Mini Paceman has space, man

Monday, 20 May 2013

The new Paceman is the seventh model to enter the Mini catalogue. For reference, the manifest consists of Hatch, Convertible, Clubman, Roadster, Coupe and Countryman.

Because the Paceman uses the same floorpan as the Countryman, it is not an Oxford, England-built car like most Minis and derivatives, the car is made at the BMW Mini plant in Graz, Austria, where the coupe body style is added, along with a set of rounded rear 'shoulders'. You'll like it. Or you won't. It's fifty-fifty in our office straw poll.

It's effectively a Countryman with three doors instead of that car's five, with a sloping roofline that looks from the side not unlike that of a Range Rover Evoque, whose buyers, Mini says, form part of the Paceman's intended market demographic.

I can't see it myself. It's not as pretty as the Evoque for instance, starts at about $30,000 cheaper and to all intents and purposes seems more a competitor for the GTi brigade formed by the hottest versions of the VW Golf, Citroen DS3 and Ford Focus.

The Cooper S version of the Mini hatch already competes in that slot of course, so what's the point in the Mini Paceman going for it too? Well for the first time, here's a Mini that can enter hot- hatchery with enough room for four grown-ups. If you had a plain Mini Cooper S, you'd never have managed that unless your rear occupants were contortionists or willing to be surgically implanted.

And it's all because the Paceman is built on the Countryman's longer wheelbase, where most of that extra length goes to the rear cabin and it has to be said that though a six-footer is unlikely to even try to stretch out in any way, it's a nice place to sit and much less claustrophobic than the normal Mini.

For the time-being in new Zealand it will only be available in Cooper S trim, and while the car can be had in Europe with an All4 set-up, as well as other diesel and petrol power units, our front- driven turbo 1.6-litre 135kW/ 240Nm is our sole Paceman package. We do get a choice of six- speed manual and six-speed paddle-shift automatic, and there are sufficient 'must-have' boxes to tick in the New Zealand accessory and personalising guide to ensure that you're unlikely to live next to someone with the same car. A measure of what you can spend your money on is the fact that there are up to eight possible alloy wheel designs and finishes to pick from, as well as three different leather styles for the interior and even heated seats. In the original 60s Mini you didn't even get wind-up windows or carpet.

Suffice to say, with all those tickable boxes, the RRP of $53,500 for the Paceman Cooper S could creep up by several thousand dollars if your imagination gets to you.

While some may say that $53,500 is a lot for a Mini, it's actually right on the button in GTi-land and, considering the amount of standard gear and safety equipment (see the spec panel), you shouldn't criticise the car until you've driven it.

Fifty years ago, the original Mini Cooper S was tested in Autocar, and thrilled the pants off its drivers with such figures as a top-speed of 146.4kmh and a zero to sixty miles an hour time of 13.5 seconds. True it was only the 1071 S model, but the car did weigh just 650 kilograms, which makes you wonder how it managed to average 9.6L/100km.

It was a great car and I only use those figures to show the improvements over time. Despite weighing more than twice as much as that dear wee '63 model, the Paceman bangs out a zero to sixty (well 100kmh, anyway) in around seven seconds flat, zooms through to a top whack of up to 217kmh and still manages to offer an EU-combined economy rating of about 7L/100km.

What the Paceman offers that the original Mini couldn't, and the ordinary current Mini hatch has a struggle with, is refinement. Even when you're wringing the Paceman Cooper S to within a few revs of its red-lined life, it's as sweet as a nut and on the rain- soaked Hampton Downs race track where I was able to take the car well beyond its on-road and socially acceptable limits, it was quite possible to hear National Radio's Jim Mora and his dulcet tones while notching up velocities that no production 1071 S could even dream of.

I've always loved the way the modern Minis' steering wheel rim feels linked directly to the road beneath. There's lots of chunky weight to the rim, and while the car's direct reactions can unnerve those used to the relativley sloppy over-powered steering to tyre relationship in ordinary front- drive cars, one becomes quick to revel in the car's sheer accuracy, trusting it to go exactly where you point it. This may sound obvious, but once you drive a Mini, Mazda MX-5, Porsche Boxster or Cayman, you'll realise that steering standards outside the parameters set by such cars are not as incisive as you thought.

Pleasingly, the engine reacts as quickly as the steering, and it is matched by a delightfully linear clutch and brake action, so that its swift, crisp short order gearshifts are executed as if you've been doing it on the track all day.

The Mini Cooper S's turbocharged 1.6-litre unit likes its revs, but also offers plenty of mid-range torque and flexibility, so much so that on a wet and windy Hampton Downs track, the car felt just as quick around the circuit when left in third gear and above instead of being taken up the rev-range in second.

Thus, driving the Paceman does not need to be a frantic process, and driven in a more relaxed way, taking time to revel in the well-weighted steering and slicing a little more accurately through the Downs' often elusive apexes, the Paceman feels like it has enjoyed time at finishing school. It's simply the most mature modern Mini I've driven.

One nice touch that tickles the funny-bone is the fact that with the Cooper S Pacemen set in 'Sport' mode - this adjusts throttle mapping and the steering to better suite press-on driving - the engine spits and pops on the overrun.

The Paceman's front MacPherson struts and multi-link rear suspension setup ride lower than the Countryman's chassis, so it doesn't roll quite as much, but despite an alphabet soup of chassis aids and a limited slip differential, the car can get something of a wriggle on in corners and unless you get your cornering lines and braking points spot-on, the electronics can interfere, just when you want to put more power down.

But that's the driver's fault, not the car's, as when you get it right, there's no influence at all.

Inside, the Paceman is all Mini, complete with a central, crepe pan sized speedomoter, a row of rocker switches and a tachometer that mimics the ones clipped to the steering column of those original Coopers and Cooper Ss of half a century ago.

With wide doors and two big bucket seats, rear access and accommodation is really quite good. Legroom is okay for six- footers - though their knees will touch the front seatbacks.

Two individual rear seats are there rather than a bench because of a rail running between the two chairs onto which you can sit holders for mugs, shades, and cellphones.

The boot can gobble up about 330 litres of bits and bobs with the rear seats upright, which is not bad at all if you've previously only enjoyed the briefcase-sized volume of an ordinary Mini hatch, and there's room under the floor for more valuable stuff.

Until I drove the seventh Mini, I couldn't really see where it sat both in the market and within its already diverse range.

I do now. Unlike lesser hatchback Minis, I can get in and out without groaning, and invite friends along with me, while losing nothing in its biddability and the provision of unmitigated fun at the wheel.

I'd like to see some less powerful engine choices and a starting sticker in the mid-40s for the car and can't wait to see how the provision of all-wheel-drive might make it even better on the track.

But for the meantime, in the rapidly crowding GTi set, it'll do quite nicely, thanks.