Clipboard says 'Monte Carlo or bust'. We went to Olney instead
Once upon a time, rallying was a very different game to the one played on gravel tracks and mountain passes today. Back in the 1960s, gentlemanly chaps charged around the back roads of Europe in barely modified road cars and, in the case of the Monte Carlo rally, started from places as far-flung as Norway, Glasgow and Minsk before converging on the rally proper.
Even well into the 1980s, rallies like the British Lombard RAC rally were a five-day marathon slog through pretty much anywhere with a road through a forest.
Sadly, times change and rallying these days is a much slicker, more sanitised affair with cars that bear little resemblance to roadgoing models. Even the rallies themselves are more tightly organised, TV-friendly events, packed into smaller geographical areas and shorter Schedules.
Nowhere is this change more evident than with Mini and the Monte Carlo rally. The Monte went from being an epic cross-continent trek followed by an often-snowy set of mountainous stages to become a truncated three-day shadow of its former self.
Cooper S gets 181bhp turbo engine
The Mini, meanwhile (star of the 1964 Monte Carlo rally, don't forget), has morphed into a 'lifestyle' brand under BMW's directorship. There's no doubt that it's been successful, but at what cost to the brand's original values? The latest move - and furthest step away yet from Alec Issigonis's concept - is the Countryman SUV, Mini's first mainstream four-wheel drive effort.
The Countryman also happens to mark Mini's return to rallying - Prodrive is turning the Countryman into a WRC contender as I write - so we thought it would be a perfect opportunity to see just how good a rally car the Countryman makes.
Who needs an antique stopwatch?
For some reason we couldn't quite fathom, Mini wasn't keen to let us take the Countryman to Kielder Forest, nor would it let us drive down to Monte Carlo (spoilsports), so we devised our own little rally-style test.
The plan would be to take the new Mini, in top-spec four-wheel-drive Cooper S form, on our own impromtu special stage from Bedford Autodrome (where Mini's press launch was taking place) to the small town of Olney, some 14-and-a-bit miles distant.
Since we couldn't exactly close the roads for our jaunt, we decided to take our inspiration from the regularity trials that often make up historic rallies, where competitors have to reach checkpoints at certain times and are penalised for either arriving early or late. And, for a spot of verisimilitude, myself and snapper Nick Williams also donned a pair of open-faced helmets in homage to Mini's rallying heritage (though the result was probably that we merelylooked like a pair of idiots).
Our own 'regularity' trials would be two-fold: outbound, we would attempt to stick faithfully by the ETA offered to us by the Mini's sat-nav (a £995 part of our test car's £6390-worth of options, makin it a £22,030 car), while on the return leg we would try to hit the 60mph average speed that the mostly country-road route suggested ought to be possible.
Riggers imagines being on the Monte
There was a serious side to this exercise, too - the roads between the Autodrome are some of the most testing B-roads in the country, with a particularly fast yet incredibly bumpy section that's a real test of any car's body control.
The outward 'regularity' was, in all honesty, a bit dull. This was thanks largely to the commendable BMW Group habit of making its sat-nav systems habitually conservative when it comes to estimated times of arrival - that way, when the inevitable traffic jam happens en route you're not likely to be too much later than you expected.
In our case, the result was a deliberate go-slow in order not to incur an (admittedly imaginary) time penalty for arriving at the end of our 'stage' too soon. It did give us time to appreciate the Countryman's surprisingly quiet and compliant ride, and to realise that the cabin, for all its extra size and roominess still feels very much like a Mini's, thanks in large part to the distinctive pillar box windscreen.
Four minutes late back. Disappointing
Eventually we reached Olney, and it was time to turn back. The next 14.3 miles would prove to be rather more fun. Maintaining a 60mph average proved harder than we imagined, especially with the awkward obstacles of dawdling traffic and village speed limits to deal with (always adhered to, of course).
Sadly, the combination of traffic, and more villages than we expected, meant we failed in our aim to cover the 14 miles in 14 minutes, arriving four minutes late back at the Autodrome. The attempt, however, was enlightening, for the Countryman proved itself a nimble, composed companion when its legs were streched.
The 181bhp, 177lb ft, twin-scroll 1.6-litre turbo motor did occasionally feel overworked, however, struggling to haul 1380kg of Mini SUV along with quite enough conviction, despite an officially spritely 0-62mph time of 7.6secs and a 134mph top speed.
The chassis hid its kerb weight rather better, feeling genuinely well controlled and impressively damped over some of the bounciest sections of road - dealing with these at least as well as our PH fleet M6 had on the way to Bedford. As you'd expect of a Mini, the Countryman's driving position was also spot on, with pedals position well for heel-and-toeing and a relationship between seat, wheel and gearstick that felt just about perfect.
It will take quite a bit to turn the Countryman into a rally star, however - if you're hoping to execute perfect four-wheel drifts in the road car you willbe disappointed. The most exciting thing we managed to get the car to do was a small chirrup from the front wheels away from junctions before the ALL4 four-wheel-drive system marshalled most of the power to the rear wheels.
Monaco in the sat-nav - so tempting
Lack of hooligan tendencies notwithstanding, the Countryman might be stretching the Mini brand a bit thin, but it's an undeniably good car. Whether it will make a good Mini, and whether it will be turned into a decent rally car, are matters that are far more open to debate.
One thing is for certain though: if you put on an open-faced lid and drive down the road in a road-going Countryman, you will look like a tit.
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