There are times in your life that you begin to question
whether you have made the right decision. Earlier this year, I
traded my 2003 Mini Cooper in on a new VW GTI. It was a hard
decision to make as the Cooper’s abundant personality could
overcome its failings with a nod and a wink and a "C’mon, let’s
play" attitude that appeals to anyone for whom driving is more
than a daily chore. The snapping point had come a few weeks
earlier when I decided to replace the curved plastic part of the
rain gutter that lives over the A-pillar. A small piece, it slips
into a metal channel that is the rain gutter along the side of
the car. It had to cost – what? -- $20 at most?
"I don’t know if I have it in stock," said the voice on the
other end of the phone, "but it won’t be cheap." Service parts
never are from the dealer – especially those aligned with BMW –
and this part would be no different. "How much?," I asked. "Well,
$75.83," he said. "You’ve got to be kidding. Why so much?," I
asked. "Because you can’t get just the plastic part at the end.
You have to buy the whole rain gutter," he said apologetically.
When the rear hanger for the muffler broke free a few days later,
I was ready to deal.
But a short time in the Cooper Clubman had me wondering if I
had made the right decision. The second generation of the Mini
never gave me the thrill of the original BMW-built version. Fully
electric power steering replaces the electro-hydraulic unit of
the original, and loses some of the liveliness, directness, and
feel that made it so much fun. In addition, raising the hood line
to meet new European pedestrian impact standards (Can’t those
pesky people just get out of the way?) and mounting the lights to
the fenders instead of the hood robbed the car of its mischievous
good looks. But this car, despite its weird detailing, had me
wondering.
What did it was a long freeway drive where the car’s Getrag
six-speed (mine had a Rover five-speed) allowed the engine to run
at a lower revs. Suddenly what had been frenetic became
quiet…well, quieter…and the car is a cruiser capable of speed
without the tiring frenzy the older car suffered from. In
addition, though the new instrument panel with its dinner
plate-sized center-mount speedometer and nicer materials has lost
some of the original’s spark, the interior overall has a richer
feel. And it doesn’t hurt that the rattles are fewer. But what
really sold it is the fact that the new gearbox, mated as it is
to a new BMW-Peugeot inline four, feels stronger and yet returned
mileage – real mileage – over 40 mpg on the highway. Actually,
41.5 mpg to be exact. Hmmm.
On top of this is the body, a semi-wagon with twin rear doors
instead of a hatch. It mimics the original 1960s Mini’s wagon
body style, though the doors have a large drawback compared to a
hatch: they leave an opening so low that it’s almost impossible
to reach in for your cargo without banging your head on the
header rail. Plus, you have to bend and reach to get anything
out, though the load floor isn’t terribly long. It is, however,
usefully longer than the load floor in the hatchback version.
Unlike that car, it also has usable rear seat leg room. With a
little cooperation between the front and rear seat occupants, all
can travel in comfort – and style – though rear seat passengers
will have to enter and exit through the small "Club Door" on the
passenger’s side. Like the half-door on Saturn’s defunct Ion
coupe, this rear-opening port can open only after the main door,
and contains the front passenger’s seatbelt. This makes it a bit
more difficult to enter and exit, but the increased room makes it
worthwhile. Especially when you consider that the rear
compartment was designed by the same fellow that designed the
interior of the Rolls Royce Phantom Coupe, and shares some of the
same shapes.
Where the design of the Clubman falls down is in the details,
the very things that the designer of BMW’s original take on the
Mini, Frank Stephenson, got excruciatingly correct. The most
noticeable are the trim pieces that surround the cargo bay doors,
large pieces that delineate the area from the outer edge of the
body to the outer edges of the doors. Available in either silver
or black, they are about as subtle as tattoos on a nun. Somehow I
doubt that Frank Stephenson would have followed the same
path.
Despite this – after all, the car can be ordered in either
silver or black – the mischievous nature of the Clubman started
to tug at my heart, making me wonder if I’d done the right thing
by leasing the GTI. Sure, it was all too easy to pull the shifter
hard to left in exuberant driving and slot it into the area
reserved for reverse gear, but I could learn to avoid this over
time (though I shouldn’t have to). And then it happened. As I
returned home from that long drive, the airbag light came on and
would not go out. It had done this before – it was the reason I
hadn’t been able to drive the car earlier in the month – and was
at it again. A friend’s Cooper S had done the same thing, and the
dealer could never get it to stay fixed. But I expected it would
reset itself when the car was restarted the next day. It didn’t.
In fact, it stayed lit for the rest of the loan, and reminded me
of the downside of life with Mini.
Had I purchased this car, I would have begun to wonder what
would happen next, and how often I would have to drive to the
dealer – not a short trip as there’s only one Mini dealer in
Michigan – to get the problems
fixed. And then there was the cost of the parts: Would I find
that the Clubman had new surprises every bit as expensive as the
trim pieces on my 2003 Cooper? Despite its somewhat bland German
personality, the GTI was looking better already.
As Driven:
Base price $19,950
Premium package $ 1,500
Sport package $ 1,500
Multi-function steering wheel $ 250
Chrome line interior $ 250
Chrome line exterior $ 250
Color line Dark Grey $ 250
Piano black interior surfaces $ 250
Xenon headlights $ 500
White turn signals $ 100
Destination charge $ 650
Total: $25,450
Mini Clubman, Take 2
Admittedly, I was a bit worried that Mini was going to muck up
its winning formula when it announced plans to make the Clubman.
Mini’s weren’t supposed to accommodate families, after all. This
car was meant to be about independence and fun, not kids and
juice boxes. Thankfully, the Clubman keeps most of the prized
formula intact: It’s fun to drive, looks like a Mini and scores
major points for fuel efficiency. There are, however, a few
glaring problems with this car that left me thinking "They don’t
build ‘em like they used to." The most glaring examples can be
found in the cabin, where cheap plastics have replaced high-grade
metal trim in key places—the toggle switches for the windows, fog
lamps and door locks located on the lower center stack and the
brackets that divide them being the most prominent. The
larger-than-life speedometer, which looks like it was designed
more for the aged than the hip, is another sea of plastic that
causes a blinding glare during early morning drives that felt
like it, like a child’s magnifying glass, could kill an army of
ants. If there’s one cardinal rule in automotive design and
engineering, it’s not to cut corners where the customer can
experience it. Mini has broken that rule. – Kevin Kelly
