Weekly Motor Fix: the car with a cult following — the Mini Moke

10 November, 2015

Mini designer Alec Issigonis laid down his blueprints for a utilitarian Mini in the early ’60s, and his idea became reality with the Mini Moke’s debut in 1964.

Starting with the standard four-cylinder A-series transverse Mini engine — front-wheel drive, of course — the Moke’s off-road ability was severely curtailed by its low ground clearance, a factor necessitated by the use of 10-inch Mini wheels. However, despite that, as any Mini owner will tell you, these little front-wheel drive marvels can pull themselves out of almost any situation – with the right tyres, and as long as they don’t bottom down in something like mud.

Eventually, BMC fitted 13-inch wheels to the Moke, also popping in their larger 998c motor. The totally open Spartan Moke also eventually received perspex side windows, mud flaps, and wider wheel arches. Later still, the Moke’s utilitarian hood received zip-in doors, and roll bars were added as the more powerful 1275cc engine became available.

In Australia, where all production shifted in 1968, roo bars also became standard. Between 1964 and 1968, around 30,000 Mokes had been built in the UK, but only 1500 were registered in their homeland.

In the ’70s, our Australian cousins relabeled the car as the Moke Californian, and the car was even available with flower power–style floral hoods to complement vibrant colours such as pink and aqua. The final Mokes were built in Portugal up until the early ’80s.

Today, the Mini Moke is considered to be something of a cult car, helped by their exposure in Patrick McGoohan’s infamous ’60s TV series, The Prisoner.

“Gotcha!’’ The continuing tale of a Nissan/Datsun tragic – part two

In 1996, I was on a mission to buy a suitable pavement scorcher and visited the now-defunct Manukau City Car Fair. Unbelievably, among the sea of four-door utilitarian Japanese compacts was the absolute jewel in the crown, my automobile wet dream — a 1985 two-door R30 RS Nissan Skyline FJ20 Turbo five-speed manual in nice condition. The owner wanted $10,000 — a great deal.
But what did I do? I bailed out, paralysed by indecision. The money would have been a stretch, but it was the worst automotive choice I ever made. Instead, I went for a rusty Toyota Sprinter 8 Valve Twin Cam Coupé, which was pretty terminal from the get-go. I know. We’ve all done it, but there was really no excuse for passing up the Skyline, and I was haunted by that for years.

Last Tango in the Fast Lane

In the mid ’80s, I locked into a serious Nissan/Datsun performance obsession. It could have kicked off with my ’82 Datsun Sunny, though this would have been a bit of a stretch of the imagination, given its normally aspirated 1.2-litre motor — not the sort of thing to unleash radical road warrior dreams. But it did plant a seed, and it was a sweet little machine and surprisingly quick, in contrast to all the diabolical English offerings I had endured.
I was living in South Auckland at the time and was an unrepentant petrolhead. Motor racing was my drug of choice, and I followed the scene slavishly. Saloon car racing, with the arrival of the international Group A formula, was having a serious renaissance here and in Australia and Europe. There was suddenly an exotic air in local racing that had been absent for 15 years.
I was transfixed by this new frontier of motor racing that had hit our tracks in 1985–87 and the new array of machinery on display. In 1986, the Nissan Skyline RS DR30 made a blinding impression on me. The Australian Fred Gibson-run, Peter Jackson-sponsored team of George Fury and Glenn Seton were the fastest crew of the 1986 Australian Touring Car Championship. But Kiwi legend Robbie Francevic snuck through to win the Aussie Championship in his Volvo 240T after a strong start and consistent finishes.