I can’t help but feel conflicted by the Toyota Tundra TRD Pro. On one hand, it absolutely nails – and I mean nails – the sorts of things people look for in a truck. On the other, I absolutely hate driving the thing. Maybe I’m just not the target demo.

But before I get to the whining, let’s talk about the base truck itself. Now in its third generation, the Toyota Tundra is bigger and more powerful than before. A new truck that’s bigger and more powerful? Shocker, right? What does come as a surprise, though, is that the engine got smaller. Gone is the 5.7-liter V8 and in its place is a twin-turbo 3.5-liter V6. This forms the base powertrain of the Tundra and outputs 348 hp/405 lb-ft torque in base grades, and 389 hp/429 lb-ft torque in higher-grade models.

This turbo engine also forms the basis of the high-spec powertrain, like the one found in my Tundra TRD Pro tester. Dubbed iForce MAX, Toyota combines this 3.5-liter turbo motor with a unique hybrid system to output 437 peak horsepower at 5200 rpm, with 583 lb-ft of peak torque coming on at a super low 2400 rpm.

This hybrid layout aims to give the Tundra the best of all worlds: hybrid efficiency and electric torque, but with robust mechanical bits. The Ni-MH battery sits under the rear seat, and the electric motor bits are sandwiched between the gas engine and 10-speed automatic transmission. But if you’re looking for efficiency, you won’t really find it here. With an estimated fuel economy of 18 city/20 highway, you won’t be sipping gas. But if you’re looking for a full-size truck, sipping gas is likely the least of your priorities. You can’t deny this thing’s power, though, as Toyota claims the Tundra can tow up to 12,000 lbs.

As for the TRD bits, the exterior upgrades include a stamped tailgate, BBS forged-aluminum wheels, heritage grille, grille-mounted LED light bar and some faux hood vents. And that’s before mentioning the hero color, an eye-searing orange called Solar Octane, which was liberally sprayed to my test unit, as well as every other Tundra TRD Pro I see across Los Angeles. And while the marketing photographs love to show off that orange, Toyota only provides this hero shot to us media types:

I’m not talking smack here: Toyota knows that its TRD Pro buyer wants a statement piece. The capability is great, sure. But if the Tundra TRD Pro looked like a base truck, people wouldn’t be lining up to pay way, way over its $70K MSRP. I do sort of (very much so) wish the truck Toyota gave me was the Super White one seen in these other images.

Mechanical upgrades are the same “light” bits that have historically defined the TRD Pro line. This Tundra’s got exterior-reservoir Fox shocks, a ¼-inch thick aluminum front skid plate, additional underbody armor, and knobby Falken WildPeak tires.

Inside, it’s all big. A big touchscreen. Big seats. A big center storage console. And big, chunky controls. It’s all typical Toyota build quality, which is to say it’s all put together very well, though no one would ever accuse it of feeling like a luxury product. And given that I (and other auto writers) continue to rail against haptic touchscreen controls, I love the fact that the bulk of the Tundra’s interface is comprised of tactile, physical controls.

As for the drive, when the road is wide open, the Tundra is awesome. Those off-road shocks make the on-road ride as smooth as butter, and with 583 lb-ft of torque on tap, it’s plenty fast. Mash the gas and you get a great-sounding engine note in the cabin. But as other drivers flagged us down to tell us, it’s dead silent on the outside, meaning that engine note is fake. Whatever. I’m no longer in the business of pissing off other drivers, so the fake engine note doesn’t bother me. It should also be said that the cabin does a good job of keeping outside noises, outside. There’s not a lot of wind or road noise to speak of, and given the acres of space inside, there’s plenty of room for activities.

But it’s this size that makes me hate driving the Tundra TRD Pro. And I’m not being hyperbolic – almost every journey I made with this thing forced me to contend with its size. It’s too long. Too wide. Too tall.

Maneuverability? Not here. Its turning radius is measured in continents. And forget about parking garages – the Tundra TRD Pro simply won’t fit through the gate. Parking becomes an exercise in testing the patience of others. Just how long will they wait while you try to negotiate that wide left-hand turn? And just how much will they point and laugh as you back in and out, in and out, in and out ad ifiniutm as you try and fit in the last parking space, praying you don’t sideswipe their door while they’re watching you.

Just the anticipation of the battle of getting the Tundra TRD Pro in and out of parking spaces made me dread every drive I had to make in the thing. And, at least in this case, I can say it’s not me. The big trucks from the big three aren’t as frustrating to drive – or park – as the Tundra TRD Pro. I mean, if I can comfortably park an Escalade, why can’t I do so in this? And that’s where I feel the TRD Pro failed: it couldn’t nail those basics that its competition had nailed.

So again, that leaves me feeling conflicted about the Toyota Tundra TRD Pro. Perhaps, in the wide-open plains of its native Texas, it’s an awesome machine, where it’s got the space to stretch its legs and run free without a care in the world. But where I live, it’s too big. Too unwieldy. And it’s even too big for the trails in my local off-road recreation areas. All of which combine to make the Toyota Tundra TRD Pro the worst thing a truck can be: practically unusable.

The Toyota Tundra TRD Pro