Context is everything; if you’ve ever found yourself insufficiently well-dressed at a function or perhaps at the wrong end of a football stadium, you’ll know that everything has its place and being in the wrong can be uncomfortable. Apply that logic to the Mini then – a car that trades on its Britishness (and is built in Oxford, don’t forget) and its compactness – then ship it Stateside and the fish-out-of-water analogies are hard to ignore. This is the Big Country, where might is right and small is... well, just wrong. But that didn’t stop us taking a Mini Roadster Cooper S, complete with full Stars ‘n’ Stripes exterior graphic, from the heart of urban cool in Los Angeles to the heart of the complete opposite, Las Vegas.
Our starting point was The Standard, a hotel in the centre of LA that definitely walked the line between ultimate hipster hang-out and a holding pen for the highly pretentious. The rooms were almost monastic in their starkness, but with a strong 1980s graphic throughout. There was a Hammond organ in the lobby and table tennis tables to match. Wardrobe choices had to be carefully considered to avoid looking like you didn’t belong, but on the other hand, the view from the 12th floor roof-top bar was something else.
Out in the car park, the star-spangled Mini looked a bit too much like an attention-seeking device to this conservative Brit, but out here it makes perfect sense. Minis are probably more commonplace than you might think in a country where a Bland SE or an Anonymous GL are the default choices; it might be smaller than the typical car but it has more presence than a car park’s worth of dull saloons, even without the white stripes.
And even before we hit the freeway, the Mini’s typical characteristics are just what you need. That turbocharged 1.6-litre petrol unit snaps forwards on the throttle, punching you ahead of wheezy automatics off the lights. And while every bend may be a 90 degree right or left, the little Roadster will dive around them without lean or fuss – something that the typical American motorist won’t have experienced.
This is one of the key reasons why the Mini has been such a success in the US. Unlike us spoilt Europeans who have a plethora of sharp-handling hatchbacks to choose from, many American drivers are used to boaty, floaty saloons with big four-cylinder petrol engines, automatic gearboxes and squishy seats. Cornering prowess is not high on the priority list when you can drive hundreds of miles without hitting anything more than a gentle curve.
So those daring free-thinkers that have gone down the Mini route are bowled over by its enthusiasm and sporty performance, and with good reason. Look hard enough and you’ll find a proper road and the Mini comes into its own. Of course, this being a Roadster you have to drop the top, even if it is cold, because you’re engaged with your surroundings in an even more immediate sense. And yes, the Mini does measure the amount of time you have the roof down. Silly, definitely, but fun too.
Up in the hills near the Mohave National Preserve there are bends that are worthy of the name; the road follows the contours of the mountains, giving frequent changes of elevation and plenty of switchbacks. Contrary to popular belief, not all roads in the US are billiard-table smooth (especially not the freeways) but a fresh surface up here is a blessing – we can give the Roadster plenty of stick. The turbocharged torque is exactly what you need on steep climbs, pulling hard out of tight bends with only a faint wriggle through the steering wheel to remind you that it’s the front wheels doing the hard work. For mile after mile we push hard and the Mini laps it up.
We descend from the hills and pick up Interstate 15 as it makes its way into Nevada, and you soon get a sense of just how empty the state is. Once over the border you pass through great swathes of desert, and apart from the moderate traffic you see nothing and no-one for miles at a time. We stop for fuel and try to fit in by ordering a massive Big Gulp of Coca Cola (when in Rome…) before the final stint to Las Vegas.
The fall of darkness and the lack of illumination on the interstate lends extra moodiness to the journey, and even though it’s now cold, the Roadster pumps out heat to warm our feet while the stereo blasts out some cheesy tunes. And then we notice the faint glow far in the distance as the road stretches far ahead between the hills, and with every passing mile the glow grows as we reach the city limits.
Everything you’ve ever heard about Las Vegas is true. Our destination for the evening is the Cosmopolitan Hotel, just off the main strip, so getting there requires driving right through the centre of the madness. We keep the hood down despite the decidedly parky temperature, and the crowd love it; even though there are blinging Escalades and the odd supercar rumbling through town, the combination of the Roadster’s roof-down charm and patriotic colour scheme win it many fans – it was certainly the most photographed Brit in town that night.
The Cosmopolitan isn’t the biggest hotel in Vegas, but it’s in the top five; even on the 48th floor there are levels above us, but the view over the strip is nothing short of spectacular. It’s big in all directions too as we discover the hard way, pulling up in the wrong car park, it takes us almost 15 minutes to walk to the other end of the building to check in.
As you’d expect there is a terrifying amount of gambling going on. On the one hand, you have the high rollers sitting at $1,000 blackjack tables, being brought complimentary drinks every 15 minutes without fail, and a matter of yards away there will be somebody’s grandmother feeding the same slot machine a seemingly endless banquet of quarters.
Our gambling success is limited, but so is everyone’s; the theory has it that the casinos rake in over $1million a day irrespective of how much they pay out.
By the wee small hours we’ve all had enough. Start to look past the shiny veneer and the seedier side of the city starts to show through. Vegas is fun in small doses, but an extended stay could see you easily get sucked in to an unhealthy lifestyle. Happily, the Mini Roadster is infinitely more liveable than this; when you want to play it’s totally up for it, but it can behave when you just want to get there with no fuss.
Our evening flight gives us one final panoramic view over Las Vegas and we’re happy to leave it behind so that we can visit again with the lustre intact. As for the Roadster, this decidedly British icon somehow cuts the mustard on the far side of the pond too.