“I think as someone who has never been interested in or driven an older Mini, use this chance to your advantage” Go Garage partner Jerry advised me when he handed over the keys to Peter and I for a weekend.
With no context whatsoever, a lack of understanding for Mini design or conversations with those in the know, we took the Go Garage Mini out on the Saturday to the Royal National Park for a drive and photos. All I knew before I took the keys was that Mr. Bean drove one, they were the hero car in the original Italian Job and that my uncle rolled one racing in Macau many years ago.
When dropping Peter back at the workshop on Saturday afternoon I made the early comment to Jerry and Mark that I didn’t particularly understand the car. I’d keep it for another couple days just to see what was up, but from my early impressions, spending thirty grand on it simply didn’t make sense considering the options everybody had in today’s market.
By the time Sunday evening rolled around, I was enamoured, ready to vouch for its value as a viable product for a range of enthusiasts, not just the hardcore Mini lover.
Understanding what the Mini meant is crucial to appreciating its appealing qualities. Launched in the 60s as a small, compact offering to combat the fuel crisis post-WWII, it could fit four adults comfortably, traversed through cities with ease and was attainable for the common man.
Its rise to prominence coincided with the prevalence of counter-cultural movements and an embracement of change in society. The fifties brought about the reconstruction of a war-torn Europe, culminating in an economic boom that was inclusive to all of society, class systems broken through the conflicts at the beginning of the century.
Freedom was the name of the game, in every sense of the word. For many, the Mini Cooper was the conduit that tied it all together. Accessible, convenient in almost all situations with a personality to match, the model’s success was as much a product of its time as it was the engineering and performance prowess.
Even its performance was determined by its freedom in design, a chassis built with economy and ergonomics in mind, proving itself to outlast and outperform clumsier, more traditional sports cars of its generation.
This understanding, after a quick education from the car’s owner Mark and an evening researching on the internet, gave me a fresh lens to reflect and experience the Mini for the rest of the weekend.
The car needs to be treated as its own product, with no comparisons, leaving the data sheets and technicalities aside and your automotive preconceptions behind.
Mark and Jerry, along with the thousands of Mini owners around the world might beg to differ, but to me the joys of Mini ownership are not car-related. Everything does everything better, but the Mini is an energy, a train of thought, a person’s attitudes and perspectives wrapped in hot metal.
Remember in the beginning of this write up, where I laid out my early impressions of the Mini? After three days with the car I changed my mind, but it wasn’t through a revision of understanding how it drove, or its dynamics even comparing it three cars in my stable I rotated through over those days.
The alternatives at thirty grand don’t matter because you can’t cross shop any of them to the Mini. You can’t cross shop any historic, current or future vehicle with the Mini. I don’t even consider it to be a car in this aspect, but it isn’t a time capsule that most people use to describe a vintage product.
It’s a physical manifestation of emotion and feeling.
Incredibly difficult to explain, even on a test drive. The glory of Mini ownership doesn’t come from what you feel or experience when focused on the technicalities of a test drive, or winding it out on a B-road, consciously waiting for that moment of magic as it skittles around a corner screeching tires.
How and what does it do then?
You just need it in your life for a while, to understand!
