I WASN'T EXPECTING a whole new world with the limited-edition Checkmate version of the Mini Cooper S, save that all the models sold in Hong Kong would be automatic. As an old-school driver, I'd prefer the three-pedalled car to its slushbox-equipped counterpart any time, but I'm surprised the Checkmate costs the same as the standard automatic Mini Cooper S, at $296,800. I've always thought special editions came with more tangible advantages, such as free insurance or more fittings at the expense of having rather in-your-face decals screaming: Classic, Mayfair or even Le Car.
The Checkmate's a looker, too. Apart from its handsome dark blue body, smart silver bonnet stripe and cutesy chequered decals on the front wing, the Flame spoke rims inside the Pirelli run-flat 205/45 R17s resemble our Hong Kong flag too closely for me. Slamming the rock-solid door shut behind me, the Mini Cooper S idles smoothly with a throaty afternote. With 240km on the clock, this exclusive Mini's 1.6-litre, four-cylinder, 16-valve engine has loosened considerably, thanks to the hammering of other journalists' testing.
Eager to rev up from idle up to the redline, the car's supercharger whistles as it spins. Well-known for its smooth, normally aspirated powerplants, BMW has created another masterpiece in forced induction after the 2002 turbo of the early 1970s. A recent engine upgrade from 163 brake horsepower to 170bhp has also brought extra flexibility, with a torque hike (to 220Nm at 4,000rpm) and a flatter powerband. The Mini just wants to rev and rev, and it would be a sin not to.
So I squeeze the S-engraved trigger on the gearlever and pull it back to Drive. This is the first time I've driven a Mini with an automatic box and, predictably, the shifter's laid out like the BMW system, with a Sports mode that's activated by knocking the lever sideways. Pushing and pulling the lever allows a manual override of the cog-swapping.
I could have changed gear with the paddles behind the three-spoked, sports-leather steering wheel, downshifting with my thumb and moving up the box by tugging the paddles towards the wheel. But it's not as intuitive as other systems, with '+' on one paddle and '-' on the other, so I leave it alone at first. There are other buttons on the steering wheel that control the cruise control and the audio system, but I'm more intent on threading the car through a particularly sticky traffic jam in Central.
Luckily, the Mini can dart in and out of lanes - not because of its size (it's nowhere near as miniscule as its forefathers), but its non-existent overhangs and near-panoramic visibility allow me to seize every millimetre of no man's land between cars in Queen's Road.