Although I grew up during the original muscle car era — drooling over the Mustang Boss 302, Camaro Z28 and American Motors AMX — my true passion for fast cars belongs to an earlier decade, thanks to the colourful writings of Ken Purdy. His tales of post-war sports cars and the doomed heroes who drove them graced the pages of Playboy and other periodicals from the back half of the 1950s until his untimely death in 1972. (No, I was never allowed to read Playboy, just a soft-cover collection of his best works from that educational publication. I still have that well-thumbed soft cover, loose pages and all.)
One of the things that struck me about those swoopy sports racing cars from the 1950s was how lightweight they were. One of my favourites, the Jaguar C-type, tipped the scales at 939 kilograms. Another fave, the Mercedes 300SLR, weighed even less, a mere 830 kg. Compare those with the likes of the new Viper or the Corvette Z06, both a corpulent — by comparison — 1,521 kg. (Don’t get me started on the 1,873-kg Camaro ZL1.) Yes, the Vette and Viper boast more than double the horsepower, handle better and are far safer bets in the event of an accident, but everything that makes them easy to drive quickly and safely by just about any schlub with a licence (including Yours Truly) comes with a weight penalty. Don’t you sometimes wish for something light, tight and sassy yet still safe?
I do, which is why the most testosterone-fuelled version of the Mini Cooper S — the wickedly addictive John Cooper Works (JCW) edition — remains a constant favourite. Powered by a highly boosted, premium unleaded-sucking turbocharged 1.6-litre four-cylinder, the 208-horsepower subcompact hatchback consistently punches above its weight, which, incidentally, is a trim 1,210 kg. (Yes, the realization that the Cooper would be considered a porker by 1950s’ sports car standards is not lost on me.)
While there are other hot hatches out there more powerful and/or less expensive (Mazdaspeed3, Volkswagen GTI, Fiat 500 Abarth, Subaru WRX), I have yet to find anything that equals the JCW in total dedication to sub-rosa scofflaw behaviour. The car literally begs to have the wheels driven off it, yet it is just as rewarding at legal (or, at least, near-legal) speeds. It is zippy rather than all-out fast, although 6.5 seconds to nail 100 kilometres an hour is nothing to sneeze at. Still, the most rewarding aspect is running through the gears of a tightly spaced, very precise six-speed manual, right hand working in conjunction with left foot to deliver satisfying rushes of speed with every change-up. (The first bozo that asks about paddle shifters will get a virtual stink-eye from moi.) Get really aggressive on the throttle and both hands had better be on the steering wheel; that breathed-on four generates enough torque through the front wheels to get the grippy P205/45R17 Dunlops squirming.
Assisting in the JCW’s zippiness is the extra-starch-stiff suspension setup, which allows the hatch to carry a lot of speed through the corners with no significant body roll. Just
a quick tug on the heavily weighted steering wheel and the car will track through a corner as if on rails. The obvious downside is that every imperfection in the tarmac is keenly felt, while potholes and railway tracks should be avoided where possible. I believe I’ve used the expression “like being shot out of the sky by a surface-to-air missile” before. It’s apropos here.
For a little car, the Mini Cooper JCW carries a big price tag — $36,900 to start — with options easily taking it into the 40s. That said, the car packs a lot of features into its 1,210 kg — not only the requisite go-fast equipment but also a full measure of modern conveniences. The $42,830 tester came with the usual power items, plus heated seats, a power glass sunroof, navigation system and Mini’s own version of the BMW iDrive. It also came with a unique colour combination that turned many heads as well as elicited numerous positive comments. A particularly bright red roof and mirror caps (a no-charge option) offset the car’s rather stately Eclipse Grey Metallic shade, with a lovely set of black alloy wheels to complete the picture. I thought the whole effect was stunning, though definitely not for shy and retiring types.
Inside, the cabin was swaddled in something Mini calls Championship Red Lounge Leather ($1,900), essentially black leather with red piping — pricey but oh so stylish. As per Mini practice, the centre-mounted and humongous speedometer dominates the dashboard, with everything else in a supporting role. Headroom and legroom are plentiful up front, but the latter is in seriously short supply for anyone in the unfortunate position of occupying the back seats. Then, again, anyone thinking the diminutive hatchback is a true four-seater needs a reality check.
Accepting the limitations of a high-performance car that is also modestly sized, my biggest beef with the JCW (and all Minis) is the stupidly designed pull-type door handle, which invariably pinches the hand in its mechanism.
In a bad mood or a funk? Simply get into this car and give it a workout. All your cares and worries will disappear. Six hundred horsepower in a two-ton muscle car is a fleeting amusement, something to experience and brag about but seldom use. Two hundred and eight horses in a lightweight and sport-enhanced hatchback is an all-day guiltless pleasure.
