Engineers have clearly imagined such a scenario, though. As the sun kisses the horizon, the LED headlights fire to life, the self-levelling ensuring we don’t blind the drivers of our support cars ahead.
The wildlife is less enamoured. Kangaroos startled by the glare of LED lights treat the X-Class no differently to any other dual-cab, aimlessly hopping across its path in an apparent effort to see if life really is better on the other side.
Despite auto emergency braking, if you fail to mash the pedal the X is no better at avoiding the Australian national emblem than a 1980s Opel Rekord, the car that spawned what went on to be a top seller down under in the form of the Holden Commodore.
Inside, the X is a mix of traditional three-pointed-star curves and swoops interspersed with Nissan touches, such as the occasionally cheap plastics and familiar oval key.
Behind that gleaming star on the bonnet is a Nissan engine. Or, at least, the Renault engine that’s also the core of the Navara from which the X-Class borrows so many bits. That familiar grille badge also graces a unique engine cover to at least give the impression there’s Stuttgart thinking somewhere in the engine bay. It’s a clever way to disguise its working class origins.
But there’s no hiding it once under way. In the Nissan, acceleration is honest but leisurely, its biggest appeal its restrained thirst; in the X-Class, performance is blunted by a body carrying an extra 180kg, the result of an extra 66mm to its girth plus additional features and sound deadening. It all beautifully quells tyre roar, while sumptuous seats add to the comfortable touring talent.
The 2.3 has decent shove low in the rev range, but overtaking requires a pre-emptive strike. It’s best to have the turbos on the boil and revs up, but even then you’ll only amble past as the speedo rotates into three figures.
You know you’re deep in the outback when flies comfortably outnumber humans. Soaking in the widening vista at a hilltop stop, the little buzzers congregate in plague-like proportions, pouncing on any open-door opportunity to hitch a ride on something other than a bovine rump or a kangaroo.
We’re not taking the direct route, instead venturing into the Flinders proper, renowned for its tough off-road trails and sharp, tyre-stabbing rocks. Our X is running on optional 19in rubber, the sort of thing unlikely to be within 500km of here should we need a replacement.