Hey, I feel happy. Quick, someone give me a corner!

I’ve just pushed the Dynamic Traction Control off. My old Clubman would wordlessly oblige with fun when I did that. The 2016’s screen explains “Maximum traction on loose surfaces” (aka pretty much any Ontario road near the end of winter) and “Limited driving stabilization and driver assistance.” Damn right, Mini! We’re grownups now; we don’t need no steenkeeng nanny controlss.

We avoid the inner city highways (appropriately if unintentionally called parkways in Toronto). Instead we zip through this poorly planned city’s many neighbourhoods whose thoroughfares are freer of parked cars during rush hours these day, making city rides like everything by Mini, except the appropriately named Countryman, a good idea. This tester’s upgraded Mini Yours Sport Leather Steering Wheel feels muscularly fatter in my hands than mine ever did, and I’d loved mine. The six-gear standard transmission effortlessly stimulates the 2.0L four-cylinder turbocharged engine, creating opportunities in traffic, mirroring my excitement for my daughter’s oncoming adventure. The engine requires premium gasoline but that’s not new.

This pure burgundy Clubman endured the urban driving challenge of being my tester right after I’d spent a week in the BMW i3, a shockingly responsive electric city tootler. The difference in torque is noticeable – is it turbo lag? I doubt it – but the Clubman is certainly as much fun overall.

Learning to let go of the past and embrace change.

My former Mini was not an S model and I’ve always questioned whether the extra expense is justified because all Minis are fun to drive. If you have the extra $4,000 to upgrade the 2016 Clubman to an S, bless you. You probably weren’t dropped on your head as a baby.

Other design features have evolved but are recognizable. Take that cheeky branding text from the drive modes and move outwards: the screen sits like a skier’s goggles in a chrome and LED circle; the colour of its perimeter shifts with you. Now, moving past the instrument cluster, up, down and all around, count the number of corresponding circles, ovals and unnecessary but intentional curves, abiding throughout. Note the new extra roundedness of the club doors at the back. The curviness of the brand hasn’t changed; if anything, it’s increased naturally, like that prosperous look most of us unintentionally beget in our middle age.

Curves and circles and former cars and growing up? Driving my daughter into the sunrise for her next life chapter in this round-mobile, I feel like a cross between Bruce Springsteen and Mufasa.

Speaking of doors and evolution, I still miss the reverse-opening suicide door in the back of my 2010, although I never had to use it. My daughter was immediately delighted by the 2016’s two grownup backdoors. She’s probably not the only one. It’s remarkable what an extra foot of length makes possible.

The panorama sunroof trumps the one I had too but, taking a cue from the S discussion above, it’s no longer even worth comparing my erstwhile Clubman to this 2016 blingionnaire. Let’s stay here in the present.

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