Making the most of a Mini

Lorraine Sommerfeld

WHEELS COLUMNIST

Let me say right off the top that if you’re not cool, a car is not going to make you so. I don’t care how big or how small it may be, or how fast or how expensive; it is still just a box that holds a still uncool person.

I am not cool.

Instead of fighting the inevitable, I just gave up and bought a minivan because that’s what my life requires. Two kids, two cats, a cottage, soccer nets, hockey sticks and 20 bags of groceries every week.

And then BMW Canada lent me a Mini Cooper S for a week.

Well, forget what you’ve been told about cars not being able to bestow any special powers. Including what I just said. For one week, I had a starring role in my own life.

I’ve never had a particular fondness for small cars.

I’ve never liked convertibles.

Leather seats were a ridiculous extravagance and great stereos were for audiophiles.

And now I find myself singing the praises of all of these things.

Recognizing that I had to pack a lifetime into a week, I arranged to pick up a friend the next morning.

Some things need to be shared, a Mini is one of them.

Arlene retired young and if you want someone who’s available in the daytime, retired people are ready and they’re reliable.

I pulled up in the driveway, she hopped in and declared that she was 16 again.

If you’re 16, that statement will make you cringe, but if you’re over 40 you’ll just nod and smile. There was no question that the top would remain down all day.

We stowed purses in the trunk and flew down the highway believing the world was our oyster and the Mini was our pearl.

The Mini has a pretty tight suspension — which means if you put a coffee in the cupholder, the coffee jumps out while the cup remains in the holder. This forces you to stop instead, and sit on a patio and gaze lovingly (“why, yes it’s mine!”) at another angle of the wee beast.

With your hair thrashing around at 100 km/h, guiding it through all six of its speeds (think Speed Racer’s mom) and singing loudly, stopping before having your coffee probably isn’t such a bad thing.

My sons were eager to see the Cooper but for different reasons.

Jackson, 12, was meeting his longtime crush. Marc, 15, wanted to prove a Mini was not only not cool but it would make me look like Mr. Bean.

One trip requited Jackson’s love and changed Marc’s mind.

I contacted a writer friend of mine. He sends me these wonderful stories but we’d never met.

On a glorious sunny morning, I told him we were going for a drive. As this elegant, graceful man folded himself into the Mini, he exclaimed that he hadn’t been in a convertible in years.

We roamed around the winding hilly woods north of town, Ron directing as the sun and wind introduced us to each other. The next day he sent me a note indicating he’d had bad news. Our afternoon may have been his first drive in a convertible in a long time; it sadly might be his last.

I used the Mini well that week. For my boys, it was a funky introduction to a car being more than the sum of its parts; for Arlene, a joyful reminder; and for Ron, a bittersweet denouement.

A car can’t make you cool.

But if you’re lucky, it can make you think a little.

Lorraine Sommerfeld’s column appears Thursdays on wheels.ca, Saturdays in Wheels and Mondays in Living.

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