontier up and over. The tires dug and spun. Sam sawed at the wheel in a quest for purchase. None of it worked. I hadn’t intended on giving a lesson in winch recovery. I’ve always viewed the things like a fire extinguishers: absolutely vital to have, but only to be used in the very worst of circumstances. With the temperature dropping and the wind picking up, it was time to pull cable.

I hiked up the hill to a suitable stump, mindful of slick spots and briars and ankle-busting stones, hooked to, and talked Sam through working himself up and over the trouble spot. In a blink, he was clear, and we were on our way off the mountain well ahead of the first flakes. The two of us were exhausted, bruised, bloody, and muddy from a fight with a stretch of trail no longer than a couple hundred feet. We were content, too, washed in the kind of calm that only comes from the sort of hyper-focus required by any specialized driving. It’s a breath.

It’s a rare thing in our world of ever-growing distraction and connection. We are wedded not to the moments at our feet, but the ones accessible through the tapping of fingertips on screens. And it’s endangered. What room does our electrified, automated future have for mud and ice and stone? For wild creeks and the foolish human desire to cross them only to turn around and come back again? Get in your trucks and go while the world still lets you.

IFTTT

[jonathanbelloblog]

The Wonder of Off-Roading

I call him my brother, but we share no blood. We’ve just known each other long enough to matter. We spent our young days trying to kill ourselves together by feat or dare, ripping around the county I now call home in a pair of hand-me-down sedans with the throttles welded to the floor and our collective sense of self-preservation somewhere behind us. Neither Sam nor I expected to live much past 18. By luck or grace, we did.

Our lives have wandered far. Me banging around the southeast, building a family, chasing work, and him settling on Florida’s Gulf Coast to be near his father and pursue a nursing degree. It’s been long, arduous years of study and internship, and while we were never farther than a phone call away, we’d go months between sitting down at a table together or raising a little hell.

He passed the last of his exams this month, landed a job up north, and celebrated by finally putting his ragged Accord out to pasture, replacing it with a 2009 Nissan Frontier Pro4X. It is the perfect machine to ferry him to his new life in New Hampshire, fully kitted for abuse and adventure by the previous owner. There’s a modest lift, a stout bumper, plenty of underbody protection, and a winch should the factory rear locker and low range prove insufficient.

It is one of an army of such vehicles. You see them sometimes, the Jeep Wrangler Rubicons and Toyota Tacoma or 4Runner TRDs, the Ram Power Wagons, seemingly outfitted for the apocalypse with antennas, lights, and armor. It is easy to dismiss them as cosplay for CPAs, as grown men and women playing dress-up with their daily driver, but they offer something that no sports car or family sedan can deliver: the excuse to explore and the serenity that comes from a barely worn trail.

The Frontier is an impressive tool, but one Sam doesn’t have much experience using. When he came through town on his way north, I pried a few hours out of the mid-week slog and pointed us toward the Jefferson National Forest for a little light off-roading. Virginia isn’t as flush with forgotten two-track as the open deserts of Utah or Texas, but there are gems to be found. Roads that wind you up and away from the towns that dot the Shenandoah Valley, paths that wander into the gorgeous and lonely hills.

The weatherman swore a winter storm was on its way. On any normal evening, I’d be putting dishes away and trying to decide what to do with myself before bed. Maybe turn on the porch light and eye the dark, waiting for the first flakes. It’s strange how quickly the night slips from your grip. How gladly you yield the dusk to younger men.

Sam’s headlights flickered along the boulders and ice that lined the road, the springs that welled and sweated from the ridge now beautiful and ornate displays in the cold of winter. We cracked the windows to listen to the creek to our left as it rushed through the forest. In the daylight, the water’s as clear as the air in our lungs, but our high beams only shone on the snow that still sat in the shadows, the currents running like ink between the banks.

I aimed us at Shoe Creek, a forest road that once wandered all the way to the Blue Ridge Parkway. Now it comes to a stop at a gate where it crosses private land, but it’s still a perfect playground for someone new to the vagaries of four-wheel drive. It constricts and climbs, dives through the water and up and over wide stones. Nothing about it looks like a place you’d willingly take a vehicle, and yet, the Frontier worked its way through it all without so much as spinning a tire. I gave Sam a few pointers on when to be in four-high, when four-low’s best, and how to use the rear locker as a get-out-of-jail-free card. By the time we wormed our way back to the main track, he was grinning wide with new-found knowledge, with the glow of capability and where the truck could take him. I could see him hungry for the winding tracks of the White Mountains.

It’s a different type of driving, but not so far from the thrill of chasing a redline or bending the limits of tire adhesion. The lessons Sam has learned from a lifetime of slinging a car around serve him well here. Spatial relation, grip awareness, and tire placement all play a role. Everything just happens more slowly. Those delicious and perfect moments when you do not know whether you’ll overcome the obstacle in front of you, whether you’ll sail through without a scratch or go tumbling off course, they hang in the air like a pent breath. It’s a perfect thrill at walking pace.

But there were other lessons to be learned. Like how quickly the easiest trail can snap your confidence. On the way home, we took one last diversion, bouncing up a simple cell tower service road that clung to the side of the ridge. To our left, the land fell away, the driver’s window full of nothing but sparse tree branches and the occasional flicker of light from the valley below. To our right, the slope climbed its way to the Appalachian Trail. When we turned a corner, our eyes didn’t quite know what to make of what covered the ground: a dark blanket, three inches thick and spread across both wheel ruts. Asphalt? No. Ice.

There was no backing the truck out. No turning it around, either. We simply had to inch forward in low range and hope the slick stuff was broken enough for the BFGoodrich All Terrain KO2s to get a bite. The cab went silent, the two of us staring out into the darkness and praying for a patch of gravel. For a moment, it seemed fine. The Frontier edged its way down the small dip, towards a kink in our path. That turn was our undoing; the truck snapped sideways in the width of a breath. Sam turned into the slide and grabbed a boot full of brake in time for us to come to a stop perfectly perpendicular to our intended path of travel.

I looked at him, his jaw set and his breathing shallow, his knuckles blanched against their skin. His eyes were wide with the knowledge that we’d nearly slid his truck off the mountain and into the trees below. He hadn’t managed to put 1,000 miles on it yet.

But we were stopped, we were safe, and we had time to contemplate our next move. This is the brilliance of off-roading. It is a mechanical game of chess played against physics and water and weather and the very land beneath you. There was a tire’s width of gravel ahead of us. If Sam could coax the Nissan to that patch, we’d be home free, at least until we had to turn around and come back up the hill.

At first, Sam couldn’t understand what I was saying, but as the haze of adrenaline lifted, he saw what I was working towards, and he eased us forward. There was a brief slide before the tires gripped and the truck worked its way up the bank, through a bit of brush, and around the worst of the ice. He was ecstatic, laughing and cursing as we continued on, up to the crest and the towers there. The valley spilled out below us, a dozen hamlets glowing in the dark and shuttered tight against the coming storm. We could smell the snow, the air sharp with the promise of it. Neither of us wanted to be up there when it hit.

The way out had us retrace our steps, and when we came to the ice sheet, we parked the truck, got out, and walked the road, searching for a line that would carry us up and over the worst of it. I hadn’t taken two steps before my feet went out from under me so quick I couldn’t get my hands up. I bashed my face off the ice, my tongue full with the taste of blood as I struggled to stand. As I did, I caught a glimpse of the source of our woes: a natural spring pouring warm, clear water out onto the ice, where it immediately refroze. Now it was my turn to laugh and curse, my lips already swelling to a bruise.

We made a plan, Sam got back in the truck, and I guided him up the slope, working to keep him on as much dry ground as possible. It worked fine until the very top, where the ice spread wide across the trail. No matter our approach, we couldn’t get the Frontier up and over. The tires dug and spun. Sam sawed at the wheel in a quest for purchase. None of it worked. I hadn’t intended on giving a lesson in winch recovery. I’ve always viewed the things like a fire extinguishers: absolutely vital to have, but only to be used in the very worst of circumstances. With the temperature dropping and the wind picking up, it was time to pull cable.

I hiked up the hill to a suitable stump, mindful of slick spots and briars and ankle-busting stones, hooked to, and talked Sam through working himself up and over the trouble spot. In a blink, he was clear, and we were on our way off the mountain well ahead of the first flakes. The two of us were exhausted, bruised, bloody, and muddy from a fight with a stretch of trail no longer than a couple hundred feet. We were content, too, washed in the kind of calm that only comes from the sort of hyper-focus required by any specialized driving. It’s a breath.

It’s a rare thing in our world of ever-growing distraction and connection. We are wedded not to the moments at our feet, but the ones accessible through the tapping of fingertips on screens. And it’s endangered. What room does our electrified, automated future have for mud and ice and stone? For wild creeks and the foolish human desire to cross them only to turn around and come back again? Get in your trucks and go while the world still lets you.

IFTTT