CAR GAZING
MaxiMini
Stretched-out Cooper offers more practicality, but is it worth it?
By Derek Price
Two days into my test-drive of the Mini Clubman, I was ready to trash it.
This car is basically an ordinary Mini that's been stretched about 9 inches to make it slightly more practical. So, in a sense, it's a Mini that's been screwed up.
I was all set to write about how Minis aren't supposed to be practical or spacious. I would have mentioned how stretching the Mini increased its weight, hurt the handling, looked uglier and didn't add much usability in the first place. So what's the point?
Then I rolled down the windows.
While that alone shouldn't have made a difference, on this perfect spring night it did. Everything came together at once – the sound of the engine, the cool breeze, the feel of the leather on the steering wheel – to make me see this car in a totally different way.
It's not about practicality at all. It's about staying true to the Mini's quirky, cute, British spirit, but doing so in a slightly different flavor.
The Clubman isn't a disgusting, unholy sin against the pureness of the Mini Cooper, but rather a slightly richer variation on the regular Mini's adorable hymn. It's still fun. It's still cute. It's still British. It's just ... different.
And it's very enjoyable.
Despite what in other cars would be considered a pathetic amount of horsepower – just 120 in the base version – the Clubman accelerates like a greased bullet because it's so lightweight. It's also fairly quiet considering its subatomic size.
The styling is nice, assuming you like the normal Mini. In fact, most people didn't realize it was the weenie dog Mini. They assumed it was the normal Chihuahua Mini because it looks so similar.
The most prominent differences are in the doors. In addition to the two front doors like in a regular Mini, there's a third suicide-style door on the right side of the car that opens backward for the rear-seat passengers.
It also has a split door in the back, which looks gorgeous but can be annoying when you glance in the rear-view mirror. The split is always staring back at you like a poltergeist.
Inside, the Clubman is like every other car on the road – if you only look at the fact that it has a steering wheel and some seats.
The interior is seriously freaky. It has a speedometer the size of Asia right in the middle of the dash. Shiny toggle switches in the center console operate the power windows and locks. And two weirdly shaped and oddly located buttons operate the sound system.
One button changes the station or song, and the other changes the volume. The problem is that they look so similar, so you end up twisting the wrong one all the time, so you're switching songs when you mean to change the volume, and vice versa. It can be quite frustrating.
Despite that one annoyance and the LSD interior, I still fell in love with this car. And you know how I can tell?
A jealous, half-wit, inbred scumbag dug their key into the Clubman's paint this weekend and left a scratch all the way down the driver's side.
I was heartbroken. Furious. Devastated.
And it wasn't even my car.
That's a sign of true love.
(Derek Price is a newspaper editor and freelance writer living in Texas.)
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