Short Take Road Test
Mini’s Countryman defies easy categorization. It’s too small for an SUV, too large for a Mini. It’s a big Mini, possibly a Medium. Mini doesn’t call it the Medium but doesn’t seem to want to call it the Countryman, either. “Countryman” appears nowhere on the outside of the thing, and the official designation is Mini Cooper Countryman, as though Countryman were merely a variation on the Cooper, like the Clubman.
It’s something more than that, though. The Countryman rides on a new platform that is seriously huge for a Mini—nearly six inches longer, about five inches taller, and more than four inches wider than the Cooper Clubman—but is only 0.2 inch longer than a Honda Fit. It pegs the scales at 3260 pounds—the only other Mini to do so is one filled with four adults. Yet space up front feels little changed from that of its siblings, just reoriented vertically—the familiar round instrumentation looks odd from such an upright chair. In back, the full-size doors offer ease of entry, while the berth they access is commodious by brand standards. The thrones back there are firm and comfortable, but their bolstering can’t withstand thrill rides as stoically as the fronts’ can.
Unfortunately for the lunches of those strapped in the rear seats, the Countryman’s capabilities have barely decreased with its dimensional de-Mini’ing. The Medium stuck to the skidpad for 0.89 g, matching or bettering all but the sharpest Minis we’ve tested. The steering is remarkably quick, tactile, and accurate, but it commands a body with a center of gravity that seems to reside somewhere around the driver’s haircut. In very quick transitions, the Countryman doesn’t take long to fall behind what the tires would like to do. Also, body rigidity is merely average, as though Mini engineers didn’t know what to do when trying to enclose such a large space in sheetmetal.
Beyond its four passenger doors, though, the Countryman’s most groundbreaking brand-first is its optional all-wheel-drive system, ALL4. It adds about 150 pounds, costs $1700, and sends power forward under normal circumstances. When the system detects slip—the rear driveshaft is always spinning—a clutch pack at the back axle engages, directing up to 50 percent of the torque aft. Revectoring a Mini with the throttle—rather than simply nosing it into a hedge—is a strange sensation but one we could get used to.
More important, ALL4 quells the gross torque steer that characterizes turbocharged Minis. Other turbo Coopers outpace the hefty, traction-augmented Countryman, but its 7.0-second 0-to-60 gallop and 15.7-second quarter-mile are mere tenths behind. And the sweet Mini shifter and linear clutch remain.
It’s tempting to call the Cooper Countryman Mini’s Cayenne. But the Cayenne is so successful because it is the Porsche of SUVs—a fast, sporting machine that just happens to weigh 5000 pounds. The notion of a Mini SUV is just too antithetical, and the execution suggests that Mini should have favored one side or the other. As it is, our enthusiasm for the Medium is just middle of the road.
