Instrumented Test
The superficial changes made for the third-generation Mini Cooper S get a lot of attention: The pedestrian-friendly nose that looks more schnauzer than English bulldog, the fuel filler that moves to the passenger side, the window switches on the doors where they belong. But the automatic-transmission model highlights the real transformation in driving character. Not only bigger but also quieter, more refined, and deeply layered in tech, the newest Mini—despite its eye-candy—says you’re driving a small, front-drive BMW. Which is exactly what it is, of course, built on a new corporate global platform (UKL) that will also spawn a car or several wearing Munich’s roundel.
We’d previously tested two manual-gearbox examples. In a three-way comparison, the new Mini Cooper S outscored the Fiat 500 Abarth but placed second to the Ford Fiesta ST. Then we ordered a stick and clutch pedal for our long-term test model.
Now we’ve tested a six-speed automatic in the car shown here, which brimmed with optional equipment. Most of the add-ons were functional (no rooftop flag graphics, for instance), although we harbor reservations about the functionality of a $500 head-up display (HUD) or $1000 Park Assistant. The HUD annoyed more than it helped. And anyone who needs automated steering to parallel-park a car not even 13 feet long should reconsider mass transit.
Whatever. If the 2002 Mini broke the long-standing equivalence between size and price, this one shatters any remaining notion that small equals cheap. The big sticker bloater is the $4500 Fully Loaded package, which combines three lesser packages (Sport, Premium, and Wired) into one bundle—yet doesn’t quite include all the goodies. After the car is “fully loaded,’’ it still costs $250 more for white turn-signal lenses and $500 for a rearview camera. Maybe you’d still expect to pay extra for the Thunder Gray metallic paint ($500) and the cloth/leatherette Black Pearl interior ($750), but another $350 adds the Mini Yours Interior with off-white trim. One person’s Savile Row is another’s Full Cleveland, which is why Mini offers so many personalization options, dinging customers for every choice. All told, there were $12,500 in options on this car, half of the base MSRP. The $36,895 bottom line tops that on our already-pricey long-term car by $3100.
About half the difference is for the six-speed auto; it’s $1250 alone, but this Sport Automatic version—which BMW, er, Mini, says “enables” faster shifts and adds manual-mode paddles behind the steering wheel—lists at $1500. But hold on, it also requires a $250 leather-wrapped steering wheel. The base price in our spec chart includes the transmission but not the $500 bump to Sport.
Here at Save the Manuals Global HQ, we prefer shift-it-yourself motoring, but you could do worse than this automatic. It’s a half-second quicker to 60 mph than our long-termer, taking 6.1 seconds; the comparo car took 6.8. And the automatic stays ahead as speed rises, doing the quarter-mile in 14.7—both manual cars took 15.1—and hitting 100 in 16 seconds flat versus 16.8 for the comparison car and 17.5 for our green long-termer. It’s not our shifting. The automatic uses a slightly longer final-drive ratio and shorter (numerically higher) ratios for first through fourth gears. It mates perfectly with the 189-hp 2.0-liter turbo four’s wide band of right-now torque delivery. It’s also supersmart, knowing, for instance, to avoid an upshift between two curves in an ess bend because the nav-system GPS tells it so, just as it does in the Rolls-Royce Ghost way over at the other end of BMW’s brand spectrum.
Like that buddy who has your back and won’t stop reminding you of it, the automatic brings other extra features you may or may not want: Automated engine stop-start and a mode selector. Turn the ring around the shifter base counterclockwise for Green mode and an ectoplasmic lime glow surrounds the center instrument, where the screen proclaims “Let’s MINImalize!” Rotate it the other way to Sport mode and the accent light goes Twizzler red while the screen says “Let’s Motor Hard!” This silliness suggests that Mini thinks its customers won’t realize that Sport dials up a quicker shift program and sharpens the dynamic dampers’ reflexes, or that Green mode pretty much does the opposite.
We tried both settings, but our preferences led to observed mileage of 27 mpg where the manuals both recorded 30. The EPA says it should be the other way around, rating manuals at 24 mpg in the city where the automatic rates 26. (After the EPA caught Mini overstating its figures, that is.) The overdrive fifth- and sixth-gear ratios in the automatic have longer legs than do the commensurate gears in the manual, gaming the test cycle but not helping when we’re forever pulling that downshift paddle.
This automatic car generated less skidpad grip (0.87 g versus 0.91) and took 10 feet longer to stop from 70 mph than our long-termer. No mystery: It rode on 17-inch wheels with all-weather Pirellis rather than the 18s with summer-rated Dunlop tires we chose for our 40,000-mile test.
Whereas the stick keeps the driver engaged, the automatic heightens the impression that the new Mini’s personality has become more refined but less playful. If “go-kart” references appeal to your inner Lewis Hamilton, you might be better off in a pre-owned example of the previous generation. The heavy steering feel alone warrants that comment: It’s much like that on recent large BMWs, few of which have really pleased us. Stiff roll resistance and quick turn-in alone do not a go-kart make.
Besides, karts define elemental and this Mini Cooper S laughs at elemental. It shows no restraint in piling on the gimmickry. The Mini idea suggests more than round headlights and a contrasting roof—it means simple and fun. Or did. Smarter automation and layers of do-it-for-me complexity appeal to 7-series shoppers. If a really short hatchback 7er sounds fun, your Ultimate Motoring Machine has arrived.
